How much wealth do I have available for item upgrades? The loot sheet wasn't helpful (says I have no money and I don't see how to determine a share).
In terms of cash, theoretically everyone got 33,879, but Donovan claimed 19,775, so was left with 14,104. Donovan claimed the plumed mantle, but could just as easily have not claimed it
That’s what reduced your gold share. Some of this data is listed in armag’s tomb sheet. As to why Donovan has 0 in cell Q209, it probably is because the wealth tracker is defunct. Cells above 209 have useful information.
Mila shoots a number of arrows towards the creature, her holy power lancing towards the tall, thin man, and for the first significant time - the arrows connect and the creature is wounded significantly. Dark blood oozes from the new wounds, and the creature staggers, but not nearly as much as they stagger when Fantol’s axe connects with its torso. The wound gushes now with a torrent of purplish blood, and reflexively, the creature lashes out, back to Fantol, and it’s the ranger’s own turn to be wounded.
Denisa doesn’t back down, though. Not being able to revive Cerny for the moment, with one hand open, the Aldori slashes forward, and again, distracting the monster.
Even Nicolas manages to send out a blast of magical missiles which bury themselves in the body of the creature, who seems even more wounded than before. The creature recognizes the danger that Mila poses and creeps around Fantol, only briefly, before realizing that the Ranger’s presence is only making it harder to deal with the true threat.
Wordlessly, a double appears behind Fantol, and the creature drives a pair of claws into Fantol’s gut, this time from behind, so deeply that they emerge from the other side.
Fantol gurgles and reaches out weakly to try and strike at the creature, to push it off, but it doesn’t work. The monster seems satisfied as another in the party crumples to the ground.
Finally free to deal with the threat, he starts to advance on Mila - but a final barrage of arrows thud into the creatures’s head, the last passing through with such force that it splits the head apart, and the monster falls, dead, its form staying fixed for only a moment longer before turning into a vitreous goo.
The illusions in the area immediately dissipate, and the party lies in a derelict basement in an old building.
The suddenness of the violence abated, with Denisa desperately trying to staunch the wounds on Cerny, who is taking shallow breaths - Mila has a choice: move to save the cleric, or try to save Fantol?
It isn’t much of a choice, and the young Paladin rushes over to the cleric and lays a hand upon his torso, staunching the bleeding immediately. With a gasp, Cerny sprays out a splatter of blood and sits up.
Thinking quickly, Mila moves over to Fantol, and discovers a grievous wound. As she is reaching out a hand to do her own stabilization, she sees the form of the nobleman exhale once more quietly. It is too late.
Cerny scrambles up and rushes over, using his own spell, but the magic is not powerful enough. Spitting out clotted blood, and holding his side while kneeling over the nobleman, Cerny shakes his head. ”Too late.” Denisa puts a hand to her mouth, and stares down at the carnage, and the realizes the situation remains dire. Pointing at the teens that are still tied up, she says ”Cerny, the kids. Check the kids.” The cleric is muttering a prayer above the body, while clutching his holy symbol and looks up, quietly cursing in Old Brevian, before lumbering to his feet again and moving to heal them. They have some hp damage and ability damage, but are otherwise fine.
Nicolas has been sitting quietly in the corner, ashen-faced, and without reaction - he nods gravely when asked to help carry the dead, and once everyone has recovered, the remaining party pulls the survivors and the dead up the stairs, where they fashion items to pull the corpses out of the forest, and start the arduous task of returning to the village.
The illusions broken, the small group sees far into the woods now, and sound and light have returned. The menacing ruined street is - in proper light - just a few overgrown buildings. Dragging the corpses behind them, the party slowly makes their way back to town, and after about two arduous hours, they reach the edge.
Heading back to the inn with the captives, the party, bedraggled, beaten, and bloodied, staggers back into the tavern.
Denisa says to Mila, ”you - you’re a noblewoman, you have to speak to the Surtovas. Let them know Nicolas and the kids are safe.” Nicolas stays downstairs, almost protectively standing by the corpses, while Mila moves upstairs and knocks on the door of the suite where she’s directed to go.
Opening the door is a sallow-cheeked man with spectacles, and a hand on a sword, he opens it only a crack and says to the Paladin, ”you must have a good reason to intrude.” Mila explains, and the man, frowning, nods, and replies ”fine,” but does not respond otherwise. A few moments later, the door opens - and the well-dressed sort of vizier or butler emerges, followed by an older gentleman with a stately bearing, and what are obviously profoundly expensive clothes, follows. The man has a gold-tipped cane, and a shock of well-groomed gray hair. Though older, he seems to carry himself, with grace and heft to his steps. The man has brilliantly intelligent eyes, and cautiously watches Mila for a moment before nodding at her, ”well done, miss.”
The butler gestures for Mila to head downstairs and the paladin turns and stumbles down to the now-messy common room.
Other patrons have since evacuated, and only the adventuring party remains. Nicolas stands in the corner, near the corpse of his bodyguard while Fantol is sort of, attended to by Cerny and Denisa.
Nicolas looks up, ”uncle, it was horrible.” The elderly gentleman steps down the stairs, replies, ”a success, though?” Nicolas opens his mouth, and closes it, ”I suppose - we rescued the kids, but Vlad and Fantol - they were killed. A horrible monster had kidnapped kids!” The man leans forward on his cane, ”life is difficult - Nicolas, it only gets harder when you get older. What did you expect.” Nicolas stammers, ”but - but he implied it was us, we owed them something.” The older man glares at Nicolas, ”what could we possibly owe a monster. Do not be foolish.”
Nicolas steps forward, ”Lord Fantol died! Protecting us! And … Vlad wasn’t exactly kind but didn’t deserve to bleed out like this.”
The older gentleman, replies, ”keep your mouth shut, Nephew. Lord Fantol did his duty.” And he moves closer to the young man, ”if you value the lives of these … friends of yours.” He raises an eyebrow, and seems to collect himself - and looks around, ”my apologies - I mean to say that our matters, our family matters - knowing more about them would put everyone at risk.” He seems sincere, but there is an undercurrent of threat. Nicolas blanches and sits down, carefully, and folds his hands.
He continues, ”the Surtovas will, of course, compensate you for your troubles. And for your discretion. Remember, whatever the monster you met spoke about - these fey creatures - they traffic in lies.” He snaps his fingers, and the butler retrieves a small satchel from an extradimensional pouch and opens it.
Theres no evidence that anyone here has mentioned fey, until now.
With a broad gesture, the older Surtovan opens his hand, ”please - for your services, and as I said - discretion.” The butler retrieves a number of very expensive gems and moves to give them to Denisa and Cerny. The pair look at each other, accepting the payment, and Cerny looks like he wants to say something, but shuts up. Denisa nods, obviously tired, ”Yes, Lord Anatoli.” and the woman bows. Cerny can barely muster his own bow, but he does, and the pair looks down at Fantol briefly before giving Mila a sad look and exiting through the door.
The butler turns to Mila, ”please young lady. I’m sure it will help your family in Eagle’s Watch, and you need not worry about the Medvyed lord. His family will be receive what is due for such a sacrifice.”
Mum eviscerates one of the Peluda, and with the hippo chomp, the last peluda collapses, dead.
The party investigates the tower, including the ruined chest.
Within, they find what appears to be an oiled ranger's cache, long abandoned. Within lies a mithril chain shirt, a darkwood composite longbow (+2 str), a masterwork cold iron falchion, a pair of boots of friendly terrain, a bracers of falcon's aim, and 60 darkwood arrows.
The peluda attacked by Mum is eviscerated so badly that the floating hippo is able to move down a bit and help Donovan.
I’m assuming Donovan doesn’t want to use cleanse or heal yet, so I’ll just post some attacks. Neutralize poison is up so everyone’s immune to poison for a little while. I’m assuming Tikroch was able to give flanking to Donovan.
Mila summons a spell and starts singing a traditional song of Brevoy, quietly but with firm conviction. She casts the spell "good hope" and starts to inspire courage. Each affected creature gains a +2 morale bonus on saving throws, attack rolls, ability checks, skill checks, and weapon damage rolls. Everyone receives a +4 morale bonus on saving throws against charm and fear effects and a +4 competence bonus on attack and weapon damage rolls.
She prepares herself briefly to fight, raising her bow, ”and they’re actually dragons. Or at least I think that’s what peludas are! In this case, don’t use fire, and spread out!”
**********
The hissing peludas clamber out of the water and move close to the party, with two eventually exploding into a flurry of poison quills.
Reflex Save, DC 22 for Half, piercing damage:6d6 ⇒ (4, 5, 1, 4, 6, 1) = 21 Reflex Save, DC 22 for Half, piercing damage:6d6 ⇒ (6, 4, 3, 4, 3, 3) = 23
Anyone that takes damage is subject to poison from the quills: Quill—injury; save Fort DC 22; frequency 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d4 Con damage; cure 2 consecutive saves. The save DC is Constitution-based.
The last one simply steps up to the front, and sends a blast of singing fire at Mum, Tickroch, and Luca.
Reflex Save, DC 22 for Half, fire damage:6d6 ⇒ (1, 4, 4, 4, 1, 3) = 17 1d4 ⇒ 2
As a reminder, take 10 on knowledge doesn’t work in combat, except for Mila, but in this case it doesn’t matter because I rolled for Vincent and he got 40 :).
The party is checking out what looks to be an old ruin of a castle, next to a muddy, swampy area of the foothills southeast of Denzgrazod, on the way back south to start the Rushlight festival.
There seems to be some sort of chest in a ruined tower within the middle of the pond. As the party thinks about the best way to get in, they are standing next to the muddy water’s edge, when three immense dragon-like beasts emerge from the water. Their serpentine maws snap angrily at the end of a long, sinuous neck, and steam issues forth from between their razor-sharp fangs. A powerful tail moves in rhythm with the bobbing head, displaying a wicked set of spikes. Scores of quills jut from the beasts’ flanks, bristling outward with menacing intent.
DC 20 Knowledge Arcana:
These are peludas, a type of lesser dragon - like a drake. They have a fire breath weapon, a poisonous tail attack, and can shoot quills out in a small area if surrounded. They are also of the dragon type.
DC 25 Knowledge Arcana :
They are immune to fire, have ferocity, have damage reduction (magic), and spell resistance.
DC 30 Knowledge Arcana:
They have a weakness in their tail - if it is attacked (and it can be attacked separately) and separated they lose their tail slap, associated poison damage, and take bleed damage every round. To attack the tail is a sunder attack.
The man nods, and retrieves a small emblem made of brass. ”This will allow you passage into our lands. I trust you will find your way, though direct passage via teleport will not function.”Think ruins of Lordaeron from Warcraft if it’s convenient, though of course the city is larger here. The thin man snaps his fingers and the bubble falls away.
The bubble falls away, and the five adventures pack their things up and start leading their horses and cart away.
The giantess shrugs, watching them pass, and scratches her dweomercat, waiting to be led back to wherever she’s supposed to go.
She says in her archaic sylvan, ”some in my home refer to my name as Warden. Others were to have called me Galiana. You call me either. I have other names but they are not for you to know.” She does not ask any more questions.
The party begins to prepare the mechanism to take them to Gliocas Walking, teleport, wind walk, transport via plants? Teleport probably won’t do for the trees - they’re huge. There’s more to do in the area. I’ll assume there’s a wind walk followed by a teleport back, so that’s a 6th level cleric spell followed by a 5th level Arcanist, and you can keep investigating here the same day. Please mark down as appropriate and meanwhile I’ll set up a real combat encounter.
The helmeted one considers carefully what Mila has explained. For a while, ”I can find no fault with your reasoning. Just … get them away from here. And if you speak to this witch, let her know that the Baron’s patience is finite. Dengrazod expects to be left alone - get the fey situation managed.” He turns to the others and whispers something, then turns back to Vincent, gesturing for him to come over, ”a word, young man?”
The skeletal man waits a moment, and once Vincent is near, says ”we would have privacy from your companions - which may be provided with but a word. But I would not have them attack, is it agreed? We have matters to discuss.” The leader nods, his eyes shadowed behind his helmet.
He will cast something like resilient sphere on the area to block the others from seeing and hearing, assuming Vincent agrees. Vincent understands what’s being asked.
**********
1d20 ⇒ 10
Donovan:
Donovan realizes that the giant is feeding humanoid flesh to the trees and cats. Seemingly elven and human, though it seems preserved, somehow - like jerky.
The giant thanks Mum and Tikroch, and responds in Sylvan, ”my thanks miss and sirs. I shall gladly come with you,” Her accent and word choice in sylvan is odd and archaic, as if she’s speaking a somehow earlier version of the already primeval language. ”I am not more than a warden, so the high majick exceed my knowledge. Should what you say prove true - then this is the … material plane? I have heard stories of such a place.” She gestures broadly, ”it is much less… life-full. Is it always like this? Is your queen more so? Can you tell me - shall she know how to get me back?”
She *can* get them back, due to her secret knowledge, but she needs a planar tuning fork. Vincent and Mila know this. To the best of everyone’s knowledge, she does not have one yet.
One of the arrows connects, and Mila’s holy magic seems to slice through at least some of the defenses of the creature, who looks very surprised.
Touching the area where the purplish blood oozes out of his arrow wound, he blinks, as if curious ”interesting. Denisa cries out when Cerny is attacked and gestures to Nicolas, ”come - he’s not a dragon, everyone bunch up, backs to each other. Cerny, you great lummox, don’t die on me…”
1d20 ⇒ 16
She launches herself at the monster, who tries to parry one of the sword blows, but her aim is exceptional and it connects, even if doesn’t seem to do as much as she expected.
Fantol’s mind is racing, and he calls out - ”a fey, of some sort. Cold iron, if you can.” With significant speed, he grabs a cold iron axe from belt as he moves over, and with two hands brings it down as hard as he can against the enemy. It connects, and the creature’s flesh sizzles away, parting easily at the wound.
1d20 ⇒ 17 1d20 ⇒ 10
1d20 ⇒ 13
Nicolas manages to summon a few more lances of fire, but they miss, he stumbles over to stand near Mila, nodding.
Cerny grimaces, and tries to concentrate has his own blood trickles between his fingers. Hands shaking, and with no way to step away, he tries to cast some sort of spell.
1d20 ⇒ 8
But the energy dissipates, and doesn’t do anything.
Almost idly, a similar effect appears again, and this time, the blades claws connect in the gut of Cerny, who doubles over in pain, dropping to the ground. Denisa cries out again, ”Cerny!” and fury in her eyes, she flares her nostrils as she prepares to try and hit the creature again, who seems to have turned his attention to Fantol, the axe wielder.
You can prepare to do so. I’d like some diplomacy checks, if possible, from Tikroch or others, due to the following, beforehand:
The hooded figure whispers something toward the leader, who tilts his head and then nods, ”these … interlopers. If you say they will go to Gliocas - fine, but our Baron, he grows concerned about their expansion already. Perhaps the silver-tongued elf that has bewitched the population will bewitch that giant as well? She is a lover of the fey - who’s to say she is not summoning them to her army?”
She has summoned at least one regiment of gathlain paladins from ‘somewhere’, but as far as you know she isn’t responsible for these random portals. Then again, she’s a good liar.
The thin one says, ”dweomercat blood is quite valuable for crafting magic items…”
The giantess looks confused, but she reaches down to pet one of them, seeming to have at least picked up that they were talking about the cat. Slightly distracted, she turns her satchel forward and opens it, rummaging around. In moment she’s retrieved what appears to be slightly preserved meat, which she offers to one of the cats, and then gives to the quickwood.
And a heal check might be good, even from a medium distance.
The leader pinches the bridge of his nose, ”listen - our Baron is… merciless. He says to deal with the monsters - I see four monsters. If we disobey him - he will know.” His voice is flat, and he runs his fingers through his hair, and then puts his dark helmet back on.
With everyone a little closer, a new set of perception checks might be good. As always, other skill checks might matter too.
Percival raises an eyebrow, ”thank you for translating, miss. But the portals close as soon as they are opened. Those beasties are stuck here.”
A thin man in robes with sunken eyes nods, his voice a loud whisper, but similarly accented ”there has been magic afoot. Our greatest scholars are learned, but even they cannot identify the source.”
Percival turns back to the Mum, ”we are… we are citizens of Dengrazod. The borders are close.”
Another one, who has been silent, nods, and points at the giant’s crew, and says only ”danger.” He smacks his fists together. ”Fight. Soon.”
The one with the potions arrayed in a bandolier, pops open one of his potions, and downs it, his speed increasing. He’s bouncing on the balls of each foot, ”Percy, I gotta, I want to burn them.” Mum sees that he’s got burn scars on his face and arms, both chemical and flame.
Percival holds up his hand, as if to calm the alchemist, who twitches, grumbling, ”my friends here, some lack patience. And mine is not infinite, nor is our master’s.” He gestures towards the giant.
*******
The wood giant nods at Mum, and waits for her to return. In Sylvan, she asks, ”portals. Treacherous magic. But I do not remember such a thing. I was walking with my companions,” She kneels down to pet the dweomercats, who half purr-half growl. ”these two trees - I was checking on them. They feast upon flesh, of course - I was hoping to feed them if the game had been sparse.” She pats her backpack, ”enough for a few weeks, but a quickwood is always hungry.”[b] She looks up, [b]”the sun, the trees, it is very different here. Quiet. If it truly was a portal, where am I?” Her voice is melodic and deep, and she seems to exude an aura of calmness.
The trees and cats seem ready to strike, but the giant holds up her hand, and whispers something to them in Aklo. She raises her hand to block the sun and blinks, before responding in Sylvan, ”I am sorry, I got turned around. These beings that are with me are dangerous, keep away please. I just need to find my way home.” Her sylvan accent is very odd and archaic.
What seems to be the leader of the four adventuring types raises his hand, and calls over, in accented Taldan, ”um, excuse me. Hello. Yes, I am Percival. My companions and I live somewhat nearby. Those creatures you speak to - what she says is quite true. They are very dangerous. We were led to believe they came through a portal of a sort.” He clears his throat, as his voice is somewhat raspy, and it sounds better, ”those things have been popping up all over. Could you perhaps, aid us? The trees and … cat things, they pose a threat to some nearby villages.” He waves his hand dismissively, ”the giant is free to go, but I think she’s protecting them. We were trying to figure out a plan when you came along.”
The giant frowns, but says, again in Sylvan, ”I do not know what those beings are saying.”
Denisa nods grimly, and signals Cerny, who unleashes a spell. He says, ”Illusions all around! Focus!” he seems to have spotted some sort of magic and is trying to dispel it.
1d20 + 10 ⇒ (10) + 10 = 20
The area shimmers for a moment, and suddenly the endless shadows disappear, and the room seems to just be a basement, with a dingy lamp lighting the area.
Denisa nabs a sunrod from her bag and cracks it, with lightning speed, and the ambient light brightens considerably. With an equally impressive flash of steel, her Aldori dueling sword is in her hand, and she bolts to stand near Nicolas. She says to Mila, ”I’ll protect him for now, but you have to put pressure on the enemy.”
The room, now lit in normal light, is just a dingy basement, and the tall man’s illusion appears to have been pierced. As the man regards the party, the form attacked by the bodyguard dissolves into nothing.
Denisa nearly shoves the cowering sorcerer, saying, ”do something, or by the gods…” Nicolas swallows, and shaking, withdraws a few pinches of components from his pouch, summons spears of fire which blast towards the tall man.
2d20 ⇒ (11, 9) = 20 one of the flaming spears seems to connect with the tall man’s in the shoulder, his tidy-looking suit getting singed.
Fantol nods at the young man, ”courage, Nicolas - keep the courage. Don’t make us regret saving you.” He takes a moment to study the tall man, and charges forward towards the [i]real[/b] monster before swinging his sword in a crushing arc.
1d20 ⇒ 5 His swing is wide, though, and his aim is poor, and the tall man dodges out of the way.
Surveying the situation, the tall man brushes his shoulder, and frowning, seems to ignore Fantol. 1d20 ⇒ 5 The ranger swings at the tall man, to no effect. In a few, quick strides, he’s adjacent to Cerny, and as he looks down on the cleric, a shimmering doppleganger appears behind Cerny. Confused for a moment, Cerny’s concentration and guard seem to falter. 1d20 ⇒ 9 The tall man’s blood-tipped claws rip into Cerny, cutting their own hole into a gap in the armor in his neck, he used some illusory double nonsense to get flanking alone. The cleric cries out in pain, ”ARRGH!” but doesn’t fall, even though he is bleeding badly. 1d20 ⇒ 6 Gripping his neck, he growls, spitting blood, ”hit him - as hard as you can.”
Mila is up, Cerny is hurt a bit, and the monster is singed.
The party, without Chrysa, gathers up for what Sophiel explains is their next objective. Since the rush light festival is in a few months, she’s asks for everyone to get some intelligence about what the borders of Pitax look like, and what they might be up to. So far, Iorvetti has not made any aggressive attacks against Gliocas, but the relationship that he had with Drelev certainly lended credence to the idea that he thought Gliocas was a threat for some reason. Sophiel explains that she has no intention of attacking any country preemptively, but that she had been trying to plan for various contingencies - especially since the Surtovas seem to be probing the northern border for weakness regularly - and the only reason the front isn’t larger is that Shadowfall is running a sophisticated campaign which guerilla attacks and sabotage against Gliocas regularly assuage Brevoy’s imperial ambitions. If there is a hint that any of this is a facade, or if there is anything else at play, she does not mention it - every word she says makes it seem that Shadowfall is a bitter enemy. The fortified walls of Bogha Foirnheart, where the old temple of Erastil was, remains standing, but she expects that she may have to abandon the settlement within 6 months before Shadowfall will begin to do real damage to Gliocas.
If there is any indication of a plot with Chrysa, Sophiel doesn’t verbalize it or even imply it. She certainly is acting like they’re enemies - and if the party heads north to check out the situation, they find Bogha Foirnheart walled, villages abandoned, and slinking Shadowfall bandits who seem to be omnipresent - a looming threat which makes the area profoundly inhospitable. Effectively every hex on the northern part of the border has militia presence for half, and the other half is abandoned.
She asks for the party to scout or research the glenborn uplands to get a sense of the threats, if possible, and to know how much they should need to muster if Iorvetti were to attack. She points at a few places on the southern end near Pitax’s capitol itself which are hilly and would allow for a concealed approach.
In the southern area you can scout near rushlight lake or the area south of Pitax. I’ll make a combat encounter and you guys can try out your new abilities. If you want to try anything interesting, please let me know what type of enemies and I’ll make an effort.
Fantol frowns, then looks to Nicolas, ”Lord Surtova, please, what’s going on? Do you know who this is?”
Nicolas steps back and stammers, ”I… I … our family… I can’t say…”
Fuming, Fantol steps towards the young lord and grabs him by the shoulder, ”can’t? Why did they send you here?” He grips the young man’s shoulder tightly.
The horrible, thin man finishes cleaning off his clawed hand, and lifts up his arm, pointing at his wrist. The looks of incomprehension abound, and he shakes his head slightly, ”you humans have such limited understanding. Time. Time. Your time grows limited.”
Cerny makes a gesture towards Denisa, but what it means is incomprehensible.
Nicolas turns to Fantol, ”please, protect me. That’s what my family would want, right? I haven’t done anything wrong!”
Fantol frowns even harder as he considers their options.
By default, the options seem to be: 1) let the kids go and sacrifice Nicolas, 2) keep Nicolas safe and sacrifice the kids, 3) attack the monster, 4) sacrifice both for the promise of power, 5) somehow convince the being through trickery or diplomacy to let everyone go. There may be other options if you can come up with something.
Fantol nods slightly, and the group heads slowly up the stairs. The ranger is taking a look carefully, and finds a trap embedded within the stair, a few sharp, but rusty blades that look as if they might just be part natural parts of the rusted stair itself - it isn't clear. He points it out and the party steps over. When they reach the second floor, they find that it is something of a parlor or display space. There are some more mannequins in the corner, though two are displayed in such a way that one seems to be holding a jagged blade, and is sawing through the head of the other. Mila watches them, and despite her imagination running wild, they don't move or do anything else. There are some rotten, overstuffed armchairs, and a private area where it looks like people could change in privacy. Fantol heads towards there and glances at it, then pulls back the curtain to see a pitted, silvery mirror that is so badly tarnished as to be unusable, though the small amount of light which does reflect off of the surface from their sources seems to distort the party's shape slightly.
Frowning, Fantol closes the curtain. He approaches the mannequin, crossing the creaking floor of the room, and with a swift motion, moves to chop off the wooden arm holding the blade. With one motion, it is severed, and he catches the weapon with his gloved other hand, before it falls to the ground. Mila is looking around when she sees what looks like a small elevator - not large enough for anything more than a child, set into the back - it seems that they would transport the clothing up from a basement storeroom. Fantol says, "that little elevator - I'm going to disable it. I do not want anyone coming up here behind us." He looks around, and seeing a few large pieces of metal from the coat rack, moves to the small dumbwaiter, and opens it. A smell of dust and decay assault's the groups' senses, as the open door reveals the bones of a long-dead creature - small in size, either a halfling, a gnome, or a child, curled in the corner, with threadbare clothes.
Fantol sighs, sadly, and gestures for Cerny to approach. The grumpy priest does so, and moves across the creaking floorboards of the room. He reaches for his holy symbol, and after an incantation of blessing, shakes his head, "just dead, Lord Fantol." Fantol nods, and seems to be considering something. He then reaches in and retrieves the bones, carefully putting them into his magical satchel, with tenderness. He looks around for a bit of hard iron, and finding a stand that is rusted less, grabs it, and jams it into the elevator so that the door cannot close, and that the elevator cannot descend, though the metal makes a racket as he jams the steel mannequin stand into the opening. He sighs, and wipes the dust off of his hands, and gestures for Cerny to head back.
Fantol moves to come back over, crossing over the carpet, which creaks badly as he steps. Suddenly, the floor gives way below his and Cerny's feet! They scrambles to gain purchase before the cleric and Cerny fall down, onto the counter on the first floor, which shatters with a crash. A tumult of dust is raised, but Fantol keeps his bearings, and scrambles before grabbing onto the edge and pulling himself up. Denisa's joviality is already gone, and she curses quietly to herself, rushing downstairs. Fantol, holds up his hand as if to say, wait but she's already gone. He gestures as if to say, go, go! and the party, Nicolas and his bodyguard leading the way, scramble their way down the iron stair.
The young sorcerer seems to have forgotten the lesson of the stairs in his rush, and he steps on the jagged fragment, his soft boots providing minimal protection, and crumples over as he falls over the railing and lands with a thud on the floor below. The bodyguard curses, loudly, and leaps over the railing, landing next to him as Nicolas shrieks in pain and holds is foot.
Mila and Fantol scramble down themselves and assess the situation. Denisa is helping Cerny up, who is not that badly off, though he coughs as the cloud of rotten wood dust settles. Cerny gingerly removes a few shards of glass and steel that have embedded themselves in his side, apparently the counter had a number of old jars of dye and metal equipment stored underneath. With blood oozing out of the wound, and a shaky hand, the cleric summons positive energy while clutching his holy symbol, and Nicolas is also healed by the magics.
Immediately he stops whimpering, and takes a shaky deep breath, as his bodyguard helps him up. He tests his foot gingerly, and winces.
Cerny waves his hands and heals himself again, as his wound closes up, and steps over to the young man, healing him as well. They both seem no worse for wear.
Fantol frowns, and doesn't bother whispering anymore, "well, anyone would have heard that. Let's go to the basement." He shakes his head at his own mistake, and grabs Mila by the shoulder with one hand, "I think, Mila, at this point, it may be difficult to believe what we see - be on guard. I... that trap - upstairs. It didn't exist. Not until the second time we passed."
Denisa whirls around, "didn't exist, Lord? Or you made a mistake? Cerny could have been killed, and then we'd be f#@%ed. You understand that? All to retrieve bones!?"
Fantol takes a step back, "Denisa - this was, something in this place is wrong, I can feel it. Can't you? Don't you feel the fear? It's making everything harder..." She's shaking slightly, and she backs down, "yes, yes, sorry. I just..." and she trails off, before Fantol continues, looking of Nicolas' injury, "we can't leave now - I would bet the kids are in the basement. This is it. Whatever is haunting this place, we need to put it down. Nicolas, can you walk?" The young man is pale, and obviously scared, but nods. His bodyguard frowns, "if anything happens to him - I will cut your throat, lord or not, do you understand."
Fantol's brow furrows, "nothing - just, nothing will happen, but..." he looks like some of his own confidence has shaken, and with gritted teeth, he looks like he's about to retort, but instead adds, "then stay upstairs, I'm going down, and I expect Cerny wants to as well." The cleric is coughing a bit, but nods, and says simply, "this place is a blight, I would cleanse it if it is Torag's will." Denisa has calmed as well, and she grabs him by the shoulder, "it's kids, of course - just, be more careful."
Nicolas tries to summon his own courage, and wipes the blood from his foot onto his robe, "I... I want to help too." The bodyguard says nothing but glowers at Fantol. With it decided, Fantol nods, and leads the way down.
The party moves into the backroom, which has a staircase that descends into darkness. With his light source held aloft, he moves down below. The light seems to flicker as he descends, until it is largely muted. He looks to Cerny, who shrugs, as if to say that's all I can do.dim or dark conditions, the basement is a darkness spell. Fantol sighs and looks to Nicolas, who shrugs, and the ranger rummages through his satchel until he finds a scroll, passing it to Cerny, "if we need to, this may illuminate the place, this darkness is magical." Cerny looks at it, "we need it now I think." Fantol shakes his head, but then relents, and says, "fine - go ahead." Cerny reads the spell from the scroll, and a piercing light emanates from his shield, as bright as can be, and the back storeroom of the shop is lit. Without the darkness, it even looks cheery, though dilapidated - this little shop was once someone's pride and joy, and it's sad to see it have fallen into disrepair. Mila sees an elevator door in the back, in line with the other elevator, though the door is closed. Fantol nods, "subtlety is over. If we think there's an enemy, we strike. Ready?" Everyone nods, and Fantol descends.
The darkness melts away as they move down, but they can't see into the basement until they pass around the corners. Fantol gasps as he moves down, but his pace doesn't quicken, it slows. He grips his greatsword, and soon the party, following him, rounds the corner of the stairs, past the small landing, and sees a grim tableau.
Tied to the mannequins are a number of kids of varying ages with cuts on their bodies. Some seem to be unconscious, but others are awake, their eyes bright with fear and grubby cheeks stained with soot, where dried tears fell. All are gagged but none seem to be dead.
Standing near a table in the rear of the room is a tall man with a tall hat, looking over some surgical tools. He has a long coat, and is holding a knife which he puts down before turning towards the party as they file down. The room is large - larger than it would seem on the outside, and seems to disappear into the shadows without end, as if there are piles of boxes of clothes here and there that extend endlessly into a trackless void. A large, polished mirror is standing nearby, but it doesn't seem to reflect a room - instead it reflects what looks like a room in a decrepit castle or dungeon.
The lanky, fanged humanoid inclines his head, "good evening, Lord Fantol, and Nicolas. I've been expecting you." He looks at the others, "a... crew? How marvelous and noble. There is a palpable, terrible aura of dread which comes from this being. It a creature of nightmares, born of nightmares, and it seems to be made of dreamstuff. Mila remembers what it was like when she was younger, and she would dream of being chased by a giant mole - a silly dream, but she thinks for a moment that she can hear the snuff snuff as the mole roots around in the boxes, somewhere in the void, and realizes that mole is searching for her.
Fantol hesitates, but the bodyguard frowns, "you say fight, fight, coward!" to Fantol, and the bodyguard charges the tall man, roaring, his sword raised. He strikes towards the man, but his sword passes through the image - an illusion. Confused, the bodyguard barely has time to react before one of the empty mannequins comes to life, and with a sharpened clawed hand, steps forward and swipes across the bodyguard's neck - slashing it. Gurgling and clutching at his throat, the bodyguard's eyes roll back into his head and he collapses to the ground. The mannequin's from melts away, and the tall man in the hat takes his place. With a smirk, he licks the blood from his hand. "So impolite." Cerny moves to go heal the man, but stops when the tall man raises a finger and waggles it, as if to say no, no, no. Cerny frowns deeply, and it soon becomes clear that the man is dead. Nicolas looks around, and he looks up the stairs, as if to flee, but the doorway seems to have been closed behind them. Denisa looks like she's trying to fight off panic, but the swordlord stands next to the young man, and tries to reassure him, "don't worry, I'll protect you," and she tries to smile at him.
knowledge:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15Mila doesn't know what this is.
The creature sighs, and puts his clawed hands together, "Nicolas, Nicolas, your family. You Surtovas, you haven't been holding up your end of our bargain." Fantol frowns and looks towards the young mage, angrily, "what? This was all for you? What aren't you telling us."
Nicolas stammers, "I... I don't..."
The man smiles, and it's horrific. "Everything the Surtovas have gotten. Everything, has come at a price. And sometimes, the debts come due. These young people - " he gestures towards the tied up kids, each in obvious pain as the wires dig into their ankles and wrists, though they all seem to have given up trying to escape, "they are a type of payment."
Nicolas shakes his head, "I... don't know anything about that."
The man smiles again, "well, then, I shall make it plain, you can take their place - my master always needs ... helpers. These fine young people would not have been killed. No, of course not. Nor will you. That isn't the bargain." He inclines his head.
Fantol opens his mouth and closes it. Denisa whispers, "I won't let them take you, kid." Cerny looks to be filled with rage, but is whispering prayers and looks ready to draw upon Torag's magic heavily if things go south, and he looks to be completely unaffected by the fear magic of this monster.
Forest Preserver (which is her archetype at the moment) gave up aura of courage. But, this is good, for reasons that will be clear soon).
Fantol nods again, and whispers ”or… something else. You don’t leave tracks? Nor do I. It’s also possible that they were drawn here by the house itself. But I’m sure you and Korodri would have said something if you had known…” He frowns and looks around carefully, ”how could… this is a dark place. He should have known…” There’s tension in his voice as he criticizes Mika’s teacher. She realizes that this area - she’s been here before, not long ago, but there was nothing like this here before.
As Lord Fantol contemplates the situation, the feeling of dread continues to grow. Mila, in tune with the First World and natural world, is ill at ease. There is only only darkness in the distance once they step onto the cobbles - soon the forest behind them disappears. Fighting off panic, she steps back, returning to the forest, and sees that it is still there - there is some illusion which hides this place, but does not prevent passage in and out - something of a reassurance, but it would have been impossible to find had they not followed the trail.
Fantol says to Cerny, quietly, but sharply, his commanding authority coming through ”fear effects. We need protection from them, now.” Cerny grumbles and waves his hands, and everyone’s a little bit bolstered, and Fantol nods, gesturing for the party to approach the hovel. He adds one more thing, ”does anyone know of illusion magic? Or enchantment magic?” The party largely does not, and he gets a number of confused shrugs as a response. He turns to Nicolas, who looks downright frightened, and the young man shakes his head ”n…no - I am an elementalist.”
The building is stout, with thick beams, and an old architectural style that dates to about four hundred years in the past, common in the area for certain well-preserved cities. As they approach the door, they see it is slightly ajar, and darkness looms from within. The merry lights of the party’s source cannot penetrate. Fantol looks for the telltale signs of traps - string, lines of silver runes, and the like but finds none, and he pushes open the door.
The party’s light barely extends inside - as if there is a little bit of darkness magic getting in the way, and he tightens the grip on his greatsword. He mouths the words we need more light and Nicolas shakily nods, and a moment later the unmistakable shining evocation of a daylight spell illuminates the glade, piercing the darkness from within - almost burning it away.
This reveals a countertop and some abandoned stands where threadbare clothing is has mostly rotted away, but was once prominently displayed. Behind the counter is a doorway, which once held a door which has clearly broken - based on the size of the house from the outside, this looks to be a back room of some type. A rusted iron staircase is in the middle of the showroom, though it seems to be unsteady.
Fantol is considering their next move. He looks around, and it seems like he spots something on the ground - a disturbance in the dust and grime that leads around the counter towards the back. He looks like he wants to follow, but hesitates, trying to decide if that’s the correct direction, or if they should check out the upstairs first. Mila can decide.
Fantol sighs, ”politics. I’m supposed to show him the ropes, or something. Plus, they want to monitor me directly. So here we are. It isn’t worth arguing about,” he finishes quietly. ”With luck, we can track down the kids and deal with the problem. Quickly.”
He looks over the five other humans and sized them up, ”last place they were seen was just outside of town near the woods. Let’s start there while we have daylight. None of us have darkvision, or anything like that.” Nicolas lights up his hand and waves it around, and starts to speak, but Fantol cuts him off ”yes. We all have magic, but if we hit night, a light in the forest is not good. For anyone.” Mila is keenly aware of this - a light can act like like a homing beacon in the dangerous depth of the primeval woods.
He gathers his things and beckons everyone to follow. In particular, he has Mila stay with him, ”just check over what I missed.”Basically aid him. They get to edge of the woods and he starts looking around. Nicolas looks warily up at the shorter trees, and the taller ones deeper in the forest.
Denisa pulls out her oiled blade and takes a few practice swings, and cracks her neck, doing some stretches. Cerny rolls his shoulders, and flexes his hand and then grips the holy symbol of Torag in his plated fist. He frowns at the imposing forest. ”I do not like the woods.” Denisa pirouettes, slashing at the air. ”it’s just like a dungeon, but more… tree-y” Cerny’s frown deepens, ”yes this is the problem. Trees.”
Nicolas’ bodyguard silently watches the developments.
It’s only a few minutes when, after tasting the soil, and holding it up for Mila to smell, he calls everyone over, pointing at the ground. There seems to be nothing there, but Mila knew the clues. He says, ”humanoids. At least a few. Some a few days old. Walking straight in. Nothing else, though it isn’t always clear with these things. Come.”
He casts a spell which seems to make everyone's footfalls a little quieter, and the party steps into the forest.
The woman puts her drink down and gets up, ”well, if it’s us then it’s us. Let’s get ready to go.”
It isn’t long before Lord Fantol comes downstairs - but he isn’t alone. With him come a young man, wispy, barely 19 years old, with pale hair and a ruddy complexion. He’s accompanied by a large man, stocky and scarred - with a shaved head. The younger man seems to be a little nervous. Fantol runs his hand through his hair, ”well - developments.” He looks towards the two humans and back to Mila, and extends a hand, ”good day to you both, I am Lord Fantol Mevyed.” He gestures towards the young man, ”this is Nicolas Surtova - he will be accompanying us on this mission.”
The larger man nudges the wispy one forward, and Nicolas stumbles a bit before clearing his throat, ”good, good day to to you both.” The adventurers look him over and share a look, but the woman shrugs, ”what can you do?”
Nicolas blinks rapidly, and fumbling, grabs a pinch of something from his pouch and lights it, a small flame appearing in his palm. He looks nervously at the pair, ”I’m a… sorcerer. Um, miss.”
The woman bows, and elbows Cerny, who does the same, ”Denisa and Cerny. Mila filled us in. We’re ready to go.” She looks back to Fantol, who has a look on his face like he swallowed something unpleasant.
Fantol nods, slightly, ”as good a time as any. Well, it’ll be dark in the forest. Let’s be prepared - who knows how long it will take.”
The Ranger seems pretty knowledgeable about survival and speaks with the innkeeper, gathering supplies. He keeps giving tips, such as they are, to Nicolas. The young man’s bodyguard grunts, and seems to imply his safety is my problem but Fantol doesn’t seem to care - and does what he can - nervously to prepare the man. Mila can tell - he’s a seasoned ranger - and he knows how to prepare.
Once ready, he speaks to Denisa and Cerny alone, briefly, who seem to lose some of their joviality, and the to Mila - ”Nicolas is a Surtovan. One of the cousins. Something like 10th in line. Nevertheless, his safety is paramount. Let’s hope everything works out.”
Denisa sizes up Mila, ”well - that makes a difference, doesn’t it.” She grabs Cerny’s shoulder, ”eh? I’d like the reward, of course, but Cerny here is a big old softie.” The grizzled cleric just says ”mhmph” and takes a drink, clenching a gnarled hand for a moment after putting his glass down. Denisa follows up, ”just us, then? Or will his lordship deign to tag along.” She snickers slightly and holds up a hand, ”Fantol has a better reputation than most - but the Aldori don’t forget. No offense meant, especially - you know, if he’s your ” she waggles her eyebrows, ”but he’s a might old, so maybe he’s just a mentor or something.” Shrugging she asks, ”got all of the roles filled?”
She taps her dueling sword and says, ”I fight - Cerny heals me when my bravado exceeds my skill. You look like you fell out of a tree, and Fantol is a ranger. Is that enough?”
Mila steps through and is transported to the Greenhouse in the capitol. A moment later, the cat follows. Having only visited the Greenhouse a few times, Mila is surprised at the bevy of different trees and plants that seem to be here.
The cat’s form shimmers and shifts, and her limbs extend, the fur disappearing until the circleted and plain-clothed Sophiel Medvyed is standing in front of Mila.
The pair look up, and the woman introduces herself. ”hmm? Maybe. We we taking a little break.” The woman’s accent marks her as a brevian, specifically an Aldori. She has dirty blond hair, but it’s slicked back close to her head. Her eyes are dark brown and she seems to have something of a bravo’s confidence and mein. She glances towards the man, who has a mop of black hair and looks to be warm. The enamel on his armor seems to be colored - as if it once corresponded to one house or another - but the enamel is patchwork, chipped, and smudged, as if the armor was made from the castoffs of a forge. When she’s close enough she sees the craftsman’s tools on his pack, which resting against his chair - he’s obviously some sort of devotee of Torag. He says ”mmm,” as he blinks at Mila. His face is broad, he’s bulky, and his hands are callused. The woman says, ”I am Denisa Aldori, and this is Cerny. He is a priest of Torag. Is this related to the lord’s presence? We could not help but notice.”
Cerny nods and takes a drink as he leans on the bar. ”What is the mission?”
The cat’s face is inscrutable as it leaps away nimbly and disappears. Where it seems to have gotten is a mystery.
*********
A little later, at the stand of trees, the cat is seated quietly, violet eyes staring at Mira as she approaches, and staring behind her.
Satisfied, the cat approaches an oak tree, and Mila realizes that this cat can travel through trees, somehow, and then she further realizes the only way this is true is if the cat is Sophiel herself. The cat stops, looks over its shoulder, and rests a paw on a root. The oak splits, and Sophiel watches, waiting for Mila to step through.
Sootscale hisses, and rubs his nose, "they stink! But not everything has to be fight. Fight gets in the way of success. They good at some things, kobold good at others, dwarf good at others, others good at other things. Um..." He rasps something out in kobald-accented draconic,
Draconic:
"productivity."
"You good at thing, then you can do it. You bad, you do something else, or leave. No moochers underground." He hesitates, "well, some moochers. But not many!" He opens his hand up, "each doing best thing, make best thing. Best thing is sold, makes more money. More money equals more hoard. Much less deadly than following dragon!"
Sootscale grumbles, "yes - but not now. Things to do. Have to make sure nobody try to ursup me. Many enemies still. Have to investigate." Sootscale grins. "Silvermine allowed to keep some Silvermine law. Number 1 law: Sootscale the boss." He clenches his little fists, as if flexing. "Rebellion happen before. Soph help me kill them. But always sprout back up - like um... you plant people know... weed thing. Mushroom."
Mila gets the sense that most folks are a little bored or withdrawn. Some of the assembled look up when they see her, expectantly.
Now
It seems like it would be impossible for it to be the case, but somehow Mila gets the sense that the cat is sending her a message. Every gesture is beyond subtle. The skill required to understand the twitch of the whisker, the languid blink, the stretch, are beyond most mortals - but in this case, Mila sees a mental image imprinted within her own head, as if she’s reading the cat’s mind. It’s time to go; there’s other tasks to do. Meet me at the stand of oaks outside of the city, just to the east.
The bulky man nods, ”good. I’m glad it’s gone well! The inn is bustling - hopefully you find a good audience.” He taps the sign, ”this might interest you, if you have some free time.” He points at the bottom of the sign, which indicates the reward is 1,000 gold pieces and the favor of the Medvyed family. ”Some kids have gone missing - you know, 12 and 13-year olds. There were signs they went into the forest, but the trail disappeared inside.” He shrugs, ”I couldn’t figure it out. Of course, other than playing, you may be busy - for my part, I have to get on the road soon.” He pats his horse on the haunch, ”your parents are proud of you - I hear, and though your mother is loathe to say it, I can tell. Your father can’t help but talk about his Paladin daughter.” He looks into the middle distance, a faraway look in his eyes, then back to Mila.
”just … if you do find out what happened, think about letting me know before talking to the mayor - I’m a little worried, and …” He doesn’t finish but he does shake his head, and then sigh, running his fingers through his beard.
Korodri continues to appraise the girl, eventually nodding, ”then it is as it should be. Fantol can take his leave and we can start the rites of initiation. Thank you.” He nods to the nobleman, but doesn’t seem to put on airs, and doesn’t address the human with any honorifics. Fantol nods back, and extends a hand to Mila, ”best of luck to you, kid. Just keep in mind that he means the best.” and his craggy face breaks into a grin. Korodri narrows his eyes and shops him and the servant away, and then points at one of the bags, ”come - I have a room set aside, your first task is to get your things to it. I’d do it quickly, the forest floor can get dangerous after dark.” He grabs the rope and climbs up nimbly, pulling the rope behind him.
Navessa turns to Mila, ”oh, my dear, he is a kind man. Please forgive him. He wants what’s best. I’ll help where I can,” She leans down, her hair and skin smelling of earth and the rain on leaves, and smooches Mila on the cheek. She then steps into the tree and disappears, though the surface somehow changes slightly, and there are footholds and handholds that make things more manageable.
1d20 ⇒ 20
Mila manages to climb up with her bag to a landing on the treehouse, climb back down, and grab her other two bags, without much effort, and without even really needing the handholds. The landing is about twenty feet off the ground, and Navessa emerges from the trunk, ”he wouldn’t say it, but if he saw that, he would be impressed. Well done. Come along,” and she leads the girl to a small room nestled away from the main building on a broad branch. The treehouse itself seems to have been shaped from the living tree itself, with rounded corners, and open windows. She peeks into some of the rooms as she passes, and sees a spartan living space, kitchen, workshop, and other spaces, with accents of stone that seem to be nestled within the tree “wall” here and there, as if they were brought here - and the tree grew around them. Her room is spartan, with a small bed, chest, and table, but a glass skylight that peeks out to the now-dusky sky, and Mila can see the stars starting to emerge. Navessa touches Mila on the shoulder, ”sleep well - tomorrow will be a long day.”
Mila unpacks her things, and prepares herself, and has the best sleep she will have for a few years.
As dawn breaks, her training begins. Korodri knocks on the door, shouting, ”day’s wasting, Mila. We have much to do, and you’re not going to live forever. Come along.” and the girl scrambles to get dressed, hesitating and then grabbing her bow and quiver, putting on her traveling clothes, and heading out into the sun-dappled branches.
True to his word, the training is difficult. Tracking, climbing, swimming, archery. How to bond with the creatures of the forest. Daily repetition of the mantra of Erastil. Studying from an enormous library, writing essays on the nature of morality. Of work. And Of duty. Studying animal and plant husbandry. Dry, repetitive lessons that are taught with vigor, but high expectations. Korodri does not let half-measures pass, and if Mila makes a mistake - sometimes she has to start from scratch on a problem, staying late - her desk only lit by magical lights that she had to learn to conjure on her own. Most evenings she crawled into bed, her body broken and her fingers bleeding - until callused formed and her strength grew enough she soon found herself waking each day with gusto. Days, and then weeks, and then months passed, and she learned more and more.
Only after two year of tireless dedication did Korodri perform the ritual of induction, and only then did she feel Erastil’s true blessing. For until that time, she had begun to be worried. She had felt nothing, or at least that’s what she realized, once she became a Paladin. When Erastil granted her the divine gifts - she knew she had his favor. She knew she had mad the right choice. Her aim became truer. She felt his hand on her bow when she hunted, and learned the secret words of his blessing, whispered to her by Korodri once after a skillful shot. She starts off as a Forest Preserver and divine hunter. She learned to move through the first unimpeded, and how to identify corruption, and she and Korodri worked together to put to rest a shade from a battle long ago, haunting a battlefield long-since covered with trees. She took the lead on negotiation with pixies, who wanted help killing some scrags, and Korodri taught her to make makeshift acid flasks, and how to identify the vulnerabilities of any number of monsters. Surprisingly, Mila absorbed the information in the library like a sponge, exceeding Korodri’s expectations. Another few years passed, and she became a powerful asset to - and she soon realized this, ancient gnome - able to cover ground faster than him, and traveling in his stead to deal with problems in the nearby communities. She found herself traveling along more often than not - and Korodri finally gave her the freedom to move around on her own. Finally able to visit her family again, she tearfully reunited - proud of her accomplishments, as her mother held back tears and her father beamed at her - she was no longer an apprentice, but a champion of Erastil, and the natural world was her ward.
Feel free to add anything about things she might have struggled with, successes, conversations with Navessa. Korodri doesn’t end up being chatty. He’s kind, but gruff - and about as archetypically Erastilian as you can get. At this point she’s allowed to do whatever she wants, as long as she tends to the villages nearby.
Mila, 5 years ago…:
By this time, Fantol came to visit once in a while, or she saw him in villages at the forest’s edge when she checked in on them. Usually he came to help them with odd jobs, repairs and the like. Sometimes he hunted and brought back game if their harvest was lean. He occasionally collected taxes - surprisingly little Mila noted, but he also paid bounties for monsters, and would hire adventurers for various things - serving as sort of a stabilizing presence - especially considering Mika’s past experiences with the nobility of her own county, which tended to be somewhat cloistered. She met all the Mevyeds, though she soon found out that Fantol had once fallen in love with an elven maiden from far away, and had a melancholic air whenever something reminded him of her.
It was a cool afternoon on a late Rova day. Fantol happened to be in town of Voldish at the same time that Mila was there, and he was nailing up a poster to a board. The poster said, Wanted: Adventurers to look into recent disappearances. Please contact the mayor. Bounty to be paid upon resolution. He steps back, and spies her, and cracks a smile ”Mila! How nice to see you. Doing your rounds?”
Fantol shakes her hand, he doesn't care too much for station, or is trying to make it seem like he doesn't, but there's few enough folks around that the performance would be wasted.
At her request, Fantol Gurev laughs, "I understand. And I can extend to you such a courtesy; it shows you are taking this seriously." He seats himself down, "of course - it will be difficult. Korodri didn't teach me directly, really, since I'm more of a ranger - but he does expect effort. Every paladin of Erastil has to have a little bit of ranger within them - the love of green places transcends training, for us Erastilians." He points at the simple wooden holy symbol on his neck. "well, tell me about yourself, before we go?..." and Fantol and Mila spend some time talking about their background, and what she can expect to face.
**********************************
In short order, Fantol has, with Mila's supervision, the contents of her trunk split into a few different bags. One for her, one for him, and one for a servant to carry. A few of her chosen items he questions, and asks her to leave them here - things that would be impractical. They remain in the trunk you can decide what RP stuff Mila would have left behind. Mila changes into hardy traveling clothes of her own, though Fantol checks to see if they're sufficiently robust - and they pile the bags into a rustic-looking carriage led by a pair of large horses, and the servant, the carriage driver, the noble, and the trainee head off into the forest - through the one well-maintained road that runs vaguely through it. Within a few hours, they find their stop.
There are flares on the side of the road, easy enough to spot, and Fantol grabs his bag, the servant grabs one, and Mila grabs hers. He tells the carriage driver that they'll be back within a few days, and the carriage turns around and heads back to stoneclimb. Fantol checks his wilderness gear, and helps Mila with her own checks - water, navigation tools, trail rations, and the like. Fantol says, "come on - it's a few hours walk. Not many folks know how to reach him - so Mila, try to pay attention. The trail isn't always clear..." he says this as if he's telling a joke to himself.
Soon enough, that becomes apparent. The blue blazes they are following seem to disappear in short order - as Fantol seems to step off the trail - into the primeval woods that must have never felt a logger's axe. He stops periodically to point things out to Mila, subtle markers - here and there - easily missed by the untrained eye. Mila soon becomes utterly lost, and the sun starts to dip into the afternoon, with strange shadows being cast by the orange light filtering through the boughs of the ancient oaks, elms, and maples. A hint of a trail always remains beneath their feet, and there are periodic signs of something odd within the forest - mushrooms in a circle; the shadow of diminutive figures that ends up being sticks and leaves; a tree that has a face when looked at from a particular; a low, broken wall, across their path that Fantol knocks on as they pass, and a ruined foundation where the light seems to disappear. The wind itself seems to whisper a song, of a sort, soothing, and Mila could swear she saw lights off to the left on a few occasions - merry and twinkling, like torches in a clearing for a grand party.
Fantol says, "Grozni is and old forest. Far older than my family. We respect it, we love it, but we don't trust it." as he brushes away something from his face that seemingly only he can see, whispering "shoo - not today." He opens his hands, "most of what you may notice is harmless - in a manner of speaking. They don't actively seek to harm any of us - unless we cross them. But you would be wise not to venture deep without Korodri, there are ancient things within this place that should not be disturbed," as much as it sounds like a warning, it has an air of true fear within it which Fantol struggles to contain. "come."
Within an hour, after twists and turns and even backtracking, they stop. Fantol smiles slightly, and points towards the largest tree that Mila has seen in some time, and trails his finger upwards, "look." At first, Mila sees nothing, but then - it becomes clear - within the upper boughs is an expansive tree house - nearly as large as her childhood home. There are multiple stories, and much of the house seems to be made of the tree itself, the boughs having been shaped to serve as a wall or a floor. He nods, "go ahead, knock on the trunk. Korodri is expecting you," he hesitates, and adds, "he is not a nobleman, and though he has a nobility to him - he is ... not what you might expect." Mila knocks on the trunk and waits. She knocks again, and a humming sing-song voice echoes from the house.
Mila starts, though, when from the tree itself, a comely woman with green, leafy hair, and bark skin, steps out. She smiles down at Mila, and in a gentle, soothing voice says, "you must be Mila. It is wonderful to meet you. I'm Navessa."Mila knows enough mythology to know she's likely a dryad. She gestures to the huge oak behind her, "this is my tree."
It's much to take in, when the humming intensifies, and rappeling down a rope from the upper boughs is probably the tallest gnome Mila's ever seen. With dark green hair, a dark green beard, and camouflaged clothes, the gnome swings down and with a somersault, lands next to Navessa with a flourish. Brushing dirt off of his smart outfit, the gnome goes on tiptoes and kisses Navessa on the cheek, who turns a slightly darker shade of brown blushing?, but extends a hand down and touches the gnome's back. The gnome looks up at Mila, as if appraising her.
In a voice far deeper than she expects, the gnome strokes his beard, his twinkling brown eyes creasing around the corners, "a whelp, eh? A little early for these things, but - well, it is no matter. Glad to meet you. I am Korodri - Paladin of Erastil. You've already met my wife, Navessa" and the dryad inclines her head, "tell me - young lady, what could possess you to join the order, eh?" Mila realizes that the height of the gnome seems to indicate a stockiness and strength which is abnormal for a typical gnome, of those that she's seen before. He puts his hand on his hips, and repeats the question, before she has much of a chance to respond, "well?"
The gnome is wearing a tabard with a stag's head, and longbow that's almost as large as he is. He has some brass piercings in his ears, but otherwise, his clothes and bearing seems impeccably clean, a stark contrast to the trio who have been trudging through the forest.
"This is not about what I want, but what he wants from me." She smiles back to her father, coming a little closer. It is interesting how, when young, people are so sure about what they want or who they are supposed to be. It is very sad how many are wrong or clueless, though.
To her mother, she frowns a bit. For some reason, they had always poked each other as if they were siblings. "And I know it will not be easy." Truth being told, she was telling the truth. No delusion there and she wasn't afraid of getting her hands dirty.
Their home wasn't really close to Eagle's Watch so she had a pretty rural upbringing. It never bothered her in the least. When visiting the "big city", her cousins would sometimes mock her a bit, but screw them, for in addition to learning how to sew, she'd also learned how to shot. And she loved it. Among many things, she got this from her father.
"But I'll miss you." She adds to her father, hugging him, before walking towards her mother to hug her as well.
He hugs her back, and sighs, and ruffles her hair playfully, picking a leaf out. "I think it'll be good for you, really. Stoneclimb is a little more cosmopolitan anyway. Sometimes the Orlovsky's can be... well..." he trails off, "we are all loyal to the Surtovas, yes?" Mila knew there was something else going on - a reason why it was useful to go south. One of the Medvyeds was to come North - each to act as sort of, wards - but if there were politics associated with this, it was opaque to Mila. She had met the boy a few times, he was nice enough, but a little distant, and in any event - they weren't to interact much. He would likely stay in her room - apprenticing at the stables to become a horse trainer to the king.
It was a common belief among those in Eagle Watch and the environs that the Surtovas were beggars on the throne that rightfully belonged to Rogarvia, but such a thing was only whispered in the quiet of the night. The Orlovskys had maneuvered to strengthen ties with the houses where they thought there might be support - Medvyed, Garess, and other minor nobles - support to deal with the Surtova problem or at least, to have strength in case the Surtovas saw them as a threat. The mountains were almost impossible to attack, but also the reach of the Orlovsky's was limited.
Mila wanted to train in the woods, with an elder priest of Erastil - Korodri. He had been a paladin in his younger days - and lived a life of seclusion within the forest. It was an easy decision. She would learn a bit of southern courtly grace, and spend much of her other time learning how to care for the communities so often left behind by the drama of "Brevoy."
Korodri was well-respected in the area, among the most, and promised to take her on as an apprentice - though he made it clear that the work of a paladin was not to be taken on lightly. He spent most of his time visiting people, healing, helping with crops or animal husbandry. He was a little reluctant to take on someone who would slow him down, but Mila's bright personality won him over, and the pact was made.
************
Drulv looks down at her, and sighs, "well. I think you'll do great. Just don't get lost, okay?" He hugs her.
Vindya comes over, smooths down her dress, and sighs, folding her hands in front of herself. It's obvious she seems anxious, but she summons some reserve of will and extends her hands to hug her daughter, "I just... it's hard. Seeing you go."
It was a cool morning, like so many others at the peak of the Orlovsky holdings. Mila was leaning on a stone railing overlooking a steep drop at her parent’s small but elegant masonry home that is festooned with climbing ivy and a riot of trumpeting flowers.
Mila’s parents, Drulv and Vindya were in talking quietly to themselves as they packed some things away into an overstuffed luggage.
Mila was staring south towards the Gronzi forest. Her mother called to her, ”staring at it won’t make it easier.” She looked around briefly before finding a wooden sculpture of an elk, and put it carefully into the elegant luggage, padded on a few sides by her clothes. Her father came over and nodded, ”you don’t have to go. You can change your mind. We could ask a priest to come here instead.” He leaned on the rail and looks out himself, ”but you want to be a Paladin - that’s - that’s going to require more.” He looked over at the teen and smiled slightly.
Donovan knows that he almost assuredly died in battle. Some of the withered flesh looks like it was burned, and then healed, but there were fatal wounds that seemed to have come not from swords but from claws and teeth. Someone tried to heal him, but it looks like it wasn’t enough.
Zorek doesn’t answer for a moment, then finally responds. ”Fighting a dragon. A powerful one.” He retrieves what looks like a shard of tooth from a pouch on his belt, ”the dragon’s name is lost to time - the goddess Pharasma and my Lord in Iron - they both wished to claim his soul. He fought all who stood against him: other tribes, fey, psychopomps, fey, eventually aeons, and lastly the dragon. He was the greatest warrior of his age - and it was only a god’s effort that slew him. Gorum kept his soul beyond her reach, there- “ He gestures towards Ovinrbaane.
The body is drawn and thin, but not quite skeletal. It seems some of his muscles and soft tissues were preserved either magically or alchemically, but most of it is gone - so it’s hard or tell. It’s especially difficult to tell because his armor covers up much of his body, but he must have died at a pretty advanced age given the color of his hair. Would have to do a heal check to get some info, and might have to disturb the body to get more. Whatever happened, it happened a very long time ago (again, would need a history check to figure out a ton. There are obvious cuts and cracks on the bone of his leg and his neck.
Zorek watches Donovan, ”why do you ask, young man?”
Zorek considers the priest, "in battle - as Gorum demands." He pauses, adding "all who follow the lord of battles wish to die in such an honorable way."
The party leaves Ovinrbaane where it sits and enter the tomb itself. A massive raised dais supports a coffin of black stone to the west in this large austere chamber, while the walls to the east are decorated with a bas-relief of a stern barbarian dressed for war and wielding a greatsword.
Armag’s body measures just over 6-1/2 feet tall and is dressed in obviously magical hide armor with dragon bone armor spikes. A beautiful heavy steel shield decorated with chasings of dire tigers lies over his chest.
To the east, the promised secret door is found easily. Within this octagonal chamber, a five-foot-square alabaster pedestal sits inside a ring of brilliant light shining from the ceiling.
Piled around the pedestal lies a treasure hoard of immense value. Altogether, it contains 599 pp, 11,378 gp, 23,617 sp, and 48,832 cp. The gems and jewelry include a 5,000 gp diamond, a 1,000 gp fire opal, three 500 gp violet garnets, an electrum crown with a blue star sapphire worth 2,500 gp, a ruby-encrusted silver armband worth 1,250 gp, and a malachite-adorned gold necklace worth 900 gp. Also included among these items are a bag of holding (type I), a belt of giant strength +2, horseshoes of speed, a necklace of fireballs (type II), a pearl of power (2nd level), a dose of restorative ointment, a ring of counterspells (contains 'enervation'), and a wand of heroism (50 charges).
On the pedestal are a few items that are obviously magical, but aren't immediately identifiable, They're not artifacts but they need a little more than a cursory glance to figure out what they do.
Much of this fits within the bag of holding, but some does not, and it is not easy to move the gear out. As the party loots everything, Zorek has seemingly returned Ovinrbaane to the corpse of Armag, and returned to the entrance of his room. He looks the party over, and inclines his head, letting everyone pass but saying nothing.
In addition, from the skeletons, the party grabs 16: +1 greatswords, +1 (+5 Str) composite longbows, and banded mails. If I haven't given you the black sister loot, let me know.
12d8 ⇒ (2, 3, 5, 4, 6, 2, 6, 7, 1, 5, 8, 4) = 53 There are about 5300 GP worth of ancient art in dead-end alcoves scattered off to the sides of the main halls that the party briefly checked earlier. The weight is significant, and at this point - the magical bags the party has are becoming overstuffed. One of the trapped rooms, with a tilting floor, has a few magical items scattered at the bottom, which are retrievable with a little care, lying among a number of ancient bones in the north pit is a +3 handaxe, while the south pit contains a scroll case within which is a scroll of blade barrier, a scroll of magic vestment (CL 16th), and a scroll of lesser planar ally.
The party also scouts carefully and spots a dangerous-looking derghodaemon in a long hall, You can fight it, but it isn't super-easy since the party doesn't have really any way to bypass the DR, and has no treasure - let me know before we move on much.
Otherwise, the trip outside is uneventful, and the guards and wards seem to have been dismissed, though there is a sense of... reset as the party moves out of the tomb. It feels as if the tomb itself is letting them leave, but does not want them to return.
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The barbarians and the captives are outside, and Armag has shrunken down to a smaller size. When he sees the party emerge from the entrance, he crosses his arms. Even without the benefit of his spells, he's still very tall, and his barbarian guards that are still alive are arrayed behind him. He gestures towards Mum, "I am here - though you took longer than I expected to leave - I was about to leave," somewhat grumpily looting the place DID take at least 30 more minutes.
As Tikroch grabs it and pulls it off, it does indeed clang onto the stone, and the bat seems to shake its head as if clearing it.
'Armag' stops and listens to Mum. "This woman - I heard of her. But she is of Brevoy. Iorvetti said she was one of their pawns; he promised me revenge." The man frowns deeply, his brow furrowed. "I have been told many things. The sisters helped raise me, you know. They named me Armag because I had his spirit. But all was a lie."
He raises his broad, scarred hand, as if to explain some of what had transpired recently "this - 'Baron' Drelev. I came to punish him for damaging our tombs, and he... proved resilient." The large man looks the closest to embarrassed that Mum has seen him. "Iorvetti - of Pitax - he contacted me and said we could take Drelev together - and that's what we did. Then Iorvetti made us all play nice..." he grumbles, "and he said once his forces were ready, we were going to fight against the Brevian ursurper, this Gliocas country. And then Shadowfall, and then Brevoy."
He pauses, "I think now he was lying. So many have lied to me." He looks tired, "This woman is small, how is she strong? Will she lie to me? Will she let the Tiger Lords be? Can she give us some measure of revenge against Brevoy?"Basically, can he be in charge of his own land, and is there a promise to take back some of the ancestral tiger lord land that Brevoy took over.
******************************************
Zorek barely watches the conversation, but nods towards Tikroch, Donovan, and Vincent, making sure Mum can hear "this pleases Gorum. You may retrieve what you like, other than what is in his sarcophagus."
There's a secret door but it's easy enough to find with a little work. You can ask Mum to help or not.
'Armag' glares at Vincent for a few excruciatingly long moments.
"This is not... acceptable." He stops raging.
"I am tired of this land; everything here is cursed." He says something insulting in Hallit, and puts his battleaxe away. He tries to shoves past the others into the northern room, taking stock of the scene. He retrieves a bag from his belt, and opening it wide, picks up the corpses of his guards and stuffs them in, one by one the bag doesn't seem to change size. likely it is magical."I am taking my men and women with me, and we are leaving." With another glare, he muscles past the others and heads towards the exit.
Zorek watches him, but says nothing to the erstwhile barbarian king.
He turns to Vincent, "you have bested he who would become Armag -" He gestures towards the northern room. "He was not the Twice-Born, he was not of the prophecy." He puts one hand to his chin, running his hands through his beard, as if thinking carefully, for a few moments, before noting, "this does not pleases Gorum. Leave Ovinrbaane. I will return it to the tomb." He draws his own sword and maneuvers to stand near the southern hall, blocking the exit. He gestures, "you may take what treasure you find - but do not despoil Armag's body." This sounds like a command.
He's saying you can take any other loot you find except for what's on Armag's body and Ovinrbaane. OR you can try to convince Zorek to let you leave with some things, using skills. OR you can fight him. 'Armag' is leaving either way, and you can let him. Unfortunately, I think only Mum is much good at social skill checks (except Vincent's prodigious bluff). I would recommend that PCs other than her invest a few points in social skills here and there when leveling up.
Armag grinds his teeth again and stomps over to the other side of the room, his heavy footfalls echoing, then stomps back.
Zorek looks at him, calmly.
Armag looks towards the others he can see, "sorcery and trickery. I grow weary of this. I have never surrendered in a fight. I am not about to."
He watches as Vincent and the bat talk to each other, "you. Small one. Tell me what's going on, or we will fight. You know something" He hefts his battleaxe towards Vincent, hovering dangerously within his reach, and no skills are required to know he's being honest. "Just - no fancy words. No more TRICKS. I swear I will kill you where you stand if you lie to me." He gestures towards the sword stuck on Tikroch. [ooc]It looks like he's enraged.[/b]
Zorek raises his eyebrow, and then chuckles, shaking his head, ”I did not intend to do anything - I am merely a guardian of Armag’s tomb. As for the two priestesses, I never met them.” He looks up at Armag, ”you may believe me or not. But we both follow the Lord of Battle - these strangers do not. But there is often a price to pay for power in these lands.”
Sense Motive DC 15:
Doesn’t seem like he’s lying.
Sense Motive DC 20:
Doesn’t seem like he’s lying.
Sense Motive DC 25:
Ah ha! It doesn’t seem like he’s lying.
He turns to the air where Mum is, ”is that not right? What price have you paid?”
Armag looks confused at the whole situation, but he doesn’t give up, he turns back to Zorek, ”eh? What price have you paid? What was your plan for me? She speaks true.”
Zorek tilts his head slightly, ”I am an eternal guardian of this tomb. I have not left in hundreds of years. I know no friendship, companionship, food, nor drink. I am sustained by my devotion to Gorum. The outside world does not matter to me.”
Armag juts his chin out, asking in his Hallit-accented voice ”what of the witches?”
Zorek shakes his head ”I could not say for certain, but they followed the goddess of hags and seemed to be doing all of this as part of some larger plan. In private… they did not speak well of you.” This throws Armag into a rage, who furiously hacks at the ground with his battleaxe, breaking the flag in two. Zorek says, ”I would not do that - I am not the only guardian of this place.”
Barely restrained Armag grits his teeth and turns back to the voice, ”I came all this way - my men, my honor guard. And in service of a TRICK.” He’s seething with rage.
Sense Motive 15:
Be careful with what you say, he’s not thinking clearly.
Zorek was the priest of Gorum Mum intimidated. He’s still standing there in the south room. You didn’t hear his name before because nobody asked. Vincent remains in the southern room, despite what he posted, so you could theoretically just move over to him. He realized in retrospect that flying into the archer room was a mistake.
The fire seems to damage him, which makes him a little tired.
Fort:1d20 + 26 ⇒ (18) + 26 = 44
He tries to use his incredible strength to hold on, but it slips out of his grasp.
str:1d20 + 8 - 1 ⇒ (5) + 8 - 1 = 12
When the weapon slips out of his hand, his face changes a bit - it looks a little less rugged and younger somehow. The shape of his nose changes, and his eyes lighten.
The towering barbarian looks unsteadily at the sword as it flies away, stuck to Tikroch. He seems confused. He looks down at Donovan, and covers his face, trying to wave off the smoke. ”This is - what’s going on?” He tries to push past Donovan to get out of the fire.
He gets south into the room with the priest, who looks over him and the party, after watching all of the developments. Armag holds up his hand, ”that was not what was promised, Zorek!”
Skeletons have to each be between 30' of a primary target, so I'll give you as many as meet that criteria, it's all but purple. So other than purple from left to right.
Armag shrugs off most of the effect, angrily, "your witchcraft will not work - I am Armag, twice-born!" two of the skeletons that were previously damaged collapse into a pile of bones, and the others, except for the one that couldn't be targeted, are as badly 'wounded' as skeletons can look. Mum/Tikroch still up.
Donovan hits with one attack, and though he his hasted, he can't commit himself to any further attacks Haste only works on full-round attacks. Some of the damage on Armag seems to be absorbed.
The skeletal warriors are not geniuses, but they are also not stupid. They scramble out of the gas, and fire at their easiest target, Donovan. The other three near Mum ignore her, and each seems to "power up" their bows before firing at the bat who has Armag's sword, Tikroch.
The party finishes up and heads up the stairs. Last call to fix your alias headers if you need to.
Ten flickering braziers cast long shadows across this huge chamber, their wavering light gleaming from walls spattered with blood. The air reeks of decay, for the violently hacked bodies of a dozen men lie strewn about the chamber.
Standing part of the way up the stairs is a large man with a beautiful, enormous greatsword resting on his shoulder. The man looks like he just finished casting a spell, and he and his nearby skeletons they appear to be similar to the previous skeletons are moving with some speed. He seems to be blurry and indistinct, and have a number of shifting mirror images on his body, sticky skin like Tikroch, and a barely perceptible shield of force protecting him. The man looks a little confused when the party moves up the stairs and Tikroch opens the door, "huh... mmm... oh." He seems to try to clear his head, and then looks at Tikroch, "more challengers! I was told you were coming - so let us fight - it is our destiny! Blood for Ovinrbaane!"Mum knows that the word ovinrbaane means "enemy of all enemies" in Halit. If she explains that, anyone may attempt a DC 35 History check as a swift action on their turn.
Tikroch has Freedom from his self-cast spell. Chrysa from a Ring. If Donovan used it on himself, [u]all PCs would have it[/u].
*****************************************************
Sootscale Check! * means he used it before I took him over. Put in bold new buffs he can give out if you want.
I think he has 7/23 Bombs Left
I think he has 5 minutes of flight from his power.
4th (3/day): Freedom of Movement* (Already on Sootscale I think), Freedom of Movement*(Already on Vincent I think),
Greater Invisibility (will use on self before the fight)
3rd (5/day): Displacement (I think I gave this to Mum and it expired),
Fly (Give to Donovan),
Fly (Give to Vincent),
Protection from Arrows Communal*,
Resist Energy Communal (will give to the party 1-acid, 2-cold, 3-electricity, 4-fire:1d4 ⇒ 2 Party has Cold Resist 30.
1st (6/day):
Shield (already on Sootscale),
Shield (give to Tikroch),
Shield (can give to whomever),
Reduce Person (Give to Vincent if he wants),
Reduce Person (Already on Sootscale),
Tears to Wine*
So the new buffs for everyone are Resist Energy (cold 30), Fly to Donovan, Shield for Tikroch, Shield to Whomever, Reduce Person for Vincent if he wants.
The man watches Mum carefully, and then nods. ”Your words are powerful. As have been your deeds.” He gestures at the others, ”you all have deeds of note. Gorum is pleased, whether you follow him or not.” He retrieves from a small pouch at his hip a pair of rings. Vincent realizes they are a ring of evasion and ring of swimming. ”a small token. Their magic works even when worn on the same hand, such is Gorum’s might.”You can wear both on one hand and they only count as one ring slot, leaving the other hand available for the other ring.
He steps aside and waves his hand, and the obvious guards and wards spell dissipates. ”Armag Twice-Born awaits you, and he and his skeleton guardians know you are coming.” He seems to make it clear that Armag is in the next room to the north.
Prepare as you will. There likely will not be any surprise round either way. This may be very difficult.
