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Lawric raises his hand, the poppet floating just behind his shoulder as his caustic voice cuts through the clatter of bone and steel. “STAY DOWN.” A streak of pale energy whips from his palm, striking toward the blue-lit skeleton menacing Thurgan. The air hums faintly with the pulse of creation’s forge. ◆ Stride
Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, Needle darts, Prestidigitation, Light, Vitality lash 1: Bless, Bless, Santuary 2: Dispel Magic, Cleanse affliction Fount: Heal, Heal, Heal, Heal Active conditions: Spirit Sense
Earlier
“NAME KNOWN OR UNKNOWN?” After the answer, he pulls a small, water-stained book from beneath his cloak and opens it across his knee. He writes carefully, the ink catching in the damp air—names where there are names, a small mark where there are none. He traces a spiral in the mud beside the corpse, then places a hand on the brow. “THE LADY OF GRAVES SEES YOU. YOUR PATH IS CLEAR. GO WITHOUT REGRET.” He waits until the current carries the body downstream, watching in silence until it is gone. Then he closes the book, slides it back beneath his cloak, and rises to follow the others. ---
Lawric moves slowly through the graveyard, the rain dulling every sound but his steps. At each disturbed grave, he kneels long enough to study the soil and broken wood—then pulls his small, water-stained book from beneath his cloak. He writes a name. “THREE FROM ABOVE,” he says quietly, eyes on the torn coffins. His shrill voice pierces the quiet of the desecrated chapel and grounds.“THEY WERE FRESH, AND TAKEN WITHOUT CARE.” He moves to the next cluster of graves, the ones that have sunken inward. Another pause. Another name entered. “FIVE FROM BELOW. THEY WERE PULLED BACK INTO WHAT CLAIMED THEM.” Finally, he stops at the last grave, fingers tracing the slick black roots. “HARLO KRANT,” he reads, adding the final line to his record. “LESS THAN A YEAR IN HER KEEP.” He closes the book and looks toward the shrine. “THEY ARE ACCOUNTED FOR. NOW WE FIND WHO UNACCOUNTED THEM.” He lifts the chalice, holding it up his eye. "A RELIC OF THE LADY. WE MAY USE IT" he mentions, looking toward Galimus as he speaks. At last, he pauses stoicly, looking across the damaged and desecrated graveyard and shrine. His already pitched voice cracks with something close to emotion. "SO MANY NAMES. WE MUST FOLLOW THOSE RESPONSIBLE INTO THE PITS"
Lawric studies the body for a long moment before extending his hand. The water stirs at his gesture, rippling outward. A corner of the cloak tears free from the rock, and the corpse drifts slowly down the spring.
“IT ISN’T A FINAL REST,” he says quietly, “BUT IT IS REST. NO ONE SHOULD BE LEFT AS POISON TO THEIR OWN.”
⸻ The next morning, Lawric moves in silence— even for him. His motions are deliberate, almost meditative, as he prepares his things. The hard light in his eyes never fades; determination has taken the place of rest. “HER WORK NEEDS DOING.” It’s the only sentence he offers. A brief nod passes to Thurgan and Grump... something old, practiced, understood without words. When the party steps off toward the hill, Lawric falls in behind the orc as naturally as a shadow finding its source. Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, Needle darts, Prestidigitation, Light, Vitality lash 1: Bless, Bless, Santuary 2: Dispel Magic, Cleanse affliction Fount: Heal, Heal, Heal, Heal Active conditions: Spirit Sense
When the last of the noise fades, Lawric steps carefully over the scorched floor. The air still hums with heat and the stench of rot. He stops beside Galimus without a word. For a long moment, he just looks at him—expression unreadable. Then he reaches out, resting two fingers against the oracle’s shoulder. A faint, sterile glow passes from his hand into the wounded flesh.
When it’s done, he withdraws his hand, turns, and walks back across the room. He lowers himself to the floor, cloak wrapped tightly around him, and closes his eyes. He does not say goodnight.
Spell Text: Choose an affliction on the target, such as a curse, disease, or poison. If it has advanced past stage one, reduce the stage by one. This reduction can be applied only once to a given case of an affliction, with the case ending when it's completely cured. Although the reduction can't occur again, heightened versions of this spell attempt to counteract with each casting.
Lawric focuses on the cluster of undead pressing against Thurgan. He extends one hand toward them. “RETURN TO YOUR GRAVES.” A line of pale energy lashes through the horde, cutting into the rot that refuses to rest. He lowers his hand, draws a steady breath, and whispers a quiet phrase under it. He calls the Lady’s clarity to his own mind. ** Vitality Lash
Lawric waits as the dead pour through the shattered boards, their moans filling the air like wind through a crypt. He stands his ground, eyes fixed on the first to breach. Only when they are close enough to threaten the others, does he move. “COME NO FURTHER.”, his shrill and strained voices pierces the silence. A wave of white-blue light erupts outward from him, washing through friend and foe alike. The living feel warmth surge through their wounds; the dead recoil as the same energy burns through their hollow frames. *** 3 action Heal
Lawric stands perfectly still in the middle of the empty room, unmoving in the long silence before the storm of combat. Exerting his will against the night, the shimmering emanation around him expands... spreading order outward like ripples through still water. He turns his head slightly, eyes drifting to Thurgan and Grump. Without a word, he bends fate around them. The Lady’s blessing settles on the faithful ◆ Sustain Bless (+10ft)
Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, Command, Fear 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Active conditions: Spirit Sense, Fatigued
Lawric rises slowly, cloak brushing the ground as he stands. He lifts one hand toward the ceiling, palm open. “LET RIGHTNESS GATHER.” A faint radiance begins to hum in the air around him, drawing warmth into the room. *Stand
Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, Command, Fear 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Active conditions: Spirit Sense, Fatigued, Bless
In a well-practiced movement, Lawric steps through the space behind Thurgan’s shield and retreats deeper into the room. His floating poppet follows, bobbing along just over his shoulder, thread-faced and silent. Once he’s reached a safe distance, he turns sharply. One hand rises. “RETURN TO YOUR PLACE.” A streak of pale energy tears from his palm, washing over the pink-rotted thing with silent force. * Stride
Lawric lifts his hand again, fingers steady. “STAY DOWN.” A second bolt of vital energy lashes out toward the decaying form, quickly retracting for form a glowing barrier between the undead and pale halfling. **
↺ If a creature dies, death’s call. Temporary HP = (Creature Level + 4)*2 Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, Command, Fear 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Active conditions: Spirit Sense, Fatigued
Lawric’s eyes snap open before the groaning reaches full volume. He rises. One hand slides beneath his cloak to draw a small, black-handled dagger that is more ritualistic than practical. The other tugs his hood tighter as he moves inward, stepping closer to Thurgan and the growling Grump. “YOU HAVE NEVER FAILED.”
Then, with a sharp breath, he whips a bolt of radiant force toward the green-skinned brute looming at the edge of the light. “BACK TO DUST” He raises his free hand just after, forming a shimmering ward in front of him. A moment later, the air between him and the enemy tenses.
◆ Stand
Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, Command, Fear 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Active conditions: Spirit Sense
Lawric stops mid-wrap as a familiar warmth washes over him. Blossoms drift on the edge of his vision—strange, soft spirits brushing past his skin. He breathes in through his nose and lets the linen fall from his hands. No need for poultices now. The work is done by gentler hands. He stands and turns at Naquin’s question, eyes resting briefly on the broken forms piled near the wall. “THEY ARE NOT BODIES,” he says calmly. “THEY ARE EXHAUSTED SHELLS. IF THEY HELP US RESIST THE DEAD TONIGHT, WE WILL SEE TO THEIR RITES AT DAWN.” He doesn’t wait for agreement. He just goes back to the windows and works to repair the damage.
Just steps quietly back to a place near the others, folds his legs beneath him, and closes his eyes. He sleeps this time where others can see him.
Lawric moves through the wreckage without a word. He gathers bandages, clean water, thread. His hands are steady, methodical—more embalmer than medic. He stitches Galimus with precise, expressionless care. Wraps Thurgan’s arm tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not enough to bruise. Cleans the bite on Grump’s flank with slow, circular motions. “YOU’LL HURT FOR A WHILE,” he says softly. “THAT MEANS YOU’RE ALIVE.” Then he keeps working.
Galimus 10/37 + 20 = 30/37
As the creature in front of Galimus dies, Lawric whispers into the night- coaxing the released spirit toward his poppet.
Reaction to Cast Focus spell: death’s call:
You gain temporary Hit Points equal to the triggering creature's level plus your spellcasting attribute modifier. If the triggering creature was undead, double the number of temporary Hit Points you gain. Too many, too close.
“THE LADY DOES NOT YIELD.”
Status: HP: 17/33 + 6 heal + ? Temp HP Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 1/2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, Command, Fear 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Active conditions: Spirit Sense
Lawric moves forward, keeping to the edge of the chaos. His eyes track the blood blooming beneath Galimus, already pooling in places it shouldn’t. He raises one hand—not in panic, but in declaration. “BREATH.” A quiet pulse of vital energy rushes forward from his outstretched palm, threading through the air before sinking into Galimus’s form, still on the ground.
“THURGAN. DON’T GET LOST. I AM COMING” His voice doesn’t rise in urgency. It just cuts—high, strained, and certain.
Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, Command, Fear 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Active conditions: Spirit Sense
Lawric awakens without a start, eyes open before the sound fully registers. The groaning wood, the wet scrape of claw on stone, the sharp crack of splintering boards. He stands. No words of alarm. No rush. Just a soft exhale as his eyes move toward the window where the form takes shape in the moonlight—bloated and blue, pressing against the shattered frame. He focuses his energy on a small bar of cold iron tied to his belt, peeling of several sharp strips and flinging them into the quickly widening hole.
Lawric awakens without a start, eyes open before the sound fully registers. The groaning wood, the wet scrape of claw on stone, the sharp crack of splintering boards. He stands. No words of alarm. No rush. Just a soft exhale as his eyes move toward the window where the form takes shape in the moonlight—bloated and blue, pressing against the shattered frame. He lifts one finger. “YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH TIME ON THIS SIDE.” A sudden surge of searing energy lashes out from his hand, spiraling with white heat—drawn not from fire, but from Creation’s first breath.
Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, Command, Fear 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Heal, Heal, Heal, Heal Active conditions: Spirit Sense
Lawric works without instruction. He doesn’t lift heavy beams or haul crates, but he moves steadily from one weak point to another—checking, adjusting, reinforcing. A few times, he pauses to press a hand against a boarded window or doorframe, as if listening to something on the other side. Then, wordlessly, he makes a correction: a shifted board, a second nail, a tighter seal. Additional Roll:
Tactical Conversation: I am of two minds.
Option #1: if there is an unreinfoced location leave it as the bedroom. The doorway makes a secondary choke point with no other access to the rest of the building. Option #2: Leave one of the main room's not fully reenforced, where we can have the most characters present and available to respond.
Lawric doesn’t speak at first. He stands near the others, watching them work, small and still in the dim light. He doesn’t jump to pick up a hammer, as it is clearly not his strength… but when a half-covered window is left unfinished, he steps toward it without being asked. He studies the frame, the gaps, the angle of the improvised barrier. Then he shifts one of the boards slightly and drives in a few final nails with quiet, awkward precision. “I AM NO BUILDER,” he says flatly, “BUT I KNOW WHAT THEY CAN BREAK THROUGH.” It isn’t elegant. But it will hold.
"THE LADY APPROVES" The halfling turns abruptly, cloak whispering behind him as he walks. He says nothing else on the way back, only letting the silence settle around him At the general store, he pauses in the doorway, giving the place one last, unreadable look. “I WILL HELP AS I CAN,” he says, without moving from the threshold. “BUT I AM NOT WELL SUITED TO THESE TASKS.” Spoiler:
Business and Discussion: General Store: 9 openings, enough supplies for 6 barriers. All intact, none reinforced
Random structure: 6 openings ?open vs intact vs reinforced Spring Manor: 21 openings Tavern: 14 entrances. 6 reinforced. It seems like our best chance is a random structure (using the wood from the general store). If all of the entrances are intact, there is a chance that we could have a fully fortified structure tonight. Second best option seems to be the General store, turning 6 of the 9 into fortified barriers. Ideally we would scavenge another 3 portals worth of supplies from somewhere in the village- but it is unlikely that we have a fully fortified structure on night #1. @GM: Can you confirm that my math (and my entrance set up) is correct?
“TOMORROW YOU WILL SEE OUR PURPOSE AND BELIEVE,” Lawric calls up, his voice too sharp and too steady to offer comfort. But he does not flinch. He simply speaks as though the truth is not his to soften. He turns his eyes up to the huddled refugees, unblinking. “HOW MANY COME AT A TIME? ARE THEY ORGANIZED OR HAPHAZARD?”
His tone doesn’t demand yet it does not suggest choice, either. After a few moments, he glances toward the horizon where the light is beginning to drain from the sky... “THE TWILIGHT BECOMES OUR ENEMY.”
Lawric approaches slowly, hands folded neatly at his waist. He makes no move to draw a weapon or raise his voice. He stops a few paces from the house, eyes fixed on the crawlspace above. Then, in Halfling, he speaks with a voice too high and too steady to sound reassuring but the words carry no threat. “NIŠTA ZLO NEĆE DOĆI OD MENE. ISTI SMO."
He blinks once, slowly. “WE BURY THE DEAD. NOT THE LIVING.”
Lawric moves to the window, his cloak trailing behind and with his eyes fixed on finding the sound of retreating footsteps. When he reaches a clear line of sight, he raises his voice—thin, sharp, and jarring in the stillness. “COME BACK HERE.” The words don’t echo, they cling… wrapping around in the air like smoke. Without turning, he calls over his shoulder, voice unchanged: “FOLLOW ME. HIS NAME ISN’T WRITTEN YET.”
Status: HP: 33/33 Hero Points: 1 Halfling Luck: 1 Focus Points: 2 Spell DC 19, Attack +10 Cantrip: Guidance, needle darts, prestidigitation, shield, vitality lash 1: Bless, 2: Calm, Cleanse affliction Fount: Heal, Heal, Heal, Heal Active conditions: Spirit Sense
“I SAID BEGONE.” Lawric does not move otherwise. He simply stands, still as a headstone, and lifts one pale finger to point at the remaining creature. His voice is high and grating, like a shout caught in a child's throat. The silence that follows feels deliberate, as if he expects the corpse to obey.
The halfling stands quietly in the back, watching the whirl of combat unfold. He trusts Thurgan to hold the line, as he has done hundreds of times before. Slowly, Lawric steps forward, pointing a thin finger toward where he assumes the red-rotted one stands. “RETURN TO THE RIVER!” Light flashes as hot, clean energy from Creation’s Forge flashes in the room, harmlessly away from any of the abominations. ◆ Stride
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