Diver

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Organized Play Member. 2,010 posts (25,020 including aliases). No reviews. No lists. No wishlists. 10 Organized Play characters. 63 aliases.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Hope you don't mind me taking some liberties here, GM

Arianna looks away, praying that Mayna wouldn't recognize her, but her hesitance buys her a rough shove.

"Oi! Look alive, li'l fairy! Tha boss asked ya somethin'," the thief says to more hoots of laughter that grow louder as the silver-haired elf stumbles forward a few steps. She freezes for a moment as her eyes meet Mayna's and she knows that the drow leader of this den of thieves recognizes her, even if she doesn't show it.

Persuasion: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21 Wootness. I think that just saved our bacon.

Panic threatens to take hold and turn her into a target for all of the wolves in this den, but she takes in a deep breath and lowers her hood as she calms her racing heart and racing thoughts.

"They could come to make us all slaves," Arianna says as she meets Mayna's eyes. "They had a few doing hard labor when we found their camp. Brax managed to free them. Tell me, how valuable do you think a pair of elven slaves would be, especially after they strip us, bathe us, and dress up in pretty chains that are no less binding than iron for all their beauty? If not for slaves, then why not sacrifices? Many dark gods demand sacrifices of living, thinking beings, like humans, elves, dwarves," she pointedly looks Mayna up and down as she pauses for effect, "drow."

Arianna sweeps her hand to indicate all of them as she continues.

"This cult is after wealth and power. They will not share. They'll come after all of us and either enslave us or kill us. If we're lucky, we'll just be dead. If we aren't, well, the pretty ones among us will wind up playthings while the others are worked to death doing whatever they don't want to do. They are like ravenous wolves, no ravenous worgs and orcs. They will keep coming so long as there is something for them to take for themselves, and when they run out of gold to steal, they will come for us. Are you going to let them come on their terms? Or are you going to sink your knife into them while you can?"


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Thanks. Here's to hoping it was worth the wait.

Raseri looks around trying to find anything in the chaos that might help them as the boat rocks and bucks on the turbulent water. It's all she can do to hang onto the rail to keep from going overboard. Her heart leaps into her throat as she sees pale white hands reach up and grab her arm. As she takes in a deep breath, the boat rocks and the hands pull hard on her arm. She lets out a short gasp that is cut off as she lands in icy water colder than anything she has known.

She sinks into the black water, too deep for any light to guide her. She struggles agains the pull, trying to swim up. Her lungs burn from the lack of breath. She wants to breath, but there is no air. She clenches her teeth. She feels the darkness grow closer. She tries to swim. She tries to hold her breath. She feels cold numbness sap her strength. She fights on and on. She can't feel her fingers or toes. It's too much. Too much! She sucks into a lungful of icy water and feels her chest seize as the cold shocks her body. For long endless moments she feels as if she were freezing and on fire. She is going to die.

She slams into the icy ground and sputters as she coughs up the water that has been drowning her. The flat smooth surface makes it difficult to find purchase and get her bearings, but she somehow manages to get to her hands and knees as she coughs up the last of the water. She tries to catch her breath as she looks around, but each gulp of air burns like frozen fire.

"Did you think it would be that easy," her doppleganger asks just before her fingers entwine in Raseri's hair and pull her head back with a jerk of her hand. "Did you really think you were rid of us."

Raseri cries out from the pain in her scalp as she's thrown at least a dozen yards to land hard on the ice. She struggles to her feet, disoriented and confused by what was going on. She sees nothing beyond herself and the dark ice at her feet even as she spins around looking.

"Do you think knowing your past will help you? HA! You are naive girl," taunts her doppleganger, "You saw it in that memory. You killed them all, and laughed about it. You are no better than me, sister."

"I, at least, try," Raseri coughs out before fingers once again tangle in her hair and yank her head back hard.

"And you fail," A silver-eyed double of Raseri sneers as she glares at Raseri. "You' always fail and die in the end."

Raseri is roughly shoved down and away. She stumbles a few steps before landing hard back in the boat. She looks frazzled a bit, though she is remarkably dry and unharmed.


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Female Human Bard (Dervish Dancer) 4 HP: 23/23 NL: 0 | AC 18/13/15 | F +1, R +7, W+5 (+4 vs. Sonic, Language-Dependent, and Bardic Performance)| Per:+8 (Darkvision 60ft.), Init: +5 | Battle Dance: 10/14 | Spells: 1st: 2/4, 2nd: 0/2 | Arrows: 20

This assumes that Tove doesn't move to give Ivo the flank first.

Terri hears the crunch, but steels her nerves. Now was not the time for sorrow. She sweeps around the bandit she and Ivo were next to, distracting him with two people on either side of him. Her blade shimmers in the starlight as she tries to put this one down.

Attack (Dancing Starlight, Flank, Battle Dance) v. Blue 1: 1d20 + 7 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 7 + 2 + 1 = 11 ... Believe it or not, that is the second 1 I've rolled tonight.

Attack (Claw, Flank, Battle Dance) v. Blue 1: 1d20 + 1 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 + 2 + 1 = 5 ...I...I have no words.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

The Parting
"And get plenty of rest. I doubt sleep is going to be easy to come by on the road from what I have learned," Raseri tells the others.

I really think taking the goblets would be a good idea. If nothing else, we'll have something to present the Queen to help ease our introduction.

The Tempering
The fire burned hot and as the night wore on a storm swept in. Rain filled a barrel Raseri had grabbed when she saw the coming thunderheads blotting out the stars. The wind drowned out the voice as she stoked the flames, heating the blade to what should have been red-hot for iron. She quenched the blade, hardening it, in the storm water before looking at her gear piled under the ash and out of the rain that poured over her and spat and sputtered in the fire. She had the darts and a lit fire. It was a fine storm and part of her thought it would be a shame to waste it while the seax tempered and cooled.

A strange mood takes her as she fishes out her crucible and quickly makes some molds from some dirt and sand. The mechanisms go into the melting pot and placed where the fire is hottest. She works on the darts, drawing them out into wire and annealing them to make them pliable and soft while she pours an ingot from the mechanism and lets it cool. All the time she sings with the storm, letting the tempo of the thunder guide her song as she engraved the grooves for the inlay she had planned. Runes of strength, courage, and honor are added the blade of her sword and the heads of her hammer and maul along with flourishes of knotwork.

She works quickly, spurred on by the storm and the thunder, to hammer in the starmetal wire, file it flush with the surface, and polish it. She took another bone from the ones she had harvested from the fey hound and shaped it into a new handle for her seax. She inspected the work and smiled as she saw something she had not seen since she was a child, the Northern Lights dancing in the metal. She held each of her weapons up to the sky as she named them and blessed them in the name of her god as the storm raged and spewed lightning and thunder about in a frenzy before the winds lessened and the rain slowed to a drizzle.

"I suppose you think you have won something by staying out here and getting soaked through the bone," the voice asked, mocking Raseri's effort.

'No," Raseri replied as she shivered. The air was cold as the wind blew the storm south. She dries off her gear as best she can before stowing her tools away and gathering up the rest of it in a bundle.

"Ah, I see, you've just gone mad," the voice observes. "I suppose you think you've been forgiven for what you've done?"

Raseri stopped, the question catching her off guard. She wasn't sure why she had spent a stormy night working at the stump of an ash tree which held the remains of the handle she'd carved, and now that she thought on it, perhaps there was no reason. She still felt uncertain. She still didn't trust herself. She is still afraid of what lays beyond the veil hiding her memories, but there is something different.

"No, not forgiveness. I do not need that," Raseri says, a tired smile coming to her lips as the sky cleared and the stars and moon came out. "Perhaps it was nothing at all."

The voice growled in Raseri's head, but she only laughed. "No witty reply? That is unlike you 'sister' mine."

"Laugh while you can, 'sister,' I know what is coming to you and i doubt you will like what you learn."

Raseri felt something disappear from her mind, like a closing door or a gust of wind that you can't really hear. She sighs and returns to Kjeta's brewery as dawn comes and lies down after a hot bath and a warm meal.

Ready for Departure
Raseri looks more like herself when the others see her. She's taller, back to her normal five feet and eight inches, and there's a gleam in her eyes, not quite eagerness, but the paralyzing doubt is gone. With her are her gear, her weapons, her tools, and some supplies.

"Good evening, friends. Are we ready to see what beasties are ready to try making a snack of us," she asks, her grin wide.

I'll be providing a list of what I'd like to get and how I'm planning on paying for it in the discussion thread. Will be late tonight since I have a game in about an hour. I think everyone can see that there's been some work done on her weapons since yesterday.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Carnadine, Deimus, Hrungnir, and Lexi:

Thurik is an old dwarven name, but as far as you know, no dwarven kings have been named such in recent memory.

Carnadine:

The name Thurik sparks some memory from your studies, whether as a boy learning of other noble and royal lines and the like or in the course of your own investigations. It is not an uncommon dwarven name, being ancient and given the dwarven tendency to name their children for honored ancestors, but there are few dwarven kings that have born the name Thurik and only one given the honorific the bold. Thurik the Bold ruled over what is now Vargrike hundreds of years ago, before the elves and the wolves pushed the dwarves back and left only Wolfheim as a testament to their rule. If Raseri is telling the truth, then she is far older than she realizes.

Just realized I missed a post. Going back to read it.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Before the Gate before the Sluagh...
Raseri looks on the verge of hysteria as the others ask after her or try to comfort her in their own way. in an uncharacteristically rude action, she snatches the bottle from Kjeta's hands and downs half of it in a long pull before handing it back to the brewmother. It takes another moment before Raseri has enough control of herself to dare speak.

"I... I fear you have it wrong," she says as she looks down at the tarnished holy symbol then over to where the seax lays, the glow it had once gone. She shivers as she sees the charred handle and wonders if she has forever put herself beyond the pale.

"I've been haunted by silver eyes for as long as I can remember," she says slowly. What use were secrets now? She was likely losing her mind if not her entire self. If the others could help, they would need to know everything she did, and probably more. Still, the words came with difficulty, each only wanting to weigh her tongue down like lead so she could not speak. So she tells them, she tells them of waking with little memory in a grove outside of Zobeck, of the nightmares that sometimes came to her. She told them of the vision she had while lying on death's door during the fight in the Archives. She begins to lose her nerve as she tries to tell them of what happened before they found her. It is more difficult than she would have believed. Her words were chokes as if an invisible hand were slowly tightening around her throat. She manages to tell them, though, if only barely.

"...and I remember now. I remember mocking my mother and father under my breath, I remember calling forth beings of ash and fire and laughing while they slaughtered my family and the villagers. I enjoyed it! I wanted more of it. I remember doing it just as we were celebrating Thurik the Bold's fifteenth year as king," she says as she clutches her head as if trying to squeeze out the terrible memories.

"I remember wandering the woods afterwards and being found by a fey woman with silver eyes. She took me in and took my fate before torturing me for six years. Things become a blur after that."

Raseri curls up, looking all the world like a girl in too big clothes and with too many burdens for her age.

"Maybe killing me would be a mercy," she half-whispers after a long moment.

The Ashen House of the Sluagh, Knucklebones
Raseri clutches at the hilt of the long sword she carries as the Sluagh appears. She isn't sure what she could do to help, but she had to try something. It is too much a part of her nature to act to simply stand passively by. With a deep breath, she reaches into the pocket where she'd stashed the ruined handle of her seax and pulls the charred bone out. With narrowed eyes, she watches the Sluagh to see if he notices the runes and knows their significance.

Insight DC 15: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17 Success, but I'm not sure how this will play out. Maybe he can feel the connection to a long line of hags. Powerful hags touched by Chernobog at that.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Smith's Tools: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22 Nice. I couldn't ask for a better roll for this.

Arianna tries to sleep, but, the hurt is still too fresh. She knows that she should sleep, that she is too tired to think or be of any real use. She tosses and turns for a little while before giving up and sitting up. Her eyes fall on the tooth that Eska had ripped from the maw of a dragon, and feels only shame. Shame that she couldn't help Eska. Shame that she couldn't help Raakuze. Shame for being a coward, an imposter.

Gently, she pulls Dragon Fang from Eska's grasp and then quietly gathers her tools. She was dirty, bloodied, and exhausted, but it hardly matters to her now. She finds the smithy and begins to work as iron heats in the fire. She sketches out a rough design, unconventional since the blade of the dagger is to be the tooth of a dragon. Rough as it is, she feels a little satisfaction. Iron twisting and turning over itself like tongues of interlocking lightning wrap around the tooth and give it a handle that will be far better than the simple on that Eska had rigged in a rush.

The iron is hot and ready. It sings under her hammer.

She remembers tales told by dwarves of their craftsmen. The best would be struck by what they called a fey mood. They'd become obsessed and toiled ceaselessly day and night until their magnum opus was complete. Perhaps she was more akin to them than she had thought. Fear and worry melted away in the heat. Fatigue found no purchase in muscles that moved with a sureness that only an hour or two ago Arianna was far from feeling. She could see it, perfectly. She knew every twist and bend of the iron that was needed to lock the tooth as fast as if she had welded them like two pieces of steel. She knew every blow that was needed and even as she worked, inspiration struck.

Eska's Fang was forged, but it was not complete. Consumed by her task, she rushed and found the leather shop. Furiously she cut and molded the pieces, then sculpted them and stained them before returning to the forge as they dried. The sun was beginning to set, but still she worked. Hunger, pain, sleep, all of those were needless distractions. She had to work. She must work. It is still not complete! The steel fittings cooled as she began to engrave the symbols and glyphs she saw in the blade. Her hands guided the hammer and graver with unfailing precision as she ignored the worried inquiries of the smith and his assistants. She has too much work still and the night is young. She finishes her engraving, leaving the image of a drake taking flight on each side of the blade, and begins to polish and refine the steel hilt. Coiled where the hilt and blade meet are the runes for dragon and storm coiled around one another like dancers amid lightning and thunder. She smiles as she sees her work coming together so nicely.

The drake-tooth dagger finished, Arianna moves onto its sheath. Steel and leather are quickly brought together as the moon rises. There isn't much time now, she can feel. the magic of the moon was growing, and she needs to be ready by then. She pulls the ties from her hair and finds some cool, clear water to wash it in. The dust and the grime melt away and leave Arianna's locks glowing silver in the moonlight. She returns to the bench she had taken over in her zeal and pulls her dagger from her belt and gathers up her hair, long enough to flow to her hips now that it was down, and cuts it brutally short at the back of her head. She divides it into three bundles, two that are woven into the steel of the hilt and braided into a lanyard the length of her forearm. The other is woven around the sheath and down it, capturing three blue dragon's scales that had been found in the keep.

The moon nears its zenith and Arianna mutters the words to a prayer as ancient as the moon itself. A prayer for guidance and clarity. She holds the Fang and its sheath out wide and slowly brings them up and closer together. As she says the last words, she feels something imbue the dagger and its sheath. Perhaps she only thinks it does. The strength leaves her as she feels her knees threatening to buckle. Her entire body quivers and shakes from overexertion. Two days and nights of no sleep hammer her hard as she staggers back to where Eska had been sleeping. Barely able to stand as it is, she doesn't bother changing before she collapses onto the cot that had been set aside for her, her hand clutching the newly forged and silver-glowing Fang. Satisfied, she finally falls asleep, happy to have done even a little to help Eska.

Enjoy your new Fang, Eska. And try not to lose it. Arianna's going to be years going her hair back out to make a new one.


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Female Half-elf Bennies: 1 Wounds: 3/3 Power Points: 7/10 Status: Shaken Pace: 6, Parry: 6, Toughness: 5(1), Size: -1, Arrows: 11

Would it be reasonable for Allysen to be able to cast a bolt spell that does no damage for 0 power points? I just want to knock the guy's hat off.


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Female Vampire/Demigoddess Luck: 5/7 | Harm: 4/7| XP: 2/5 | Holds:

Merry Christmas everyone of ya! I hope you've had a good one and here's to a happy new year!


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Insight(Going with a straight roll since she's a little distracted.): 1d20 ⇒ 20 ...You've gotta be kidding me.
As Kjeta introduces herself, Raseri notices Canderminne reaction and decides it is better to not divulge her faith if she can help it. At least her cloak hides her holy symbol as well as it hides her armor.

The stranger and more harmless seeming the fey, the more dangerous they are.

She starts as she realizes that Canderminne was looking at her and she was the last one to give her name. She hadn't even noticed the refreshments being offered and feels the color draining from her face.

"R-raseri," she blurts out as she notices she's been quiet just a bit too long. Her voice cracks, and she looks down at the floor as she blushes in embarrassment. "M-m-my name is Raseri Whitescale. I-I am just a h-h-humble smith."

She takes a step back and to the side, hiding more behind Carnadine, for all the good it will do her. She tries to get past her timidity, but she only feels the Wraith's cold touch, again, as she tries to gather her courage.

"Our friend c-could not make it. Sh-she had other appointments she had to attend to," Raseri manages to get out. Her voice sounds higher and much more brittle than it had. It is pretty clear that she's not comfortable here, and she is certainly not comfortable with their host's lieutenant.

Deception (Covering for Lexi): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22
Deception (Hiding what else she is): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
Heh, who knew She could be such a smooth liar.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Arianna accepts the help like a child. She clings to the sword like a totem against the encroaching darkness. She hadn't liked Raakuze, not even a little, but she hadn't wanted him dead, either. Brax's death, on the other hand, hurt. It stung more sorely than any wound she'd ever taken.

"I-I guess," is all Arianna can muster to say for a long time. Gathering their gear, Arianna moves mechanically, as if all of the fire and zeal in her had been snuffed out. Perhaps it had. She moved as if it took everything she had to just keep going. It's a long while before she speaks again.

"I can't remember much of anything from more than ten years ago," she tells Eska, "and what I can is full of pain, blood, fire, and screams. B-but I remember her, now. I can remember her laughing and taunting me as I'm being tortured, as I'm screaming. I used to have nightmares, terrible nightmares that I could barely remember, but now... I'm scared. I'm scared of what is waiting in my dreams tonight."


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Yeah, we only have the one Moonstone and it doesn't really matter if we camped here or somewhere else, we'd all have to be together. I was going to have Ras pipe in, but seeing as the GM has moved on...

Despite the good night's sleep, Raseri wakes troubled. Her experience from the day before had badly shaken her and she could not forget the dream she'd had after being rendered unconscious the first time in that horrible fight. Silver eyes had long haunted her dreams, but in this one, the eyes had been her own. She wondered who she could ask about it. Kjeta and Deimus would not understand, and Hrungnir would just as likely kill her as laugh at her for thinking herself a fey. Lexi probably couldn't tell her what she wanted to know, and only left Carnadine.

A dangerous one he is, but if he is most likely to know...

She goes to find the dhampir, hoping that he is alone.

Carnadine:

"Carnadine," a soft, melodic voice with a northlander's lyrical accent asks. The voice, as it turns out, belongs to Raseri, looking just as young as ever, but far more uncertain and troubled than Carnadine had ever seen her with her hair falling in disarray over her shoulders and in front of her face.

"I have heard rumors about the blood drinkers and their children," she continues once she has his attention, "Some say they can tell what someone's heritage is just by the taste of their blood. Is this true," she asks, not able to face him as she does so. Whether this is out of shame or fear is hard to say.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Ah, that's a good point. Of course, we could always go looking for the lutenist in the taverns and other places we're likely to find the murderous minstrel. I'm sure the GM could have some fun with that.

"So, does this one make you feel like getting violent?"

"Yes, but not for the right reasons."


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Going ahead and rolling for the next Death Save.
Death Save: 1d20 ⇒ 17 Woo! That's three! She's stable.

As the fighting rages on around her, Raseri twitches and moans softly in pain, seeming to shrink as her blood pools around her. Her tenacious grip on life not yet weakened despite the wraith's efforts. Even though she stirs, she does not yet awaken.

Dreams and Dark Visions:

Raseri's eyes open as the wind ruffles her hair before kissing the surface of the lake. The pines rustle as the grass waves. The clouds overhead move along in their lazy, unhurried way. She sits up, her hand finding the haft of her maul. Her gaze moves up from where her fingers rest on the ash wood to the engraved head. How had it gotten there? No, it is hers. It's only right it should be here. She'd made it, hadn't she?

She frowns at the thought. She had made it, yes. It was the first casting she had ever done, the first time she'd smelted the iron she forged into steel. That is her mark, the runes right under the engraving of a hammer entwined with lightning. This is her work. This is hers.

She starts to stand and pauses as she hears the clink of mail. Her gaze moves down to the suit of mail that covers her arms, chest, waist, and legs. She had made this as well, hadn't she? She remembers the process, the drawing of wire to make the links, the riveting of the rings, but she can't place making this piece.

She stands and looks out over the lake and up to the mountains before bending back down to pick up her maul. She pats the weapons hanging from her belt, making she they know they aren't forgotten. Her frown deepens as she stops and shifts the maul to her other hand and lifts the hammer at her hip from its ring. Her mark, she knows it is her mark. She can recall every step needed to make this weapon, but she cannot remember the forging, the heat, the satisfaction of steel yielding to her hammer and anvil's siren call. Yet her mark is there. She knows it is her mark.

She slips the handle of the hammer back through the ring and draws the sword at her hip. A long blade, too unwieldy for one hand, again, she can recall what every step to make the blade would be, but cannot remember ever doing so. Her mark says she must have done it, even if she doesn't remember.

She sighs. A vexing problem this was turning out to be. She walks to lakeshore and bends to drink. The water is clear, pure, and cold, unlike that of Zobeck. She frowns again, wondering why she would think of a city she has never been to. She takes another drink and looks at her reflection in the water.

"Who are you," her reflection asks.

"I am Raseri Whitescale, Priestess of Thor, Smith of Volund, and Shieldmaiden of Sif," she answers.

"That is your name, and that is what you are, but who are you," the reflection asks again.

Raseri again frowns. That is who she is, isn't it? She is a smith, her arms forged by her hands. She knows how to fight and is skilled with the arms she makes. She is a priestess of Thor, his symbol hangs from her neck. She can see it—

Her heart skips a beat as she realizes her holy symbol is gone. She stands and turns back to where she'd lain on the grass. She must have dropped it when she got up. It has to be there!

Before she has even taken a step, something yanks the neck of her armor and clothing back hard enough to choke her. She flies through the air and slams hard onto the ice of the frozen lake. Raseri is tough, though and she growls as she scrambles to her feet and readies her weapon, only to hesitate when she sees her opponent. There, across the ice from her, is herself. Her double smirks as Raseri snarls and charges in with all of the fury of her name. She has to smash this imposter, this doppleganger. She swings as she approaches, her timing perfect, as her mirror image only holds up a hand to stop the massive head of the maul, and Raseri coughed in surprise as she slams into the haft of her maul, as unyielding as if it had been planted into the ground and was now an oak.

Raseri stumbles back, coughing and watching in disbelief as her double smiles cruelly and holds the maul aloft as if it weighs nothing.

"Your arms will not avail you," she says sweetly, like a mother teaching a small child. Her smile turns into a grin as Raseri's stunned expression turns into disbelieving horror as the maul crumbles to dust. "All things must die."

The double steps forward and Raseri steps back, afraid. No, terrified. her hand goes for her sword, only to find it turned to dust as well. Her hammer blows away into a cloud, then nothing, on the wind. Her mail turns to smoke, leaving her unarmed and vulnerable. She tries to call upon the power that Thor has granted her, and looks up at the dark, swirling clouds overhead, as she prays for the strength she needs so desperately.

"Is this what you want," her double asks a moment before a bolt of lighting slams into Raseri's chest and she falls back from the force of the hit. For a terrifying moment her lungs do not take in air and her heart refuses to beat. An eternity passes as Raseri knows her time has come, but then she takes in a breath with a ragged gasp. She cannot fight, she has to run. Fleeing is the only way she'll live. There's no reason to stay here and die!

Raseri begins to crawl on her hands and knees. Someone whimpers and sobs in terror, she thinks only for her to realize that she was the one so stricken by terror. She cries out as something slams into her back and she collapses onto the ice. Pain lances up her arm as someone grabs her wrist and twists it up behind her. She looks up into her own face leering over her.

"W-who are you," she asks in a small, frightened voice.

"I am you," her double answers as she leans down, her breath cold on Raseri's cheek. "You without the noble pretensions and false bravado."

"N-no, you can't—" she begins to protest.

"But I am! Look around foolish girl! I am you! I am what you were! I am what you will become, and there is nothing that you can do to stop it."

Screams, fire, smoke, and cold all swirl around her. She tries to shut it out, but its too much, too powerful. Pain, hunger, fear, hatred hammer at her. They beat her until all that is left is herself, her hands twisted in her hair as silver eyes glare into her own arctic-blue ones.

"I will be coming for you, sister. I do hope you will scream while we play."

The wind howls, leaving Raseri groping around in blackness as the cold steals the strength from her limbs. She trips in her too large boots and falls to the ice. She reaches out, quietly sobbing, begging for anyone to be there.


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Female Half-elf Bennies: 1 Wounds: 3/3 Power Points: 7/10 Status: Shaken Pace: 6, Parry: 6, Toughness: 5(1), Size: -1, Arrows: 11

Answered here.

I'm working on the write up for the game's setting. I'll be updating it to reflect my answers.

Speaking of the write up. Here it is.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Save the dress, forget about Ras, she's replaceable, but the dress must be saved! :P


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Arianna doesn't fight as they take her weapons, but as they go for the hood of the robes, she grabs it and holds onto it as tightly as she can. The cultists pull and tug more violently as they hurl curses and jeers at her. Several of the cultists gang up on her, tearing away the robe and hood to reveal her silver hair and batter her to the ground as they do the same with the leather armor she wears.

They haul her to her feet, half dragging her, half guiding her to the stakes. Her blouse drapes off one shoulder where it has been torn and a deep bruise is already forming on her cheek. The jeers come more thickly now as she is tied next to the others, her head lolling about and spilling her hair over her shoulders.

After a moment, Arianna looks up, a bit dazed from the beating and confused about why she could remember Mondath.

"I-I remember her," she says, her normally melodious voice shaky and a bit hoarse. "Th-they're leader... I remember her."


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Hate to be that guy, but depending on how RAW DM Red wants to play this, that may not work.

Video explaining why. Guy's got a mess of them and they're all pretty good.

Short version is that it target creatures specifically, not just anything.

I'd allow it because this seems like an oversight, and maybe make it a single target spell to compensate, but that's just me.


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F NG Human (Taldan) Sorcerer 1 | HP: 9/11 NL: 2 | AC: 12, T: 12, FF: 10) | CMB: +2, CMD: 12 | F: +1, R: +2, W: +2 | Init: +2 | Perc: 0, SM: 0 | Speed 30ft | Elemental Ray: 0/6 | Spells: 1st 1/5 | Active conditions: None

Talienda gathers up the scarves after her heart's pace has slowed to something approaching normal. Her fingers tingle at the touch of the silk like they did everytime she picked up some of the fine cloth much like they had when they'd picked up the blouse to she is wearing. She wonders at the shimmering patterns woven into the silk for a moment before she glances over Rissi's shoulder and sees the parchment that detailed Halgrak's debt. She doesn't have a clue who A.W. is, but she has a sinking feeling as she sees the initials D.B.

"Halgrak," she calls back to where the half-orc had gone, "can you tell us who A.W. and D.B. are?"

There's an egotistical part of me that wants that A.W. to stand for my real name, Adam Warnock. :P


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Arianna spends a good bit of time trying to put together a disguise that hides her hair from any observers. She tries to color it with magic, but she didn't trust her ability to get it the right shade every time she needed to recast the spell without a mirror.

After a while, she looks at the others from under the hood of a robe that was much too large for her.

"I don't know if this is going to work," she says after a moment of them looking at her, "but I don't have any better ideas."

Arianna looks like a too small cultist with too much robe for her size.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Yay!

What was the false cold compared to the harshness of even a mild Northlands winter? The laugh starts only as a chuckle, but grows into a howling gale that has her doubled over. What a fool she is being! She is blessed by Thor. Her steps are thunder and her very words can call down his lightning. There is no need for furtive action when a storm of thunder is at your call.

A few minutes later, Raseri leaves by the front, the iris of her eyes glowing and crackling with caged lightning. Thunder rumbles around her and the ground trembles at her passing. Her helmet shimmers in the starlight as she walks out, once again arrayed for battle. No fey tricksters would defeat her without a fight.

Carnadine and Kjeta
Not long after releasing the fey creatures, thunder rumbles from the way you had come and the very ground beneath your feet trembles from the approaching storm. Marching up, her eyes aglow with lightning, you see Raseri, the symbols of her faith clear for all to see hanging from her neck and ready for a fight it seems with shield, hammer, bow, blade, and maul all seeming to crackle with energy.

"It seems fairies still muddle their minds," she says pointing to the soldiers trying to comprehend what is going on. "Shall we see if they are so inclined to meddle with ours," she asks, a wolf's grin spreading on her face beneath the helmet she wears.

Raseri's favorite tactics, Shock and Awe. :P


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

"A hunt?" Raseri turns to look at the animals entranced by Kjeta's spell then laughs.

"Oh, you mean the playacting those who think too highly of their birth do when they wish to be compared to rugged mountains and complimented for their virility," she says, her tone mocking the elf's outrage. "I'm afraid I took offense when you mistook an expecting mother for your prey. As for the horses, I apologize," Raseri holds her maul to one side with one hand while sweeping the other out as she bows. "I had not realized that they were so nobly born. You see, I expected elven royalty to appear as asses."

I know I'm playing with fire here, but I think Raseri, being the clever girl she is and having a short way with those that turn weapons on the helpless, would be laying into them with her sharp tongue. She's not going to attack someone who is unarmed unless they do something really egregious or cast a harmful spell at someone proving they are armed and thus a valid target for a game of whack-a-elf. In the meantime, she'll just roast them. :D


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Female Half-elf Bennies: 1 Wounds: 3/3 Power Points: 7/10 Status: Shaken Pace: 6, Parry: 6, Toughness: 5(1), Size: -1, Arrows: 11

Isagoras:

Oh SNAP! That is quite the bombshell there. :D

Liam finds Allysen curled up in a corner softly sobbing as she hugs her gear. Her head snaps up at his entrance and for moment it looks as if she's about to bolt for any escape she can find. As he tells his story, she calms somewhat, falling into sullen silence as she listens. She can see the truth, or at least the not-a-lie in his words, and that was enough to earn her trust for the moment.

"I'm not going to tell anyone about your real name," she says, still going over what he'd revealed to her in her mind. It was almost too much for her, but she couldn't think of a reason why Liam would lie to her now. As she pondered things, her mind fell back into those years of horror and even before to the years on the streets.

"All I'm good at is running away," she says after a few moments. "Those times I didn't ended badly. The day before I met Ma Belladonna, there was a boy that smiled at me like you just did and told me that they needed me. He was the one that shoved me at the guards that beat me until I passed out. Then she came out of the mist that night and promised me a warm place to sleep and warm meals everyday. I was too hungry and hurt and young."

"I was her slave for six years," she tells Liam as her hands tighten and turn her knuckles white. "She sent me into whatever place she was raiding first. I nearly died more than once and there was a time or two that a ghost possessed me. I was supposed to die that night when she tried to gain power over shadows. I was supposed to be sacrificed in exchange, but something went wrong. I've been running for ten years, I think. It gets hard to keep track. Things blur together when you're terrified."

She looks up, her eyes meeting Liam's.

"I'm scared," she whimpers. "I don't want to die. She'll catch me one day. I don't want to die," she sobs before reaching out to him and clinging like a lost child begging for someone to chase the nightmares away.


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Female Half-elf Bennies: 1 Wounds: 3/3 Power Points: 7/10 Status: Shaken Pace: 6, Parry: 6, Toughness: 5(1), Size: -1, Arrows: 11

"Evil," Allysen giggles, the sound unsettling given her despondency over the past several days. "Respectable?" She cackles, not quite able to believe her own ears.

"Te-tell me Isagoras, oh wise sage, if he isn't someone that you wish to be with, should I leave as well?"

She giggles again, sounding more hysterical with each titter.

"If he's so evil that he'll bring doom to us all, then I guess having me around isn't going to be much better. Do you know whose symbol is on the armor and mace we found? Do you know why that man was here, or who that elf we met last night is? I do, and if you think the elf some bastion of all that is good and holy then you, my friend, are sorely mistaken," she tells the old scholar, all the while grinning manically at him.

"Of course, I must be wrong. I'm not the respectable one," she says as she begins undoing her weapons belt and loosening her armor. "I'm only the one that nearly starved to death before falling into a hag's clutches. Oh, no. That can't be right. Isagoras didn't say it was. Oh well," she shrugs and pulls the leather over her head. "I guess I just imagined Ma Belladonna sending out men armed with weapons marked like that mace to find unusual artifacts or abandoned wizard's lairs for her to loot." She turns around, still speaking in a childish, sing-song voice. "I guess I imagined that elf showing up and talking to her for hours on end. I guess it must have been a dream when one of her rituals went wrong and gave me this," Shadows swirl up her arm and form into a dancing flame before disappearing. "I must have been mistaken when she threatened to eat me," she adds, her voice growing more sarcastic and saccharine as she gathers the tail of her shirt and tunic in her hands, "and there's no way that these can be real."

She pulls the shirt over her head, protecting her modesty from the front, but her back, turned to Isagoras, Lord Belros, and the thief, is bare. Her skin is crisscrossed by dozens upon dozens of scars from thin, white lines to jagged, purplish-blue gashes over an inch wide. She lets them see the scars for a long moment before pulling her clothing back on and turning back around. When they see her face, she's no longer smiling and the shadows around her seethe.

"I fell into Ma Belladonna's clutches before I even saw my sixth winter. Even then I had learned that respectable and honor were words others with money and security use to justify spitting in my face and putting a boot to my neck. I'm a street rat, Isagoras. When you have nothing, you'll do anything to live another day, even fall in with cutthroats and thieves. They don't like it when someone wants out, especially if they have skills they can use. If you're so eager to use that sword of yours, turn it on yourself. It'll be a swifter, cleaner death than what you'll find at Ma Belladonna's hand."

With that, she picks up her armor and belt and heads back down the stairs to be alone. She didn't want to the others to see her cry.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Oh don't fret just yet. Raseri isn't dumb enough to go after a bunch of fey on her own. She'll revisit the fey on the walls soon enough.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Raseri shrugs as she follows the others out. Now that the fight was over, she is feeling the lingering chill from the hound, and the reminder of her mortality had dampened her spirit. She shares a mug with Kjeta and Lexi before heading to the small hovel she rented. Long, winding conversations with stuffy scholars are not her idea of fun, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a warm bed.

Her dreams are filled with the scents of evergreens and haunted by silver eyes. She wakes early the next morning, despite the long night, and begins packing her possessions into a large sack. She leaves the hovel behind, feeling restless and wanting out of the city's confining walls. She passes the landlord as he stumbles to the door in a half-drunken stupor and tells him she is leaving.

Her trek takes her an hour out of the city to the grove she'd been found in. Little had changed about it and the clear air was refreshing to her. She settles down in the nook formed by the roots of a tree and the bare rock they wrap around, the very same nook she woke up in six years ago. The cool breeze and the warm dappled sunlight help ease the anxiousness she hasn't realized she was feeling. For a moment, she was able to put the events of the night before out of her mind, and soon she was mulling over questions she hadn't asked for a long time. Why was she here instead of in the Northlands? How long had she been gone? What had happened before she had woken up here?

That last one proves the most vexing. Some things she knows with absolute certainty, but other things she has problems remembering, if she can remember at all. Memories always seem to be elusive for her. Some things stick out, but others slip through her grasp like smoke. Silver eyes, an act of compassion, fear, cold, the smell of cedar and pine, the feeling of pain then numbness in her limbs, and the screams of the dead and dying were all that she could recall beyond her name, her tongue, and how to please her chosen deities, even now. The gaps in her memory made her nervous, but perhaps she had found people she could trust.

Maybe.

Raseri let out a long sigh and let the sounds of the grove clear her worries away.

---

The sun is beginning to set when Raseri arrives outside of the brewery. She has had a difficult time of finding the place, but even as hard as finding the brewery had been, she is finding it harder to gather her courage for the task ahead of her. With a deep breath, she steps up to the door and knocks. A part of her wonders how Kjeta will react to seeing how young she looks as the door opens.

"I hope the day has found you well," she says formally. "I seek Kjeta. Is the brew-mother about?"


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Ah the beer-axe. has there ever been a more dwarven invention? :P


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Point, but when the GM starts emphasizing the dangers involved, that is when I start really getting nervous.

In character, Arianna's nervous because of how quickly their last attempt fell apart. She's reckless at times, but that's mostly in a fight where her main advantages are surprise and speed. hen it comes to skullduggery, she's much more cautious.

That said, Eska would probably be able to convince her to go along with it.

Out of character. I'd rather not leave the others out for any longer than we have to. We have information that could help us get all of us into the camp and possibly back out if we're clever. We could also watch the rearguard and see if they interact with the camp at all or listen in to see if they are griping about something.

Honestly, I'd also like to hear what the others would like to do. I know that's slowing things down, but I think they have as much fo a say in this as we do. We have options and one of the others may think of something we haven't yet.


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F NG Human (Taldan) Sorcerer 1 | HP: 9/11 NL: 2 | AC: 12, T: 12, FF: 10) | CMB: +2, CMD: 12 | F: +1, R: +2, W: +2 | Init: +2 | Perc: 0, SM: 0 | Speed 30ft | Elemental Ray: 0/6 | Spells: 1st 1/5 | Active conditions: None

Talienda looks over to the horrific fight as Sinesiel cries out again. The young woman stops still, her eyes wide in horror as she truly sees the monsters the others were facing. Her eyes meet Malgrim's dead orbs and a spell of fear falls over her. She remembers how he acted, his apparent pleasure in other's pain. The threat of a bounty on anyone related to her father.

A threat to her.

Tears well up in her eyes. She is going to die. She is going to die with Malgrim's hands around her throat. How does one fight someone that refuses to stay dead? He won't stay dead! He'll keep coming after her, and what can she do? She is certain he would never stop, and she is helpless. She barely knows who to trust now.

It is too much.

Her hand rises up, almost of its own accord. Her fingers curled like they would be holding a brush. Her eyes begin to glow with blue-white light. She feels a pulse of...something. It thrums around her, within her. Her hand traces the motions of a rune she only now realizes she knows. It all seems to happen so slowly and suddenly.

Elemental Ray vs. Malgrim Touch AC (Melee): 1d20 + 3 - 4 ⇒ (8) + 3 - 4 = 7
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 1

She flinches as a bolt of lightning leaps from her hand with a pop. Her aim is off and the bolt hits the wall on the other side of chamber. For all the surprise it may cause, the bolt itself is rather weak. More impressive is the backlash that tears up Talienda's arm, startling her more than hurting her as it crackles and shreds parts of the sleeve of her jacket and blouse. She yelps and steps back, cradling her arm as the pinprick tingling passes.


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CG Female Human(Variant) Cleric(Tempest Domain) 8 HP: 56/56 | AC: 17(16) | Saves: STR +3 DEX 0 CON +1 INT 0 WIS* +5 CHA* +3 | Perception: +8, Investigate: 0, Insight: +5 | Channel Divinity (Short Rest): 2/2 | Wrath of the Storm (Long Rest): 2/2 | Spells: 1st 4/4, 2nd 3/3, 3rd 3/3, 4th 2/2| Arrows: 20, Inspiration: No, Status: Blessed Brew +1 AC

Apologies if this is a little much, but it's mostly for flavor. Special effects provided by ThorThaum, for all your divinely inspired theatrical needs.

"So you are my erstwhile sister in guarding this one," Raseri begins to say, relaxing a little until the Leoniel girl opens her mouth. Stunned by the accusation and then the sudden appearance of the ghostly girl, It takes Raseri a moment to gather her thoughts enough to speak. The boy is the first to draw her rising ire.

"Þruma gnýr og talar við mig og segir mér sögur skelfilegar og hraustar. Það syngur í sál minni og blóði mínu."

Northern Tongue:

"Thunder rumbles and speaks to me, telling me of tales dire and valorous. It sings in my soul and my blood."

She lays a baleful gaze on the boy, her eyes flickering and glowing like bolts of lightning as many-layered whispers sound next to his ear in Sylvan, Trade, and Northern tongues.

"Be silent fool, lest you find ravens plucking out your tongue and eyes."

Intimidate (The poor sod who has no idea what he's just blundered into): 1d20 ⇒ 5 Well, can't blame me for trying.

That done, she turns her gaze on the girl and looms over her as the shadows swirl around her like thunderheads and the floor of the box shudders slightly as thunder rumbles in the distance. Raseri's eyes become like twin orbs of baleful, blue-white fire as the runes on Thor's hammer about her neck blaze like bolts of lightning in miniature.

"Do not speak so lightly of things you cannot know," she growls. "Do not speak to me of thralldom and slavery. Your father paid for my services, and I gave my oath, gave my word of honor, that you would return to his home alive and well, even if I were only able to do so by leading you crawling on my hands and knees like a cur while I paid the warrior's toll."

She let the words sink in. The shadows calm and the rumbling ceases as her eyes return to their ice-blue hue. What few memories she has of her childhood burn in her mind. The hard labor, the beatings, those silver eyes, and the maddening cackle all come back vividly.

She sighs, looking to where Lexi had been, and hoped that the other woman understood at least.

"Do not be so quick to pay those that would spill the red-water of their life for you with insults. You may find one of their daggers in your back," she says more calmly now, the bout of rage passing. "Mayhap you will learn many things this night if you are wise enough to open your ears and listen."


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Spazmodeus wrote:

Going to bow out....some interesting stuff in XGE and the Midgard Heroes book, but my mastery of the system is a bit lacking.

Have Fun!

Sad to see ya go. I was looking forward to being on the same side of the screen as you. I hope you do take up Vrog Skyweaver's offer.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

"He did say his camp, Drakesbane," Arianna says, throwing the sorceress a wink and a smirk where the cultist can't see them. "Perhaps Brax will get a chance to vent his rage on you after all. I had hoped he'd be more cooperative, but alas, for the foolishness of humans." Her tone is one of pity as she carves out another chip.

"Now, if he were to tell us where his camp is and why they took prisoners at all, perhaps I could persuade Brax to stay his hand just a little longer," she adds, another smirk curling her lips as she turns a little to hide the expression from the cultist.

Okay, why have I not played more bards? This is fun!


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

You know, I can see Yosemite Sam being a dwarf. :D

Arianna, surprised at Brax's outburst is a little slow responding to Raakuze, but manages to get between him and cultist before the big man, and now that Arianna was all that was between him and an object of his ire she was really appreciating just how much bigger he was than she, could do the apparently suicidal man in.

"Patience, Raakuze. Patience. He'll face justice in time," she says soothingly to the giant before her before turning to cultist on the ground and hauling him upright and sitting on her heels before him.

"Well, aren't you in a fine predicament. Really, I don't think there's anyway out of this one for you, unless you prove to be a bit smarter than you appear to be," she tells him before standing up and walking over to her pack and pulling out a roll from it.

"Now, the question is do I let the big one have you, or the dwarf? Raakuze will kill you, sure, but he'd be quick and clean. Brax on the other hand," she lets her voice trails off and makes sure the bound man can see her as she shrugs before she reaches up to break a green branch of a tree. She draws it out, letting each wet snap of breaking wood echo in the clearing. "I've heard many stories about how dwarves got creative in their punishments, especially for thieves and murderers."

She pulls out a small hatchet from the roll as she speaks, punctuating her statement with a wide-eyed stare at the cultist, locking his eyes with hers as she chops through the last bit of wood and bark.

"And I'm afraid that he's in a foul mood today. He'll take his time with ye. No doubting there," she continues as she returns to where she'd propped up the cultist and sits on her heels again. "I think he has some tongs in his pack, nicely sized for pulling out fingernails from what I saw. I heard him talk about how his clan's inquisitors would pull someone's nails out reaaaaaaal slooooow."

She begins to carve the branch using an extremely sharp knife, taking her time to do the first shaving as she draws out her last two words.

"If I was ye, I'd make real sure that I wasn't about to suffer that before going to see whatever dark servant of Tiamat ye'd have to answer to and letting 'em know ye'd done messed up real good. They might just get some ideas!"

Arianna turns her attention to her just begun carving and adds, "Of course, ye don't have to take me word for it. You could just find out yerself."

She starts to whittle some more of the branch, cleaning it up for some designs while trying to think of what to do with it and letting ht ecultist stew for a bit.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Arianna is going to tie up our prisoner. When we take a short rest, Arianna will do a song of rest to give everyone who's spending at least 1 HD to heal an extra 1d6.

Arianna limps as she moves to bind their prisoner's hands and feet and ignores Raakuse's question for now. Once she has finished with that, she looks over everyone and sees that not a one of them is unhurt.

"I think we should get patched up, especially Orion," she says noting the man's unsteady stance. "then we'll see what our friend has to say."

Once the camp has been cleared of the dead, Arianna looks for anything that could be used to bind their wounds or heal them altogether.

Investigation: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21 Woo!

That done, she begins helping the others with their injuries, starting with Orion and Raakuze. She begins to sing a soft ballad about Tellendil, an elven maiden who soothed the hearts of weary warriors until she was stolen away by the Goblin King and sealed deep in a dark mountain until she agreed to do the same for him. There's a magic to her song that seeps into the bruised and weary band and mended their hurts.

Healing Word on Orion: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
Healing Word on Raakuze: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

Everyone gets 1d6 more HP when using HD to heal during this short rest.

Once everyone else is seen to, she ducks behind a bush that should provide her some privacy and binds the wound on her thigh and tries to mend the tear in her pants with what little skill she has with needle and thread.

HD to heal: 1d8 + 1d6 ⇒ (4) + (3) = 7


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RE: Kingdom Name
Apologies on the name of the kingdom. I was not aware that there was a drug called Valium when I came up with it. I like Valorium, so let's go with that.

RE: Competing Kingdom
All of the surviving kingdoms the party will know about or run across were once provinces of the Imperium, or were provinces that were conquered/overthrown by the people that lived there before Imperial rule. I could see something like a Germanic kingdom causing the more "civilized" Imperials to harbor hatred and fear for Druids and Rangers since as far as I'm aware, the Celts, Gauls, and other Germanic peoples had gods, but also had more of a shamanistic/animistic belief. Maybe there was an Imperial province that was mostly forest and settled by some germanic-ish people that were "subjects" of the governor. When the cataclysm happened, they overthrew the Imperials and formed their own kingdom that has been clashing with the Kingdom of Valorium through the passes between the valleys.

That is just a rough take on it and what I would probably do in the absence of someone spitballing with me on this. It could just as likely be that the governors of the two provinces at the time of the calamity hated each other and the one over the Not-gauls gave them a place in his new kingdom when the Imperium fell.

RE: Religions
I've thought about this, and yeah, Dwarves, Elves, and other demi-humans would have their own pantheon or their own version of the human pantheon. Dwarves would place Vulcan in high regard, for example, but they would also have their own gods that reflect their own values and beliefs. Same with the Elves and Diana (Artemis), Luna (Selene) and Apollo. Gnomes would, I think, gravitate towards mystery cults, forming their own or branching off of ones that were human, elven, or dwarven. Halflings would revere Vesta, Ceres, Prosperina (Persephone), and Dis Pater (Hades) and probably have more than a few mystery cults of their own. I could see Bacchus being popular with lots of races in his Party-god persona. A part of me is tempted to throw in his god of madness and god of nature personi into the mix as well. I could see the half-orcs who've been oppressed turn to Bacchus' darker side in hope of gaining some measure of protection and revenge against their oppressors.

Moving on to Dreaming Warforged's questions about religion in everyday life, I would have to say it depends. Some gods and temples would encourage their followers to be generous and help those in need as much as they are able. Other gods and temples would demand services to be given or payment made for any spellcasting or even mundane healing done. THe gods do not walk among their followers often, so there are some who claim that the gods are nothing more than foci for a cleric's spellcasting and curse them for not allowing the wizards to study their magic learning to duplicate the effects that are considered miracles, but most people believe the gods are real, even if they have never seen them personally. I guess that would make Faith still a thing.

As for how prevalent religion is in everyday life, I'd say that it's there, most people pay homage to a god or the pantheon even if they don't attend sermons regularly. Sacrifices are a thing and something practiced by the devout and those in power trying to garner favor with the priests. The official state religions are the major gods of the Pantheons, but generally allows the faiths of the minor gods and the mystery cults to flourish so long as they don't disrupt things too much. The worship of gods outside of the approved pantheons is either done in secret or done while securing the cooperation of some official or noble. You're unlikely to find someone that openly worships Wodan or Perun or Dagada in the Kingdom of Valorium, though if you manage to gain their trust, you might find a number of allies in unexpected places.

RE: The High Wall
Those saying the wall should be named after the king that built it are right and I think that, officially, the wall shall be named Salvator's Wall, names for Salvator Rex, the first of his name and the Savior King of Valorium. Most of the common folk call it the High Wall without any regard to the conniptions this causes among the scholars and sages that overhear them.

RE: Pera Altus
The structure of Pera Altus is a hybrid of a military camp and a civilian town. Over a third of the people living in Pera Altus are members of the legions assigned there. Roughly another third are the dependents of the legionaries and the rest are merchants, craftsmen, and other "camp followers" that are there to service the legions and provide the Valorian comforts and goods that Valorians want and even crave. Only about half of the people living in the town are permanent residents with the other half being itinerants that were either legionaries levied from other provinces, their dependents, or drifters and mercenaries that were never looking for a home and leave as soon as the coin gets scarce. The garrison commander has ultimate authority, but for most of those outside of the legions, it's much like a normal town or city in the heartland with bureaucrats, appointed ministers, and nobles running the day to day affairs. The main difference is that the garrison doubles as the town's watch and punishments are more akin to what one would be subjected to as a legionary. Tribunals of officers replace courts run by magistrates as well, but only for criminal cases. Civil cases, such as a dispute over the terms of a contract are handled by the few magistrates assigned to Pera Altus.

To put things a little more clearly, Pera Altus is ultimately ruled by the garrison commander, who may or may not be the current Count(ess) Pera Altus. The day to day running of the town is handled by the head of the civilian bureaucracy and the magistrates which report to Count(ess) Pera Altus most of the time, as does the garrison commander when it isn't the current count(ess).

To sum it up, if Count(ess) Pera Altus is old enough to not be in the legions anymore, then things tend to get a little messy as far as who is over who.

RE: Philotheus and Leontina Arvina
Oh, I like this. It even has some built in hooks for me to drag you out into the wilds. >:D
Just a few questions and observations:
- Is the steadhold Leotina is from close to Pera Altus?
- I'm guessing that Philotheus is form Arvina, or did he take Leotina's family name?
- 25 miles is two or three days out in untamed and trackless wilderness. I'm guessing Leotina is able and willing to take care of herself.

RE: Bards
Bards are the odd ones out in this situation since they are both learned and innate spellcasters depending more on how things go. I'll say that the colleges of Lore, Swords, and Valor are all highly respected. The College of Glamour is treated with suspicion. The College of Whispers is seldom applauded in public, but ever noble knows a friend that knows someone that employs their services.

RE: The Acadeum Arcanum
Yep, the mage school has a name now. :)
So, the Acadeum Arcanum has about as much influence and power as a High Lord. Thanks to the fortunes spent by nobles employ the services of their students and alumni as well as the tuition paid by nobles wanting to have their third, forth, fifth, or bastard sons/daughters be trained in the arcane arts, the Acadeum Arcanum has a massive horde of wealth that it uses to find those with keen minds to train and those with innate talents to experiment on. The Arcanists that run the school hoard knowledge jealously and only give it out at a great price, or when forced by necessity. Whether or not the Acadeum Arcanum is loyal to the Crown or not depends on the loyalties of the current Lord Arcanum, the master of the school. The past several lords have only had marginal relations with the crown, but there are signs that the current Lord Arcanum is aligning the school more firmly into Crown's camp and seeking a closer relationship with the king and his court.

RE: Patroons and Police States
I learned that patroon is not an insult like I had originally thought today. :D
I guess you could say that the situation is similar, but some would argue that it's more reclaiming than colonizing, but I digress. I also wouldn't say that Pera Altus or the Kingdom of Valorium are police states. Maybe a mixture of spartan paranoia towards the helots and roman order, but not a full on police state.

I think that's everything that was asked. If I missed something, let me know.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Attack (2-handed) vs. Dotted Blue Kobold: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Damage (2-handed): 1d10 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Arianna bites back a cry of pain as the knife tears into her. Her retaliation comes as a brutal chop at the kobold's neck. She risks a look at the others and sees Orion teetering from one too many stones to the head.

"Take heart and fight, Orion! Put one right through their eye," she calls out, her words ringing out loud and clear over the din of battle.

Orion gets a 1d6 Inspiration die.


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Female Human Bard (Dervish Dancer) 4 HP: 23/23 NL: 0 | AC 18/13/15 | F +1, R +7, W+5 (+4 vs. Sonic, Language-Dependent, and Bardic Performance)| Per:+8 (Darkvision 60ft.), Init: +5 | Battle Dance: 10/14 | Spells: 1st: 2/4, 2nd: 0/2 | Arrows: 20

After stretching out the last of her sleepiness and washing up, Terri gets herself and Placid ready to go. The others finder her in a chipper mood as she passes whatever time she needs to wait practicing with her sword, a dully gleaming blade that looks almost black in the sunlight. Her moves are more like dancing than swordplay as she works through some basic forms to warm up.

My vote is to go straight there unless our plan calls for another approach. I'm assuming we're meeting Kressle at the Thorn River Camp?


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How there Black Dow. It's been awhile. Here's hoping we both get in. :)


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Female Half-elf Bennies: 1 Wounds: 3/3 Power Points: 7/10 Status: Shaken Pace: 6, Parry: 6, Toughness: 5(1), Size: -1, Arrows: 11

Tired and feeling weak in her knees, Allysen finds herself learning on the good priest Wolfram as they leave. She gratefully thanks him for his help, though she is embarrassed about having become a liability even if only for a short while. After a little over an hour, she feels more herself, and seeing the squall coming in, she begins to work on shelter from the rain.

Do we have any tents or tarps? Allysen does not.
Survival: 1d4 ⇒ 21d6 ⇒ 2 Nope. :P

As she struggles with branches and leaves, she stumbles past Lorde Belros and nearly falls flat on her face. She stands and looks to the elf.

"Sorry. Are you–" she begins before the words catch in her throat. Her eyes widen and her skin turns paper-white as all color drains from her face. One trembling hand goes to her sword while the other reaches up and grabs the fabric of her tunic on her right shoulder. She spins about, searching for something with a wild look in her eyes. She squeezes them shut and takes in a deep breath.

The corpse was almost rotted away. She's not here. Calm down. Calm down. She's not here. She. Is. Not. Here.

She lets the breath out and opens her eyes as she turns to look at the others. Part of her screamed for her to run, but they would still be in trouble, all of them. She looks away and her posture relaxes some, though her left hand is now rubbing the back of her neck. She begins to wonder if she should tell them, or just try to pass it off as some nervous reaction.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Eska:

Eska wrote:


"I've heard worse dally as I do in the company of killers and thieves." She means for it to be a joke but supposes there's more truth to be found in it than not.

"Just cause I fought a dragon doesn't make me right about anything." She shrugs now wondering why her life in now stranger than her dreams.

"But Mayna and her company are likely in the same place guilty of the same crimes today as they were yesterday and tomorrow. If you don't intend to kick down their door and slaughter the lot of them today. Perhaps last night might have been too hasty." She searches the quiet elf's eyes.

"Sorry," Arianna apologizes again, "I know I have a bad habit of acting before I think. You almost died and..."

She shakes her head, obviously having trouble putting her thoughts into words. Eska can see the contrition in her eyes and the earnestness of someone wanting to do right.

"I was too hasty. If we had fought them, a lot more people would have died. Maybe wanting to get in good with us will keep them from trying to slit my throat, but I doubt it," she says after collecting her thoughts. "Even if you were wrong, I shouldn't have been yelling at you when you'd almost died not five minutes before." She looks away from Eska, pulling her knees close to her chin as she falls silent.

Eska wrote:


"Either way i don't suppose Night -chill, -hill? is done with us. We work well together you and I..." (pauses remembering the Eska-Dragon illusion) "...and the rest of them," she adds as-a-matter-of-factly.

"But if we're to be a real crew we need to back each other's plays. And a new name cause Greenest Heroes isn't going to intimidate anybody. Least I can take pleasure that Mayna probably feels like a fool. Nothing irks worse than a missed opportunity for people like that."

Arianna smiles and chuckles a little. Her mood lightens some as she twirls a finger in the air.

"I dunno," she laughs, "we could have been called the Order of the Fuzzy Kitten. Imagine what that would have done for our reputation."

She grins as she watches Eska's reaction, but she sobers after they'd both had a chance to laugh.

"I think you're right. Mayor Nighthill seemed like he had more he wanted us to do, and speaking of him, you were asking about a few fellows. I think you also asked Mayna about them too. Who are they to you? does it have something to do with the Three Dog person you mentioned?"


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F NG Human (Taldan) Sorcerer 1 | HP: 9/11 NL: 2 | AC: 12, T: 12, FF: 10) | CMB: +2, CMD: 12 | F: +1, R: +2, W: +2 | Init: +2 | Perc: 0, SM: 0 | Speed 30ft | Elemental Ray: 0/6 | Spells: 1st 1/5 | Active conditions: None

That list is fancy!

Looking forward to this a lot. Can't wait until we get going. (Tries not to bounce like a little kid heading to Disneyland)


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Arianna shakes her head to Brax's questions. The motion is slow and there's something melancholy about how she moves and speaks now.

"Maybe I'm just too tired to know the difference in myself," she admits before leaning back against the wall and looking at the dwarven warrior that had helped through the entire ordeal. "Care to listen to a short tale?"

Assuming Brax says yes.

"To the south of the Sunset Mountains is a small village called Redrock. One day, the folk of the village happened upon a young elven girl that was sorely injured wearing little but rags. They brought her back and cared for her wounds as they were good and honest folk.

"Though she was half-grown, her mind was like that of a small child's when she awoke. She could only remember her name, and how to speak and how to walk. Of her past or anything she knew nothing, so the folk of the village taught her. They taught her to sing and dance, to tell stories and play music. They taught her how to fend for herself and how to work iron in a forge. Most importantly, they taught her to be kind.

"Seven years passed as she grew and learned. No trouble was to be found in the village and she was content. During the eighth year, however, goblins and orcs attacked the farms around the village, again and again. Their leader, an ogre named Grumble Gnasher, demanded tribute, and rather than see more people killed, the elders agreed.

"This was something the young elf could not accept. As fall approached, she laid her plans. She brought potent liquor to their camp and hid to watch as the goblins and orcs drank themselves into a stupor. His minions felled by the wine and ale, the elf knew it was time to slay Grumple Gnasher. The ogre was strong, but the elf was swift and lucky. The sounds of the fight as the ogre roared and cursed woke the goblins and orcs, but also drew the attention of the village. They knew there was something wrong at Grumple Gnasher's camp and rushed to take advantage of it. The raiding band was slaughtered, and when they found Grumple Gnasher, he lay at the feet of the elf who was winded and covered in blood.

"The village celebrated and praised the elven girl. She felt that her time in Redrock had come to an end, however. The next spring she left, following wherever her wanderlust led her and helping those in need on the way until this very day."

Arianna gives Brax a half smile as she finishes her tale and tells him, "So there you have it. I was just wandering around and looking for a warm bed, a good meal, and a place to earn some coin. I didn't expect this when I crested the hill." Her smile fades as she makes the admission. Remembering how happy she'd been to smell the smoke only to find why it was so strong.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Hearing first Brax then Eska challenge the beast, Arianna looks up and to them. Her mind goes blank for a moment as she focuses on the half-man, half-beast that stood where the ruined gate had been for the first time. A brief memory flashes before her eyes. Another draconic beast that laughed as she screamed came straight from her nightmares. It is only a moment and she shakes the memory away, but her hands start shaking and her knees tremble as she sees this thing in a new light.

She prays that the two who had stepped forward know what they are doing. She fears what is to come next.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Sorry for being late to the party. Had to work late tonight. And no worries. I'm a firm believer you should be able to take whatever you dish out. Fire away. :P

Arianna's control over her temper snaps at Eska's words towards her and she turns on the other woman with her eyes practically glowing.

"At least I don't go around murdering innocent people for sport! You can try and tar me with that brush if you wish, but it only shows that you have the same black heart as them! There was nothing to be gained by slaying a woman and her child! Perhaps ruining your chances of work with them is the best thing I could have ever done for you!" She snaps at her before turning and venting the remainder of her fury on Raakuze.

"AND YOU! You may be older than me, but that doesn't make you any wiser! I said knock him out. If he is a coward, he'd negotiate for his life. Or I could have tried to trick him, or any number of things! And before you say anything about the damned murdering son of a sow and the female cur that Eska was meeting with, he might as well have admitted that he killed those people for whatever sick entertainment he got from it. As for the others. I'm sorry, next time I'll ask them to kindly tells us where to find the nearest group of prisoners to free before poking out their eyes!"

Still fuming, she turns and helps Brax finish the barricade. Once that is done, she stews for a bit before hearing Eska's barbs at Orion.

"Oh shut up. If you hate us so much, go sell us out to the cultists. I'm sure they'd gladly let you walk free in exchange for telling them how to get in and where the weak points in the keep's defenses are," Arianna says before going back into the keep and looking for the best vantage she can find.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12


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Female Tiefling Slayer 2 Perception DC19 to tell she's not human. HP: 17/17, NL: 0 | AC: 17/13/14, CMD: 18, Resistances: Cold 5, Electricity 5, Fire 5 | F +3, R +6, W -1 (+2 vs. Undead) | Per:+4 (Darkvision 60 ft.), Init: +3 | Minor Image: 3/3, Arrows: 0

Oh boy. I hope you don't mind if I have some fun with this.
1-Funny, 2-Weird, 3-Bad: 1d3 ⇒ 1 Okay then!

Move Action to Study the last Centipede

Attack(Vision of Madness): 1d20 + 5 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 5 + 1 + 1 = 19
Damage: 2d6 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (4, 3) + 4 + 1 = 12 Not sure if that'll dust it.

Kiley blinks away the tears from the allergy attack and notices that things have gotten... odd. She ignores most of the strangeness and focuses on the last of the centipedes. She notices that its outline seems to bleed into the future, and uses this to help line up her strike. The blade finds the target, and Kiley takes notice of the other bits of strangeness happening.

"Stryn? Why are you crying rainbows?"


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Okay then. :D
Acrobatics: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Longsword(2-Hands): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Damage: 1d10 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Arianna leaps up onto the battlements and then drops down onto the back of the dragon-cat thing. She twists in mid-air and softens her landing by sliding her feet down the sides of the beast's neck, then hooks them around to hold her in place while she drives her sword into the back of its neck.

"That worked out better than I was expecting!" She grins.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Stealth: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24 You don't see me. :P

Arianna looks up some time later to see Eska moving about. Not ready to face the others yet, she slinks behind her, moving in the shadows unseen by most. She overhears the conversation between Mayor Nighthill and the others and begins to make her way to the sally port. The dragon is gone, yes, but the shame and fear still lingers. She doesn't know if she would be fighting to prove she still can, or if she would be fighting so that she won't have to live with the memory of a blue wyrm turning a person into ash and the terrible majesty it possesses.

The second possibility chills her to the bone. She looks up as she hears someone ahead of her climbing the steps. Orion, she thinks. Unbidden, an image appears in her mind, A brilliant flash of blue-white, then...

Nothing.

She shivers again, and pulls the hood of her cloak low. She looks to the door and the wall over it and begins to come up with a plan and hopes she can distract herself from the terror and shame still boiling away just under her pretense of calm control.

GM, can you describe the sally port and the nearby area? I'm wondering if we have time to lay a trap or not.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Arianna watches as the dragon flies off, not wanting to deal with Eska, though it could have killed her easily. While Brax and Raakuze go to the fallen, Arianna could only shiver as the fear rolled through her. She has stung it, yes, but it would remember. It would hate her.

She wanders to the darkest, least crowded corner of the keep she can find and cries. Her sobs are soft, but they echo off the stone around her like a damning curse. She remembers the way Redrock's people had cheered after they'd found her alive and miraculously unhurt after her harrowing fight with the ogre terrorizing them, and the other times she'd helped people in need. Some had thrown parties that were wild and lasted until dawn, others quietly thanked her and offered her food and a place to sleep until she'd recovered from the ordeal.

Those memories sting like venom in her veins. She isn't brave nor strong nor wise. She is a fool for thinking that she could help anyone. How is she supposed to help against a dragon? Greenest isn't the largest town, and there are bound to be more dragons with whatever group these were with. How would they fight them off next time.

They may have won this fight, but there is no hope, she thinks as she buries her head into her knees.


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Is it okay if we're screaming in terror while we save you?


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CG Female Moon Elf Bard 1 HP: 18/18 | AC: 14 | Saves: STR +3 DEX* +5 CON +1 INT +1 WIS +1 CHA* +5 | Perception: +5, Investigate: +3, Insight: +2 | Inspiration (d6): 3/3 | Spells: 1st 3/3 | Arrows: 8

Wisdom: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14 Well, that's rather unfortunate...

Arianna was only a few feet away from the guard when blinding blue-white light flashed and blinded her for just a moment. When the spots started to clear, she only say ash blowing in the wind where before there'd been a person. Fear as she looks up and sees the wyrm attacking holds her in place for a few agonizing heartbeats. Claws and fangs and magic are all at its call, she knows. She's sung enough songs and told enough tales to know well the fury a dragon could bring to bear. She reaches for her quiver, but her eyes lock with its eyes, baleful orbs that pierce her through to her soul, and she quailed. How could she think of fighting this thing. It was a monster, a beast of perfect lethality. For the first time since the night she fought Grumple Gnasher, she was mortally afraid.

Stealth: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

Older memories come on the heels of the terror of that fight. Memories of nights filled with dark dreams of blood and fire and vague silhouettes she could never have placed. She turns and flees for her life, unable to bear the fear and the gaze of those orbs any longer. She trips just shy of the barrels she is heading for and slams into floor hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. The dragon roars again sending a cold dagger of terror knifing through her. All she can do is curl up and pray that it didn't notice her silently weeping on the ground.

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