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Alas for Plaguestone, but as they say, all things must come to an end sooner or later. The game did run for the better part of a year at least, which is pretty good by PbP standards. (I'm sure we'd all be filthy rich if we had a nickel for every game that petered out after a few months at most.) Anyway, in my opinion we had a great line-up, GM and players alike, and I'd play alongside y'all again in a heartbeat. Take care, everyone!
Moving closer to the incipient mêlée, the wizard flings a mote of flame into the fray.
“How utterly…vile,” the wizard remarks, not even trying to keep the skirts of her robes out of the muck any more as the party make their way deeper and deeper into the blighted area. Having dabbled in the necromantic arts she is no stranger to sights, smells and other sensations that would repulse most folk, but somehow what she finds herself immersed in now is worse still. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if this stretch of land never recovered from its alchemical corruption.” She looks around for a while, then shakes her head. “None of my magic will be of any use in finding our way here, I fear.” Gigon does seem to have a plan of some sort, though, so she does whatever she can to give him a hand.
“Delma did say her father doesn’t trust Noala. But, well, he seemed like he wouldn’t trust most people, didn’t he?” Anghariel pauses. “And I must say the townsfolk struck me as being a little blasé about those mutant wolves that attacked the caravan – I could imagine their either not understanding that something is very wrong here or not wishing to hear it, as long as their turnips were doing well.” The elf glances ahead in Noala’s general direction. “That odd gauntlet she wears, though…if she really is involved in all this alchemical strangeness, maybe it conceals a mutation of some sort?” There’s a stoic look on her face as she makes her way through the undergrowth, not letting the unpleasantness of navigating these rough trails barefoot get to her. “I don’t know what to think. If it proved absolutely necessary and she was up to something we could probably, ah, subdue her as long as she does not catch us entirely off our guard.”
“I exhausted a significant portion of my magic clearing out the wolves’ den,” she says in response to Noala’s not-so-subtle prodding, “but I’m uninjured at least. If we must press on immediately, I suppose there’s nothing preventing my doing so.” While Anghariel is not exactly wary of Phoenix, she maintains a certain respectful distance all the same. As such, allowing the dog to sniff her hand is about as much as she’ll permit.
While studying the pool, Anghariel could not help but overhear the…exchange between Osveta and Pollo. Was it banter? Earnest conversation? Courtship? She really could not be sure; the one thing she did feel certain of was that her understanding of human culture was rather less substantial than she thought. “But where did this pollution actually come from?” she wonders out loud. “It seems like the groundwater itself may be tainted. There must be some way of locating the source of these alchemical contaminants.”
Alas, I have no other characters on this board worth sharing. :|
“Yes, you are not going to make a habit of this, I hope?” she joins Osveta in lightly berating Pollo, though the note of relief in her voice is hard to miss. “Well, the last time we encountered a glowing pool like this one, a lightning-spewing serpent came out of it,” Anghariel cautions, only slowly moving closer. Still, she wonders…
Seeing an overcome Pollo hit the ground, the elf bites back a shout of alarm. Instead, she redoubles her efforts to bring down the remaining wolf-monster by subjecting it to another burst of electricity.
Of course those abominations would be as tough as they are ugly. Still, they (hopefully) are not immortal, and so Anghariel calls on one of her more readily invokable spells to blast the beasts with lightning before taking a moment to ward herself against any possible retaliation attempts.
She wrinkles her nose at the sight of the misshapen wolves; they look…wrong in a way few things she has ever encountered did. Combined with the fact that these monstrosities seem no less deadly for it, Anghariel draws on one of her more potent spells to pepper the closest wolf with missiles of magical force.
Does magic missile count as a ranged attack for the purposes of this place? There are no attack rolls involved – the spell simply deals damage.
“I suppose there’s nothing for it, is there?” she says with a sigh, annoyance and distaste evident on her features as she regards the tunnel entrance.
“I suppose that could have gone worse,” Anghariel observes. Turning to Pollo she says, “You will probably be a lot safer, for one, considering our encountering all these deadly things so far generally has been the result of trying to solve that mystery in the first place.” She falls silent for a few moments as she looks down at the tainted earth, feeling it between her toes. When this day is over, my feet will need soaking for an hour or two straight. “I have heard of flora like this before, so it’s not necessarily a product of whatever affliction has beset this land.” She looks up again. “Of course, I can’t possibly imagine it is helping, either.”
Feeling cautiously optimistic now, the wizard moves up to the last bush and attempts to incinerate it as well. ,
She breathes a tiny sigh of relief when one of the bushes is reduced to kindling. But even so two more of the ferociously hostile things remain, which is why the wizard proceeds to try to set another of them on fire. Pollo’s request briefly gives her pause. Does she trust herself to ignite his torch without also igniting him? Given the meagre magic at her disposal it seems a dubious prospect, at least while there is this murderous flora to contend with. “I’m sorry!” she calls out to him, “I’ve only this one spell, and it’s as likely to ignite you as it is the torch!” ,
Oh, I know that. I was referring to Pollo's idea in his most recent post about getting somehow to (magically) light his torch on fire. :)
Anghariel doesn't know any fire spells other than produce flame, and it can only be used to target creatures. I don't know if trying to light a torch with it even is an option, but I'd really rather not risk hitting Pollo. (Wanna bet it'd end up critting?)
Clearly those bushes are not to be trifled with. It’s why Anghariel throws caution to the wind and herself into the fray, hurrying up to Osveta and touching her blade to render its edges supernaturally sharp for a short while. “Now slice them up but good!” she then shouts encouragingly at the warrior.
Don't I know that feeling.
Stepping into the underbrush next to Osveta, Anghariel causes a small ball of fire to blossom into being in her palm, then promptly flings it at the raging bush closest to the party. ,
“I can conjure motes of flame if need be,” the wizard says. “Though I’d prefer it if we could simply give those bushes a wide berth instead – not that this seems to be an option.”
Anghariel too racks her brain on the subject of wolf-devouring shrubs.
Drawing her robes closer around her thin frame, the elf shifts uncomfortably in place. The very air seems tainted here, and she is both repulsed and morbidly intrigued by the feel of the diseased soil beneath her bare feet – but beyond its significance to her personally it also serves as a reminder of what is at stake, a powerful motivator to remedy the obvious wrongness that has taken hold of the land. Anghariel nods at Pollo. “Certainly not in a place like this.” She draws a plain, black-bladed dagger but remains where she is for the time being. Her eyes roam around the clearing in front of the group, trying to discern if there’s anything more to it than its merely looking foul. After a minute or so she breaks the silence by intoning a few arcane syllables, part of a spell to detect any magic that might be present in her vicinity.
Anghariel gives the other elf a nod of acknowledgement, but otherwise remains politely distant – in truth, she isn’t eager to spend any more time than she has to around others of her kind. “I don’t know if this taint is in any way related to the…perpetrators of…recent goings-on,” she says a little haltingly, still finding it difficult to speak of the caravan master’s murder and the events surrounding it, “but there clearly is something wrong here. Dangerously, reprehensibly wrong. So, yes, I’ll do what I can to help discover the cause of it.”
Fairly out of her element in a rural setting like this, Anghariel is content to linger on the periphery for the most part. She spends much of her time further honing her command of arcane magic, formulating a couple of new spells in the process. When she needs a break from poring over her spellbook, the wizard likes to go for a walk around Etran’s Folly and muse on the transience of the world – Bort Bargith’s dreadful demise, and the knowledge that its ultimate perpetrator remains unknown and at large, have plunged her into a somewhat melancholy mood. ~ The morning of the stranger’s arrival finds Anghariel breaking her fast along with the others of her group. She is a little less put off by the incessant turnip-y fare than most, perhaps, on account of having taken to using the prestidigitation spell to add a variety of much-needed different flavours to the local food and drink (while being careful to keep the villagers from noticing, lest they take umbrage). Summoned outside, the elf eyes the carcases with some distaste before looking at the woman. “There was something…off about those beasts,” she agrees with Milo. “And about some of the land, too, I thought.”
So I've been looking at what to do with that runestone containing the shadow rune we found, and…unless I'm misunderstanding the rules, currently we can only sell it or hold on to it? For starters, to transfer a property rune (such as shadow) to an item, that item must be etched with an armour/weapon potency rune. We don't have any such armour, so that appears to put paid to the notion right away. Additionally, according to the core rules, "[transferring] runes between one item and another, including a runestone … uses the Craft activity." They also state: "Etching a rune on an item follows the same process as using the Craft activity to make an item. You must have the formula for the rune, the item you’re adding the rune to must be in your possession throughout the etching process, and you must meet any special Craft Requirements of the rune." What's not clear to me is whether this supersedes the other requirements laid out by the "Craft an item" activity, such as the crafting character needing to be at least the same level as the item being crafted. Even if it does, though, we lack the formula for the shadow rune, and I don't know if it could be acquired in a place like Etran's Folly. Does this sound correct?
“Intriguing,” the wizard says, turning the runestone over in her hands. “This could be used to enhance somebody’s armour and make it easier for them to escape undesirable attention.” She looks undecided as the group debates what to do next. “I can muster little more than cantrips at this point, but I am unhurt.” Anghariel glances out of the nearby cave mouth. “If we needn’t travel too far to do so, I suppose taking a look at this drop-off point before we return to Etran’s Folly might not be a bad idea.”
“Maybe.” Clearly Anghariel has some doubts regarding that particular hypothesis. Carefully applying one last strip of cloth to Osveta’s injuries, she nods at the gnome. “Thank you. I’ve, ah, been practising – it’s a useful sort of skill to have. Especially for folk who must look after themselves.” She gets up and eyes Hallod’s corpse. “Shall we see what this lout carried in his pockets? One hopes all this pain and danger were good for something more than ridding the world of such an unpleasant individual.”
“Are you certain you didn’t…take a knock on the head, or something, during all this?” she enquires of Gigon, eyeing him dubiously while she finishes seeing to Osveta’s wounds.
Apart from increasing her proficiency bonus by 1 and gaining 7 hit points, Anghariel gains a class feat, which I suppose shall be Reach Spell, as well as a skill feat, Oddity Identification. Not particularly excited about the overall selection for either feat slot, but oh well. She also adds two additional 1st-level spells to her spellbook, fear and magic weapon.
“What a horrible man!” Anghariel exclaims as she leaves cover and hurries to join the others. “Is everybody all right?” she asks, producing a satchel filled with bandages and jars of salve and beginning to tend to the injuries of whoever looks to be the worst off.
Again the wizard channels her power into a simple cantrip, hoping the villain will fall soon.
Man, the dice roller absolutely resents us right now.
With most of her magic spent, Anghariel resorts to one of the more mundane – and less impactful – spells at her disposal.
“It’s time you felt the touch of death, brute!” the wizard snarls at Hallad before raising one hand and causing skeins of pure, writhing blackness to erupt from her fingertips and streak towards the villain.
“Have it your way, then,” Anghariel mutters under her breath, bristling at being called a lackey of Bort’s. She moves forward to take cover behind a stack of crates, then draws on the dark magic she studied to aim a ray of nauseatingly necrotic energy at Hallad.
“The invocation is no more involved than that of any other spell,” she replies. “I could attempt to sneak a little closer using those stacks as cover – I need only be within some thirty feet of him for the magic to work. Though I cannot guarantee it’ll take, of course.”
“And I imagine he isn’t in a talkative mood.” The elf sighs. “That’s most unfortunate; I do have a charm spell memorised. Part of me would like to make the attempt anyway, truth be told.”
“It might look nice over somebody’s mantelpiece,” Anghariel offers with regards to the silver rapier. She doesn’t set foot in the cave just yet, waiting to see if anything dangerous pounces on those of her companions bold enough to venture forward. If nothing happens the wizard approaches the stacked containers, looking for any identifying marks or labels on the outside and reaching out again with detect magic.
Nodding to Milo in thanks as he bandages her burnt palm, she gives the gnome a slightly helpless shrug. “In the broadest sense, perhaps? But whatever this is, it has little to do with the type of magic I studied.” Anghariel peers at the pool now containing the serpent’s carcase. “That said, did you notice the metal rattle affixed to its tail? To my mind this seems to suggest somebody had, ah, done work on the creature, as it were – it doesn’t seem the sort of thing to occur naturally, anyway.”
With a groan, the elf sags a little against the cavern wall. “He might be,” she eventually manages to respond to Pollo’s earlier speculation. “Certainly creatures like this don’t just happen.” Giving Gigon a small but grateful smile, she accepts the vial and daintily drains it, regaining a little colour. “Though as we just went from starved dogs to a giant, lightning-discharging snake, I can’t help but feel some apprehension at what manner of guardian animal we will encounter next in this place.”
Anghariel grows a little paler in the face still when the lightning-touched serpent emerges from the pool. She quickly gets a hold of herself, though, and extends one hand towards the beast while uttering a string of baleful syllables, attempting to weaken it with a necrotising burst of dark energy. Having no wish to linger this close to such a foe, she then endeavours to get away from it as best she can.
“Oh, luminescence in a subterranean environment may have any number of causes,” the wizard murmurs as she creeps forwards to get a better look at the glowing pool, bare feet whispering across the stony floor. “I wonder…”
“Um, I think it would be best if we moved on sooner rather than later,” Anghariel speaks up. “As long as none of you are injured too badly, of course. But if this Hallad is here, we probably shouldn’t give him enough to flee, or barricade himself in, or…whatever else he might do when faced with intruders.”
The elf lowers her slightly shaking hands, looking at the dead dogs now strewn around the room with some apprehension. “If there is anybody home, there’s no way they did not hear this racket,” she murmurs.
Anghariel too moves into the room, deftly stepping over some wooden detritus and casting a shield charm on herself.
The wizard steels herself and climbs down the rope once everybody else has gone. Between wearing robes and not being a particularly physical person in the first place, she doesn’t manage the most graceful descent the world has ever seen…but thanks to gravity, if nothing else, she eventually makes it to the bottom all the same.
Anghariel eyes the crawlway with a look of pronounced distaste on her scarred face. “Count me among those who would much rather take the front entrance.”
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