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Hey everyone! I gotta drop out of this game. It's been great hanging with you for a few months, but I can't seem to get my attention to latch onto this campaign (which is on me--it's beautifully written and y'all have wonderful camaraderie). I recently started an open-world homebrew game as DM and I can't seem to spare the neurons to be a player at the same time. Thanks for having me along, Eldest, and sorry for leaving!
Sarea watches the celebration with a gimlet eye. She turns to Nidintu, smiling and skeptical all at once at his vision of a thriving community growing up on the frontier. "A waterwheel, and then a kingdom! If it's not hard to make them, you should--it'll save labor in the long run. It feels strange that I've fallen in with noblefolk and soon-to-be-noblefolk, but I'm happy for you all. Can I tag along and see what you make of this new land?" Then, taking Eskra and Nidintu's suggestions literally, she gingerly steps over the bodies, finds the ale, and starts pouring frothing tankards for anyone who'll take one off her hands. Taking one for herself, she savors a sip so long that a second like it will have her heading back to the casks. "Not half bad, actually! I taste rich malt, hops, and herbs. I think it's a smidge of wormwood and probably a touch mugwort to add some tooth to the bitterness. If I'm right, we'll have lovely dreams tonight. You should keep this recipe in mind for your tavern, Nidintu!"
After getting her breathing under control following the departure of the owlbear, Sarea starts scanning for anything useful. While she investigates (keeping an eye out for the rumored magic mask in particular), she chats with the party, still semi-strangers to her: "Gentry-folk? For squashing a bandit? Are you all aspiring knights errant or somesuch?"
Sarea whimpers, "I don't wanna be guano..." She decides to take a turn getting set up for the future instead of rushing in headlong. First, she casts Shield. Somewhat reassured by the dancing, semi-translucent field of force interposing itself between her and her enemies, she enters Arcane Cascade. Finally, she Recharges her Spellstrike. "This is... this is fine..."
Sarea reels back from Auch's attack, but despite the pain she has a definite sense that things could have been worse. She takes another deep breath and tries to push some fire onto Auchs.
Not her finest thrust... maybe the wound has her on the back foot?
Sarea plans to follow up with more of the same--first, she takes a deep breath, concentrating on regenerating her magical resources.
Then, she switches from zaps to burns, pushing fire through her spear towards the Stag Lord:
This time, she misses. Horribly.
Sarea steps forward so she can thrust her spear past Aikros. Sarea chants as she lunges with her branched spear, imbuing it with crackling electricity:
She thrusts the weapon home, then unleashes a shocking spell that sizzles and arcs across the branches of the spear before discharging on the Stag Lord.
She cackles witchily.
Sarea nods silently. She's ready.
Sarea slinks through the shadows, quiet as a cat.
Sarea catches Xavin's eye and mouths "...sorry!" She then flashes them Light subtly, hoping to remind them that she's magic, too. She clears her throat and makes a new suggestion, one that Nidintu might actually want to use... "Uh, and Tanith would be sure his gang all felt valued and knew their place in the chain of command, right? Not just leading from the front, but delegating effectively? No simmering tensions in the good ol' days?"
Bithisarea watches Nidintu work the crowd with increasing respect. She finds herself nodding along with his points. She goes back over everything she's learned about this place so far and decides to try to chip in some info. She helpfully (hopefully helpfully) Clues In Nidintu, offering a detail from her investigation that might prove useful as he rallies the bandits: "I bet ol' Boss Tanith would never get involved with outlandish magic, right, Nidintu? Wouldn't wear it on his face, at least."
Sarea backs up Xavin by talking with Aikros too. She mentions what she heard from the bandits on the road quietly, making sure the deets are fresh.
Sarea will keep an eye on things and see if her memory is sparked by anything going on in the camp. If these people are living at all like the bandits back west, maybe she can learn something useful.
"I certainly didn't intend to dishonor you. I'll be careful around Carageorn, with attention to his all-or-nothing nature, and I'll try to be more careful with my words, too. Sorry I caused a kerfuffle!"
Sarea tells the party what she learned about Aikros: "So, keep an eye out for the second-in-command, Aikros. He's probably competent and disgruntled, which might be useful for us. Maybe we can start civil strife among the bandits?"
...she also retrieves her leather armor and dons it, integrating it with her robes (they were made to work together). She's hoping to look more like a passable bandit and less like a captive.
Sarea keeps her mouth shut (at last, for now) and her eyes open. At the mention of Aikros, she perks up and looks for the lieutenant, hoping to make some kind of deal with the bandit.
I will be in the woods until Friday--please bot me if I'm holding up the game!
Erastil is a good god. I was just joking around about the asshat's name.
"I hope her comrades recognize her for her actions, not her blood. Least we can do for each other, I think, but so hard for some people!."
"Eskra said it didn't matter how I addressed them! I will use 'they' if 'they' is right, but I did ask, just before you showed up, and they told me the whole concept doesn't matter to them and 'out here we live and let live.' 'Live and let live' followed by a death threat, my gods! And I'll have you know that not every woman out here is a damsel in distress. I'll admit I was playing that role a minute ago, but the scene might have changed. I've been eavesdropping on these bandits and had just about formed a plan..."
To Eskra, "So, you prefer plural reference? You should have told me."
"You might be surprised how much the nuances of language and modes of address matter to some people, but I'm all for living and letting live." As Carageorn apparates, Sarea's eyes sparkle with delight and the half-surprise of someone who is always ready to be amazed by magic. "Most cordial greetings to you, bloody briar of the rose, thorn of the flowering vine! Are you telepathic with Eskra and live in her birthmark? That's pretty amazing! I'd love to hear more about that as we travel."
I will call you Xavin! Thank you for saving me.
Sarea says, "I'm game! Going after the herbivores, are you? Take down the Stag Lord and his deer gang, then the forest belongs to the trees?"
"Please stop where you are with the kidding! I'm not sure what I'd do if you're actually more bandit than the bandits. Probably try to join you? Thanks for saving me." Then she does a quick double-take as she catches on to the massive Charisma bonus and radiant magnetism of the androgyne. "You're just lovely, aren't you! How should I address you? As a girl, boy, man, woman, neither/something else, a mix, doesn't matter, or does it change? Apologies if asking's rude in these parts, but in Riddleport, it's considered polite--a city of pirates and wizards, you know, lends itself to variety. I look forward to meeting your fae friend! I'm very interested in fae matters just now."
Cawsper says, "Caww Cawwww CAWWW." He flips first one wing, then the other, then preens aggressively, then glares. Sarea, whose own smile tightened as Nidintu-Bel's broadened to reveal serried ranks of teeth, now chuckles. "He can talk. He's just choosing not to talk to you. Please don't roast him if he tries again. He uses his waste rhetorically--I think it's a cultural thing among birds. And he did think you were a bandit." Then, Sarea whirls the branched spear in a few easy windmills, somewhere between wuxia and baton twirling, chanting softly. A line of frost climbs the branches of the spear, only to quickly melt into steam. "Old style, new twists, but yes, it's a great tool for someone who is quick, but light. I learned how to use it from some friends of my da's. If I had to go to the worldwound, it'd be my first companion. Must be a fascinating place, but not the top of my travel plans. Is she ok, your daughter?"
As the party knocks some heads together (some using their own heads) and subdues the bandits, Sarea bends around so her hands are facing the where her bonds are tied to the wagon, snaps her fingers, and points (as best she can).
"Damnation! These ropes make it hard to aim!"
The second shot burns the rope to cinders, and it doesn't take her long to wriggle out of the rest of her bonds once she has a start. Once free, she kicks out any wayward sparks or flames left over from her spell. She anxiously pulls herself up onto the wagon and starts rummaging through it for her branched spear. Finding it, she sighs with relief. Then, she twirls around with a not-untheatrical twist of robe, hops down, and faces the party, smiling. A few seconds later, Cawsper swoops down, pulls up into a momentum-killing banking climb, and lands smoothly on Sarea's shoulder. In her Western-accented common, she starts talking: "Thanks so much, all of you! I'm sorry if I heaped too many insults on you--I didn't know you weren't bandits or that you were going to save me, and I get mean when I'm nervous. I'm Bithisarea Carnacki, a woman of Riddleport and a magus in the service of the Cyphermages. My name's a handful and a half, so call me Sarea, sa-Ray-uh. How shall I address you?"
Sarea whispers to the leshy, "I take it all back. I may be from the city and the sea, but I love trees! I'm rooting for you, bud." Then, louder, she hollers "UNHAND ME YOU WOOD-LOUSY LOUT!"
When the leshy grabs her biceps, Sarea doesn't flinch. But when he grabs her face to check her teeth, she waits till he gets reaaaal close, then growls so only he can hear, "I don't need my hands free to cast ignition, bud. Keep your blighty bug-nibbled twigs off of me or I'll start a forest fire."
To Nidintu, she says, "Three hundred years, old fella, and still looking for a new boss to tell you how and when to rob people? Grow up. If I live three hundred years, I'll have a kingdom. I've seen adventurers go on just one dungeon dive and come back with enough loot to buy a farm, hire some workers, and retire. Why are you still on the road, with that much time to get ahead? I bet the only significant rewards you've ever won as a bandit were for attendance and 'most likely to try try again.' And you're a smith, to boot? That's a high-value skill. You're probably being robbed blind. Take it from me: if you're adding more value than you receive from an organization, it's time to renegotiate your role. And if you can't figure out who's robbing you, here's a hint: it's probably the richest-looking robber." Inside, she's...
...terrified. Oh gods... I don't actually think anyone could ransom me in any feasible timeframe, but I could be sold into slavery real quick. I gotta get out of here. From the trees, a raucous voice calls, "Caught, caught, caught."
A definitely random crow swoops low and...
...misses the "new bandit" Nidintu with a poorly released payload. "Craawp crawwp crawwp." Sarea glares daggers at the bird. Dumb bird's gonna get himself shot. Wow, I'm glad he missed--that one with the horns looks pretty fierce. Still, I can probably learn more by engaging with them than by standing here in silence. Bandits usually respect courage more than weakness... and if I have to take a punch, so be it. Won't be the first nor... I guess I hope nor the last (if they want to ransom me, I have to live, right?). As the party hails the bandits, they see that the captive is an incongruous Varisian woman who has halted mid-stride in a defiant contrapposto despite her bonds. She calls out in the common tongue, slightly accented by half a continent's distance: "Well, well, well. More scoundrels joining the ranks, I presume? Seeking fortune, fame, or merely a swift descent into infamy? Or are you lot just here for the free ale and poor life choices?" From her accent and her garments, she's obviously a stranger in a strange land. A crimson scarf wraps her neck, and she wears a shot-cut blue robe cinched at the waist with a tooled leather belt over red hose. She's just a touch under average height, and her build is athletic and wiry. Her medium-short brown hair is neatly styled, framing her face and deep brown eyes. Elven blood pushes the tips of her ears through her hair, but only just. Her olive skin is adorned with subtle tattooing on all the skin you can see (not much: her face and hands, at the moment). She wears battered but sturdy leather ankle boots. Somehow, she looks clean, especially compared to her captors. Despite her current predicament as a captive, she exudes an air of confidence and intelligence, and her sharp gaze perches above a slight smile, darting between her captors and the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and calculation.
I think I'll have something to say to Aikros. I sure hope he's disgruntled. As the group (I won't call it a party) approaches the ruins on the hill, Sarea keeps her eyes and ears open. And, for now, her mouth shut.
Sarea finds herself captive. Well, my investigation is proceeding, at least. Nice guys, these bandits, taking me in without undue violence. Much better than those pirates that one time. Maybe things aren't so bad out here. I'll hold off on roasting them to see how this plays out... and I'm not sure I could take all three at once anyway. And I want to see that magic helmet. She hears a doubly familiar CA-CAW above her and feels reassured knowing that Cawsper is keeping watch above. Poor bird is probably half out of his mind with worry. Too smart for his own good. I'm just lucky he's not already down here trying to insult the bandits into setting me free... She hears a rustle of wings and an annoyed voice calling "Cawptured again... Cawn't believe you." She hisses at the sky: "SSHHHH," potentially drawing the attention of the bandits. Trying to dodge gracefully, "Shhhssso, we're going to see the Stag Lord. I've heard he's a big deal, but I've never met him. Is he a good boss? I used to work with some pirates, and let me tell ya, they are a mixed bag when it comes to leadership."
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