Miacknian Mun

Dien's NPCs's page

185 posts. Alias of dien (RPG Superstar 2015 Top 16).


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Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Sparrow nods. "Yes, you have more a gift for talking than any of us, I think. That makes sense. And Mister Regariel-- perhaps you should take the other? That evens things out well, then. Should we see to that delivery so Miss Yuzu isn't carrying it about all day?"

Markon grunts his assent, and with the copper ring handed off to Reg, you head out for where Tamri says the Hemsoth farmstead is...

****

Like most of the other farms, the Hemsoth place isn't all that much to look at. Turnips are growing here (le shock!), as well as a smaller garden with more varied produce near to the house. Tomato trellises, stacks of hay, and a small patch of wheat potentially provide enough cover to reach the farmhouse in a, shall we say, discreet manner...

Or you could simply try and talk your way past the mother-- that figure out in the front of the house hoeing the rows of turnips is likely her, as she looks to be too old to be the daughter in the relationship. Perhaps talking to her would allow someone quiet to slip round the back.

Mechanically, you can try and use Stealth to deliver the package (in which case, one PC makes two Stealth checks) or you can use a combo of Stealth + a distraction. That would mean one PC is using Stealth (but just one check), and another is using a social skill (Diplomacy, Deception, etc) to provide a distraction. Markon is Stealthy at a +6, and Deception at a +5. Sparrow is crap at both of those. We can debate on the Discord what you want to do if that simplifies life.

Markon looks over the distance to the farmhouse with a little frown and a grunt and a shrug, then looks back to Lilita and Regariel. "How you wanna do this? I'm okay at tiptoein' but not the best. I'm also okay at bullshit."

Sparrow scrunches his nose but doesn't argue the point. He also doesn't volunteer to try and get involved.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Neither Sparrow nor Markon make any objection.

"Good," Tamli says with a grunt, clapping her hands together brusquely. "In that case, then--"

She reaches one of her big hands into her pockets and pulls out two rings that she proffers over. "I dunno what they do," she says with a shrug. Sparrow perks up and takes them before anyone else can.

"Well now, let me just see here," he says with a bit of a hum, while Markon rolls his eyes. "Ah hells, now he has a new toy..."

"Hsstt," Sparrow mutters absently, examining the rings-- one a plain band of hammered red-hued copper, no decoration beyond the beaten texture, and the other silver with a tiny inset blue stone. He mutters arcane words over them, poking intently at the two rings in his palm, and is quiet for several moments before pronouncing:

"That one ought to bolster the wearer's skill at making a good first impression, I think," he says of the silver ring, "and this other gives just a bit of extra hardiness, of sorts."

Mechanically, the silver ring gives a +1 to Diplomacy checks, and the copper ring gives its wearer 1 extra hit point.

"Who do we think should have them?" the wizard asks, looking up from behind his spectacles at the others. Tamli interjects a bit quickly, "Uh, temporarily! They ARE Bort's."

Markon looks like he's restraining himself from saying yeah, if he lives.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"Suits me," Markon says with a shrug and a clap of Regariel's slim shoulders. "Eyes and Ears, you're a package deal alright."

He takes up a spot behind Reg, though walks with his sword drawn through the empty buildings and overgrown streets of the north side of town. Sparrow takes up the rear, glancing side to side occasionally.

You can see the house in question, but before you enter, a figure lurches from the gap between two nearby buildings, wide-eyed and staring at your group. Markon wheels with blade half-raised, but the figure before you isn't armed-- at least, not with anything but an empty turnipta bottle held low at one side.

It appears to be Krent, looking even the worse for wear than when you ran into him the other night. He weaves on his feet, hand outstretched towards Lilita in a hesitant way.

"Don't go in there, Talmore," he mumbles, and the waft of strong turnip-based alcohol accompanies his words. "It's dangerous, old friend..."

Markon and Sparrow trade looks, then both look to either Lilita or Reg.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"Hm--? Oh, yes, certainly," Sparrow says with a distracted nod at Reg. A repeat of the muttering and the small ripple in space, and Reg's rather filthy-looking garment seems quite restored.

Sparrow adjusts his glasses. "I admit, they never really FEEL as clean to me when laundered via magic... but perhaps that's just me being oversensitive. It looks clean, anyway.

"And you're quite right, Miss Yuzu. The clothes make the man, as they say in Absalom. Or the woman, of course.

"As for our investigation..... I'm not really sure. It's a pity Hallod fell in the thick of things-- I mean, we were in no position to try and pull our blows, we were fighting for our lives there-- but whatever he knew about his employer likely went to the grave with him. It seems we can certainly assume that the mysterious V has some skill at alchemy-- I don't think Hallod was the one mixing up those potions, and of course, whatever reagents were being ordered weren't there in his little lair, either.

"I suppose we could try and stake out that stump? See if 'V' shows again? But if they have any eyes or ears in the town, they'll know that that location is compromised..... It is a knotty little problem.

"But I agree with you, Regariel; we likely haven't made a friend of this person. May I suggest we try to stick together, rather than not? No solo information gathering? We really don't know who in this town we can trust. For instance, that jumpy fellow you so spooked, miss Yuzu-- I wonder if we ought to still visit him. But as a group, nobody going off to investigate hunches or--"

A rather loud feminine laugh and squeal from upstairs makes Sparrow cut off; Markon's voice is heard chasing it and then a 'Oh, now I gotcha, honey--"

"MARKON, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE GODS, CLOSE THE ROOM'S DOOR," Sparrow says with an expression that can best be described as extreme disgruntlement.

"Oh! Haha, sorry!" Somewhere overhead a door shuts.

Sparrow stares into the middle distance, and then picks up his teacup and has a sip. "I was going to say, or going off to satisfy individual curiosity or pursue personal errands, but clearly, it is not the two of you that I should be addressing. I'd apologize for my traveling companion, but whatever is the point?"


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Sparrow is there already, and gives Lilita a nod and a restrained but genuine smile. "I trust you're feeling better today, after some rest."

(There would probably have been some Medicine checks before bed to get Lita up but *handwave handwave* You're full.)

"Now let me just see about that jacket and cloak of yours..."

Rubbing his thin fingers together, Sparrow mutters to himself, a look of concentration creasing his brow as he mumbles over Lilita's garments. A little ripple in the air seems to pass over the items, and when it fades, the stains are gone! An impressive laundry service indeed.

"There. It's a very convenient spell but it seems so.... I don't know. Self-indulgent? When on the road. Especially when danger's a reality. But there's a good deal to be said for clean clothes on the road too, isn't there... And I think I may be able to bring a few new magics to bear in the case of threats, anyway. I've felt some progress in my spellwork. All this unaccustomed use, I suppose."

The mage pauses, then looks sheepish. "Er, forgive me, I'm babbling. There's hot tea if you want some of mine. I believe the cook is currently frying up ham slices from the boar to go with a mighty quantity of eggs. Perhaps the smell will get Markon out of bed... but I doubt it, he stayed up late."


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Markon watches what Regariel is doing, his head cocked to the side. "Oh-- yeah, I see what you're doing there, the angle you're hitting..."

There's a click from within the door, but when Reg tests it, it seems a second lock is still in play. Markon gives a nod and steps forward to try again with his picks.

Thievery: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17 On the nose!

The second lock clicks, while Lilita and Reg each stow one of the flasks. Markon grins in triumph, stows his picks again, and preps his sword.

"I'm a little hurt... but not like, about to lose my guts. And Lilita got scratched too. Does one of us drink that potion first, or we just gonna go on in? I'm good either way."

***

After deciding on the potion... you move tensely forward, weapons drawn, crossbows loaded, spells on the tips of tongues.

Inside the door, you see a metal wheel set into the wall. Experimenting with it raises the grate on the small room that held the dogs! Does that mean that someone stood on the other side of the door, peeking through the eye-slit, and deliberately opened the grate as you came in? Maybe. If so, perhaps Hallod--or whoever-- isn't far ahead!

But the room beyond doesn't show any signs of Hallod. It's a living quarters, it seems-- a fireplace in one corner, a rough-hewn cot piled with blankets that could use a wash. Two alcoves in the room hold, respectively, a basic larder with food that keeps well, and, behind a tatty curtain, what must serve as a combination lavatory and refuse pit.

A single rough-hewn tunnel leads further out of the room, the dressed stone of the room giving way to natural stone of caves, to Markon's dismay.

GM rolls:

Lilita: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13
Markon: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8
Regariel: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16
Sparrow: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
Reg: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

As Regariel looks around at the objects in the room, he steels himself to check out the stinkiest area, holding his nose. In amid things like cracked chicken bones, discarded wax rinds of cheese, soiled paper, and things we won't describe, he sees... the glint of glass. Using a stick, he fishes in the trash and finds a few small glass vials atop the rest of the muck, as if they had just landed there. They have a few drops of silvery liquid still inside, mere dregs now. Another poison? Something else?

Crafting DC 15:
Actually, on closer inspection, you think this is an alchemical mutagen-- specifically, one that strengthens the imbiber into a physical juggernaut.

While Reg digs in the trash, Markon has found a strongbox chest under the bed. He pulls it out, rubbing his hands together. "Now we're talking-- something to make our bruises worthwhile!"

Regariel stops him before he can start to open it, however, and urgently points out the presence of a barely-visible poison needle on the chest's lock mechanism.

"Oof. Thanks, Eyes. I owe you one," Markon mutters, and digs out his tools to see if he can possibly disarm the needle on the trap. "And I owe this guy a punch in the mouth, when we find him."

I'll post Markon's disarm check in the morning. Sleepy Dien now


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Markon hurries forward, trying to keep his footing despite the slippery stones...

Reflex: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

...and promptly loses his footing, skidding to the ground. "Aw, shit!"

The warrior struggles back to his feet, and raises his shield, that seeming to be all he can do right now.

Sparrow drops the last few feet off the ladder with a wince, hobbles forward, takes in the scene, and quickly snaps his fingers together. A flickering spark of electricity jumps from one of his hands to the other, and then out to the snarling hounds.

Reflex Dog black: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Reflex Dog red: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

The black-hued dog seems badly hurt by the jolt, while the dog next to it, with the red collar, is less affected, managing to dodge partially.

Black -7 hp
Red -3 hp


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"You're earnin' your keep. I'm gonna sit here and let you look it over LONG and THOROUGH," Markon says with a slap to the elf's slim shoulders.

Regariel duly does give it a thorough examination, and determines the window should be safe to enter through. A bit of hoisting and squeezing-- Sparrow exhaling with dismay at all this physical climbing, and ultimately needing a bit of assistance from the others to get through-- sees you inside a tiny cramped 'room' in the building-- more like a corner of a room, the corner that you couldn't get to before due to the debris barrier. It's a tight squeeze for all four of you-- but from inside, you can see the trapdoor in the floor. It appears your trail leads down.

Regariel gives this hatchway another intensive once-over, but if there's traps he can't find any. However, a tug on it reveals that it seems to be locked.

Either a Thievery or Athletics check will be needed to proceed-- either to pick it, or brute-force it open.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Sparrow takes in the trees and the distance to them with a frown. He closes his eyes a fraction of a second...

Diviner's Fortune: 1d20 ⇒ 19

...then touches Regariel on the shoulder. "Good luck to you," which sounds more like an objective statement than a well-wish.

(Regariel, this turn, you can use the 19 pre-emptively in place of a d20 roll you'd make.)

Then, Sparrow raises his stick, and limps forward carefully, not getting too far ahead of the others.

As for Markon... he unslings a bow from his back, temporarily dropping his sword and shield. "Screw this, let's see if I can pinprick one from here, huh?"

Bow shot: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 6

One of the just-stirring bloodseekers has no more than stuck its head over the edge of its mud nest-- when Markon's arrow sticks it neatly, and disgustingly, to the tree trunk! One down, three to go!


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Upon questioning, Koln is able to tell you that he didn't see much in the fight, what with all the fists and mugs and bowls and chairs flying; he can confirm that Finnik had handed him the bowl for Bort, and he'd taken it out to Bort himself. He remembers there'd been extra in the bowl, on account of how much Bort likes turnipta.

He doesn't know any reason Bort would have been targeted, and says that the dwarf is always popular on his visits to the hamlet, and expresses seemingly-sincere concern for Bort's welfare, asking how he's doing so far.

"The only other thing I can remember is that I saw Finnik run out the door as soon as everyone started fighting. You know, he's not a bad sort, for a goblin, despite what some people say.

"Of course you can use my wheelbarrow to get back to town, if the lady needs it!"

To Regariel, Koln just shakes his head. "I wouldn't say-- common, as such. I'd seen mark of the boar in the woods for a few weeks now, but always deep enough I figured there'd be no reason for it to come out here! Plenty of new spring growth and shoots to keep it busy. Mean thing like that, maybe it just decided it wanted Koln on the menu. Well, joke's on it-- I'll dress the beast and send fresh pork your way at the inn, by your leave."


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"That is a concern," Sparrow's voice says, from behind Regariel. The human gives a brief nod at the others at the table, then sits down next to Markon.

"Good morning. This really is ludicrous, the barring from travel and treating us all as prospective suspects. Markon and I have business that cannot wait forever, on the road ahead."

Markon mutters, low but not inaudible, "Dunno how that jumped-up badge-bragger thinks he could stop us leavin', Sparrow. We could get out of here just fine, if we tried."

Sparrow gives him a thin frown. "No, we hardly want any trouble with the authorities. And please keep in mind I cannot manage the sort of pace you can. No, just because I think the edict is ridiculous doesn't mean we'll be flaunting it. The simplest way to be about our business may be to clear our name by finding the real offender. So we'll do that."

Markon siiiiighs, and shoves a big piece of fried bread into his mouth rather than argue further.

Tamli grunts. "Whatever your motives, I'm happy for your help. As for friends.... Bort knew everyone. Talked to everyone. We've been coming here a while, anytime we make the run through this part of the world-- I don't know that anyone especially jumps out at me. If it helps, you can look through all of Bort's ledgers and notes about his business here in town."

Sparrow looks with some distaste at Markon's heavy, greasy breakfast, then back up to Tamli. "Yes, that might be a place to start. We might also search the premises-- the kitchen might hold some clues-- or question various of the people that were here last night. What do you think, Mister Regariel? As you are, I understand, someone who solves puzzles?

"Or you, miss Yuzu-- I'm sure divine inspiration would be of great help to us. --ah, here's our host. Good morning, Miss Fulst. Do you have anything like fresh fruit for breakfast? Or oats? Anything not-- fried?"


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"That there were," Sparrow says with a thoughtful gaze at Lilita. "It could have been so many in that crowd. Fortunately, it is not our job to solve this little mystery. Perhaps if you and Markon will manage the grunt force lifting, Regariel and myself can keep the pipette in place for the transit."

It takes some coordination, but the four manage to get Bort hoisted, and to a room that Delma offers up free of charge. Cookie hovers tensely nearby the entire time, and listens intently to Regariel's instructions on how to monitor the pipette. The older elf finally says, "Enough. You have saved him for now, and you look weary. Rest, Regariel." A pause, and then the elf murmurs, "Kiitos... sukulainen."

Elven:
"My thanks... kindred."

As each of you move to your respective rooms for the night, you can see-- or overhear-- the constable engaged in a Questioning of Tamli, the half-orc who serves as Bort's right-hand. It looks like it's getting lightly heated, with Tamli looming a bit and growling "Just what are you insinuating, huh?!?!"

The twins are visible behind her, each looking sullen-faced and more than ready to back up their fellow caravaneer. On registering the three set faces (and strong muscles) of those facing him, the sheriff seems to backpedal a bit, stepping away but being sure to get in some audible parting words about how, "None of you are cleared from suspicion, so don't even think of leaving town!"

Then, with his chin held high, he stomps away, presumably to interrogate 'Krent.'

Sparrow shakes his head, observing this. "Is there any tyrant as petty as the small one," he says with a tch. "Well, we're off to bed, I think. Good night, Miss Yuzu, Mr. Regariel."

Markon and Sparrow make their way for the stairs, seemingly content to let tomorrow's problems wait for the morning.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Hurrying to the downed Markon, Regariel deftly sizes up the farmer that's kicking Markon in the ribs, and neatly catches him at the base of his skull with the sap. The man staggers, but doesn't go down.

Markon, however, isn't moving much, other than to groan...

Sparrow crawls out from under the table with a tense expression, tight-lipped. "Regariel! Lilita! Close your eyes!"

A blast of psychedically-bright color springs from his hands a moment later, washing over multiple farmers, as well as Ulf and Olf...

When the actinic, rainbow hues fade, several of the farmers (and Ulf) are standing there slack-jawed and motionless, and two of them start clutching at their eyes. "I can't see! I can't see!"

"Good, then maybe you'll stop fighting!" Sparrow says shortly. "This is ridiculous! And I think you've knocked my companion out, you had better pray for your sake he's not actually that hurt!"

The collective farmers, and the caravaneers present, all hesitate for a moment-- some because Sparrow's spell has them blinded or temporarily insensate, others perhaps a bit chagrined.

We'll say that's the end of combat, unless Reg or Lita want to get in a punch or two... ;) Markon IS unconscious, for what it's worth.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Lilita manages to squirm loose of the farmer's bear hug just fine, but has less success in trying to get him in a grip of her own. Regariel, want to go give Lilita a hand... or her playmate a sap? Or check on the downed Markon?


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Lilita wades forward and gets one burly farmer into a headlock, hauling him away from the fight and sending him sprawling into a corner in a spread of limbs.

Reg keeps pace with her, covering her back and readying a sap.

End Round 1

Delma edges around the fracas, shaking her head as she hurries through the inn's front door and disappears. Bort clutches his nose with one hand and picks up the same mug that beaned him, bulling forward to try and help the beleaguered Ulfen twins, who are fighting back to back, one using a chair, one using a large serving platter as an impromptu shield. The unluckily clumsy waiter is engaged in a dispute with Eamon-the-farmer, the exact terms concerning whose face is about to be dunked into a bowl of soup.

Markon, despite his bleeding lower lip, seems to be having a grand time. He continues to trade blows with the same farmer he already kneed in the unmentionables, smashing an elbow into his jaw that sends the man sprawling into a table and seeming to be down for the count-- then wheeling on the chair-smasher and trying to trip him at the ankles with a low kick... but the man dodges. Markon moves to keep a table between him and his besiegers, a blood-smeared grin on his face.

"Oh for gods' sake," Sparrow mutters somewhere beneath the table.

Two farmers converge on Markon, and one tries to grab Lilita... Markon doesn't see the one coming up behind him who beans him hard in the back of the head with a tankard. Markon groans and sags forward, only to get met by another fist, which sends the fighter crashing heavily to the ground.

The farmer that closes on Lita has a gap tooth and seems deep into his cups by the slur in his voice. "Heyyy! You-- leggo my brother!" he says, ignoring that Lita already has done just that in favor of bulling into her and trying to grab her by the arms. He succeeds.

(Lilita is grappled, meaning she can't move from her current position until she breaks the grapple, and also her AC is a little lower. She can use Acrobatics to try and get out of this, or she can still make attacks while grappled without penalty.)

Many rolls behind the cut:

Punch!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Damage: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
Athletics: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11
Punch vs Markon: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25
Critical Damage: 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (3, 4) + 6 = 13
Athletics vs Lita: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Lilita and Reg are up!


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Reg can think of nothing more regarding stirges, though he wracks his brain. (Generally you get one check to sum up your general knowledge of a creature/thing, and rolling more checks doesn't get you more info, jsyk for the future)

Markon and Lilita make their way to Sparrow, who is clearly out of breath from his attempted hurrying, and it takes him a good half-minute of bent-over wheezing before he can get out the words.

"Came to... tell... you--" (pant pant) "--drinkers... of blood... when... shadows... lengthen!"

"Oh. 'Zat all?" Markon says, a hand on the slight wizard's shoulder. "Yeah, there's a stirge nest somewhere down stream."

"...." Sparrow looks up, all red-faced from his exertion, with a long stare at Markon.

"--I-- I can't believe I ran for that," he says eventually.

"Well, I'm not sure you could call it running."

Sparrow straightens up and irritably shakes off Markon's hand. "I thought you three were going to run into a damned vampire or something, gods."

Markon looks wry, and hooks his thumbs back into his belt. By way of explanation, he says to Lilita, "Sparrow here gets tiny little flashes of the future, sometimes. Kinda cryptic. Easy to misunderstand and get all worked up about."

Sparrow sniffs, still a bit red-faced and wheezy. "Anyway.... are you intending to go mess with those wretched stirges, or return to the inn?"

"Or there's that hill," Markon says with a shrug, and a glance at Lilita, and at Reg as well, as they walk to rejoin the elf.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6
Lilita Yuzu wrote:
"The old shrine?" Lilita asks of Delma.

"Yes-- there was a shrine to multiple gods, but mostly Gozreh... Father Grist saw to the holy days for all the important gods, and held weddings there, and funerals, and so forth. But the plague took him, twenty years ago." Delma casts her eyes down. "I was just a child, but I remember it well enough. We lost so many. Anyway, these days people say their prayers on their own, those who still feel an urge to do so. I suppose everything that happened, well, it shook people's desire to do much honoring of the gods...

"But anyway, if you wanted to see it, just follow the river downstream, staying on the south side. You can't help but hit it."

***

Indeed you can see most of the immediate town. There's precious little in the way of shops-- the Feedmill seems to serve the purpose of a general store. The town is in a valley, and a small river, or large stream, bisects the northern and southern halves more or less cleanly through the middle. Most of the village is flat, and squared with turnip fields, but it's easy enough to see the hill Delma spoke of, since it's the only immediate hill in the area, and no more than a ten minutes' walk away. The ruins of a structure seem visible atop it.

Some options: Etran's Hill, the old shrine, the north side of town, or general mingling and wandering amid the houses.

Regariel has no trouble doing a quick invocation to detect magic... but the square seems empty of such forces.

Markon eyes the elf curiously. "What're you doing, then?"

*Gozreh - the god of nature


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Markon shrugs lazily. "Guess he didn't care for the company. I'm not bothered."

The man rolls to his feet. "C'mon, you can always look at my arm when we get back, Ears. It's not botherin' me right now. Let's see the town? such as it is..."

"There's not so much to see for seasoned travelers such as yourself," Delma calls apologetically. "The buildings are the north side are mostly abandoned, now, and I'd wager they're not still of sound construction, so do be careful of bad floors or crumbling roofs if you want to stick your heads in. The younguns like to dare each other to go in them, but it's silly and risky and there's nothing there to make it worthwhile.

"You could go see Etran's Hill, I suppose-- sad story, that-- or the old shrine.... folk don't use it anymore, since the plague, and I think there's wild animals lairing near it now. Another sad story." Delma frowns. "Appears we're nothing but sad stories. How depressing! Don't get the wrong idea about our little village, please. It's full of good people-- we may be simple folk, but we're honest and hard workers-- and we have a wonderful turnip festival where there's dancing, and singing, and contests-- but that was last month. Anyway, enjoy your walk, and dinner will be at six."

(You can ask Delma any questions you might want before you exit)

Markon smiles at Delma and gives her a wink-- it makes the innkeep blush-- but once he's outside the inn's door and it's closed behind them he says, "Yeesh. I dunno I could survive in a place where the biggest excitement's the turnip festival. Calistria wept."


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

The rooms, as Reg discovers, are clean-- but spacious, they are not. The building in general seems cramped, called to serve as both tavern, inn, and, apparently, general store as well, to judge by the variety of goods on display behind the counter when Reg negotiates his room. There are only a few rooms to let, Etran's Folly not exactly being a tourist hub, though many in the caravan intend to stay in their own wagons, now that some room is being made what with deliveries, or to sleep in the hayloft above the stable. Still, there are-- conveniently-- four actual rooms for the taking, even if they are small and give the suggestion of having once been someone's child's bedroom, in more prosperous times. Each contains a single narrow bed, a single chair, and a nightstand with a chamber pot tucked below.

But the quilts on the beds are homey and handmade, and someone has tucked a few flowers into a cup on each nightstand, and the rag mattresses beneath the quilts seem soft enough, so-- yes, comfort, especially in comparison to the great outdoors.

Lodging for the rooms runs 4 silver pieces per night-- for those who would prefer the more economical hayloft, a mere 3 coppers will give you the finest hay known to man.

Reg returns to the ground floor and catches up with Lilita, who has managed to get her boots clean(er) at the trough and pump outside and is now hearing the prices of the room from the same woman who he purchased his own from. She is human, perhaps in her thirties, with dark hair and a sweet smile. She introduces herself as Delma Fulst, Mayor Fulst's daughter.

"--so those are the rates," she finishes saying to Lilita, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ears. "Which will you be wanting? Oh, hang on, let me tell the cook we'll have ten extra for dinner, so she ought start some more turnipta -- maybe two extra pots, given it's Bort... Finnik!"

A door opens that leads to the kitchens, but no person is immediately visible over the height of the counter that blocks a direct view. Delma seems unperturbed by this, but says, "Finnick, dear, will you tell Amora to put on extra soup? Mr. Bort's caravan just arrived."

A small croaking voice answers, "Okay," and the door swings open and shut again.

"Dinner will be at six," Delma says, turning back with a smile. "Please make yourselves comfortable. I imagine you might be wanting baths? I'd suggest you could see the sights, but, well..... once you've seen one turnip field, you've kind of seen them all."

Aside from Delma herself and the invisible (?) Finnik, there's only one other man in the inn just now-- a large, burly human, who would probably stand a good six and a half feet tall if he were standing upright and not hunched at the bar over a stein of something. He eyes the newcomers sourly, and swigs more of his drink, then belches audibly.

"Don't mind Hallod," Delma murmurs with a small throat clearing, determinedly not looking at the big man.

Sparrow and Markon enter at that moment, seeming to be in the middle of a mild argument. "--things that could save a life, though."

"All I'm saying is if you got magic that can get you clean, and you don't use it, maybe you don't get to complain too much about the country towns not having a full laundry service, Spare."

"Don't call me that," Sparrow sniffs, and joins the queue at the bar. Delma smiles at the other travelers; Hallod narrows his eyes and mutters something inaudible.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"Yes, I didn't detect any magical signatures either," Sparrow sighs. "But those weren't any sort of natural wolves, surely. Wolves don't-- well, wolves don't belch acid, for one. And the alpha of the pack-- I could swear its eyes were glowing.

"The others seemed normal enough, but quite sickly. Sores, matted fur, the insects-- half-starved, too. They might have just been hungry and desperate, to attack a large group by daylight. But that leader..." Sparrow trails off, and shakes his head.

Markon shakes his head in a light no at the question.

"Just keepin' an eye out," he says. "Doin' my job."

"Markon's basically here as my bodyguard," Sparrow adds, a bit wry.

The mules plod on... and the afternoon's shadows slowly lengthen.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Bort listens, nods, and turns to yell at Cooky for the hot water and the other supplies.

"I'll be back once I've seen if anyone else is injured," the dwarf says with a clap of his hands to Regariel's shoulder, and then he strides off.

Cooky comes over a few moments later with a brow arch and his hands full. "Oh, now, you did get a bit ravaged, didn't you! Well, I'm sure you're no stranger to scars," he says to Markon, who has gingerly sat up at this point while Regariel works on the deep bites to his arm. "The ladies like such things, I'm told...."

Sparrow had been halfway into reaching into his own pack for gear when Regariel had knelt by the other man. He blinks once, but stays out of Reg's way, watching wordlessly. When Cooky offers the items to Regariel, Sparrow takes them, since Reg's hands are rather busy assessing the damage. "Here, I'll assist you, I've treated a cut or two in my time as well."

Over the next ten minutes, Reg cleans the wound thoroughly and dresses it, packing some honey and some herbs of his own mix into the wound to prevent infection. By the end of his treatment, Markon's looking much better, though his own blood still stains his clothes and his armor.

Hit points restored to Markon: 2d8 ⇒ (8, 5) = 13 (He's still down -3, but much better than he was!)

"Think I'll be able to play the fiddle when this heals?" he jokes, flexing his fingers of the injured arm and then nodding to himself as it seems his grip isn't affected.

"Do you want me to look at your own injuries?" Sparrow asks Regariel, eyes sweeping over the acid burns on Reg's shoulder, somewhere in that period. "It can be difficult to treat yourself, especially on your arm like that. If you'd rather handle it yourself don't let me interfere, of course."

As for Lilita's thanks-- Markon throws his head back and laughs. "You're thankin' ME? If you hadn't put that toothpick of yours into that ugly critter's spine when you did, I might be hikin' to see the Grey Lady right now. I owe ya one, kiddo. I'll buy your dinner and drinks when we get to this supposed town, huh?"

"I'll be buying everyone's dinner and drinks," Bort says, rejoining your little group at the end of the caravan. "As thanks for your daring heroics! That could have been much worse. Ulf tells me he saw you fell that brutish beast! What a strike, Lilita! I'll have to give it a mention in my stories."

(You don't doubt that it might undergo some changes, and that Bort might be the person dealing the fatal blow, in his take on the tale.)

"Truly, I thank you all for your willingness to jump to our defense like that. Of course, it WAS part of your contract-- but still. I'm glad to see the gentleman looking better. Imagine, wolves in broad daylight like this! And such a large pack! Fortunately, nobody else was anything more than scratched-- I fear you four drew the brunt of it all."


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Markon chuckles. "Well maybe sometime we oughtta spar, huh? See how that skinny sword stands up to a proper blade. Maybe I'll learn I oughtta respect your goddess. Or at least her servants."

Sparrow snorts to himself but doesn't comment, at least on that. He nods at Lilita's comment. "Yes, knock on wood as far as the weather goes. I'm buying a pony for the journey back, I think. This is just too much walking."

"Better hope we make a good deal in Almas, then, so you can afford one," Markon drawls, and plucks a long piece of grass from the side of the road, to idly chew as he walks.

***

The morning passes, uneventfully; Lilita is right that the weather is fair. Late spring boast warm sunshine, but intermittent puffy clouds break up the heat, and a gentle breeze blows along the road.

Lunch is served from the back of Cooky's wagon as the mules are unhitched and allowed to chew on meadow grass next to a burbling stream. Slices of hard cheese, smoked kippers, dried apples and cherries, and walnuts from Cooky's well-stocked larder have been supplemented with some miner's lettuce, morel mushrooms, and fresh violet flowers and leaves that Reg has perhaps been helping to bring in in his attempts to get into Cooky's good graces.

Sparrow makes no bones about being glad to stop walking, sitting on a rock by the stream and peeling off his boots to soak his feet in the cool water while they break for their meal.

Markon seems less likely to relax, taking his meal in hand and idly walking the outskirts of their group, keeping an eye on the woods and the road even as he eats.

In the light lunchtime chatter of the others, it becomes clear enough that Bort is more excited about reaching Etran's Folly than anyone else is. Olf and Ulf crack jokes about how the famed turnipta 'will make you sick, if Plaguestone itself don't.'

If anyone asks them what they mean, they'll elaborate, but some might already have heard the name before...

Society check 14 or better, or if you ask the twins:
Plaguestone is the unofficial name of Etran's Folly, and the twins, Cooky, and Tamri all refer to the town that way. Twenty years ago, a terrible plague swept the region, including the town, leaving many dead. A stone in the village square became used as a place to leave food out for the afflicted, so that there'd be no conflict between the healthy and the ill, and known as the plaguestone. In time, the village itself became called that, at least by outsiders. There isn't any threat of plague now-- the twins are just being a bit goofy, and don't actually seem scared of becoming sick in the town.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6
Lilita Yuzu wrote:
"You'll forgive me for saying that you, neither of you, look like turnip porridge aficionados on a pilgrimage." she glances back, including Regarial in her statement "Nor you, Mr...do you prefer Regarial?"

Markon snickers at the wisecrack. "We're headed to Andoran. Caravan ends in Falcon's Hollow, just over the border in Andoran, and from there we're goin' downriver to Almas."

"By boat, thank all the gods," Sparrow says with some feeling. He adds, "It's a business trip. We're from Elidir," the capital of Isger, the country you're currently in "and we're part of a burgeoning merchant consortium. We'd like to be able to ship things out of Almas into the Inner Sea, if we can strike a good deal with any shipping distributors there. The taxes are rather less steep than going through Cheliax, and," a thin, edged smile hovers briefly on Sparrow's mouth, then gone again, "the penalties for trying to avoid the taxes are rather less dire, too, aren't they?"

"You're borin' her," Markon says out of the side of his mouth.

"She asked," Sparrow protests. "Anyway, Iomedae-- how honorable! I'm sure you must have your own views on Cheliax then, but perhaps it isn't wise for us to discuss them overmuch on the road, hmn."

"Better on the road than in a town," Markon says with a shrug. Though he's carrying easily twice the gear of the older man (some of it belonging to Sparrow, at that), his stride is easy and unbothered. He eyes Lita's sword again.

"Iomedae train you on usin' that toothpick, then?" he says with a grin.

"Markon," Sparrow hisses again.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Bort Bargith is a dwarf you've all become acquainted with over the several days of travel thus far-- indeed, it's hard to be anywhere among the caravan's six wagons without hearing the dwarven merchant's cheerful voice, which carries considerably. Bort doesn't really have an 'inside' voice. What he does have is a trove of tall tales starring himself, frequently improbable-- such as a yarn about how he got the lady of death herself, Pharasma, to grant him a second chance at existence by selling her a comb of pearl and silver-- or the one about how he escaped certain death in a giant's stewpot by convincing the giant to use a frost-flower in the soup that wound up freezing the giant's mouth shut.... so forth and so forth.

His penchant for exaggerated stories aside, Bort is a good caravan leader. He treats his works and his animals well, and offered you a very good rate on passage with the caravan-- if, of course, you agreed to pitch in to the common defense of the caravan if bandits attacked.

As he gives everyone a pep talk for this leg of the journey, other members of the caravan watch and listen...

There's the elf called Cooky, though surely that isn't his actual name. Visibly aged, which means that for an elf he must be old indeed, Cooky's primary passions in life seem to be the food of the wagon, and bickering with Bort as if they've known each other for hundreds of years... which is in fact possible, given their respective species. Cooky's a good source of gossip, even if it tends to be sarcastic and catty, but an even better source of surprisingly good food, given the limitations of roadside cooking. The cook-wagon has a convoluted contraption attached to the back consisting of a cast iron brazier pan, allowing Cooky to keep a stew simmering all through the day as you go, which gets supplemented with anything from spring onions Regariel has happened to spot growing off the roadside to a freshly-caught hare brought down by...

Ulf or is it Olf? The two strapping, red-headed men from the northern Ulfen lands are identical twins-- and derive no small amusement from trying to exploit their resemblance for endless pranks and jokes. While they find it amusing to confuse the temporary passengers, such as yourself, as to their identities, they find it much more rewarding to successfully manage to confuse the caravan's permanent residents, who know them better. Thus, our heroes have suffered only mimimal prankage from the two good-spirited would-be tricksters... but cries of "Dammit, Ulf!" followed by a "That was Olf!" are frequently heard.

Tamri Grent has little patience for this horseplay, and the twins always run a fine line between amusing the caravan at large and going too far into actually annoying the tall, broad-shouldered half-orc woman who seems to do much of the actual nuts and bolts of operating the caravan. While Bort gladhands and shmoozes, it's Tamri who scrupulously counts and inventories every bit of cargo that the wagons take on or unload. She's a bit dour, constantly muttering that Bort's soft heart is going to be the financial ruin of the caravan someday, but not speaking too much with the passengers... though she at least has spoken to you, unlike...

Glunda Grapeleaf is a gnome woman who is either hideously shy, actively anti-social, or both. She does speak, primarily to Bort or Tamri, but otherwise spends as much time as she can among the caravan's four-legged residents rather than the two-legged ones. She is unofficially in charge of the draft animals that pull the caravan along, and Tamri and Bort both defer to her when it comes to any question of the beasts' health or fitness. The gnome has the coloring of a tree in autumn. She has barely spoken a single word to any of you since you joined the group.

*****

"....by nightfall, and maybe a bit sooner if we make good time, we'll be in Etran's Folly!" Bort announces enthusiastically. "Home of the finest turnip porridge in all the land! If you all don't enjoy it as much as I do, well, I'll eat my beard, but only if I can dip it in the porridge first. I tell you, I look forward each year to our stop in Etran's, and that first bowl of turnipta! That's what they call it, locally, and you won't regret it, having it served hot to you on a cold night--"

"It will BE cold if we don't get on the road, Bort," Tamri growls, interrupting Bort, and the twins and Cooky all snicker.

"Ahhh, well, you've heard her! Hitch, and let's hoof it!" Bort calls, clapping his hands together and jumping down from the stump. "MOVE OUT! HO!"

Glunda makes a clicking noise in her throat, and the mules that pull the wagons all start their slow, plodding walk for one more day.

*****

The mules walk slowly, at a pace even Sparrow can manage, with his limp, though he hasn't the stamina to do it for more than an hour or so. Usually, Cooky suggests he sit on the tail of the cookwagon when it becomes evident the man's struggling.

Today, at least, he seems willing to start off with walking, and shoots Lilita a thoughtful look. "That symbol-- the red sun? Saranrae? Or a different deity?"

Markon strides easily next to the older man, whistling a little, off-key.

Roleplay amongst yourselves.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"Heya," Markon responds to the elf with the same sort of chin-lift he'd given to Lilita. Regariel, at least, might be able to peg Markon's accent as distinctly urban and lower-class, the sort of slang one finds in certain city slums. Sparrow's seems much more educated. "How's it goin', Ears?"

"Markon," Sparrow hisses, and flashes a strained smile of apology at the elf. "I'm sorry, don't mind him--"

Before much more can be said, however, the caravan master has jumped onto a stump-- a helpful assist, given he's a dwarf and otherwise can't be seen easily-- and is calling out a booming Good morning to all...


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"Sparrow," the middle-aged man says after only a second's hesitation. He takes the tin camp plate with a nod of thanks and plucks a piece of frycake from the dish, nibbling on it pensively, with a thin snort and smile at the idea that the town ahead might not have such simple fare as this.

"--oh, I should be gathering my things," he says with a blink, halfway through his food, but when he turns to do so, Markon is there with a long-suffering look and a pack already held out.

"-oh. Thank you. Did you get my--"

"Precious book? Yeah, yeah, it's in there," Markon says, with a little bit of a headshake, and a look at Lilita that says wordlessly He'd forget his own head if I didn't remember, huh?

"Markon," he adds on aloud, with an amiable chin lift at Lilita and a brief once-over with his eyes. The man is a bit on the short side, and wiry rather than broad-shouldered, but judging by the blade at his side and the armor he's donned, he considers himself capable of holding his own in a fight. A scar runs down one cheek. His gaze lingers briefly on the sword at Lilita's side, then back up to her face.

"C'mon, walk with us. Got a lot of distance to cover before we hit this town today, and I could use someone other than Sparrow here for talkin' points."

Sparrow sniffs, but devotes his attention to the rest of his breakfast, eating hurriedly since the caravan is nearly ready to go.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Sparrow jerks a bit when one of the other travelers in the caravan addresses him, and turns stiffly before offering a rusty smile.

"That's kind, thank you. Lilita, wasn't it?" He's fairly sure that's her name, but he's often spent each night around the fire trying to read his books, not socializing with the others.

"Hey, you remembered," Markon smirks; Sparrow ignores the crack, and looks Lilita over briefly.

"I've no idea how you manage to keep yourself in such good order on the road like this," he sighs, and looks down at his own trousers and tunic-- of decent quality, originally, but rumpled from the days of travel and definitely with their own dust and smudges at this point. "I'm hoping Etran's Folly has a launderer's, I admit..."

Sparrow digs out a pair of spectacles from the carved wooden case that protects the delicate lenses at night, and slides them on his face, blinking once at the newly-in-focus Lilita before lapsing into an awkward silence. That's all the small talk he seems capable of managing.

(Behind him, Markon wordlessly starts rolling up the older man's bedroll, and lashing it together with his own things.)


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

The ground does Sparrow's body no favors whatsoever. He groans himself awake, face scrunched in a grimace against the discomfort of each morning's waking. He's not as young as he once was, and there's the matter of his bad back...

He lies there a few moments longer, debating the odds he might be able to convince Cooky, or Bort, to let him ride on one of the wagons of the caravan today rather than walking. Usually they let him do so by mid-day anyway, as his pace is overtly flagging by that point, but it would be nice to be able to start the day that way.

What a strange dream that had been, Sparrow thinks, yawning, huddling in the warmth of his blankets yet. A vast city, and an all-seeing eye of some sorts, and...

"You getting up today? I'm not carryin' you."

...and Markon, of course. Sparrow sighs, cracking his eyes open to look up at the lean man who is-- naturally-- already up and at the proverbial them, and buckling on bits of armor, and chewing a strip of bacon concurrently. He wouldn't say his dislikes the man, exactly-- they have a cordial enough working relationship, now-- but he also wouldn't say that he won't be glad when they reach their journey's end and he and Markon can go back to being mutual satellites of Celias, as it were, rather than being stuck with each other.

"Yes, yes, I'm getting up," he mutters a bit waspishly.

"Good, cuz otherwise the breakfast'll all be gone." Markon falls silent, continuing to chew bacon, but stands nearby as Sparrow grumpily peels himself out of his bedroll and wincingly gets to his feet.

"....'dyou have a weird dream, last night?" Markon says in his slums-of-Elidir accent that he's never managed to shake. Sparrow pauses, then shoots a sidelong glance at the other man.

"Why? Did you?"

The scarred warrior shrugs, his fingers hooked into his belt loops, but not quite meeting his eyes. "Kinda. Yeah. Strange. A city. You were there, but different. And the boss."

Sparrow frowns. "I... did dream of a city. How odd, that we'd share such a dream. I wonder if it means anything."

Other characters are free to overhear this discussion!


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

*high-fives all around*

Dana Huber
Skipper Daytripper, Andoran
30341-6

Can't recall if you get day job when playing a pre-gen or not. If yes:

Craft Shoes: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

But I'm not terribly bothered about it either way, so unless someone knows for sure, don't bother looking it up, I will assume no.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

I appreciate getting the backstory! I'm always curious in ways the scenarios themselves don't always let me find out.

Good job, team. :D


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

5-foot step N, draw potion of Prot from Evil, drink

Kyra looks around warily for their target. Her allies are too spread out for her to easily call down blessings on everyone. She stays in the mouth of the hallway, to make sure their quarry can not flee that way, unseen. She takes the chance to drink a potion imbued with Saranrae's protections.

AC 19.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra grits her teeth at seeing their foe disappear, and also at seeing the skeletons seeming to heal.

Kn Religion: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 Sigh.

Stepping forward (N, N), Kyra gestures and shouts.

Casting the spell Burst of Radiance, centering it on the juncture of the squares 5-feet past B&C. It should get all three skeletons, I believe, as well as going 10 feet back, so it miiiiight get our invisible new friend? Not entirely sure where she is, obviously.

DC 16 Reflex save required by the three skeletons, at least, and maybe invisi-lady.

If failed:

Blinded for 1d4 ⇒ 4 rounds

If succeed:

Dazzled for 1d4 ⇒ 2 rounds

If evil, regardless of fail-or-success on save:
4d4 ⇒ (1, 4, 3, 3) = 11 damage.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Tal, do you want to take a 5-ft step forward too so we don't get blockaded in that hall?


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Nothing's made Kyra think she needs to break out buffs yet, so no buffing from this corner.

We open the door, like the heroes we are!


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra watches Saki, giving a slow nod at her actions, and then resumes her position in the rear of the group, moving forward into the next room after Tal.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra wheezes as she is released.

"That... really... hurt," she says with a grunt. "I am sorry we had to fight such a creature, but I thank your swift blades, my friends, or I fear that might have been my last battle."

Wand: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Wand: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
Wand: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Takes me to 33/35.

Kyra takes a few moments to catch her breath and heal the worst of her injuries, letting the others study the next door and the strange tree-inverted room as she does so.

"This is a place with a myriad of mysteries. If our mission were not pressing, it would be a site for much study... but I fear that every second we tarry will lead to great grief to come."


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra's scream of pain rings off the dungeon walls as the otherworldly beast bites her savagely.

Goddess, preserve me!

Move action to draw wand, I'm hoping that does not provoke as I think the creature and I would both share the grappled condition. CLW from wand on self.

CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra raises a hand to clutch at her head, grimacing at the eerie noise.

"What... is that... thing?" she yells, as Seoni literally disappears.

She hurriedly calls out to Saranrae. A shield of flickering, transparent flame appears over her arm, and with that defense in place she runs forward.

Standard: Shield of Faith. AC: 19.
Move: Run forward to be adjacent to the hound in the corner (so Tal can get flank), drawing scimitar, eating an AO if it has reach.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

It's Magikarp!?! ...no, it's Squirtle!

"--the hell?" Kyra yelps, as she pulls back from the water splash.

"...wait. The fish... got through the door? ... I suppose it could have bumped into that disc..."

She peers cautiously around the edge of the door. "More rubble. Worth getting wet over?"


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"How strange," Kyra murmurs. "If I were an artist, I would mark down the shape of this mechanism for the Society's minds to study. But we have an evil to confront, right now."

She nods at Tal's words. "There were other doors from the main hallway, but let us return to where we cornered that fish. Perhaps it has, um... swum out... and we can reach the door with no difficulty."

She leads back to the fish-hall.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra watches Seoni for a few moments, but sees that she seems to have thrown off the malady. She takes her cloak back, and lifts her wand again.

CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

3 charges off wand

She takes Tal's wand as well, heals him, then looks at the wretched creature they have dropped.

"We have not sought to trap you here," she says, unable to help a stab of pity. "I serve the light, and I would that no-body is trapped in a pit like this. Talk to us. Tell us your situation."

I'm under the impression that the creature is actually still alive, but I could have totally misread the bit about it collapsing to get that impression. If the spider-thing is dead, obviously ignore Kyra talking to it. If it is alive:

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra is more than happy to cure Tal, but is looking at Seoni with worry, and acts first on the sorceress-- especially when Tal's words suggest she may be poisoned.

"Saki, watch that creature to be sure it doesn't stir to harm us again!" she asks the servant of Shelyn, while she hurriedly unclasps her cloak and drapes it around the sorceress's body. "Here, there are blessings woven into the cloth that may help you fight the creature's venom," she says.

Putting her cloak of resistance +1 on Seoni, since I think Seoni still has an ongoing poison situation. She'll definitely heal Tal before they move on, though.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Seeing that Seoni is savaged by the spider's bite, Kyra hurriedly steps into the hallway to join her, and do what she can for the sorceress's wounds.

Bless becomes CLW, heal Seoni.

CLW: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

Assuming that back in the hallway is not threatened, but if it is, cast defensively

Cast Defensively: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17 Phew!


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"Hang on, Tal," Kyra says to the elf, and draws the wand hurriedly, since that seems safer than casting with the many-legged horror so close.

"Is she evil, Saki?" the cleric calls as she touches the blessed piece of wood to Tal's injuries. If only she had a spell to free him from its grasp... but keeping him healed may be the best she can do right now.

CLW on Tal: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Kyra follows Saki, scimitar ready, stopping to detect magic on the door as well before she gives the nod for Saki to open it, if Tal doesn't find anything.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Hup hup.

Kyra cheers at Seoni's fiery blast, and again as Saki buries her weapon into the silvery mass. "Well-struck, both of you!" she cries.

"Did that ... thing... hit anyone except Saki?"

Once any injuries are taken care of, Kyra quickly moves into the room, glancing around for any signs of trouble. Besides the smashed bits of glass and other things, the room seems empty to her. She scans the room quickly for any signs of magic.

Detect magic, sweeping the room for any auras, if nothing, then onto the next door.

The servant of Saranrae listens at the door a moment for any trouble.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"You seem to bear the brunt of our injuries, Saki!" Kyra calls, striding past the ooze as it has rippled around Saki, and raising her hand that holds her holy symbol.

2 squares movement west to Saki. Shouldn't provoke if the ooze is grappling.
Cure Mod on Saki: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 8) + 4 = 15


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

Most likely healing Saki on my turn, but waiting to see if anything changes regarding damage taken.


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

5-foot NE.

Kyra moves further into the room, her scimitar drawn and slashing towards the strange silver blob.

Scimitar: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17
Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4


Markon - AC 18/20 | HP 1/21 | Per +5 | F+7 R+7 W+5 Sparrow - AC 14 | HP 15/15 | Per +6 | F+4 R+4 W+6

"....I do not speak Fish," Kyra says with as much dignity as she can muster when saying these ridiculous words. "Perhaps we just ought to move away from this corridor and try another, and let the... fish... swim unharassed?"

Kyra will write this up as one of the odder experiences she's had in her time working with the Society.

Kyra backs away to one of the other doors.

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