5E Adventure's in Midgard – North (Reaver's Spring)

Game Master Tareth

A small merchant caravan led by Rook Bentknee, a kobold merchant, travels up the coast of the Bay of Ghed to deliver goods and trade with Rook's former adventuring companion and occasional business partner, Britta Gleamgaurd, human owner of the Frost Maiden Inn in the village of Nargenstal.

Interactive Midgard Map


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Evening of Harvest Tide 16th, 1751

Arianna's brush comes away filled with enough short hair to practically create another animated feline. The slow easy *swoosh*swoosh*swoosh* of the brush combing the hair from the thick fabric of the rug drifts through the now mostly empty barn. The elf hums a tune. There are no words, just quiet, calming, gentle notes meant to ease the uneasy spirit held within the rug for its magic and power.

The former prisoners have moved to the manor or into town with the aide of Father Tavis whose firm eye, holy symbol, and solid oak staff quickly put down any notions of trouble by the gate guards.

The only other current inhabitant of the barn is Gunnar. The dwarf wizard spends several hours in calm meditation. Arcane formula and equations arrayed across his minds eye like some massive internal chalk board. Initially, the conjuring mathematics and arcane symbols and formula are fairly simple. The spell common to nearly any well trained and schooled wizard of the western schools or dwarven cantons. But this simple casting is only the beginning of the wizard's true needs. For to cast it in its simple, raw form, would simply conjure any free, willing, and able local spirit. One not currently obliged to powering and piloting a particular flying rug.

And so the wizard's mind begins running through various permutations of that so simple, so common, spell. Constraints are added to avoid drawing others. Compulsions to generate enough power to free an already bound spirit. Healing and gentling to calm a rightfully angry and hurt soul. Finally the targeted calling, conjuring, and transformation of the spirit fully and completely into the material realm under the guise of its true and original form.

If written upon that chalkboard, the tutoring wizard would need a surface nearly a mile long to capture all of the various variables, formulae, ritual patterns, material components, somatic structures, and vocalizations necessary to achieve the spell's desired result. Fortunately, an actual chalkboard is not needed. Instead all of those vital arcane elements are kept well ordered and imprinted across Gunnar's well trained dwarven mind.

With the Volund's Hammer rising in the dark night sky, the barn begins to smell of sage, willow root, foxglove, and nettles as well as a handful of other more exotics herbs few outside of a wizard's compound would ever find useful. The tangy, bitter odor is soon accompanied by the odd throat rumbling of Gunnar's dwarven chants as he slowly sketches out a series of interlacing circles surrounding the rug, Arianna, himself, and several other empty circles all connecting back to the recently mended and thoroughly cleaned rug.

Taking up his position in the circle scribed at the top of the rug, Gunnar continues to chant and sketch a variety of curious signs and symbols into the air. As he works the rug begins to quiver. A spot of damp, pungent moisture appears on one corner. The dwarf continues. Slowly, methodically, he erects the necessary spiritual barriers, provides the appropriate offerings, conveys the most important healing and compassion.

Finally, a cock crows. The morning sun creeps slowly over the eastern horizon. The first rays shine down upon the exhausted dwarf who now sits accompanied by a rather rotund and somewhat bewildered and cautiously suspicious short haired feline.

"Meow?" Queries the cat, it's voice a bit rough from likely years, if not centuries, of disuse.


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

Unsure if the feline spirit would remain in rug form or not, Gunnar puts in the effort to free it from its imprisonment within the rug, gently coaxing it forth while trying to leave the primary threads of arcane power within the rug unbroken. Has he succeeded in freeing the cat at the cost of destabilizing the magic of the carpet? If so, it is a price worth paying so that the creature was no longer enslaved—yet he hopes the price was not that high….

Still, that is an investigation for another time. Right now, there is a cat to meet. ”I am pleased to meet you, freed spirit. I am Gunnar. What shall I call you?” he asks, holding out a savory meat treat he had kept back, just in case this actually worked.


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CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

The Ritual
Arianna continues to groom and soothe the rug, cleaning it and mending it as necessary. The elf listens to Gunnar's chant. As the rhythmic motions lines up with the beat of the guttural chant, Arianna finds it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. They flutter close and her hand stops brushing the rug.

She starts as her head rocks forward, finding the barn long gone and the in place of the rolling fields of Lingenau are the sharp-edged mountains of a range she has never seen. Gunnar's chanting is accompanied by the steady beat of smithy hammer on reddened iron glowing like the mid-afternoon sun. The elf stands and follows the sound, the chant always in her ear.

Through carved stone and stout oaken doors twice as thick as she is broad and banded by iron three of Aterro's hands wide she walked. She passed the dwarven markets where precious gems, shining works of gold and silver, and masterfully crafted arms were traded and bartered for alongside freshly butchered mutton, earthy mushrooms, and grains from lands all around. Deeper into the dwarven city the chant beckons. Deeper still the ringing of the hammer sounds.

She passes dwarves of all ages, though none are taller than her shoulders. Carvers of stone, weavers of wool and flax, leatherworkers, carpenters, candlemakers, and smiths of a dozen different kinds from soot-black ironsmiths to the goldsmiths with their fine tools all walk around her, though she cannot see their faces for the shadows cast over them. Jewelers haggle over fine gems as miners roar with glee as they can finally quench their thirst at their favored tavern. Spices and the hearty, earthy aromas of well-simmered stock fill the air. Deeper, though, the chanting calls her. Deeper comes the ringing of the hammer.

Past the gaily shrouded stalls and stores, past the humble home and grand halls, past the smoking smithies, and past even the gardens of underground plants she walks. Through the first level of the mines the chant leads her. The hammer guides her through the maze of shadowed caverns. She walks for what seems like hours in only a scant handful of moments.

Through the dark door of an ancient hall she wanders, the chant and the ringing hammer sounding around her from everywhere and nowhere at once. The stacks of books, scrolls, tablets, and tomes flash past her as each step leads her deeper and deeper into this long hidden sanctuary of knowledge. In the middle of the library, she sees Gunnar, hammering away with hammer made of arcane lightning on and anvil made of rune-carved stone. The chant comes to a crescendo as the work nears completion.

"Meow?"

Arianna blinks, back in the barn. She lays on the floor in the middle of the circle Gunnar had drawn around her and the rug. Before her is a cautious and curious cat that is easily as big around as she is, if not bigger.

"Hello," she says as she sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes. "It's nice to meet you."

She holds a hand out, palm up, for the cat to come sniff and get familiar with her.

"It's alright. I won't hurt you, and Gunnar is the on who found out about you and wanted to help."

What can I say, when the muse calls, you have to follow it. Hope it's a fun read at least.


Elfmarked Light Cleric of Khors 9 | HP 71/71 | HD 9/9d8 | Flare 4/4 | Channel 2/2+1 | Power 2/2 | 1st 4/4 | 2nd 3/3 | 3rd 3/3 | 4th 3/3 | 5th 1/1 | Inspiration!
Stats:
AC 18 | Str +0, Dex +2, Con +6, Int +1, Wis +8, Cha +5 | Initiative +2 | Perception +8, Darkvision

Luthael could not remember the last time he spent a whole day with his parents. They spent the first catching up on the news of the extended family and friends and then the gossip of the neighbors and people who they knew. They never asked much of his life changing the subject when his descriptions got a little frightening. They accepted that Khors had taken their son but never enjoyed it. He stayed until the awkward silence was broken by imaginary tasks of his parents.

The prophet took the opportunity to spend time with the household staff who raised him discovering how they lives had changed due to the undead invasion. He appreciated the news and reminding himself of the people who Khors protected. Who Khors needed Luthael to save, even the ones who had not been to church in years.

After he had emptied the tank of local stories, he made he way out to his companions.


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In the barn...

"Meow."

Responds the big black and white cat to both Gunnar and Arianna after it hungrily takes and swallows the dwarf's treat. It sniffs at Arianna's hand, but finding nothing edible held in the delicate elven appendage, the cat returns its attention to Gunnar.

With each movement, each tail flick, each sniff, each uttered sound, the spirit cat edges further into the mortal realm. It's form solidifies until it is once again complete and whole within the mortal realm.

The rug, once home and carrier of the arcane spirit, withers and rots. The vibrant colors of the fabric become dull and gray. Without the spirit's power and magic, it's arcane protection is no more. In minutes the flying rug ages five hundred years, turning to little more than rotted useless dust.

"Meow!"

The cat sniffs at the desiccated rug and finally swipes a paw across the rotten cloth. The sharp feline claws shred a length of the remains sending a cloud of smoke gray dust bursting into the air. With a look of keen satisfaction upon it's furry face the cat slips back over to the dwarf.

"Meow." It adds, clearly looking for another handout.

In the manor...

For Luthael's parents, it is as if the threat of the undead is merely a troublesome bother mostly affecting the local peasantry and the simple failure of Lingenau's constabulary. The real problems are cousin Edwina, her failure to locate a suitable husband. And Luthael's elderly great uncle, who for the last year has suffered from the belief that a diamond vein runs somewhere underneath the estate. He's already had to be rescued following two incidents of getting himself trapped after his rudimentary tunnels collapsed. Then of course there is the unspoken issue of Luthael's own wanderings and "utter nonsense" of calling himself a prophet of Khors rather than planning to take over the running of the estate and all its lands.

When the young lordling of the manor heads downstairs to commiserate with the manor staff, he finds everyone subdued and on edge. Rumors run rampant. From fears of undead hordes ready to bubble up from secret tunnels beneath the town to theories that the Red Queen is simply going to hand the town over to the vampires in order to keep from fighting a drawn out war against the Blood Kingdoms.

By the time he returns to the barn, Luthael's mind is a-whirl with all the various tales, rumors, and general tribulations of the manor.


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

”Well, I guess that answers my question,” says Gunnar as he looks at the remains of the rug with regret. Tossing a few of the treats to Arianna so they could both feed the cat, Gunner says, ”That was our most efficient means of travel…though I hoped it would persist, I knew this was a risk if we freed this tormented spirit—yet it felt like the right thing to do.”

Drawing on his knowledge of ancient languages, Gunnar says, ”I shall call you Mamluk, for you came to us from the ancient rug. You are now free to live as you desire, though if you wish to bind yourself to me, I would be honored to take you as a familiar.” Gunnar sits and awaits a response as the cat makes up her mind, though he does think through what materials might be best used for a much more standard Find Familiar spell.

Silver Crusade

Human Paladin(FEAR) 7/Warlock {FEAR} 1| AC: 20 | HP: 75/80 {0}{Fire & Acid Resistance}|HD 7| LoH: 10/35| Sense: 4/4|Dread: 2/3| Con:+5 Wis:+5 Dex:+4|Smite: 2d8/lvl|CDiv: 0/1| melee: +8/2d8+6 {x2}|Init: +0 Perc: +2 | Insp = YES! |1st: 4/4 2nd : 2/3 | W 1st: 0/1 Hex

"OH. WHAT. THE. FU--" Aterro stammers, having only just stumbled into the barn to see the disintegration of the Rug and Gunnar's summation. His mouth hangs open in disbelief and a bit of juiced and half-chewed apple falls out as if to emphasize the point.

"Oh by Thor's salty balls," he mumbles, turning around. "I'll be right back."

Exiting the barn in a huff he tries to clear his mind.

Admittedly he had been looking forward to calling again on Phobos, but he had held off, recognizing the Rug as infinitely better.

Casting Find Steed: Celestial Heavy Warhorse of greatest size.

Phobos: Greek: The Personification of Fear and Panic.


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

Ingryd comes in the barn with fat baskets of food stuff and blinks as she sees the rug. "So...No rug? Do we have a cart and horse? Cause I got us provisions for the journey. Add in the Fishing possibilities and my honey."

Ingryd grabbed another apple and began to eat it."Yeah, we may want to bring a cook along and teach them some adventuring skills and pay? Or you know something to let us travel faster than our feet."


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

Arianna catches the tossed treats with an easy grace as a grin spreads over her face. It takes a moment for Mamluk to cotton onto the fact that there's now two sources of savory vittles, but Arianna doesn't mind the time it takes. Once the cat deigns to be petted by her, she giggles as she strokes the cats fur.

She hardly notices Aterro's dismay. She figures that the Thorsman will soon find something to distract himself from his irritation at the loss of the rug. Ingryd's questions, however, she finds more pertinent.

"No, Mamluk here was bound to it, and was apparently its source of power. Freeing this poor kitty undid the magic, unfortunately," she answers. "A cart and some beasts of burden would be nice to have, and I can guide us on the Shadow and Fey Roads. It'll be somewhat dangerous, but no more than some of the things that I've heard all of you have been up to."


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

Gunnar proposes that they use the framework of a cage to make a sturdy shell for the wagon (much like a gypsy wagon, but with movable small windows regularly spaced for ventilation and good fields of fire should those inside the wagon wish to attack from cover during a battle. He builds with an eye towards efficiency and storage. He uses his expertise with smithing and understanding of how land vehicles are best operated to guide his work.

Smithing with Advantage: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15
Advantage: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16


Work on the wagon gets under way and proceeds well. There are plenty of strong bodies to help haul lumber, cut lumber, and hang lumber. The initial work goes quickly. Things slow when it comes time to modify the cage a bit in order to accommodate the openings for air and solid fields of fire. The gnomish iron, forged in hellfire, made to hold the denizens of the abyss as much as poor Krakovan souls swept up by slave traders, proves resistant to all but the best hacksaw blades. It isn't until Luthael suggests using holy water on the saw blades, that Gunnar starts to cut through the bars with ease.

With the issue solved, the work again proceeds with speed. Gunnar's designs are well done and soon enough the former prison cart is a well sealed and formidable sanctuary. Unfortunately, with much of the iron still in place and the added timber paneling, the wagon's weight increases substantially. This brings about the need to extend the tongue and rig it for a larger team, not too mention another pair of animals. Neither are difficult tasks, but they do take additional time.

So it is that another day passes, followed by most of another. The sun is sinking behind the distant mountains by the time all the final touches are complete and Ingryd finishes loading the supplies.

On the shadow roads, the sun never sets. So despite the added delay, it is still possible to get underway. Arianna, after spending a few hours earlier in the day, has found a suitable path to guide the companions south. The shadow road is connected to a small, little used ley line running north to south. Its current course has it flowing only an hour west of the city. With knowledge of the ley lines location and a general sense of where a gateway might be, the elf can act as guide. Generally it is an easy enough journey to make before nightfall, even with the late start. Once closer to the source, Arianna should be able to pinpoint the gates actual spot.

It takes just over a day and a half to make the modifications. Others, not helping may spend the time as they like.

Assuming all are ready to leave once the wagon is ready, then Arianna can make an INT(Arcana/Investigation/History) vs DC15 to locate the exact location of the gate.


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

Interested in learning more about the shadow roads, Gunnar is eager to help Arianna with whatever related checks she would like.

He also takes breaks occasionally to work with Mamluk. Assuming she agrees to be his familiar, he finishes the simple ritual and exercises all the special abilities the arcane bind allows so that, when the time comes, they both will be comfortable with the process.

Silver Crusade

Human Paladin(FEAR) 7/Warlock {FEAR} 1| AC: 20 | HP: 75/80 {0}{Fire & Acid Resistance}|HD 7| LoH: 10/35| Sense: 4/4|Dread: 2/3| Con:+5 Wis:+5 Dex:+4|Smite: 2d8/lvl|CDiv: 0/1| melee: +8/2d8+6 {x2}|Init: +0 Perc: +2 | Insp = YES! |1st: 4/4 2nd : 2/3 | W 1st: 0/1 Hex

As much as Aterro enjoyed the products of the forge and bellows, his protean nature never did allow for great attention to be paid to the actual use of such.

As there seemed backs enough to help with the labor demanded of the new means of transportation (were it to him, he saw no evil in shackling a cat as their means of transport whereas now they must needs shackle a host of beasts of labor) he sought to balance the labor that was pulled from his former area of diversion.

So he spends the time back in the work of the fruit-bearing fields. Now enhanced with Phobos, his capacity for labors are doubled, and whatever reserves the town might have been counting on, he hopes he has seen to an enhancement of that expectation.

So too, with Phobos sharing his taste for mostly-dried apples, he haggles a full hundred-weight of the leavings as barter, tying the bulging canvas sacks to his saddle and tack.

After exercising the horse (a needless maneuver due to its celestial nature, but he believed it important nonetheless) he joined it in another favorite pastime--that of napping.

When he is come to be collected to join the others on the fell-roads, he rouses himself from the sun-drenched field where he lay, Phobos cropping the sweet green grass.

Now mounted and sitting the great horse, Aterro nods in readiness. "Let us be about it. No doubt the forces of evil have only emboldened themselves and now thirst for our righteousness."


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

Seeing the horse and a few other things going on Ingryd sets up some things and begins to brew. Grabbing some grains and yeast into a pot and sieves as she smiles."Thought I'd brew some beer. Have all the ingredients around here as well as some apple rinds for some awesome flavor. I wish there were more bee hives about, a nice mead would be nice, but also take too long. Beer requires less time."

Ingryd says disturbing Aterro in his slumber as she seems to be wearing an apron and her sleeves were rolled up. She was doing something she knew how to do, something that made her revert back to before her family died.


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jewel thief ★ 50/50 hp 16 AC ★ 10.18.10.14.14.9 ★ HD 9 ★ thieves*, Perc*, Stealth*, Sleight*, Acro, Ath, Inv, Hist, jewelers, poisoners ★ Inspiration
Spell Storage:
Find Familiar, Enhance Ability, Silence

Hrm, I think RP in my last post kind of stalled with Jub and I out of town. So just hand waving that at some point Aterro supplied Scram with some paladin magic.

*whiff*

The rope made the softest whiplash as its dangling end found only air, the thief slowly lowering himself down with his knees from above. His hands gripped a tiny pot of red paint, which looked white in the moonlight. His mouth gripped a paintbrush, and his eyes were locked upon the net of arcane alarms below, their silver strings almost glowing orange from some inner magic heat.

Scramsax had cased out the Blood Kingdom border town called Lingenau (at least when a certain black haired parasite survivor allowed him) and discovered some juicy dish: a recent widow with some crackerjack security. Light on brutes, heavy on mechanics...so the thief had heard it.

Just beneath the crisscrossing wires was a large hatch of an almost glossy black metal...some twisted, foreign alloy of iron created for just this purpose. It was the kind of thing a younger, less talented Scram would've researched thoroughly. Same story with the Splat Burglar 2000. The thief was stumped with the newest model of the classic anvil dropper, and a different Scram would've walked right then and there facing such uncertainty on the job.

This Scramsax only smirked.

The main event was an arm's length away, so nearly the entire height of the halfling. Scramsax of Barsella, where halfling street kids go fishing often...as both the bait and the hook. The ultra-lithe body of the paradoxically heavy smoker was no stranger to acrobatics on the end of a line.

But then there it was, the combination cipher-time lock said to be powered by the soul of some insane creature from the realms of chaos. 37 sigils were arranged in 6 groups, themselves hexagons. The final leftover symbol was in the center, but as Scramsax lowered closer he could see it wasn't some code-script after all but a glass sphere. Inside the sphere was a white, powdery mist and a single green leaf hung there motionless. Green like the first sprout of spring. The time lock. Once a hex was chosen the leaf would wither, and when there was nothing but microscopic black dust left on the mist the device would halt...rendering any further attempts impossible by an arcane layman like Scram.

Neither Scram past, present, or future could really come to grips with something like that. Of course he knew some tricks for quick calculations...those things called 'logarithms' the sailor sages use to turn multiplication into addition. But here the possible combinations were simply too many to brute force. And, as a magical device, it provided no sensory feedback...other than perhaps manufactured ones to fool the would-be thief.

But meh, it didn't really matter, so thought the halfling.

Scram simply painted a little fist sized hole in the panel, reached in and snagged the widow's stash.

He then painted over the hole a perfect repair. Only a magnifying glass would reveal the tiny, hidden dong etched onto the surface.

~~~

The street's shadow bent like the trees in the wind, flitting from here to there masked by some white noise. Scram had snuck back to the hardest to reach rooftop before even checking the score.

A silver scalpel rolled into his hands.


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

Arcana: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 Oof. That's a bust. Sounds like Gunnar's helping sooooooo...
Arcana: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21 Much better.

Arianna helps Gunnar as best she can with the wagon. The work leaves her sore, though it is nothing a little stretching can't fix.

As the time to leave comes, Arianna finds herself on the receiving end of some help with Gunnar watching and asking questions as she worked on the ritual. It is a good thing he does. A simple question reminds her she forgot an important component to the ritual, and goes running to the manor house for a length of red thread. With everything she needs, things go much more smoothly.

An evergreen sprig and a silver bell tied to the red thread leads them to the gate, a patch of ground between two yew trees whose branches arched overhead.

"There we go! Stay on the path, and whatever you do, don't taunt the pixies."


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

“Not a problem,” replies the dwarf, ”There are even a few pixies who are grateful to us for freeing them from the false prophet’s infernal machine. We might get lucky and meet one.”

Guiding the wagon expertly through the trees, Gunnar watches and learns what he can of the way of the shadow roads.


A cold wind blows across the open plain a few miles outside of Lingenau. Arianna's silver bell tinkles like an over-espressoed bard on chime night at the Lucky Fiend. The constant *ding*ding*ding-a-ling*ding* echoing in the dwindling evening light. Gunnar, Mamluk sitting imperiously by the wizard's side, flicks the reins of the mule team to get a bit more speed out of the hardy foursome. A few yards later, a hidden gopher hole sends the wagon lurching into a quick side dive before righting itself again. The sudden dip causes a cacophony of hollering from the wagon's interior where Ingryd works to secure her fermenting jars against the hardships of such rough travel.

Having arrived not long before it was time to leave, Scramsax deftly avoids any questions of his recent whereabouts and simply grabs a window seat in the prison wagon turned hardened prairie schooner.

Riding alongside the jangling wagon, Aterro maintains a steady watch as the clouds rush overhead and the light of the day grows dimmer and dimmer with oncoming night.

Having spent plenty of time riding the bumpy, pothole filled landscape of the Rothenian Plain, Luthael simply leans his head back and relaxes as the journey south resumes once again.

Time passes with surprising quickness and just as everyone seems settled into a rhythm Arianna signals a stop. The bell jingles in the wind, but in addition red threads and the bell itself all pull to the south, between the two large, elderly yew trees nestled in a narrow ravine. The ground is littered with broken branches, a testament to the twin trees many years weathering the storms so common to the region. More than a few bones are also seen scattered about. Mostly deer, elk or maybe a wild horse or two Arianna surmises by the size and look of the bones.

Gunnar deftly maneuvers the wagon down into the ravine and brings the team to a stop just before the gap between the two large trees.

Searching the perimeter's of the two trees, Arianna finds the intricate elven markings naturally woven into the trees bark. The swirling, looping pattern marks the edges of the gateway entering the Shadow Road. Tying the thread and bell to a sprig protruding from the large overhanging branch also marked with the same scrolling pattern on the underside, the elf taps out a quick tune on the little bell while attuning herself to the natural flowing power of the ley line just as her clan taught her over the years.

With daylight rapidly giving way to the twilight evening hours, the area between the two trees begins to shimmer and glimmer with a soft starlight glow. The gate is open and with the first drops of heavy, cold rain starting to fall Arianna waves everyone through the opening and onto the shadow path.

INT(Nature) DC12:
Despite their many uses, yew is a highly toxic tree. The needles, the wood, the resins and pitch, all quite lethal if ingested. It's likely these poor animals unwittingly sampled the poisonous foliage and succumbed the the toxins.


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

Nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

”It doesn’t look like the bones here were left by a predator—more likely unwitting grazing of the yew caused their death,” says Gunnar, ”Let us proceed.”


jewel thief ★ 50/50 hp 16 AC ★ 10.18.10.14.14.9 ★ HD 9 ★ thieves*, Perc*, Stealth*, Sleight*, Acro, Ath, Inv, Hist, jewelers, poisoners ★ Inspiration
Spell Storage:
Find Familiar, Enhance Ability, Silence

Lingenau

As the wagon finally passed the last hill visible from the outer gates of Lingenau, a beggar-runner panted up to the guardpost frantically "C-c-" it stammered.

"Yes, what is it, out with it then..." the man adjusting his steel helm twisted round to demand.

Pointing to the now vanished wagon "-c-constable! They say that one had a razor's edge, one just like the the widow's blade..." the messenger finally revealed.

The Constable let out a sigh like a destrier winding down from its last charge. That strange little halberd. A unique piece, hard to forget...that heavy silver.

"Sir, that's Scramsax the Barber-Surgeon!" said a healthy looking girl with black eyes and black hair.

~~~

Later, with the trees...

"Poison, yew say?" raising a genuine eyebrow despite his horrible pun.

Poisoner's Kit to collect some?: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24
Psi-bolstered Knack: 1d8 ⇒ 5 ==29


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

"I'd say it's as wooden as you joke," Arianna taunts as they walk through the portal. There's a spring to Arianna's step as she hops back onto the wagon.

"Hopefully the weather's better on the other side. Onward and southward I say! We have slavers to slay and evil weapons to unmake."

Silver Crusade

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Human Paladin(FEAR) 7/Warlock {FEAR} 1| AC: 20 | HP: 75/80 {0}{Fire & Acid Resistance}|HD 7| LoH: 10/35| Sense: 4/4|Dread: 2/3| Con:+5 Wis:+5 Dex:+4|Smite: 2d8/lvl|CDiv: 0/1| melee: +8/2d8+6 {x2}|Init: +0 Perc: +2 | Insp = YES! |1st: 4/4 2nd : 2/3 | W 1st: 0/1 Hex

Aterro brings Phobos up to stop next to the wagon and gives the horse a friendly pat. As Gunnar mentions the likely cause of the bones the horse gives a horsely nod, as if confirming the data.

At Scramsax's pun, Phobos turns his head toward him.

"No, Phobos, don't eat him. He knows not the evil that he does," he says, chuckling.

"You have the right of it, Arianna, onward. To slavers, because my horse is hungry."


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

Ingryd gets on the Wagon and relaxes as she seems to enjoy the magical place. As she does she sits and begins to take stock of her weapons and sharpens her axes.

"I just hope these slavers are ready for the fury of the Narg Nasty Nine!" Ingryd chuckles finding the journey delightful. Stories always said journeying with a group was better than the path alone.


jewel thief ★ 50/50 hp 16 AC ★ 10.18.10.14.14.9 ★ HD 9 ★ thieves*, Perc*, Stealth*, Sleight*, Acro, Ath, Inv, Hist, jewelers, poisoners ★ Inspiration
Spell Storage:
Find Familiar, Enhance Ability, Silence

Stepping out of Phobos' mouth, Scramsax glanced at his ring and pondered an alternative seat to rest upon...


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

Arianna groans as Ingryd rechristens the group.

"Can we please pick a different name?"

Silver Crusade

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Human Paladin(FEAR) 7/Warlock {FEAR} 1| AC: 20 | HP: 75/80 {0}{Fire & Acid Resistance}|HD 7| LoH: 10/35| Sense: 4/4|Dread: 2/3| Con:+5 Wis:+5 Dex:+4|Smite: 2d8/lvl|CDiv: 0/1| melee: +8/2d8+6 {x2}|Init: +0 Perc: +2 | Insp = YES! |1st: 4/4 2nd : 2/3 | W 1st: 0/1 Hex

"Gray Death Legion? Apologies, I'm not very good at this sort of thing. Perhaps...." He takes a moment to pause in ulfish thought.

"Odin's Spear? The Hammer of Thor? Revenge of the Living? Silence Incorporated? Crusaders of Dawn? The Stonemen?

Of course in that instance 'men' means 'all of human-kind'. In the traditional sense.

Order of the White Angel? The Terrible Things? Armored Saints? The Men of War? Again, inclusively.

The Battalion of Fire? The Widow-makers? The Peace Bringers? The Final Word? The Immortal Band? The Army of the Apocalypse? The Light Division? The Division Bell? The Glory of Heroes? Panzer Battalion? Ghost Division? Sanguine Soldiers?

The Glorious Legion."

Aterro stops and takes abreath. "Ah, sorry, guess I had been holding on to that for a while."


Elfmarked Light Cleric of Khors 9 | HP 71/71 | HD 9/9d8 | Flare 4/4 | Channel 2/2+1 | Power 2/2 | 1st 4/4 | 2nd 3/3 | 3rd 3/3 | 4th 3/3 | 5th 1/1 | Inspiration!
Stats:
AC 18 | Str +0, Dex +2, Con +6, Int +1, Wis +8, Cha +5 | Initiative +2 | Perception +8, Darkvision

Luthael says his goodbyes with family and household. Most are happy to see him leave but try not to show it. Too much faith or religion bothers them, but they would not admit it. Most everyone were happy for the refugees as new labor for the manor, except for those who dislike change.

The prophet provides some help lifting and what brute force he can provide to modify the cart. He hides his deep disappointment at losing the flying carpet and keeps his tremendous concern of taking longer to destroy this evil artifact. Who will it whisper to next? One of his companions or potentially an evil ally who would wrest control of the artifact from them. Now they travel the Shadow Roads. Khors guide us to your goal.

After Attero pauses to catch his breath, Luthael suggests, "How about Crusaders for Truth?"


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

"Oh yeah Luthael I left some beer brewing at your manor house." She says as she takes a sip of her frosty mug.

"I like the Narg Nasty Nine, it's catchy. And oh Alliteration?" She paused and then lifted a brow."Yeah Alliteration!"


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

"But why nasty? Why not the Narg Nicely Nine," Arianna whines in frustration. "I don't understand half of what Aterro just said, and no offense to you, Luthael, but calling me a crusader is just a bit too grandiose, but almost anything is better than being called nasty. I get enough of that from shadow fey and river elves when I bump into them."


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

When an appropriate pause in conversation occurs, Gunnar says, ”I want to apologize for the loss of our flying carpet. When I realized the motivating arcana of the carpet was a tortured feline, I attempted to use my magic to make the carpet itself my familiar, hoping that when I dismissed it to a pocket dimension the spirit of the cat could roam free, and we would have a convenient way to store the rug when not in use. Instead, I separated the cat’s spirit entirely from the rug, and our flying carpet is no more.”

”I still believe it the right thing to have done, but I did not discuss the risks with the rest of you beforehand, and that was my error. If you need the power of flight, I will do my best to provide until and unless another opportunity comes to acquire another such item—hopefully one powered by more standard arcana and not an unwillingly bound spirit,” he adds contritely.


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At first, little seems different as each of you pass through the gate and onto the shadow road. In fact, the absence of wind and rain and the autumn chill is a pleasant respite from the growing downpour seen through the glistening surface of the gate before Arianna closes the magical passage.

Perpetual twilight glows in the clear sky and the temperature holds the comfort of a pleasant late spring evening. Stars shimmer overhead, but to look at them for too long sends you head spinning and stomach lurching. Although nary a breeze blows upon the open plain that marks this part of the shadow realms, the tall grasses tinkle and chatter like delicate brandy glasses clinking from their perch over a high class bar. The odd sound drawing the curious close enough to realize that the grass really does appear to be made from some sort of razor sharp glass blades that flutter and shiver slightly at the passing of Phobos and the even larger wagon.

Just beyond the soft sounds of the chiming grass, there is another sound. Soft as whispers spoken in the depths of night. Sibilant, unintelligible gossip muttered by the unseen as you slowly pass, the creak and jangle of the wagon sounding like an army on the march in this eerie place.

The twilight air smells of summertime flowers at their end of days. Only a hint of the intoxicating perfume that could have charmed an evening love. But now mixed with the hint and tingle of growing rot and lingering death.

Most disturbing of all is the constant sense of being watched. Of eldritch eyes peering from the shadows 'neath the few scattered, twisted trees or the occasional protruding rock formation, honeycombed with cracks and openings. Each stone cranny and nook filled with blackness dark as the midnight void.

This piece of the shadow realms, feels long abandoned and deserted. Unlike further north where Radovan's tower called friend and foe into its presence. Where an army fought for its control. This is a plain filled with loneliness. Where a lost soul can wander the rolling hills endlessly, in a futile search for sustenance and solace.

And so to combat the unease that inevitably creep into your minds and hearts, the conversation turns to new names, new and old deeds, and in one halfling's case, the fundamental distillation process for extracting the toxic essential oil from the yew branches and pitch collected prior to crossing over.


jewel thief ★ 50/50 hp 16 AC ★ 10.18.10.14.14.9 ★ HD 9 ★ thieves*, Perc*, Stealth*, Sleight*, Acro, Ath, Inv, Hist, jewelers, poisoners ★ Inspiration
Spell Storage:
Find Familiar, Enhance Ability, Silence

DM, I had a quick mounts question for you yesterday. Its in discussion when/if you have a chance.


Elfmarked Light Cleric of Khors 9 | HP 71/71 | HD 9/9d8 | Flare 4/4 | Channel 2/2+1 | Power 2/2 | 1st 4/4 | 2nd 3/3 | 3rd 3/3 | 4th 3/3 | 5th 1/1 | Inspiration!
Stats:
AC 18 | Str +0, Dex +2, Con +6, Int +1, Wis +8, Cha +5 | Initiative +2 | Perception +8, Darkvision

Luthael nods at Gunnar's appreciating his unnecessary apology. He doesn't reply for fear of exposing his deep disappointment of losing the magic carpet.

The prophet discovers the Shadow World is not quite hell, but a world without the sun, is as uncomfortable as he can be. His discomfort becomes more and more visible on his face and posture.


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

Arianna laughs as she races to catch up with the wagon after closing the portal behind her. She is no stranger to the strangeness and the dangers of the Shadow Realm, having spent many years of her childhood on it's wending paths. What the others may find oppressive, she finds welcoming, a reminder that she is not far from home now.

Hearing Gunnar's apology as she climbs back onto the wagon, she shakes her head.

"I don't think a one of us blames you for your actions, Gunnar. True the loss of the carpet is inconvenient, but the gain of a friend more than balances out that account," she says as she casts a spell and little motes of light and fairy dust flit around Mamluk's face and rest on her nose.


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

"It's fine Gunnar besides think about what you can do Like maybe make another one, Ooo, or magicking this wagon"Ingryd says as she grabs her frosty mug and takes another drink.

"It's nice here. reminds me of dusk nights out around a fire."


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

”We would need a suitable moniker for such a flying wagon, I would think, and some significant arcane resources. I will think on what might be necessary to do such an enchantment. That reminds me, what name did we settle on for our group?” Gunnar asks, thinking upon the many that Aterro mentioned.

”Perhaps with our diverse backgrounds, we could be the Eclectic Echelon?” he ventures.

Silver Crusade

Human Paladin(FEAR) 7/Warlock {FEAR} 1| AC: 20 | HP: 75/80 {0}{Fire & Acid Resistance}|HD 7| LoH: 10/35| Sense: 4/4|Dread: 2/3| Con:+5 Wis:+5 Dex:+4|Smite: 2d8/lvl|CDiv: 0/1| melee: +8/2d8+6 {x2}|Init: +0 Perc: +2 | Insp = YES! |1st: 4/4 2nd : 2/3 | W 1st: 0/1 Hex

"The Glorious Legion," Aterro states, liking the name. "I see that as the front contender. Any other comer will need to beat it.

Ingryd has a point. For 'twould be meet, Gunnar. As your massive arcane power has taken away a flying contraption, so too it seems that such power would be able to make one.

A carpet always struck me as a poor vessel for flight. This wagon, better made for conveying several person and their cargo would be a more practical target."


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

Nodding, Gunnar starts mentally going through a list of what would be required to enchant this wagon to fly.

(He had 1000 gp in spell and scroll components, spent 125 gp of it for 5 first level scrolls, ??? for the enhanced Find Familiar ritual.)

Arcana: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

"The Honey Badgers"[/b Ingryd says with a chuckle.

[b]"Seriously though we should have fun. Maybe we should enjoy our journey." Ingryd says with a chuckle."Names are for the teller of tales, and those we save. thats' my vote."

The bear woman says as she gets more comfortable in the Wagon.


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

"Oh, I like the sound of Eclectic Echelon!" Arianna beams at Gunnar's suggest. "And the wagon could be called the Honey Badger, though I'm not sure why we don't call it the Honey Bear."


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CG Female Elfmarked Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8/Sorcerer 1 HP: 39/72, HD: d8- 8/8, d6- 1/1 | AC: 20 | Saves: STR +3 DEX +2 CON* +6 INT +1 WIS +3 CHA* +6 (Immune: Petrification, Sleep)| Perception: +10, Investigate: 0, Insight: +6 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 1/2 | Spells: 1st 0/4, 2nd 0/3, 3rd 0/3, 4th 0/2, 5th 1/1, | Arrows: 0, Status:

Back to the Portal...
Hope you don't mind me taking some liberties, Scram.

As Scram passes through the portal, he glimpses a woman in heavy and heavily enchanted armor wearing a mask that hides her face. On her back is a shield and in her hand is a simple spear, well-crafted, but much unlike the magnificent weapon Scramsexy had pilfered for Zove. The wind blows her gray cloak, darkening from hood to hem and shimmering with flashes of silver storm clouds and lightning

"Where are you, little thief," the woman says, her voice young and melodious, yet rumbling with power and tempered rage as the words echo in several different tongues, the Rune Tung most prominent among them, in his ears.

Lightning flashes, and all is well as he sees Arianna closing the portal behind them.

Meanwhile... In the ever rippling pool of causality that is time in the Shadow Realm:

Lord Haylcaster Montegrue, Late of the Dalliance Court, and even later of the House Roren, picked up the oddly familiar blade. The Starmetal shimmered like the auroras of the Northlands and runes engraved in its blade thrummed with power. Yet he cannot recall where he had seen it. A figure chasing him through the Maze? No, that was preposterous! None had bested him in combat.

Had they?

He shakes the question aside. Something unfortunate indeed must have happened for him to be banished to Dalliance, then banished again from high society. Yet, he is a Montegrue. Failure was simply not in his nature.

"Three hundred golden memories for that one," the stall keeper told the noble scathsidhe. "A bargain for such a fine blade."

The shadow fey grinned widely as he waited for the coming counter offer.

"Three hundred? Pah! A dull iron memory is all this goblin-made slag is worth." Haylcaster sneered at the stall keeper, countering the offer. The weapon is indeed fine, but he is hardly going to admit that when he is finding his coffers lacking of late.

"Slag?! You insult me, sirrah! 'Tis a fine blade! A steal at two-hundred fifty golden."

"A steal you say?"

A third person broke into the budding haggling spree and both the twice dead Lord Montegrue and the stall keeper look to the newcomer. She was a short woman, slight of build with silver hair and a face hidden behind a mask of simple, yet elegant design. She was finely dressed in the style of the Northlanders and her cloak fluttered in the breeze, appearing to flash and shimmer with lightning and storm clouds as it did so. Her voice was young and melodious, a lilting accent turning the words sing-song.

"Would you be interested in procuring this fine blade for yourself, Milady?" The stall keeper's smile and politesse did little to hide his glee at having two buyers to pit against each other. Haylcaster, never the most patient of fey, even by their capricious standards, turned and snapped at the woman.

"Lady? I see no lady here! Merely a commoner playacting." He fumed as she turned to more fully face the woman. "I should have you stripped and flogged here and now for your impudence! Who are you? What is your name?"

The woman bowed low and removed her mask.

"I am Raseri Whitescale," she said as she straightens. "Lady of Storms, Thorsdottir, and Starsmith. You shall find my mark on that blade, my personal mark." Her voice is cold and sharp. Her blues eyes flicker with blue-white fire and lightning.

The stall keeper's smile vanished as he sees the woman's face and snatched the starmetal blade back. He studied it, looking for the mark. His eyes widen as he finds it, and recognizes the blade for what it is. Rumors had been flowing of late. Rumors of a frightening woman calling herself the Lady of Storms with the power to prove her claim true looking for items marked with the shield and drake symbol of a long dead Northlander clan. There, on the blade was the shield clutched by a drake wrapping serpentine coils around it. Within the shield itself are runes he cannot read himself, but is well-enough learned to know their meaning.

Haylcaster, his patience gone, snatched the blade back.

"Ha! Nothing more than a fairy's tale told over thimbles of wine," he roared. "You'll have to do bet--"

The words died on his tongue and in his throat as Raseri glared at him and held out a hand. The blade, a seax by design, flew from his hands to the one she had outstretched. A crack of thunder sounded, echoing in the silence.

"You impudent--" Haylcaster began as he found his voice again. He strode up to Raseri intent on teaching this upstart a lesson. He relished the thought of seeing her cry out in fear in pain, but his short-lived fantasy turned into a nightmare as Raseri took mask and Hugrekki in one hand and grabbed him by the face with the other. His eyes widened in shock as he recognized her at last as she stood over seven feet tall.

"I have no time for thieves and cowards," she growled before lightning arced down her arm and into Haylcaster who could do nothing but scream as he remembered his first death at the hands of Carnadine.

How humiliating, to die by the hand of one he thought beneath his attention, no matter how doggedly she chased him in that fight.

She dropped Haylcater's smoking corpse to the cobbles and turned her attention to the stall keeper.

"Tell me, wise purveyor of stolen goods," she said her voice pleasant once more, though the arcs of lightning on her fingertips belied her anger and desire to smite him as well. "Wherever did you come by this blade of mine, hmm?"


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

"Honey Bears don't exist, Honey Badgers are fierce"Ingryd says taking another sip. As she does she chuckles.

" Besides Eclair Ecchi doesn't seem as fierce to me" She says as she pulls out a jar and unscrews the top to access the sweet honey inside.


As the chatter over potential names and the ferocity of the honey badger continues, Gunnar ponders the various possibilities and needs of attempting to permanently enchant something like their newly redesigned wagon. A task neither easy or quickly completed as the various possibilities drift through the dwarven wizard's mind.

The rolling plain of glassy grass seems never ending until suddenly you find yourselves approaching a wide chasm. The echo of distant rapids drifts upward from far, far below. The canyon itself stretches on for miles and miles in either direction. Easily a mile or more across in places, it is an imposing and unexpected barrier.

The shadow road bends east. Skirting along the edge of the canyon for a few hundred yards before suddenly ending at the tattered remains of a building. Partly buried in tattered scrub and surrounded by swathes of the same razor sharp glass grass that covers much of this land, the ruin is not majestic in any way. Not something so grand as a tower or fortress outpost or even a successful inn.

No, the is a humble hovel of modest means. Hanging from a worn tarnished hook protruding from a single wall is a weather beaten. Chipping paint depicts a ferry boat carrying a sleeping giant. Beneath the crude painting, in just as crude lettering, "Crawford's Crossing Ferry Service. Ring thrice."

Another hook hang just below the sign, but only a frayed bit of rope dangles from it. Although none of you feel any wind or change in the air, the chiming of the grass grows a bit louder and more intense. The sharp tinkle-tap-tinkle of the blades filling out the silence that engulfs this quiet spot overlooking the massive canyon below.

WIS(Perception) DC18:
As you look out over the canyon you catch a glimpse of something. At first you figure it can only be your imagination, because what you saw is surely impossible. A large ferry boat tied to a short dock just feet away from the ruined building and floating in the air. But as soon as you turn to look, it is all gone. Until you look away again, and there it is.

INT(Investigation) DC14:
You search the area and find mostly nothing of use or interest. Until you spot a glint of silver deep in the midst of a think patch of razor grass. It takes a moment of two for your eyes to make anything under these dim conditions, but you are pretty certain it is the top of a bell.


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

Perception: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (7) + 0 = 7
Investigation: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

Looking around, Gunnar spies a glint in the grass. Pointing, he says, ”That looks like the bell over there. If someone can safely get to it, I should be able to fix its attachment to the rope.”


jewel thief ★ 50/50 hp 16 AC ★ 10.18.10.14.14.9 ★ HD 9 ★ thieves*, Perc*, Stealth*, Sleight*, Acro, Ath, Inv, Hist, jewelers, poisoners ★ Inspiration
Spell Storage:
Find Familiar, Enhance Ability, Silence

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

"Huh, something's wrong with my eyes. I see things I'm not looking at...heh, that's backwards isn't it?" turning his head towards and away from some spot. "I see the ferry down there when I'm not looking..." the illusion breaker announced.


CG Female Windrunner Elf Bard (College of Valor) 8 HP: 50/50, HD: 9/9| AC: 14 | Saves: STR +1 DEX* +7 CON +1 INT +0 WIS +1 CHA* +7 | Perception: +7, Investigate: +1, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d8): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 4/4 2nd 3/3 3rd 3/3 4th 3/3 5th 1/1 | Arrows: 0, Taqa's Arrows: 9, Bolts: 6, Insp: No

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21 Does the Gleam of Glamour background feature apply here?

Feature: Gleam of Glamour:

The mark of the fey upon you has opened your eyes to the world that lurks beneath what most people see and hear. When you are near a ley line, a shadow or fey road, or an active portal, you feel its presence: your hair stands on end, ethereal music plays for you alone, odors waft on an unfelt breeze, or some other vague sensation alerts you that you’re in the vicinity of such a phenomenon.

The pulse of fey magic within you can sometimes reach out, usually when your emotions are strongest. If you revel and enjoy yourself, others are likely to want to join in and have their spirits lifted. When you are angry, those around you feel it like a wave of heat pricking their skin.


Elfmarked Light Cleric of Khors 9 | HP 71/71 | HD 9/9d8 | Flare 4/4 | Channel 2/2+1 | Power 2/2 | 1st 4/4 | 2nd 3/3 | 3rd 3/3 | 4th 3/3 | 5th 1/1 | Inspiration!
Stats:
AC 18 | Str +0, Dex +2, Con +6, Int +1, Wis +8, Cha +5 | Initiative +2 | Perception +8, Darkvision

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
Investigation: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Luthael dons his shield as he listens to his companions. While he would prefer to summon a small sun of light for the comfort, he is wise enough not to create a signal for any threat the Shadow World may bring.


jewel thief ★ 50/50 hp 16 AC ★ 10.18.10.14.14.9 ★ HD 9 ★ thieves*, Perc*, Stealth*, Sleight*, Acro, Ath, Inv, Hist, jewelers, poisoners ★ Inspiration
Spell Storage:
Find Familiar, Enhance Ability, Silence

"Oh, sure. The doorknocker fell off, I know the score." said the thief, then without another word jumped right towards the bell in an acrobatic masterpiece...

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Psi-bolstered Knack: 1d8 ⇒ 7 == 32 total >:D


Male Northlands Dwarf | Abjuration Wizard 9 | AC 21 | 31/65 HP (0/23 tHP)| Saves: Str: +1, Dex: +2, Con: +3, Int: +9, Wis:+4, Cha: -1 | See Invisibility, Fire Shield Status 4 | Initiative +2 | Speed 25 | Perception +0 |Insight +0 | Investigation +5 | Character Sheet |

Gunnar pulls the wagon to a stop and gets down, heading over to the loose rope and waiting confidently for Scramsax to retrieve the bell. Once it is ready, he will use his magic (Mending) to make the notification bell system as good as new.


female Bearfolk Grizzlekin Barbarian 9th|HP 75/116|AC:16|Prof:+4|S:+8 D:+1 C:+8 I:+0 W:+0 Ch:+0|Resist:Cold|Rage 4/4 Dmg:+3

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

Ingryd stood and got out of the cart. She drew her hammer and watched its head flare ro life. She looks at her friends and nods.

"Let us proceed with caution " She says with her body language hinting at a rapid response should she need too.

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