Diarmal Illsutra's page

Diarmal shakes his head as Parker shares his story, wondering just how expansive the world beyond the world might be. Did the light of Lady Aisling shine down upon all of it? What magic--or leack thereof--had created Marvin? Was the same magic responsible for Marvin's weapon working or not working? And ships from the skies? Swimming among the stars?

He'd never once imagined that he'd understood the world. It was that same thirst for experience, knowledge, and company that had brought him so far from his homeland. Gods and planes and magic all made sense. But not once had he ever imagined being so small-minded compared to the grand scope of the multiverse.

Gwernach's comment pulls the elf from his thoughtful reverie, and he adds his own thoughts to the end of the dwarf's question. "Ah... While the idea of seeing this star-wanderer Contagion fascinates me, didn't you just say that ended in the disappearance of your associates, Mr. Andersen?"

Away and across the great seas of sand!

Hope everyone had a great holiday season, whichever day(s) you celebrate or pantheon(s) you venerate. May Lady Aisling smile down on our motley crew!

Agreed.

Diarmal looks on with growing worry, wishing that the blessings of Aisling included physical prowess or aquatic mastery...

HP!: 1d8 ⇒ 3

Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12

Diarmal sighs, watching the two dwarves do what dwarves did best. Head headlong into trouble. It was as all the stories said, though there was still something endearing about such straightforward thinkers. He glances down at their short, shadowy companion and offers a weak shrug.

"Sadly, Lady Aisling's gifts do not extend to the tides. I don't suppose you're a capable swimmer?"

With the dawn, Diarmal begins his morning prayers before the light of Lady Aisling. With her blessing, he hoped to alleviate some of Sasithorn's lingering injuries.

After his prayers came to a close, he lay a hand on the man and let the light of Aisling flow through him as a divine conduit. "I know this may be uncomfortable for you, Sasithorn, but allow me to share some of Lady Aisling's graces with you. Please hold still for just a moment..."

Preparing and casting lesser restoration instead of his standard 2nd level spells today. Hopefully 1 will be good enough...

LesserResto: 1d4 ⇒ 1
QQ
LesserResto2: 1d4 ⇒ 2

"Ah. A persistent malady..."

Agreed, take care of yourself! We'll be here when you get back :)

"Rest seems wise, given the danger of the foes we face. Willingly facing them in darkness when the break of fresh daylight awaits would be particularly foolish." Diarmal aids Nigel in making the camp more accommodating for their group.

As they lay down to rest, Diarmal lets his mind wander over the strange cavern they'd discovered. What could possibly lie down there? Was it a lost history of his people? And if the gate's strange creatures of darkness and evil were down there in the crypt, was there a countless army even further below feasting on the bones of his ancestors?

Diarmal takes another step back from the edge, lighting another arrow to use as a lamp (and weapon, should more of the dark-beasts emerge from below). "It is indeed. And, stranger still, it seems there is a good body of water out there. Somewhere in the dark... far below an ancient Drasbian ruin in the moors. This can't all be related to that portal, can it?"

"A little help, friends, while Lady Aisling's light shows us what lay beyond..."

Diarmal takes the lighted arrow he's been using as a torch and carefully releases it over the edge to the floor below. Steadying himself on one of his more dark-inclined companions as the only source of light falls away, he waits until it stops before casting light on another arrow and shooting it towards the far wall of the cavern.

Not getting those arrows back anytime soon ;.;

Diarmal unslings his old shortbow from his shoulder and passes it to Xor. Though the Lightning Hand was a lot of bow for him, Diarmal couldn't pass up the honor of using it. "Try this. Should keep you out of the deepest bits."

He stays close to the group, who are all much better adapted to the darkness than himself, with a lighted arrow to guide himself (and just in case).

"Ah, but just imagine how much these would hurt if Xor threw them! Perhaps he could outright crush this portal that's caused so much trouble!" Diarmal is joking, of course. Mostly--they would probably hurt quite a bit.

"Indeed, the light of lady Aisling much prefers action to inaction... and death does tend to slow one down a bit." Diarmal peers into the casket and reaches a hesitant hand towards the body, laying his palm on what used to be the chest of the deceased.

In his native elven, he murmurs a quiet prayer to the gods. "May Lady Aisling see the justice in returning artifacts of her glory to the light of the sun. May the interred rest forever in the heavens in her radiance, knowing the import of their sacrifice here and now. May I, as but a humble servant, do them both great honor with my actions."

Doing his best to avoid disturbing any of the other relics, Diarmal starts to remove the robe.

"Unfortunately I did not deal much with the departed... Lady Aisling's light guides me to aid the living in their struggles, not the deceased in passing on. I can say a few prayers, but I cannot say for sure if the dead will approve."

Which is to say, I don't actually have any mechanical way of making sure it's safe. Go ahead and pry 'er open :)

Linguistics: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

Diarmal runs his hand over the ancient script, hmming as he translates the difficult dialect. "Huh. This may well be an ancestor of my own clan. Seems a Amodel Illsut is interred here, though his significance is hard to place. There is mention of Nerimexetas, a goddess of the sea, and and apparent relationship between Amodel and her voice. It is unclear whether this voice was her mortal speaker or an embodiment of the goddess herself. In any case, this one may be safer to open, though I'd urge caution without a proper ritual to disinter these ancestors. At the very least, a glimpse of the man within may offer some insight to his purpose."

Diarmal refreshes the cast of light on his arrow, keeping it ready as a torch to guide him through the dismal tombs. Not wanting to disturb the dead, he returns to the antechamber while Gwernach heads down another passage to (apparently) another crypt.

Making his way down to the chamber, Diarmal looks for another inscription for who is interred within.

Linguistics: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

Diarmal runs his hand over the text as he translates the old tongue. The words are jumbled, likely from the difference in dialect a few dozen centuries can bring. Or perhaps more, Diarmal notes as he glances around the chamber. He keeps a lighted arrow in hand, running it along the wall to direct attention to particular words as he speaks.

"Seems to be something about a betrayer of some kind... The names are Afalon Moradrul here, and Belrasande here, though it is difficult to tell which is doing the betraying in such ancient text. There's also mention of the Beauvingian goddess Moloween--here--which is unusual, even in such an old Drasbian tomb. I suspect whoever the betrayer is, they have been interred here as a punishment."

"While I believe it important to cleanse this sacred place of such evil creatures, there is no telling how many more may lurk within the catacombs below. The very fact this place was once sanctified to the old Drasbian pantheon may have attracted the beasts. We should proceed with great caution."

Sorry for the disappearing act, it seems the thread got un-dotted and wasn't giving me updates on new posts. I'd thought it was strange to not get any new posts for such a long time, but I wasn't going to question it.

Ini: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

Diarmal lifts the lighted arrow to his bow and takes position behind his allies.

"I believe these bones are old. Very old." He gestures to the symbols inscribed on the sarcophagus. "These spirals are likely a rendition of the Two-Folded Worlds, a philosophy birthed by Lady Aisling's mother. The good and the evil of all of existence live in constant flux with one another, and only occasionally meet one another--often in our own world. But this philosophy, the ancient Goddess Fiannoggerna Soinaddiwyn, have been a long lost part of my people's culture."

Closing his eyes, Diarmal ponder the implications of this discovery. Had Lady Aisling guided him to this crypt? Were the Two-Folded Worlds what was drawing evil to manifest itself? How did he and his new friends factor into the strange events that were shaping the world around them? Were histories being written here and now, as they lived? It was all more than he cared to consider. With a deep breath, he opens his eyes and takes a slow, cautious step away from the sarcophagus.

"Even if the belt is enchanted, I know little about deciphering the nature of magic... I can only assume it is another artifact of a lost age. Still, I would caution against taking from the dead without a proper prayer to the old Drasbian pantheon. I can perform such a rite, if you wish, but I cannot guarantee their cooperation."

Diarmal stares deep into the darkness below. Catacombs of unknown size and depth below an ancient ruin... possibly one belonging to his own people. There was no telling how ancient the secrets buried within may be--lost treasures of a bygone age. Had Lady Aisling brought him to this point for this purpose?

He draws himself away from the passageway to join Gwernach at the sarcophagus. Keeping the lighted arrow and using it better examine its contents, Diarmal is amazed to lay eyes on what may well be an ancestor of his own.

"A fascinating discovery, and surely one guided through the darkness of this tomb by Lady Aisling's light. Any ideas how long the interred may have rested here? I would hate to disturb the spirits of the dead alongside the strange spirits between worlds that already dog our world."

Seeing if any of the iconography (or anything else) is familiar to Diarmal.
Know(Religion): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

Diarmal sets the second of his lighted arrows to bow, though he does not draw back the mighty Lightning's Hand. He keeps toward the rear of the group, an eye directed towards the shadows that surround them.

Diarmal raises the first of his lighted arrows and takes aim. Despite his best efforts, the close quarters of the tomb they've crawled into hamper his ability to get a clear shot...

Bow Atk: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7
Dmg: 1d8 + 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (7) + (6) - 1 = 12

Two is better than one, and Diarmal's not a great shot... Plus, if it's keeping away from our light, we might not even need to poke it (though we probably should).

"They're strange creatures," Diarmal says as he draws his bow and prepares light on another of his arrows. "Composed of darkness and worse, from somewhere beyond our world. We managed to beat them back with a good steel and good faith. But last time there was more than one. A lot more."

Diarmal sighs as one of the two men he stood topside tending to delved down into the darkness. Half dead from poison, it was a miracle the strange man of the night was even standing. But he couldn't fault his courage in the face of adversity--Sasithorn and all his new allies had proven themselves time and time again.

"...and may Lady Aisling's light protect the rest of us," he muttered with a smile as he followed Sasithorn down the ladder.

Diarmal visibly pales at the description of events, and the apparent desecration of an old site of his people. Regardless, he grabs his gear and prepares to follow Xor towards the incident.

Whatever danger lurked below the ruin would be as much a danger to Nigel and themselves as anything else. Despite the pressing need to seal the gate, it seemed that a good deal of damage had already been done--now it was just a matter of helping who they could.

Sadly, Diarmal doesn't have lesser restoration prepared, so he won't be able to help with any ability score damage Sasithorn's taken until he gets a night's rest and changes up his prepared spells. If Nigel's in particularly bad shape, he can spare a channel or cure light wounds to fix him up.

Diarmal nods in agreement with the red-haired robot. "While Nigel's safety is a concern, we've a far more pressing matter in the gate. Nigel won't be the only one hurt if we can't put a stop to that thing."

Diarmal stumbles backward, just narrowly avoiding a nasty thump from the creature's club. With a silent prayer, he raises his bow and fires another arrow at the bullywug harassing him.

Moving out of melee to M-11 and standard to attack.
Atk: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 3 + 1 = 21
Dmg: 1d8 + 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (4) + (3) - 1 = 6

Wasn't sure if Elysium's Call would help or not--but fighting isn't really Diarmal's style, so he'd pretty much do anything else, even if it amounts to nothing more than moral support.

Fumbling away from the critter trying to take a piece out of him, Diarmal raises his bow up and fires an arrow nearly point-blank.

Move to M10, standard to attack bullywug 4.

Atk: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 3 + 1 = 19
Dmg: 1d8 + 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (6) + (5) - 1 = 10

Still here :) Was waiting to see how the round resolved before jumping to anyone's aid.

Seeing his allies caught by the bullywug's nets, Diarmal rushes to Gwernach's side. Laying a hand upon the dwarf's shoulder, he lets the graces of Lady Aisling flow through him as a conduit, bringing the blessing of freedom to entangled dwarf.

Moving to M9 and using the domain power Elysium's Call on Gwernach. The relevant bits are +2 to escape Grapples and grapple-like things and 5-feet worth of ignoring difficult terrain (which may or may not include being all entangled up at the GM's discretion)

Congrats! Also hope everyone had a good turkey day, celebrating or otherwise! Diarmal is waiting for the bullywug's R3 actions to determine his action for the round... sensing there might be a need for some healing to go around.

Diarmal draws an arrow from his quiver and sets it to the mighty bow of his people's hero. His arm strains against the powerful draw of the bow, but he manages to pull it nearly to his ear as taught back in his homelands. Teeth grit against the tension, he prays that Lady Aisling would guide his aim...

Readying an action to fire on the first bullywug to break cover (relative to Diarmal) and move towards the group. Rolling dice now for simplicity's sake.
Atk: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 3 + 1 = 15
Dmg: 1d8 + 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (7) + (3) - 1 = 9

Seeing Gwernach (and presumably Sasithorn) headed back their way at full speed--and with an arrow flying past his head--Diarmal quickly reaches for the mighty longbow upon his back, stringing it in a single smooth motion. Though the Lightning's Hand was a formidable weapon, already he could feel the power in its draw weight... and lamenting lacking the the strength of the Drasbian hero that once held the weapon. With any luck, the blessings of his ancestors and Lady Aisling would guide his hand.

Waiting for his allies to retreat far enough to be within range of his prayers, he whispers a quiet prayer to Lady Aisling. "May the graces of your light guide our aim..."

Delaying ini until Sasithorn moves back; Move action to draw bow; standard to cast bless. +1 morale on attack rolls and saves vs. fear.

@Terquem - I never got the composite +Str value for the bow. It's not super relevant since Diarmal can't take advantage of it and is getting a -2 on attacks anyway, but would be handy for notation's sake.

Ini: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17

The game'll always be here, but you can't rush your own health. Take your time and feel better!

With a hint of a smile, Diarmal nods his agreement. Where Ribat had overturned his assumptions of frog-folk, Xor was every bit the dwarf he expected. He wondered if the same could be said for Gwernach, but held his tongue on that thought. "A terrible turn of events, it sounds."

Diarmal picks himself up, brushing the dust off his pant leg and clearing his throat with a cough. Feeling more than a bit foolish, he approached the dwarven man with a smile and an open hand.

"My apologies, Gwernach. With how things have been in these lands, one cannot be too careful. May the light of Lady Aisling bless this auspicious meeting."

Nice to have another friendly face joining the party :)

Ah, I see what happened--Diarmal succeeded at the history check to know its background, but we never actually stopped to identify the thing's magic... Diarmal isn't particularly good at identifying magic, assuming most of it is some variation of a divine act. I think Diarmal handed it back to Ribat, since he was the one to uncover it. Unsure if we want to retcon in identifying it (or keeping it?) during one our many rests at a safe haven, since we all forgot to do what we would have (probably?) done.

Diarmal nods at Marvin's prudent suggestion. "Allow me. I've had a great deal of practice skulking around the hills of my homeland--though I admit Ribat had me beat hunting upon the moors." Grabbing his bow, Diarmal hunches low and moves forward, trying to move as quietly as he can while he approaches the hilltop.

Stealth (+1 hill bonus): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (5) + 9 = 14

Diarmal smirks wryly at Sasithorn's remark. He was a strange fellow, and it was no surprise the man was more comfortable in the dark than the light. At least he--unlike many other denizens of the night--bore a great respect for the world.

"I agree," he offers simply. "Perhaps the beasts we face will be disoriented by the light of day."

Apparently the gameplay thread came un-dotted for me. I've posted and hopefully remedied that.

Diarmal is unsure whether Paulina's words or her residence are more unnerving. In a matter of days everything he'd known about the world had been flipped on its head. Marvin was one thing, a living(?) breathing(?) individual he could see and hear. But the rest of it? It was all above and beyond reason.

Slowly, the elf shrugs. In the end, it didn't really matter what Paulina was talking about, or where she came from, or what hole these beasts were surging from. People were endangered, and the light of Lady Aisling could bring them shelter. "I see no other option, then. We've got to find a way to close the gate."

Diarmal has a +4 bonus to Survival without any aid another strangeness, so he could potentially take the lead if no one else has a higher, non-handicapped bonus.

Diarmal quickly mimes a symbol of peace and respite for the dead over his heart. "May Lady Aisling's light guide those who fell to better pastures. We should make all haste in returning." Grabbing his pack, Diarmal heaves it to his shoulder and heads for the door, waiting for the others to get their things ready for the trek back across the moors.

"That may be a prudent idea, though perhaps a bit grim. It is undeniable proof of its demise." Diarmal sets the Lamp of Sewardhome onto the temple's altar and steps back with a formal bow and a whispered prayer. While Hamth was not his patron, there was no doubt she too was with them this day.

He steps back and offers the priest a respectful bow of his own. "Your aid was invaluable, Volkgrahme. I doubt we would have been so successful without it. We are no more heroes than yourself."

Diarmal offers the dwarf a weak smile, still a bit weary from the battle but certainly glad to be back at a safe haven. He'd honestly forgotten about his own injuries, so glad was he that their foe had been defeated without losing one of their own.

"Much appreciated, my friend. Now--let's get out of this rain. I've had quite enough damp nights for one week." Lowering the lantern, Diarmal is careful to wipe the mud from his feet before stepping into the temple.