Captain Shar'ka Fire-Eye's page

"Please, madam, if there is anything you can do, I find myself feeling a bit..." he clears his throat, drained by these things attack."

Ria quietly approaches Alar and pulls out a leaf-wrapped kit of bottles and small pouches.

Healing check to use med kit on Alar: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

She deftly cleans the wounds and applies a special grey mixture of leaves and medicinal herbs to the skin, then wraps thin, light brown bandages of bark secured with cotton strings.

Healing: 3d4 + 1 ⇒ (3, 1, 3) + 1 = 8

"I hope that helps. I can change your bandages after we take a short rest, if you still are in need." She looks around and says, "That is if we are able to take a short rest in this dank place."

She then begins to place globs of the herbal mixture on the numerous cuts on her arms and legs from the fall and says, "I'm Ria, by the way. I'm glad I could help." She wraps more bark around them and secures them with cotton string.

Healing check to use med kit on self: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

Healing: 3d4 + 3 ⇒ (3, 2, 2) + 3 = 10

Ria snaps her fingers of her right hand and keeps her fingers pinched. A small flame flickers above her fingers. Using this bit of light, she opens her pack with her left hand and locates her lantern, wrapped in padding now wet from the fall. She takes out the wick and holds it over her flame in an attempt to dry it out so she can light the lantern.

She will also ask if anyone is in need of care. "I have a kit of healing herbs that I'd be happy to administer."

She is also very aware of the buzzing coming from the far structure. "Roland," she says, "Do you hear that? We should figure out how to avoid those creatures."

Ria finds herself momentarily admiring Roland as he admires the auroch, appreciating how much he admires the beasts. Then she shakes her head and turns her full attention on the herd in front of her.

"Oh!" she cries, running forward to the closest injured beast. She looks intently at the wounds, and pulls out a small jar of yellowish salve. "I can put this on the wounds to help," she says, directing her glance to Roland.

Medicine with proficiency: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19 She will attend to this physical wounds in hopes that she can heal this creature.

As she rubs the salve on the beast and tends to its wounds, she mutters a couple words in her Druidic tongue. A shiver of green light flows down her entire body for an instant, and then she lowers her head so face is level with the auroch's. She has cast Speak with Animals . Anyone listening to her would hear noises like grunts, snorts, and moos going back and forth from Ria to the auroch.

Ria Navari draws her woolen cloak tighter around her shoulders as she walks along the outskirts of the torchlit gatherings. She does not like being close to the rambunctious noise and raucous drinking that night brings. Traveling during the day with the Laviari people is comfortable enough; when she needs a break from the gossip of people she walks close to a packhorse or a stray auroch and speaks with them. She finds being with animals more comfortable and loves to connect with them.

Ria finds an unoccupied space touching the very edge of the firelight, and places her full backpack down on the ground. Her wooden mail covering her limbs and torso makes a rattling knocking sound as she sits. She takes a long drink from her waterskin made of thin, silvery birch bark then pulls out a modest dinner of roots, nuts, and dried berries. She eats quietly, occasionally scanning the darkness behind her with alert eyes and ears. She silently watches the people as they feast and drink. If she sees any small night creatures coming close to her, she attempts to approach them and talk with them.

"Ahoy!" comes a distant call from the harbor. A mid-sized ship with two sails scoots with ease into the docking area. Two dwarves run around the deck, pulling ropes and closing the sails. A short, stout dwarf dressed in brown and green velvet is standing still at the helm, with one hand on the wheel. He raises a hand covered in golden rings and yells again, "Ahoy there!" The two dwarves jump from the ship to the dock to secure the ship. The stout dwarf steadily walks from the deck of the ship to the dock, looking around.

This dwarf has dark greenish brown skin, and his half-brushed tangle of thick brown hair is almost like a forest of seaweed. His mustache lies like twists of brown coral, and he has a long, green tattoo on the left side of his face that sticks out like barnacles.

"Yarral Stormtide, docking fer trade!" he calls out. His thick middle glitters as his belt buckle, a giant blue stone set in gold filigree, catches the light. He pulls out a small silver flask and takes a swig, showing several golden chains hanging around his neck. He grunts and looks around again; he seems a bit perplexed that no one is at the dock to meet him. "Where be the harbor master?"

Strength check: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

Florr yells, "Don't you recognize me? I'm Florr Hemera! We're not here to hurt you, we're here to save you! Bring you back to the village! Reach within yourself and find your strength!"

THRAVUM
Thravum shrugs... "Yer were warned..."

He kicks the hammer away from the automaton's grasp lifeless grasp. He then reaches into the cavity and grabs a book and tosses it carelessly to the side, trying to extricate the good stuff.

OLEKSANDR
Olek lunges for the book immediately after Thravum tosses it trying to catch it before it hits the ground. (Dex 8) Your fingertips touch the pages but the book crashes to the ground.

He then elbows himself in next to Thravum and searches for anymore books.

"Careful with these. The knowledge they contain may well be more valuable than your shiny trinkets."

You find 8 worn books.
Four books are bound in dark brown leather with the title “Forging in Mithril” by G. Durgeddin, a detailed compendium about his specially developed techniques, You have never heard of any such book before, and you know that Durgeddin's method was thought to be lost forever, never before spread beyond this mountain.

One book bound in blue cloth; flipping through, you see a collection of poetry and tales about the legacy of forging mithril in the Mountain, collected by Master Bard Kagravva.

Three books in black leather, written in different hands; further inspection shows that these are Journals of Kings of the Mountain, telling detailed history of the construction and leadership and ledgers of crops and animals, plus much more information about how the mountain community survived and worked.

JORLITHARR
Jorlitharr will try and coax the fiery elemental to return to the ruby, after scratching the rune of "Returning" onto its face.

(Arcana 24)

(Arcana with advantage because it's a gem and and elemental his two favorite things? 22)
The rune glows a brilliant blue for a second, then the elemental is "sucked" back into the ruby (think of a genie going back into a bottle).

Afterwards he'll approach the automaton. He'll begin what will likely be weeks of labor and begins to cast mending. "You guys head on back. I think I'm going to be staying in town close by. I'll be able to keep an eye on what we can't carry.”

OLIAS
"Holy gods above!" Olias shouts as the dwarf comes crashing down. "Glad I wasn't under that!" He looks into the cavity and notices the chest. "Hmm, is it locked?" If so, he will attempt to open it.

(Lockpick 8)
You do not open the chest.

You are out of initiative.

The closest ooze to Olek sizzles a little from the firebolt. They both still wiggle menacingly, like a mouse threatening a lion.

The one that Olek hit slides next to Jorlitharr and swipes with a tiny pseudo pod.

Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

It misses and its arm splats on the ground.

The other swipes at Thravum. Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

It misses and swirls its arm into its body.

Florr keeps her right palm extended, gusts of wind still whipping out. With her other hand (one finger extended from her grip on the bow) she traces a rune in the air. She hovers and flies twenty feet south, her palm pointing at the tree that has halfway collapsed. Before she lands she traces another rune and gently sinks to the ground on her feet. marked as "a"

She continues to carefully make her way south through the dense brush, keeping her palm facing that same tree as she walks. The wind whips through the branches, and she hopes to further make it an unstable perch for the elves.

She stops moving as she reaches the edge of that tree and slowly aims her palm southeast at the two fleeing elves, with the intention of blowing them towards (and potentially in) the river.

Florr swallows the beer with gusto. "Delicious brew! My compliments!" She gives Aengus a quick bow, grinning.

"I am very willing to help heal Gritnarr if we find that he needs it." She wiggles her fingers. "I'm ready to help him in this way."

In the forest Florr keeps her bow in her hand as she walks. It is strung, but she isn't holding an arrow (those are ready in her quiver on her back).

She will keep an eye out as they walk for any signs of wildlife, human or not. She is unusually silent, thinking about the dangerous forest they are in and wondering if they would be meeting danger soon or later on.

Survival: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

"...So I floated in and out of the room taking pot shots at his legs while Thravum swung me around the room to get into better positions. Meanwhile, Jorl tripped him with some of his geo-magic and Olek blasted him in his face with bolts of fire. This only enraged the beast more, and he brandished this blade. Geim wrestled him until the blade was freed from his grasp. It floated into the air and, as chance would have it, right into my hand. This was clearly a divine blade. By now, The Great Ulfe was aweary, and in a dramatic coup-de-grace, Thravum swung me towards the monster while he charged in himself, and then the abomination was finally slain."

"A blade as beautiful and rare as this I could not let go for less than 9,000 gold, I'm afraid."

The Mayor is enthralled and makes "ooo" and "ahh" noises at precisely the correct times in your story.

"What a story! You adventurers are certainly a match for a dragon!"

He goes to a picture frame on the wall and swings it on a hinge to reveal a small locked door. He turns his back to you and you hear jangling and rustling. When he turns again he is holding a large golden key, which he inserts into the lock. Once open, he reaches in and you hear the muffled clink of gold hitting cloth. After several minutes he turns to you and holds up a heavy, red velvet drawstring bag.

"My compliments to you! I daresay that I will look a fine leader with such a weapon at my side." He leans in closer to you. "You'll put out a good word for me, won't you? Pass along the truth that I am watching out for this city? I must look the part of a leader at all times."

His grip on the bag of gold is tight as he holds it closer to you. He smiles.

"Do we have a deal, friend?"

Thravum is shaking his head in mild disbelief and still grinning as he aims a blow to the man's mid-section

"...ungrateful....human...dung...non-vis...uises...."

"OOOF!" comes out of the man's mouth as he doubles over with Thravum's fist in his stomach. He quickly recovers and backs up a few paces. His backside bumps into a table. He looks, grabs a heavy metal tankard from the table, and tosses it at Thravum's head. Ale sloshes everywhere.

Tankard toss attack: 1d20 ⇒ 17

The tankard bounces off the side of Thravum's head.

Tankard toss damage: 1d4 ⇒ 1

"Take that!" the man cackles. He lunges forward a few feet, his fist at the ready.

To the mayor: "You are clearly a man of fine tastes, friend! And what leader doesn't need a weapon to demonstrate his power and control? I present to you, this here golden rapier, which was found in the Old Dwarrowden Stronghold. Any interest, friend?"

You've caught the mayor in a jovial mood."Ah my friend!" he calls, "and what is this fine piece?" He grasps the rapier and brandishes it as if he's fighting a creature bigger than himself. "Back, back you vile orcs!" He makes a couple obviously untrained slashes in the air.

After a couple of minutes he stops his fighting role play and examines the rapier closely.

"Such filigree, such delicate beauty. Where did you find this? And, more importantly, how much would you like in order to part with it?"

Florr is floored.

"This is... really deep information. We have these powerful magical objects and a mind controlling creature is on the loose."

Florr motions to the book. "Mr. Bill, is there a way to destroy the grimoire, or at least to disable the 'gifts' or void the contracts a warlock has made? If this is what Mallark has done, perhaps we can weaken the creature or at least weaken their bond, and then destroy it. This creature - this illithid - sounds like something that should NOT be in this world."

She points to the clawlike object tied to the top of the staff. "Do you know what animal this is from? Could this be used to summon an illithid? Maybe we could destroy this object. Is the staff inherently evil? Can you keep it safe?"

She leans back and thinks. "Is there a connection between Umberlee and this hidden city? The tablet we found, this grimoire, this creature. I'm wondering if there is a common something that links it all together."

Knowledge History: 1d20 ⇒ 8

Grushnak feels his steps subconsciously lighten as he begins his journey. He is eager.

Nice job Joe. Take 1 inspiration point!

Does the armor look like it's been worn recently?

He'll uncover the cot.

The armor has the signs of being thrown in the corner and not being used for several days at least. It's in good shape. You see a couple dings and scraping marks on the bottom, like it had been dragged across something.

Underneath the cot you see a fine Dwarven urgrosh, emblazoned with a hippogriff on the flat ax head. Straw is stuffed around it, trying to hide it (very badly).

You don't find anything else of value in this room. Unless you like crates and cots.

Florr is getting very hungry. There are very nice smells wafting from the Drunken Horse. A fishermen's stew perhaps?

Roll a Constitution save (DC 19) to resist getting some food.

Florr inhales the fragrant fishy aroma.

Con save: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

She closes her eyes and her stomach growls.

She knocks again to take her mind off her stomach. But the smell is too enticing.

Con save: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18

She turns and goes to the tavern.

Sighanna says, "Show me where you found the feather!" To Sam and Rankin she says, "Go stay with Thravum and Olias. They will watch over you."

Once at the spot where the feather was found, Sighanna motions for Jorlitharr to be still. She closes her eyes and is unmoving for 1 full minute. Suddenly she lets out a joyous shout. "He's close! I cannot pinpoint his direct location since we are underground but I know he is less than a mile away."

She looks around. "The feather was here, and I see boot tracks are all over here..." She gets closer to the dirt tunnel to the south.

Survival: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Sighanna talks excitedly. "This tunnel slopes upwards! I feel a slight pull in the air, tugging me into the tunnel. I bet this leads above ground. Boot tracks lead towards us and away, in both directions. I believe Featherhoof is above ground based on my connection with him. Come with me!" she calls to Jorlitharr. "I'd like your help!"

The stone box is locked, but you notice the key you find is the same type of stone. When you try it in the box, it clicks open. At the bottom you see a large leather-wrapped satchel, a chain that matches the one you saw around Sighanna’s neck, and a silver goblet. The chain and goblet glow with magical light. If you focus on the magic, you see the chain is necrotic magic and the goblet glows with illusion.

The jars on closer inspection are mostly preserved body parts, old and swollen and not easily identifiable as human or beast. You do see a magical glow coming from a tall jar near the back of the lower shelf; you see it is a hand floating in green liquid with a golden ring around the middle finger.

Update: The goblet has transmutation magic around it. The chain is indeed necromancy. The ring glows with a mix of magic; you sense evocation, divination, and transmutation.

"Where n hell is every'un?"

"Hippogriff," Sighanna corrects gently. "The tall wizard went to look for a key," she holds up her wrists, "and the dirtcovered barefooted one went with him. He sounded determined to find Featherhoof."

She slowly stands, rubbing her wrists. "I'd like to get my armor back, and find some food. It's been a while since we've had a good meal." She motions towards the other two in the cell. "Shall we?"

She leads the way down the eastern passage, following the food smell. She picks out fresh meat and beer that hasn't been half-eaten or in a dirty mug. She hands fresh water to Sam and the young halforc. "I believe I see barefoot dirty prints continuing down the hallway to the east," she tells Olias and Thravum (if they follow her). "Perhaps you can see what he's doing? I don't think it's a good idea for you all to be scattered around this pit."

Jorlitharr will remove the grey object and examine it.
Passive Perception 15.

It is a long feather with a thick core.

"Would you mind helping me with the rest? Until I learn the Dwarven language, it'd be nice to at least have a Common translation. Thanks!"

Sighanna smiles despite her weary, hungered condition. "I would be happy to read this to you. I'm very intrigued myself, having read the first part. That will help pass the time as we wait for the others to return."

She focuses on the drum and begins.

The Battle of Stonetooth

Far over the stony mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
Durgeddin forged, crafted to hoard
Many fine treasures in mithril and gold.

Grushnak and Oleksandr make their way back to the hallway by the Great Ulfe’s room. As they pass the Diremole and Direwolf, they see that they both are fine and dozing. Duggar is making little rattling snoring noises.

Grushnak leads you to the hallway where the Great Ulfe’s room is. Instead of turning right towards it, he turns left. “Eye’s room just down here. Evil place,” he says, pointing.

Thravum is shaking his head disapprovingly as he gives up on the left and moves over to the right.

The right manacle falls open. Sighanna moves her wrist around. She watches him work on the other manacle. She also listens to Olias' songs. After he speaks to her, she replies, "Ah I would love to delve into the lineage of the Gemcutters and their part in the history of the Towers of Doriast of the Holgirr Mountains. And I could tell the story of my ancestor for whom I was named and how she vanquished the traitorous Anganak and saved Grombarr the Brave - ah what a story! Perhaps when we have found Featherhoof and made our way to a cozy fireside with some ale I could enlighten you."

She motions to his drum. "That is a beautiful instrument!" she exclaims. She begins to read the Dwarven runes. "This song describes the Battle of Stonetooth. It begins,"

"Far over the stony mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
Durgeddin forged, crafted to hoard
Many fine treasures in mithril and gold."

She stops. "There are many verses. Sounds like this is the chorus that repeats itself. See how the runes repeat?" She points out several instances of this. "I have never heard this song before. I hope you can perform it for me at the same fireside chat."

Using the blunt top of a hand axe he starts hammering at the ring holding the chain to the wall- working it back, forth, up and down. He also uses a dagger to try and chip away at the morter holding it in place. Occasionally he stops and tugs at the chain to test it's strength.

"May I see that axe?" she asks, taking it from him. "I'll hit the top, you work the dagger, and I believe that together we can open this one."

After a couple minutes the lock clicks open. Sighanna returns the axe and rubs her wrists together.

"We'd better go find those two who left to visit the Eye's room. It's been a while since the changing of the guards outside, and based on that ruckus I heard I have a feeling the replacement guards won't be making it to their posts."

The emaciated dwarf closes her eyes as Olias plays, soaking in the music. Really beautiful playing, Joe! She then looks at all of you, her eyes filled with gratitude and selflessness. She seems to be rejuvenating slowly. Healing from music: 1d6 ⇒ 6 She takes this healing plus Jorlitharr’s 8.

“I am indeed Sighanna Gemcutter, ancestor of Sighanna Gemcutter who ended the traitor Angínâk the Betrayer and saved Grombarr the Hero. I am a Dorian dwarf and Hippogriff Rider in the mighty battalions of Griffon Riders of the Holgirr Mountains, and I have lost my Featherhoof to these misguided orcs. I was on patrol in this region and was carelessly separated from my herd by a mistake on my part. Featherhoof and I landed, were caught off guard by a pack of orcs, and they took my steed. I was on their trail and lost a battle with the Eye, then woke up here.”

She sighs, looking at Jorlitharr. “Thank you for your words. I’ve been keeping these young friends healthy with what power I have, but it was not enough for them plus myself.” She pulls at her manacles. "I am no longer feeling strong enough to break these. I must find Featherhoof! It has been 10 days and I worry he is injured."

Olek, you don’t recognize the thick chain around her neck as a holy symbol per se; you do know that Eyes of Gruumsh often magically restrain their victims before sacrificing them. You sense divine magic oozing from the chains. The door key does not fit in the manacles. Taking a look at the chains, you believe that someone as strong as Thravum could break them open if he used all of his might.

Suddenly the twisted chain necklace glows briefly with a dark, black light. Sighanna looks startled then her breath exits her body in a slow release, and her head falls to her chest and she is silent. You can hear her breathing, but it is very shallow and she doesn’t speak anymore.

The young half orc cries out. “Sighanna! Someone save her!” He grabs and hugs her torso.

Guldar Strongarm wrote:

He slowly traces the outside of the walls of the town, paying particular attention to the gate. The water spills out with a seemingly endless flow. Everywhere the water touches is covered in thick patches of tiny flowers. He'll continue casting this spell over weeks, eventually covering the gate and all the ground within the walls.

Florr follows Guldar during his rituals, watching with wide-eyed wonderment. "That was beautiful," she says after he finishes for the day, gently touching one of the tiny flowers. "Tell me when you learned to do this. Valkur has not yet allowed me into his deep secret of hallowing. And tell me about Barronar Truesilver and I will share with you about Valkur's might."

Florr continues talking to Guldar. "Once I found my way to Valkur, after he saved my family and entire fleet of fishing ships during a storm, he blessed me with the powerful strength of water, thunder, and lightning." She shoots a spark of lightning from her fingertips as she touches her amulet with her other hand.

"I am so impressed with your holy power from Barronar Truesilver. This hallowing of the ground...." She looks up at him. "And saving your daughter. I was so sorry to see the wyvern attack her. But Barronar granting you the power to save her, what a beautiful miracle. I don't mean to bring up sad memories, but I would love to earn and access that sort of gracious, holy power to help others in need. Would you help me?"

Florr's goal is to learn more cleric/religious things from Guldar.

He slowly traces the outside of the walls of the town, paying particular attention to the gate. The water spills out with a seemingly endless flow. Everywhere the water touches is covered in thick patches of tiny flowers. He'll continue casting this spell over weeks, eventually covering the gate and all the ground within the walls.

Florr follows Guldar during his rituals, watching with wide-eyed wonderment. "That was beautiful," she says after he finishes for the day, gently touching one of the tiny flowers. "Tell me when you learned to do this. Valkur has not yet allowed me into his deep secret of hallowing. And tell me about Barronar Truesilver and I will share with you about Valkur's might."

Grushnak looks very, very confused. He had been cowering deferentially in the back of the room as the Great Ulfe spoke. As the Great Ulfe shrinks to the same size as himself and as Olias shouts to him, Grushnak stands taller. You can literally see gears turning in his head as he made up his mind. "Grushnak the brave will make the Great Ulfe pay for his punishments to Grushnak's tribe!" He bears his tusks at his leader. "The Small Ulfe!"

Initiative: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Rukkh wrote:

Rukkh signals for a halt.

"I don't like something about the road ahead."

Rukkh hops of his horse, sniffs the air and placed an ear to the ground.

Jorlitharr dismounts and starts carving a symbol in the dirt with the stone hanging from the chain around his waist. He'll repeat the process in roughly 30ft increments around Ruhhk.

For one solid minute, Rukkh is unmoving as he listens to the ground for traces of his favored enemy. He is confident that there are no traces of living humanoids in the area of 5 miles.

Jorlitharr steadily traces in the hard dirt below his feet. He stays in the earth to the east of the road. As he stands thirty feet to the south of Rukkh, he feels the heavy presence of a deceased humanoid ten feet away from him.

As Jorlitharr slowly outlines a symbol in the dirt about sixty feet to the east of Rukkh, he senses in a flash the rumbling snore of a slumbering, large beast laying flat on the earth's surface. This creatures is approximately thirty more feet to the east from where he stands, or ninety feet from where Rukkh's unmoving figure stoops.

The Battlemat has been updated. There are two "X"s on the Battlemat to mark the two creatures Jorlitharr sensed. Please place and label yourselves accordingly. Remember this is the end of Day 5; please make a Con check to see if you are exhausted after the day's travel.

As the water creature does damage to Florr, a rippling electric current flows from her Amulet into the water.

Water creature must make a DC13 Dex save. Take full damage on a fail, half on a pass (though because Florr is engulfed the creature can't really avoid it....)

Valkur's Wrath: 2d8 ⇒ (4, 4) = 8

Florr thanks Valkur for the ring she found in the previous room, which allowed her to breath easily.

She then closes her eyes and casts a healing spell.

Cure Wounds : 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

Look at me! I'm a bird!

Why is a raven like a writing desk?