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I think it's a +1 Arrow-Catching Light Wooden Shield.
And they are using it to cheat at the shooting range?
Nathara follows Tiferet with her eyes as she walks to the rider's grave, nor does she comment on it. To honour ones fallen foes and to be able to forgive them their darkest deeds (not that Nathara knew any dark deeds she could attribute to the rider, but she did not doubt they were feared for a reason), displays a greatness of heart. Nathara herself thinks neither good nor ill of him. There are lots of things she would like to know, but few she would have to say. She wonders whether she should feel more, but she will not fake compassion were none exists. For now she casts the thought aside and pierces the darkness with her eyes and lets her feet find their own way on regular, short patrols. The feet of a dancer are not meant to stand still.
"Given yesterday's events, sticking together sounds vastly preferable to me. I don't want any of us to be exposed like this again." She seems even amused as she continues: "I am not inclined to make the same mistake twice." She lines up at the portal, ready to follow right behind Tiferet at Ashen. "I am curious whereas the witches saw the forboding of our arrival in the stars." She did not sound like the thought particularly frightened her. Quite contrary, drastic turns of fate would hardly be veiled from the witches, whether or not they could help it. And Nathara hoped their group which shared the mantle of a rider would change the fate of the witches massively. "I have a feeling that Desna is with us."
"Oh, I am her humble slave, please don't hit me, master! I kiss the snow in which you p**!" "Aren't you a bit too heavily armed for a slave?" "I only carry those weapons to ease my mistress' burden! I am unworthy of touching them." "And the armour?" "You see... ermm... there was this lair of iron spiders and... I got tangled up in their nets? No wait, those are really restraints! Oh, what the heck." *blaster shot* "It was a boring conversation, anyway." PS: On a more serious note, a helmet might help, if we can find one where the horns look like part of it. Other than that... Well, we make up something in-between a cold weather hat and a headscarf? I must insist it is pretty, though. The blazing red eyes are still going to be a problem however, but maybe people still won't ask as many question. There is a lot of funny things wandering around there. I might be a witch-guardian...
Fire, motion, lust. Nathara was not stronger than before, but faster. To what end remained to be seen. "Queen of Ice, Queen of Angels, Lord of Rape..." Now she was a piece in a larger game without any doubt. Now she had to prove that she made her choice and would stick with it. "I shall remember warmth beneath the heat within me." Her eyes fall into the dead rider. She regards him for a while. It is strange with which devotion he served a creature of evil; she wished she had known his story. She looks around between her comrades, friends in fact, trying to read their faces. "How do you feel?" she asks, turned to no-one in particular. To Inire she says: "We better write that down... both of us, this time. The details of the memory we experienced may become important..." and with a adds after regarding Inire more closely: "The look suits you, by the way, crescent blade dancer maiden." She browses her equipment for writing utensils, even though the lingering presence of the portal is still somewhat unsettling. What may come through next? The Prince of Hell personally, looking for a warmer spot to rest his hooves?
Tears are running down Nathara's eyes as she hears Tiferet words. "You are right with everything you say... and I wish I could promise you I will not succumb to the temptations that a promise of easy victory can bring, or the whisper this is the only way, when we do not really know whether it is. But I cannot. It appears... we do not really know who we are until we are truly tested." Her voice is seriously shaking and her elven accent becomes thicker. "I do not want this. I ..." She lets go of the mantle for now looses the words, unsure what to do or say.
I am kinda burning with anticipation. I wonder where everyone is? Somewhere hidden? On the other side of the portal waiting for some kind of signal?
I must confess I find dealing with rules the tedious part of role playing. A property of Pathfinder that I really like is that it appears to stick with established rules, Paizo does not have to overhaul the entire rule set every other year to make money from Pathfinder. Yet I find the possibilities of a game, which provides sufficient space to create a distinguished character with the core rules alone, sometimes a bit overwhelming, even though that development is inevitable, of course. Well, anyway, I like to keep my characters simple in rule terms.
As delicate as Tifret's question was given, as delighted was Nathara she see her and she welcomed her with a smile. The warrior maiden of a tribe with an angel's blessing did spread an air of confidence which was hard to resist. "Right." she answers, swings her sword and goes to leave with the others. "The thing about empty rooms is that you end up finding yourself in them." She holds Tiferet's eyes for a moment longer and angles her head slightly, but then breaks eye contact without saying anything further. Nathara would really like to talk to Tiferet about this tension in their little band of advnturers, but this does not seem like the time or place.
Outside she goes straight to Lily, makes sure the equipment is well distributed on her back and gives her a bit of sugar. When (and if) she sees Vosi nearby while she's busy with Lily she asks him in his own language, the language of the first world: "I think you mentioned it before, but could you tell me again what the name of the white witch behind all this is?" As they finally walk back out through the narrow passageway in the ice she muses. Sometimes it almost appears like she was talking to herself, but then she suddenly looks straight at the one or the other of her comrades: "It's strange. For all our enemy's power and cruelty, her actions so for seemed quite random. Part of the reason why we managed our foes so far relatively easily is because we - particularly Evelyn, of course - managed to exploit the already existing dissent between them. And if this hut was supposed to be a trap, it obviously didn't work. The doll alone was not sufficient to put us into trouble, but the doll and the fey together would have been. Given the hunter's journal it does not appear like it was specifically set for us, though. It almost appears like all of this, this hutt, Vrixx completely meaningless death, abducting Lady of Malassene and murdering her escort, the means by which she keeps her own subjects in line, a cruelty fair with no visible purpose - which does not necessarily mean that there is no purpose. I am not sure whether she was even aware of us until we met the doll; she certainly is now, but it is uncertain what she makes of it. Those walls of ice around us, the way the doll projected, the portal to Irrisen we're looking for, those all point to a foe with a formidable control over magic way beyond our reach. And yet... we have been amazingly successful so far. With every little victory I am getting more faithful that we will be victorious in the end. It feels like being in a gigantic board game of powers we hardly understand, but our enemy has not been playing against us, nor is there any superior force using us as piece. We were simply unaccounted for, dancing between the pieces." She looks around between her comrades. "I am curious what you make of all this."
Nathara watches the scene. Trust is a strange thing. And humans are strange indeed. Morgraine is a woman who fought by Nathara's side, who opposed the white witch behind all this. A single one expression, even one as frightening as "winter witch" won't change that. It is true that Nathara is curious about Morgraine's magic, but she would never be that indiscreet. Hardly any elf would. But then again, having grown up over the course of one hundred years rather than twenty probably gives one a different perspective. Tá mná rúin dá cuid agus dá cuid ina n-aonar - A woman's secrets are hers and hers alone. She takes a few careful steps closer to Morgraine, trying to meet her eyes and show her that she means no harm. She puts her hand on smaller woman's shoulder (if Morgraine lets her), careful to not cut her with her claws, and tries a smile. Sometimes words are not good enough, especially when words are the problem. Morgraine is more than a label one might put on her.
Nathara is relieved as the doll is finally beaten, but she remains silent until Tiferet has destroyed the crystal, she only gives a short nod to Morgraine as she details how it works. When that is done she merely says. "I hope the soul of this child is going to get another chance for a life. Do we know the name of this winter witch? This is getting personal." To Evelyn she offers an appreciative nod. "You have a remarkable way with word, human lady. Whether it is a spell by magic or the sweetness of your lips, your power is remarkable. I've rarely seen such a simple spell spoken so efficiently." She looks briefly around. It appears no one got hurt, the doll hardly had a chance on doing anything at all and that she wasted on Nathara herself, whose link to the abyss "blessed" her with an unnatural termperature tolerance. "I am going to get Lily, I left her near the entrance, but I am still concerned about the story of a giant weasel out there."
Nathara pictures the story Eirikr tells as motions in a dance; the story is already a dance within itself, given the way the two sisters twist and wind around each other and through the rest of the world. She tries to share a look with Tiferet, wondering what she is thinking. "Thought... or dance and song", she merely remarks. "Would you like to play it? I would very much like to dance it." There is much to do in their little camp side and Nathara is glad that Evelyn is already setting up things. Nathara helps her with the tent and then takes care of Lily's hooves and fur. Before she finally sits down by the fire she tries to figure out what the best obvservation spot in the camp might be and whether there was anything they might do to make their position more defensible. Finally she sits down by the fire. "It is strange how my things changed since that night when I met you in that tavern in Heldren, but for all the hardship, the wounds and the death, I would not wish it were otherwise, as selfish as that may sound, since that would mean we would have never become a company in arms." She makes sure she includes everyone, humanoid or fey. "I noticed you didn't have a bed roll, earlier, so there is one for you, Inire. Along with the additional furs (those were pretty expensive) we should have enough to keep everyone warm. How are we going to go about the watches?"
Nathara first unloads Lily and gives her a bit of her feed, then she goes on to help Eirikr and Tiferet digging a grave for the hunter; she is one of the few uninjured after all. She briefly smirks at Inire's remark what she's writing, but seems a bit restless. She feels horribly exposed out here, but for the time being there does not appear a meaningful alternative.
She stands back and waits, so she can help close the grave once everyone who wants to had the chance to say anything if they desire so. They still have a camp to set up, a fire to make and to figure out how they can better secure their position. And that's not even mentioning food.
"I would have preferred to banish her to where she belongs rather than killing her. She might even have liked that - this world must have appeared as painfully absurd to her as would hers to us; it does not sound like being summoned here met her consent. Who was her summoner?"
"It does not appear like he was execting a ... 'mephit', or any flying creature whatsoever to attack." For a moment she pauses looking at Inire, who records everything in her book. To Tiferet she asks: "Do we have any indication of who he was?" And points with her nose at the little black book Tiferet is holding.
"I am going to have a look at those arrows"
Nathara holds two arrows with red feathers as she slips back out of the tent. "Those are enchanted to hunt wild animals. That fits with the bear traps. He must have been hunting something big, but natural. What does the journal say?"
Nathara sorts her words before she answers. "I must confess, there are two necromantic spells in here which I did not mention. But... nothing of the sort that fills the remainders of life with unlife. Or traps a soul. Or separates it from its life energy, like with the fey. A spell to... severely weaken the subject and a spell that causes physical damage to a living creature. Quite popular amongst sword mages actually, because it can be easily channelled through a sword and then lingers for a while. Less useful for Rokhar, since he seemed to avoid melee..." She pauses briefly, it files like an explanation regarding her reservations against magic is due. "Anyway, it is necromancy, it does channel 'entropic energy'. It's a bit contradictory a concept, because entropy is the absence of energy, or better the absence of structure. This negative energy is not just the absence of life force, it is its antithesis. It is... less than nothing, it has less of a distinct colour than perfect white. Or black. Less of melody than white noise. Or utter silence. It does not naturally occur in this universe, which makes it somewhat hard to grasp." She looks a little helpless. To communicate such concepts without years of learning, without the ability to see the structure of magic spanning the multiverse, it's difficult to put it words. She looks into the spell book again and skips through it. "Nothing of this is particularly powerful. Nothing even remotely the same league as the creation of those undead we fought, particularly the very first one. Either he has yet a different spell book... or... that magic was not his own."
I would prefer to not rely on the doors. If they are barred from the inside there is little we can do to open them.
The spelldancer is surprised as she notices how shaken the radiant skald is. She has thought that nothing can possibly unsettle Tiferet, but there is nothing she could say to make things right. Thus Nathara just tried to make the other woman feel her affection. Once in the camp Nathara is quite silent for a while. She helps gathering wood for the fire, picks the driest pieces and stacks them up neetly, as though it was a ritual rather than a daily process. Finally she stacks up stones around it and arranges spare wood so that it would dry. Her hands reach briefly into the fire every now and then, but they don't seem to get burned. "I need a moment for myself. I won' be long and within hearing range." The elf with a demon's touch undoes her armour and puts her tunic back over her blouse. After she has taken a few steps she turns around to Vosi: "You may join me if you like, spirit of the first world. I may have a gift for you." She does not say anything to Tiferet, but her look indicates to follow her, making clear that she is welcome to join as well. She picks a place where she won't be seen from afar but has some ground to move. "This is a dance which belongs to the legend of Thalminon and Elcairier. It is from a time back before the first of men stepped onto the shores of Avistan. The dragon Fugolxir had abducted the beautiful maiden Elcairier and her husband Thalminon is on a dangerous quest with many tasks to rescue her. Elcairier believed her husband dead and realized that Dragon intended to use the child beneath her heart as his puppet and bind it to his soul, so that it would one day be the master of all elves. So she confronts Fugolxir in her prison and tries to provoke him to slay her and thus her unborn child. Fugolxir does not consider her threat, but is compelled with Elcairier's passion and devotion and falls in love with her... Elcairier in turn gets a glimpse into the dragon's heart, an old heart, sad beyond the capacity of that emotion for an elf and develops compassion for him, even though she does not return his love." She angles her head and smiles. "It's not the kind of story that has a happy ending, but even if we cannot always choose the ending, we may choose our own path. I would feel honoured should you choose to be my dragon." With that she starts to dance with the sword in her hands. A few slow steps at first, careful and frightened, then faster ones, then more and more aggressive and hardly rythmic, with theatrical blows and defensive gestures, but eventually there is a steady pattern to the rhythm. As her body is covered with sweat she dances with incredible speed, but there is a beatiful harmony in her motions. eventually the dance gets slower and a strong impression of futility and sadness in repeating motions that seem harmonic, but not entirely complete, like being trapped by time rather than a physical prison. As the dance ends she kneels down and folds her hands. When she raises her head she smiles at Vosi. "Thank you for watching me... I just needed that." When she gets back to the camp she seems a lot more lighthearted than before and takes her place next to Tiferet. "Would you like to tell us about how you found the tatzwyrm?" she asked Vosi.
Hm. Nathara does not have background skills. What about knowledge (history) and something to reflect the detail that she creates her own outfits in her background, if only very... particular outfit. Profession (Tailor) for example. +9 hit points
New spells:
New class features:
I would very much like to study my spellbook to fill the open spell slots.
Sorry about the massive post. I would like to emphasize that I don't mean it in a way that Nathara is asking those questions all at once, but I want to avoid a question and answer game that may take weeks in a forum game. Originally I had not wanted to let Nathara do so much talking in the first place, because Nathara trusts Tiferet to ask for the important things, especially considering that Nathara is relatively inexperienced and knows that she might miss important details or put too much weight on unimportant things. But with so much dialogue going on I was beginning to fear she might get outstripped. I've already omitted some of the questions Nathara had, mainly those that probe the nature of the bandits involved in the attack and their relation to the fey. I also would like know if you would like me to scale down on Nathara's inner monologue, so that the posts become shorter. There are a few paragraphs in my last post which are not absolutely necessary.
Look what I found:
Does that remind you of anything?
Somewhere deep in the forest: Since it turns out that she will actually have to go into the pool and the air is relatively warm and pleasant she continues undressing - dryads don't usually wear clothes as far as she knows, why would she? "You are right, everything I carry, other than this flute will only burden me. Could you watch out a little for my belongings? We elves depend on the things we carry. Regarding the flute - a good friend has given me that hint, but I love to play it either way." she says with a wink to the nixies. Fey have different few on property than other civilized races. Technically the fey could rob her blind without even considering it be theft be feyish standards, yet everything else but leaving her equipment behind would be a disgrace. Then she approached the majestic oak and started to play. Don't think too much, just play. she thought, so she started with themes from elven epics and improvised from there. Whether it would be an homage to the beauty of the fey, something dramatic that reflected the threat of the blight or something that reflected her own emotions and recent history she did not know or even plan. True music must come on its own. In a way she understood they fey as she stepped naked into the pool and let the water embrace her. There was no man here who may have seen it as a provocation, only the true natural self, without borders or boundaries, only one's own beauty in alignment and contact with that of the natural world. She had hardly ever felt more true - and even though she did know how many got lost in the world of the fey for that beauty, she was here to help and the fey would probably not enchant her to stay. They needed the help of the rose. She casts a quick glance over her shoulder to see what Windmane does.
Rayla's head is pulsing with the kickback she always suffers after she let her celestial fury go. Still, she presses out a somewhat exhausted: "I'll send your queen your head, so she knows we're coming for her." She swung her blade - damn this thing was suddenly heavy.
Seeing the barbarian woman pick up a tent, Delilah asked, "Do you think we could share that? I'd have grabbed one myself, but it'd only make me slow the rest of you down." Her tone turned slightly innocent, "And I don't want to be a burden." "No problem, I was wondering whether I'd share with either you or Lady Helena. It would be best if the strongest of us carried those..." she says with a glance to the giant kin."Would each of you guys carry one? I don't know how you people see it, but it might be best if someone carried one for Helena." She doesn't want to interrupt Helena's conversation with Sir Corwin, so she waits for a moment. "Excuse me, Helena. Those tents are meant for two... would you be willing to share a tent with any of us? Delilah asked me to share one with me and I can't carry a second. With us being seven and room enough for eight there should be a tent for you alone, if that what you prefer." There is a certain restlessness about Rayla. It's aparant she can hardly wait to face whatever is behind all this.
"I hope this won't take long..." says Rayla as she wanders smooth like a cat of prey in slow circles through the hall, accompanied by the soft tingle of the scale mail pieces of her mantle and skimpy armour beneath. 'They seem to be well in training by the smell of it. I wonder what problem there could possibly so demanding that the knight and his men can't deal with it themselves... It must have been a while since this hall has seen a celebration.' She looks at the decorations and the battle scars of the hall to get an impression; the atmosphere is thrilling and for a moment she considers to draw her sword and swing it, but she discards the idea again since she has a feeling she will have the opportunity to honour her ancestors - angelic or otherwise - soon. |