Thanks, but I disagree. Jetta's post is a terrific read :)!
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The rain patters against the window pane, and a gentle thunder rolls through the night sky. The air has grown chilly this evening, a prelude to autumn's coming concerto. Already the leaves have begun to turn, and a few are blown against the glass. The branches of the trees swish and shiver, huddling together against the storm. Inside, tucked away against the elements, the soft glow of a table lamp illuminates an unremarkable writing desk. Behind it, a small fire crackles in the hearth, the heady smoke swimming up the chimney, though the rich fragrance from the burning wood still manages to hang on to the air. Anthuria sits at this desk, penning a final letter. Beside her, a small pile of folded parchments stands as a testament to her work this evening, and the ache in her fingers, another, still. Her scripts is quite elegant, practiced, though by the time she finishes this one the ache in her hand has compelled a degree of abandon in her characteristic flourishes and loops. Still, she sits back, admiring the long rows of inked characters, cherishing the simple beauty of hand-drawn script. She had always loved such things. But now the hour is late, and the last of her wood has begun to dwindle, fading to mere embers within the soot-stained hearth. Drawing her sleeping clothes around her, she stands and makes her way across the room, careful not to stub her toe (again) on the wooden rocking chair that she had stationed in the room. It was still unfamiliar to her, placed there just this morning at her request. But she knew her mother would be glad to see it when she arrived the following week. Advancing on in years, the woman took easily to chill, and so it would be important for her to have a place near the fire. Anthuria smiles sadly at the thought, for though she cannot wait to see her mother, she hates to see her grow older, and the lines upon her face are reminders of the time that has already passed between them, time lost that an never be had again. But from the fertile fields of time grow memories, she knows, memories more splendid and more gracious than the most beautiful flowers she could ever grow. She places another log on the fire, wondering what time has in store for them. A flash of lightning draws her attention to the window and back toward her desk where the finished letter now rests. She folds it closed, then, opening one of the desk’s slender draws, withdraws a white beeswax candle. She lights it by the flame of the lamp, allowing a moment for the wax to melt, then drips a bit of it onto the folded edge of the parchment. Blowing out the candle, she places it carefully to the side, then picks up her sterling silver locket, the one engraved with a bird of paradise. She carefully places it face-down upon the wax, then presses gently with her thumb. After a moment she withdraws the locket, leaving a perfect imprint of the bird within the wax, and sealing the parchment closed. This last letter is her resignation from the college. And while she knows she is making the correct decision, it was perhaps the hardest to write. It will be an enormous step, moving herself and her mother to the Vale. But as her father had told her before he died, even as he lay sick and delirious with fever, ”a life isn’t lived by making easy choices. It’s only in the difficult ones that we find our purpose.” She repeats the line with relish, smiling absently as she conjures up his memory in her mind’s eye. She hadn’t a clue what he meant at the time, for she was practically still a child. But my, how she has lived since then. She thinks of her newfound friends, of the cantankerous Balthus and his loyal dog, of the swarthy Amund and his crazed fondness for the owlbears, of the stalwart Jetta and her loyalty to her ideals, of the wise Lord Arizian and his ambitions to bring order to the wilderness, and of the contemplative Mairen and the strength of her silence. And she thinks of herself, her own notions and ambitions, and how everything she thought she wanted in Korvosa now seems so trivial. Indeed, she isn’t sure what she desires now, or where her path shall lead her, and yet that strikes her as being just fine. She stands and turns out the lamp, making her way across the room by the light of the fire. Crawling into bed, she turns up the covers nearly to her ears, rolling onto her side to stare in the flames, imagining within their lights and shadows a play, a story of adventure. A telling of their journey as ambitious adventurers into the Vale, and of their paths onward, into the remainder of their lives, as friends. The fire’s glow illuminates her locket, which now lies open upon the writing desk. Within it, a small portrait of a family rests. A small and gentle-looking man with pale skin and a dark, overgrown mustache like untended ivy, stands wearing a worn but neatly pressed suit jacket. Seated at his side is a freckled, matronly woman with vivid red hair pulled tightly back into a neat bun. And in her lap, a dark-skinned baby girl, only a few years old, clothed in a simple linen frock. Their smiles are broad, and bright, and proud, and something about the portrait exudes a greater warmth than all the fires in the Vale.
What a nice ending to an excellent campaign! Congratulations to GM Rennai, and the rest of you, on a job very well done. I would never have expected to enjoy a story half as much as I've enjoyed this one. I look forward to playing with you all elsewhere on the boards (there's a certain drowned city that needs exploring). I'll write a closing post for Anthuria, but I'll wait a couple of days.
Anthuria's breaths come slowly and deeply as they claim their horses and begin the ride back to Fort Thorn. Her hands are trembling, and she isn't sure why. She begins to chuckle softly, then laugh, and cry simultaneously, her fears and tensions from the day's ordeal releasing in a wave of near-hysteria. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she says, regrouping herself and laughing once more. "It just seems to surreal, don't you think? One day the Fort is burning, the next we're fighting dragons and wizards and claiming powerful artifacts." It was certainly a far cry from vegetable gardening. "I've been thinking. It would be nice to stay on in the Vale. Certainly there will be a need for able bodies and willing minds, now more than ever. The inn will need rebuilding, additional housing and infrastructure, and certainly agriculture. We could even begin a school! Non-magical, of course.."
Anthuria stands mute, horror-stricken by the patent images of a hellish plane of reality. Surely these are just the last tricks of a scheming wizard, simply an illusion. But she isn't so sure. She pinches her arm, aghast to find that the smell of brimstone lingers. "No, we wouldn't. We couldn't ever be like that." The girl extends an open hand, an invitation to receive the fireseed back from Lord Arizian. "Here, let me," she offers gently. . "Vardak was wrong. We would not seek to conquer the Vale. It is a refuge, a friend, the mother to those who would reside within it. Some of us would even claim it that way, wouldn't we?" She thinks of a line from F.R. Merrymead's Curiosities and Perils of the Varisian Hinterlands, odd though that it strike her so suddenly. "I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars, and the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven." She looks to her friends with a smile. "Dayandırmaq."
Nice, I'll wait to see the results of Perry's spell before offering UMD in-character. Anthuria is holding the arcane scrolls, but otherwise I think I'm good on loot.
Anthuria kneels and gently, ever so gently, lifts the crystalline housing within which glows the fireling. Its light reflects off of her chocolate skin, casting her in its ember gleam and granting her cheeks a fleeting blush of enhanced vitality. "Such a small thing, to cause so much trouble, aren't you?" she seems to ask the seed directly, whispering intimately toward it. "Oh, the great wizards, they love their fire. The very antithesis of life, it represents greed, anger, hate, all the things they use to subjugate those who crawl beneath them, as they lock themselves away to hide within their towers. Their castles." She stands, frowning and holding the gem aloft. Her voice cracks slightly. "But you aren't made of fire at all, are you? You've tricked us, even now, into believing you are. I see through you. I know what you are. You are forged from something far more powerful, something that no gentle rain could ever extinguish, and something that could destroy an entire fort, or a city, or a civilization." "Or, or a family." The fireglow of the gem now illuminates the glistening tears that fill her eyes. "Fear," she says, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. "It's fear. That's its power. But I'm...we're not afraid anymore. No we're not." She coughs, realizing she's making a scene, to clear her throat, before offering the gem to Lord Arizian. "Here. We must hurry now. Sir Tolgrith spoke of a command to disable it. What would it be?"
"Monstrous," Anthuria whispers as the abomination advances. Is it man or beast, something in between, or some thing far removed from either? Not wasting the time to ponder further, she conjures another acidic projectile, hoping to burn the creature back into oblivion.
The statue's glowing staff reflects in the pools of Anthuria's eyes as she extends a hand around it trying to determine its properties.
"I will never understand the wizardly obsession with fire," she remarks. "Or with the size of their staves."
Anthuria shakes her head. "Sorry. That one's beyond me. Perhaps Lord Arizian...?"
Anthuria falls to her knees, patting the riled dog until his growling ceases, then follows Amund into the hallway. "Finely crafted, an expert hand," she comments on the marble statute of the Vardak. "Comparable to the best sculptures in the city, really." Her eyes travel across the inscription, her mouth working silently as she struggles to decipher the elusive alphabet. "To my...student? No, hmmmm, apprentice. Our...victories shall produce fruit. Wait. Shall bear! Our victories shall bear the fruit we seek." "It reads as though Vardak was not working alone. At least, he has some sort of mentor. Another wizard??" She gazes apprehensively before them into the museum. "Careful, the statues may be rigged."
Understandable! A sea/storm-themed adventure is definitely a niche genre that not everyone enjoys. I hope you guys follow along with our adventure, anyway, and you're always welcome to pop into discussion.
Anthuria summons Slasher to her side, then turns her attention back to the creatures. She focuses the latent dust and dirt particles in the air into a swirling vortex before her. Her glowing hands surround it, infusing it with arcane energy and stretching and shaping it like dough. She launches it as a miniature javelin and strikes one of the barghests directly on its brow. "Take that!" she practically squeals in excitement.
Anthuria collects the potions (the threat of fire seems real enough) and follows the others. She visibly jumps when the barghests appear, clutching her bird locket and emitting a small squeal. The noise carries the timbre of an arcane surge that electrifies the air and stimulates the senses.
Back inside the throne room, Anthuria lies flat on the edge of the pit, reaching with her hands to grab Slasher and support him from underneath as Balthus hauls him up. Standing, she reflexively casts the dirt from her clothing with a prestidigitation and smooths her hair. "Well, now that everyone's back together and in one piece...shall we?" She points toward the western passages.
Anthuria clutches her injured arm close to her body. The shock is fading and the wound has begun to sting. She hisses in frustration as the barghest flees into the hills. "Come, we need to hurry. The fire seed must be here." She turns to the castle and calls out for Balthus. "Is Slasher alright?" "Now, If I were a wizard," she muses, her eyes traveling up the enormity of the castle and pausing at the highest tower, "Where would I keep a devastatingly destructive artifact?"
Everything happens so quickly. Before Anthuria can react, the creature is on her, grasping her arm between its teeth and jerking back and forth. She can feel her flesh rend, the muscles shorn by the force of the attack, but strangely there is no pain. Her scream is instead a product of horror. But there is Mairen, her flaming sword cleaving a line between them, drawing the monster's ire toward herself. For a moment Anthuria fears her own arm has been removed, and it is with great relief she finds that it is still attached to her person, and still working (even if somewhat bloodied). Stumbling backward , she unleashes another arcane detonation, green sparks fizzing in all directions.
Woo! Perry, please post your questions about your Seers character(s) in the discussion thread, located here.
And the Sorceress eats a full attack from the barghest! Ouch Jim, that is definitely going to sting in the morning! As it happens, I've already created the campaign for us! Gameplay and discussion are open, and I've included a short gazetteer of the city we'll be adventuring around. Let's get started hashing out characters in discussion!
Never underestimate the cleric! So about our next game... Based on the poll, it looks like it's going to be Seers of the Drowned City? This includes Jetta, Rennai, Mairen, and Amund as players, ya? Perry, have you decided if you want to join us?
"Bah! So much for celestial enchantments. Better to keep one's boots on the earth, hands in the soil..." Anthuria sucks in a breath and sprints forward a step, drawing on more familiar magicks. Her hands flash green as she summons her energy spheres, four viridescent orbs that transform into tiny, emerald sparrows. They flit through the air and crash into the barghest.
Anthuria unfurls the aged parchment, carefully hand-inked constellations and geometric equations revealing themselves as the paper opens. Her brow wrinkles in uncertainty. She has never cast a spell from a scroll before. "It can't be too difficult. I've seen students do it plenty of times..." As if in response, the constellations on the page begin to migrate across it, swirling in miniature galaxies before reforming themselves into words. Familiar words. Taking a deep breath, she begins to sound out the arcane scribblings. With each syllable her voice takes on an esoteric timbre, violet and pinks wisps of smoke flowing from her lips. Once she reaches the dischordations between the second and third metabridges, the scroll seems to dissolve in her hands. It forms a cloud of purple dust that gently floats through the air and begins settle around the nearest barghest.
Ensuring that slasher is, in fact, still alive, Anthuria races down the hallway after Mairen, her bird pendant bouncing to and fro. She emerges out into the daylight just in time to see the barghests attacking the wounded. While her impulse is to fire upon them, she realizes it probably wouldn't stop them. Struck by a moment of inspiration, she thrusts her hand into her satchel, searching for the bound parchments she had found earlier.
Haven't had a chance to post, but if you'd like to bot me feel free. I have a scroll of wandering star motes that might be fun to try!
Happy holidays! Seers is an outdoor campaign with an ocean and storm theme. It takes place just at the edge of the Eye of Abendego in the ruins of a flooded city where a small population survives. Severe weather and underwater combat rules are very important. It runs from levels 6 to 8. We would also use a 20pt buy, 2 traits, background skills, etc.
Re new game, I'm definitely not opposed to doing both! But I want to be respectful of everyone's time. E.g. Jetta may not have time to both GM and play in a new game. Heck, I may not either! Plus, Jetta raised the idea of GMing first, and I don't want to elbow my way into that seat. Encouraging new GMs is important!
If everyone stays for the next game, there should be five votes (Rennai, Balthus, Amund, Mairen, Perry) :). I'll abstain, but Ill also just say (1) I do really like Seers and will eventually run it regardless, and (2) I already GM another game, and it would be great to see a new PbP GM take up the reigns. So I'll be super stoked either way!
Anthuria falls to her knees as a wave of relief falls over her. Immediately, she conjures a gaggle of bobbing, dancing light spheres and casts them down into the pit. "Slasher! Are you alright? " She calls out to the others. "Careful of the barghests! They may not be finished with us yet!"
Now I'm torn between the excitement of building a new character for DD or building a new campaign! Someone else must decide!
I will also throw my hat into this ring. I just picked up Seers of the Drowned City, the newest module spanning levels 6 to 8. Dragons Demand sounds fun as well. I would say one or the other, due to time constraints.
Yes Anthuria has liberating command, though I've already posted. Ending the fear affect would be my preference (I didn't know you'd allow liberating command) but GM can decide.
"Slasher!" Anthuria races into the room as the dog gives a surprised yelp, though she's far too late to reach him in time. Stricken, her immediate reaction is retribution against the wizard, but the appearance of the barghests makes it clear her attention is needed elsewhere. Mairen is in trouble. She backs herself against the wall, a pit on one side, a closed doorway on the other. Praying she isn't making a target of herself, she focuses on the thrum of energy surrounding her. Extending a finger, she plucks a chord, as though strumming a guitar. The air trembles as a ripple progresses outward from her hand and engulfs the barghests, disrupting their speed.
Oh snap, things just got really interesting! Happy anniversary to us!
For Anthuria, there isn't even a question. Even before the doors were crushed inward, before this Vardak made his threats, and even now as he reaches for his black, twisted staff, a story began to tell itself. It begins with a foundling discovered at the door of a second rate college. She is raised in a humble, loving home, but the reality outside those walls soon becomes her prison. And so she retreats inside herself and, all the better to squirrel away, constructs an imaginary world in which men were good. And there she lives for many years, too afraid to venture outside and sieze her potential. But then she is lured out by false promises from false people. But the joke is on them, for naked and vulnerable as she is out in this world all alone, she finds strength in those she befriends and, more important, within herself. And it is for those friends as well as herself that she does not hesitate to come face to face with the most dangerous thing she has ever encountered. It is, she realizes, the thing her entire life has been building toward. "No," she whispers, extending her hand before her, reaching through time and space to find the girl she was, the woman she wants to be, and the man who now stands in her way.
Anthuria promptly casts a round of prestidigitations to cleanse traces of the blood from herself and her companions. Then she approaches the table. Her fingers hover over the map of the Vale as she tries to identify features with which she might be familiar. She locates Mist Lake, then traces a route back to the location of Fort Thorn, across the Vale Road, out toward the Mindspin Mountains and, though it is not on the map, the city-nation of Korvosa. "Would he be content with the wilderness? If he conquers the Vale, what's to stop him from turning his destructive tendencies westward toward the city?" The wizards of the Acadamae and Theumanexus, for one thing, she reminds herself. The Guard, the Hellknights, and the Sable Marines, for others. Still, the notion of a free-wheeling wizard running rampart through the forest, killing anyone and anything in his path is...is downright infuriating. She clenches her teeth and nods silently as Balthus lays out a plan.
Anthuria has seen more than enough blood since coming to the Vale, and yet it never fails to rattle her. An abrupt spray of something warm strikes her face. She finds that her hands are now coated in shimmering, ruby droplets of the stuff. She doesn't know whose it is. "You, you brute!" she screams, rallying herself to focus a magical attack on the beast. A frenzied, sparking cluster of green fireworks erupts from her hands. They crackle and whirr as they fly around her companions before finally slamming into the barghest.
Anthuria jumps, startled, as the barghest grows to twice its size. Glancing down, she notices that her skin has transformed into cracked, rigid bark , as though her body were seeking to protect itself from the immediate danger. As the others rush bravely into battle, her mind reels as it tries to bind together some comprehension of the beast before them. Her imagination leafs through page after page of the Rose King's menagerie, each illustration more dreadful than the last. Was this creature torn from those very pages, drawn to life from ink siphoned from children's worst nightmares? She flexes her arm, watching the bark bend and, for a fleeting moment, wonders if she, too, was born from that book.
Welcome back Mairen! Glad to hear you're returning to us :).
Anthuria clutches her side as she hobbles up beside Lord Arizian. "The tapestry and rug are works of art. The Acadamae itself would pay hundreds of gold for them, I'm sure. Perhaps after, if we survive this place..." After the torment of the fire magic, the idea of pillaging the castle doesn't seem so unspeakable to her...
Anthuria's vision explodes in an orchestra of blinding colors whose notes and melodies seem to burn themselves into her very flesh. Although the colors subside, the pain does not, and she clutches her sides in anguish, vaguely aware that she has fallen to the floor. Slasher's yelps bring her back to reality. Taking a few deep breaths, she forces herself to stand through the pain, reaching to offer the dog what little comfort she can.
Anthuria had had no idea what to expect, although in truth this was just as she would have imagined the mountainous castle stronghold of a powerful wizard. Of course there would be a self-portrait. She rubs Slasher's neck nervously as she takes in the extravagance. "Oh yes, we remember the thorns. But it was by being together that we were able to succeed. I remember that, too. Let's not stray far from one another." "Wait!" she calls as Balthus prepares to scout ahead. She hurries up to his side, looking impossibly awkward before giving him a little hug. "Be..be careful, do you understand?" she hisses. Her cheeks burning, she turns back to the others and reclaims Slasher. On the way she passes Lord Arizian. "Take good care of him, won't you?"
Watching the others assault the door, Anthuria tugs at the hem of her tunic nervously. Gulping nervously, she wills a protective barrier to sparkle over her skin.
Anthuria shuts her eyes as the enormous creature strikes the earth, sending shockwaves through the ground and a burst of wind and dirt through the air. "Amund, are you alright? Lord Arizian will set you straight, won't you Lord Arizian?" She remains at his side, but cups her hand over her brow to peer up toward the impressive castle. A determine frown shadows her face further. "So, that's where the bastard is hiding." She jogs after Jetta, expecting the worst.
Let's hope I don't draw attention to myself. GM said she'll try not to kill you, but Anthuria is fair game!
"Amund!" Anthuria knees and rakes her hand along the ground, gathering up a handful of gravel and dirt. A light wind begins to whip around her as she imbues a quantum of her own energy into it. Pushing with her legs, she lunges up and sprints forward, spinning 360 degrees. As she comes full circle she opens her hand, releasing a volley of green energy.
Anthuria goes running as the dragons release a gout of flame. She bites her lip to quell a scream as her garment catches flame, burning her arm. She drops to the ground, rolling and beating her sleeve, not caring that she must look a fool. With a trembling breath she musters her nerves, climbing back to her feet with eyes narrowed as she watches the battle unfold.
"Jetta, quick!" Anthuria cries as she rushes forward. Planting both feet firmly on the rock ground and touching Jetta on the arm, she digs into the very earth with her mind. Deep within those ancient rocks the fossils of even older trees slumber. She pictures them come alive, their powerful limbs wending up through the rock and bursting out once more into the light of the sun.
"I guess. I mean, I try my best to... um, what are you referring to, exactly?" Anthuria steps back, hand place on Jetta's shoulder. Her eyes have gone a bit misty. "It's just...You were...You did your duty. You've always done your duty. And people rely on that. I never understood, just how important it is to have someone, something to rely on. You...the Hellknights are always there for the people. And sometimes we need the help." "So...thank you. Thank you very much, Jetta Stahle, for your service to Korvosa and her people. I just wanted to say that." Anthuria busies herself with her sleeve, which she's just noticed is unforgivably smudged with dirt. "Now, let's get going. We want to get this business done with, don't we?"
Anthuria smiles a silent greeting to Jetta as she secures the strappings of one of her saddlebags, her slender, dark fingers expertly weaving a practiced knot in the leathern cords. Her smile remains even as Jetta speaks of danger, though the sparkle in her eyes fades. "If I've made the impression that I can handle myself, or that I serve some purpose, then I am as happy as I could possibly be. I never imagined that I might actually be of use to anyone but my family. The thought is exciting and terrifying, for it means I share in the responsibility of our own safety, and the safety of everyone else within the Fort. I know we might not be coming back. But I, I'm not afraid. My time here with you and the others has been the most fulfilling in my life. If I do face my end at the hands of this wizard, I'm content in knowing that, at last, I've made a difference." Anthuria takes Jetta's hand in her own, her eyes peering into the other's, remembering the day, a lifetime ago, when they first met. "And you, you've made all the difference in the world, whether you realize it or not." Anthuria surprises herself by giving Jetta a hug, grinning as its clear she's caught the soldier off guard.
Great, welcome back! Now, let's go stomp an evil wizard :).
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