Sancuris's page

Xibalba is spurns into action, initially frozen by the sight of another 'cousin'. At being called 'filth', however, her focus returned.

Not all of Elemental kind are your family, fool!

In an attempt to over compensate for her lapse, she floats sifting like sand, dusting through the cloud that hinders her allies. Mentally hanging on to Rinika's call to Jek to 'ignore the fog', interpreting it as a general wish. Freedom was a common wish of her own, whispered often in dark spaces.

She snaps. The aroma of mint and salty ocean air fills the space. Her magic rolls off her in a countering haze of sand, pushing against the haze.

Cast Dispel Magic

Dispel Magic: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (3) + 13 = 16

"Fie!" she spits through gritted teeth as she feels her magic falter.

Huh, maybe there's more of these too equal types...

"Er- well, we think it's the same as the iron shadow affecting Minauros, in Baator. Sounded like it's happening lots of places, actually. This is the second place we're investigating, out of- uh- a bunch." Nik replies, scratching his cheek.

"Well, I guess we should try to catch them in the act." Nik adds.

He looks around at the party.
"We've got 3 fliers and if I make Jek fly I'm the only one who needs a ride, right?"

The flight over had been exhilarating. It was easy to feel overwhelmed by the azure expanse, but it's beauty was undeniable. Xibalba makes a mental note to return here again when there were less plagues and killers afoot. She bows respectfully upon meeting Vassilon and Ert.

The giant djinn watches the bird's shadow move curiously. She ponders at the mechanism after Rinika points it out. She twists her hands as if she were manipulating them.

Practicing a healthy imagination is important to a Genie.

She clocks the mention of the killer, a feat for someone as distractabke as her,and nods to any compatriots who similarly noticed.

She squints up at Nik before whispering, "Via wishen or biceps, tha will be bouyed safewise." She offers him an ancient Djinn gesture,extending her arm and arching her thumb upward from her balled fist, in a presentation of goodwill.

Xiblaba ears perk up at the mention of her home, She tries to get a glimpse of the patron who spoke out to her through her pipes smoke. Despite her elation to find her homes reach even here she switches to a melonchaly tone in a native language, keeping beat with the Sitar. She offers a song of longing.

"Smokerly stranger sits us sees before,
Eyewise distant like molten shore.
Fire-touched face remembers thuswise,
Brass City's golden streets recognize tha?

She folds the music into a holding pattern of Sitar plucks as she awaits the individuals response.

Xibalba shudders at Jek's mention of chains. As sketchy as the neighborhood looks, her heart swelled at the mention of deliteriois liquids. Hshe hadn't met one she hated.

Just before she steps into the Looking Glass with her motley companions, she reduces in height to a halfling version of herself, like sands shifting and rearranging.

She spots Rinika running off to interrogate locals and her first instinct was to follow collecting notes for later review. But, she was struck with a much genre appropriate plan.

High fiction, not gritty pulp.

Hoping this form would be just the right amount of 'icious', she nudges forward between tables and unholsters her red lacquered Sitar. Her scarred fingertips dance to tune the instrument, a soft request to the owners as if to ask, 'is this acceptable. She carefully strums an inoffensive tune, doing her damnedest to match energy with the establishment. Nothing fancy.

She'd read this particular tactic in the Chronicles of Investigator Hayer Pinn. The tituar hero did the same with a war flute at a masquerade so his partner could uncover the baronesses gossips.

Hidden in plain sight... she thought self assuredly.

Sitar Musical Instrument: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (3) + 10 = 13

Xibalba nods sagely, absorbing the info dump on the city and Nik's side lesson regarding wind powered mills.

"A group should hunt said sequence killer! Or killers? Such a being serves only disruption of the half-light district's order. A djinn has readen no less than four investigaterly novels and solved two and half of thum before finishwise!"

She hangs her head somberly.

"Unfortunatewise, Xibalba lacks Oracle seeking skills..."

She turns to Nik stretching down, hand to her mouth to avoid any citizenry hearing.

"Query, Flame-kin-Nik, how convincing are tha's rats-in-a-flesh-coat? A dashen of illusion magic might aid the guise."

Xibalba squeezes past the cages careful not to get snipped. Taking up the rear, she pushes out of the door last and shield her eyes from the light change, staring up at the speck, trying to discern its secrets. She stares hard enough to feel the storm front of a headache peaking so she instead turns her focus on filling her lungs with the sweet open air. Years spent in a lamp had driven home the importance of fresh air to her, and now she was practiclaly a sommelier of breezes.

In and out. In and out.

She relishes the therapy the cycle provided, basking in the serene vista. She reaches upward , growing her form to really stretch her legs as they traveled. She stomps across the metal flooring feeling like she could roar at the bountiful boundless blue just past the spinning fan temples. She'd heard of them in books but had never seen one in all her years.

"A djinn begs pardon, but what purpose doth held by these monuments?" she points at the windmills leaning down to talk to the group, "Tributes to the realm's gods? Borely the people must finden this spinning nonsense. Is this what vexes thum all so?"

She finally reduces her height before entering the city, mindfully musing at the lackluster party that simply begs to be fleshed out with a little wishcraft. She cracks her in knuckles at the thought.

Xibalba was content inside her lamp. She'd squirreled herself away after their encounter with the chain plane and refused to exit until they'd returned. Safe from monstrous illusions and monstrous chain beasties. Somewhere in the miasma of her sleepy consciousnes, she heard her talking of gold and even her name.

She stirred, but refused to leave. No need to test her powers in here, just the warm embrace of brass. Whatever it was, it could wait.

But hearing speak of shadow magic, the djinn emerged from her lamp stretching her back and arms, careful not to knock over any sundries. Retreating from any hanging crystalss up against the tent wall, she nodded apologetically for interrupting and waited for the Technicolor shopkeep finish her friendly schpiel.

She stared intently at the entrapped demon, still deciding if it was in fact a 'poor little thing'. She remained unconvinced but decided her place was not to judge.

"Teala, tha shop is lovely! Likewise, this one is gratefulsome for thy gift. Tha's wish be for door-secrets? Tha's will be done." she punctuated her statement with a curt bow, their contract more social than magical.

Xibalba looked down to her allies, chagrined.

"This wish-wretch regrets her reagal absence. Gravesome thinking's have vexed Great Xibalba of late." The genie leaned forward and gestured her palms up in begging supplication to her companions. "Xibalba would be honored to share thum baddie-battery for shade-hexeries."

After granting Nik's ground-based wish, she shoots him a grateful grin for tending to her arm.

Though some wounds are tougher to heal...

Xibalba attempts to keep watch, occasionaly glancing over her shoulder to show the others she's still listening to their escape plan. Fearing further mental meddling, she takes advantage of the momentary calm to whisper a prayer.

Twisting her fumbling digits, Xiblaba performs the familar holy rite; a series of gestures not unlike those of a sedate centipede moonwalking in concentric circles. She offers self important whispers as further tribute before finishing by lighting a hand rolled 'Beedi'. Inhaling the smoke in three shallow breaths, she silently begs to lose the thought of her lost beloved entombed in murderous chains...and exhales a lie to her God that the ritual is to honor Mahathallah instead.

Perception: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (11) - 2 = 9

Will: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22

Xibalba gives a shrill scream as the hooks rend her misty flesh. It had been an age since she'd felt the bright searing sensation. For a moment, Penela was back, now wrapped in chains smeared with her bluish blood. She JUST manages to recoil away from the nightmare and fights her instintict to flee. Hearing the fury of her indignant companions brought her back to the frightening present.

Shaking, she stretches a still bleeding arm into a frantic set of snaps as if she would dismiss the rattling horror any faster.

"Violater! Let all wishen this fiend rushed to the grave!"

Xibalba casts Haste on everyone, one more time!

Sense motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

" You...are not this djinn's Penela. This one complements your illusion-craft."

Xibalba almost smirks, impressed as much as she was furious. And yet...she couldn't help but falter at seeing a past love. So lost in what-ifs and could-have-beens she almost misses the chains unfurling from the wall. She recoils as Not-Penela becomes wrapped in the oxidized links.

She does NOT act in the surprise round lol.

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (11) - 1 = 10

While traversing to the second tower, the Djinn contemplates the best method to fulfill her warden's wish for a beautiful exit before catching sight of the suspended figure.

Xibalba's stomach drops and her heart climbs into her throat upon seeing the familiar form of 'Finnie' in the flesh. She knew those eyes despite the century and half since seeing them last. The lonely ache of those years apart Tumblr hrough her mind as she chokes back tears. She points towards the floating figure.

"Mahathallah weeps! A djinn knows them! They are Penela Finduelis!"

Wiithout a second thought, and preparing to break reality itself to free them, Xibalba furiously billows to their side.

But as she gets closer her words trail off realizing something was slightly off. Maybe it was the distance but upon closer inspection the way they moved and their cadence was uncanny. The thing wearing her once-paramores face was not Finnuela.

"Wait. Wha-what are you?" she asks almost in a whisper.

The Kyton disguised genie finally takes in the danger and clears her throat, inspired by some ancient text she'd read in one of Brass City's grand libraries.

"A djinn wishes to show the meaning of HASTE"

Sweat builds upon her forehead as she raises her cracked fingers together and with great struggle manages a solid snap, releasing a sound not disimilar to stones cracking against one another.

The djinn's magics fluctuates and stutters as she utters the wish herself, weaker than if it had been requested by another. Deep gold smoke billows forth from her to her companions, their movements now leaving a trail like a sparkler firework.

Cast Haste on everybody!

"Thus, Khikril, the Thirdly Age of Diarchal Politics in the City of Brass began by blade and the first turn hearted wishen."

The genie was so focused in her pontification about historical politics in her homeland that her thought of danger had waned. Only the books beyond Jek manage to capture her attention. So many new words...

Then Jek cries out.

Xibalba drops her book, stunned at the sight of her quadruped warden in pain. She curses her inattentive nature but refuses to act impetiously.

"Master Jek!" was all she could manage.

Xibalba's eyes glow gold at Nik's plea and she prepares to drop her focus on their illusion magicks. She smiled to hersfelf, confident that it's power would still remain for at least half a prime day. She gestures a protective symbol with her right hand, fingers twisting in an archaic and strange manner. With her left she readies a snap of her fingers to dismiss any magically controlled chains which attack her wardens.

Dispel magic: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (5) + 13 = 18

"Ask and receive..." the Djinn whispers drifting forward partially thought the wall.

After quietly listening to the intense chatter, Xibalba floats forward assuredly, the jingling of her bangles joining the chorus of chain around them.

"Xibalba hasen such cloaking magics. Only lasts for half a solar day and a group must herd closewise post casting." She offers a toothy grin and cracks her fingers, genuinely happy to be of aid.

Xibalba ducks into the tent and finds the first unoccupied spot to plop down cross legged. She watches over Rinika’s shoulder to catch a peek at her Oriam’s arcane text, patiently waiting for her turn at the library. Perhaps he has a mystery novel or two…

“Xibalba has never helden such a membership ! And a room too! So honorsome to be a parten of tha’s fancy sounding collective.”

——-

At the Lillend’s plea the djinn’s manner turns serious. She had learned to befriend loneliness and boredom during her time spent in the bottle and could imagine fewer fates worse than any of these many worlds losing their color and flavor. Xibalba stretches, quietly addressing Rinika’s question for a list with a secondary concern.

“Wardens, where to travel firstly? Dead worlds or dying ones?”

Xibalba stretches, beaming up at her companions ascending to their rattled delivery recipient. The giant djinn nods to Jek before floating up to join them.

"A sadful tale you share, but allow us to counter with one of victory. Thy wizard self was found through courage, guile, and a smidge-ish of backtracking. Foe-folk were banishedwise with vigorous violence and magics. We-beings heartily accepten your array of colorful juices."

Less than gracefully, but no less dutifully she gathers the potions with the approval of her wardens to distribute. She hungrily eyes one of the greenish liquid flasks, a whisper of a hope in her heart held out that it tasted of apple.

Xibalba stalking behind Jek blinks rapidly, suddenly awakened from her reading stupor by Nik's request. For a genie, the words of a wish from a warden always resonated above normal chatter. Heavy and clear, as if it was bolded on a page.

Xibalba bookmarks her novel(The Mysteries of Saluar) with a finger and snaps with the other hand at the cavalier Halfling. The Genie's eyes blaze with gold tinted power as she momentarily looks larger, hair blowing in an unseen breeze.

"Thy will be done!" she thunders.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16
Dispel Magic: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (14) + 12 = 26

Xibalba’s head automatically snaps up to Nik. She wags a finger, smirking. “Tsk tsk. Tha has received a wish this day, kiln-kin” . The wag turns to a snap. Using his wish as a component, the giant djinn floats forward, spewing fumes from her hookah gathering towards her wish warden.
“Second go around is less than perfectwise.” Her eyes crackle as she passes through her companions, floating partially in the stairs near the scuffle. At the touch of her smoke, Jek takes on a more cloudy nature.

Shadowform on Jek. DC26 to disbelieve or 20% hit chance for enemies attacking him. +1 caster level due to Nik’s wish.

Mwerpy d100: 1d100 ⇒ 49

Mwerpy, eh?

Xibalba shrugs, busier bemoaning her sniffles. Her misery is cut short though watching bombs suddenly lob forth and her warden plow headfirst into the web as well as its keeper. Despite her astonishment of Jek’s combat prowess, she inhales deeply from her hookah and blows out towards the creature sending a cloud white aromatic stream of smoke billowing. It crosses the webby stairs toward the psychic menace curling into the shape of ten foot chains, wrapping around its limbs.

Shadow Evocation Chains of Perdition DC 25 Will Save to disbelieve.
Dirty Trick Entangle CMB: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (13) + 17 = 30
Knowledge Planes on Glabrezu: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

Recalling no such creature, Xibalba sinks into the stairs moving across the bottom, incorporeally gliding closer to the Bebilith.

Also, thanks Xibalba. I'll try not to be too greedy.

The Djinn smirks and underlines the floating word ‘greedy’ with her finger before dismissing the illusion with a wave. She gives a flourishy bow to Enoch’s excited outburst and turns to Skeessannak'khikril.

So what of you?

“Tha has the great Xibalba at disadvantage. Outside of books and tales, only the plane of fire is well known to us. Forbidden to leaven by a master now long gone, a woesome tale best not indulged. Tha speaks of visiting so many other planes, but does tha have a favorite? Does tha miss Verces? “

She whispers back to Jek, but only to exclude any being listening outside the party.

Xibalba, who are the Maidens of Mist you mentioned?"

“Illusionists and retainers of secrets who seek keys to the cage of mortal existence. A collective of dreamwalkers inspired by the former Maiden of Mist, whose gaze pierced any veil and parted all fog. Siblings in cause, sworn to guide fantasists along the path of ambition and realization of the self. This one asks, ‘What is a wish if not a rejection of reality?’ “

"-We're all friends, so please 'extend wishing' to any of us as you see fit."

Xibalba nods at Jek's words. She places her palms together, elbows out and whispers in an overly eager but thoughtful tone.

"Friend? Equitable wardens are so raresome...Hmmm. Agreed, an acordaunt is maden betwixt us as comrades. " She shakes his hand with her own jewel laden one to seal the partnership. "This one pledges by the Maidens of Mist, Master's mysteries will never leaven these lips."

She finishes with a finger-snap towards Nik as he wishes, just before Jek chastises him.

Silent Image.

Eyes aglow, she traces her finger in the air as small smoldering script flows out like a pen made of fire ink, suspened before Nik. The words mirror those on her Hookah but translated to common.

"Gratitude, Master Jek for taking tha role as warden seriouswise. Tho, consent is given without vex, Flame-kin Nik."

The djinn follows the others onto the platform and up the stairs when they see fit, sticking close to the center of the group to chat. Her large size returns shortly there after.

"This one accepts a Lillend's decision. Gratitude to thee for sheperding us safely. "

The Djinni turns to Jek, and claps in excitement.
"A new master has a keenly aesthetic eye. The shisha is this one's home, prison, & promise in one. A contemptuous Salamander tried to destroy it but a Djinn has many skilled friends. No doubt tha is also righteous of heart to have gained Tunglsgeisli's respect in such a brief time. Xibalba is honored to have tha as wishwarden, if tha finds such a prospect acceptable. "

Xibalba acknowledges Rinika's interrogation bemused before leaning forward. "Well, this one could asken why is tha so short? But one can briefly save the strain of a catling's neck-" Xibalba stands up as her form diminishes, shrinking down, down, down, until she is no longer towering, but a still formidable six feet tall.
Reduce person on self via Efreeti's magic.

"A Djinn does not eat, but can. Nor does she need legs, so in times of flight they turn into so much smoke. For us, size and form is fluid, so doors are more a suggestion" She then demonstrates her intangibility by passing through a nearby silvery pillar, coming out the other side intact and smiling.

"Xibalba offers the gift of wishcraft. Holders of the hookah can extend wishing to others, like thee. A heart’s desire delivered, but not as permanently as the stair’s path might bestow…yet. A wish a day as best a genie’s magic can manage...with conditions."

At the words of Tunglsgeisli, Xibalba gave a hearty laugh sending the coin chains sewn to her robe into a jangling ferver.

Fame. Fortune. Power. Most wishes fell under the these categories. She never begrudged the wisher any of them, but that didn't stop her from treasuring the simplicity of desiring only art.

"Lucky for the, this one is made of stories. Our honored angel-kin will find them far from yawnsome."

The giant figure pulls an ornate polished sitar from her back with an errant smoke trail and tunes it briefly before regaling the audience of one with the tale of her 648th wish granted. A half hour comedy of errors myth containing tyrants, mistaken identity and lost love. Her long cracked legs form beneath her to better sit upon the steps.

Lore: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11
Lore(Guiding Spirit reroll): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Perform Spoken Word Sitar: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (7) + 10 = 17
Use auditory hallucinations and silent image to add effects for the story.

She weaves her spells and plucks her instrument, lost in the moment. "Thum of old learned a golden lesson, a pebble casten today is the beginning of a thousand-year causeway." Her chorus like voice finally finishes with a morale and a grin greedy for applause, " AND to always about-face from hometown wencheries!"

A rattling overtook the hookah, and it began billowing forth amber mist smelling of fiercely of honey and rain. A voluminous sparkling fog begins to swirl around the Lillend, as the stairs shake from the magical effort. Bursts of light spark forth from the end of the hookah with brilliant sunglow flashes.

A large outline of a twelve foot robed female form takes shape from the sheets of smoke, with two burning golden eyes and darkened scelera. She stretches her full sinewy length covered in metallic yellow cracks, and wrenches her neck with a satisfied roar. Coins and chains hanging from her rattle and clink endlessly against her sepia skin as she floats effortlessly around and through the stairs in celebration. Her lower half pools continuously from the lamp in folds of brassy smog, which doesn't stop her from bowing respectfully.

"Thrice honored celestial! Tha have this one's sincerest gratitude. Oh, the rapturous joy of having angelkin for a wishmaster!"

"Freeing the immortal and cosmically powerful Xibalba earns tha a wish," she announces theatrically, holding forth a giant spectral hand with a cautionary finger up. "of course, conditions...apply."

Prestidigitation for effect

Welp. Here I am.... Xibalba acknowledged to no one in particular. Not that anyone could hear her from within the confines of the ornate hookah bottle. Whoomf. A sudden muffled impact jostled the bottle walls every few seconds as it descended slowly down what she had realized were likely steps of some kind.

...again. With a heavy sigh shemulled over her circumstances. I swear if I have to deal with one more ham handed mortal who can't word a wish properly...

At first she'd thought Taaliah had likely dropped her in her haste to taxi a new fare, or maybe she was still angry after their tiff. But after twenty minutes of her stomach dropping the continous Whoomf that followed,n she knew the truth was impossibly worse. She should have ended up in a street gutter and yet she continued to fall. She gave a soft prayer of thanks to Ubab for reinforcing her lamp after the last incident.

Sarcasm started to give way to fear as Xibalba couldn't help but wonder just how far down the stairs went.

Lyudmilla tears herself away from the sweet smell and backs away with Frank before giving a quick shot of her crossbow at the pesky interlopers.

She offers a shout in Sylvan to their combatants dripping with bravado. “Vhat treats do you defend in these dark halls, fair fey? You vill not keep them from us!”

Crossbow: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

;-;

Shaking the strange experience Lyudmilla takes a moment to admire the scenery before nodding to Frank.

"Proceed with all the caution in the vorld, my friend."

Noticing antchittering at the air, she tries to pick up on it too.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

Lyudmilla, frozen from the emerging chaos in violence, finally snaps into action. Rushing southward past Frank, she does her best not topple over the rocks and block the south door, crossbow out. She then pricks her finger in a largely symbolic gesture to cast a spell on herself, before pulling back her crossbow latch and taking aim at the guard with an inhale.
Double move and casts False Life on self. That should be two whole turns!
Temp hitpoints: 1d10 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

Lyudmilla greets Barnaby upon his return, hair in disarray and a wild look in her eye. Uncharacteristically disheveled, she stumbles from her cabin clutching in her dirty fingers, an empty jar of avacado honey.

"TELL ME you've found some. After Nadja mentioned it I've been searching my stores." The frazzled kitchen witch begins pacing.

"Barnaby, do you know vhat I've found? Ve have traveled half a vorld away and I am OUT. Do any of you have any idea often I use HONEY?" she lets out manicly.

"Auntie knows best" Lyudmilla says with a sarcastic wink to Hekla, flipping open her knife roll.

Her and Poppy get to work serving the crowd, favoring a gumbo with grilled Mantis bits but she doesn't preserve any leftovers.She also listens to Nadya's woeful tale.

Craft Cooking: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (20) + 14 = 34
Knowledge Nobility on Nazhena Vasilliovna: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27

!!!!!

Lyudmilla's frown sours further. Not even Dawrbrün's righteous tunes lifted her spirit. A bug!? OF all things...a big bug, sure. But what was she supposed to make out of it? Bugs are for survivalist and adventurers...
Sigh
Realizing that's what she was now, first and foremost, she finally settles on grilling the damnable thing.
Xbow: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21
Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 4
Lyudmilla fires her crossbow, unwilling to dispense more luck as the creature seems near death.

Lyudmilla plants her feet in the snow tapping her taste tester spoon against her crossbow, finding a rhythm to the recipe's recitation. Her good eye flicks to Broulnindre slashing away at the lumbering Troll.

Cackle and Fortune on Broulnindre

Lyudmilla spreads her luck magic thin to cover Alethea next. Thankful for Dawrbrün's sense of rhythm, she was able to fill the roadway with the sound of precise recipes, all on beat.

Fortune on Alethea. cackle to keep it all rolling!

But just as she'd released her witchcraft, the fight was over.

Relieved but a little hangry, she ran over and started investigating the beast. "Anyone hurt? If we've time, I'd like to get a piece or two... "

Rolls for if group agrees

Knowledge Arcane to identify usable parts: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

Heal to Harvest them: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Craft Alchemy to create usable food stuffs: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (1) + 14 = 15

Lyudmilla trudges forth beside her dwarven companion, her spectral wing ornaments waggling unceremoniously behind her. She quickly gives a peek around him with her good eye to see her companions locked in combat inside the home.

Ignoring her heart trying to punch through her chest from adrenaline, she can't help but sniff the interior of the cabin for what the brigands might be cooking. Maybe after she could at the very least aid their spice rack...

With a nod she tugs the element of fate in Dawrbrün's favor before he valiantly descends inside and follows up by listing the ingredients, prep work, and execution of Crow Pie.

Fortune to Dawrbrün and cackle to keep it rollin.

Eye locked on the cabin as they approach, Lyudmilla chuckles nervously at Hekla's jape. "You catch it, I'll cook it!" Offering a wide birth to the more capable members of the group, the chef steps to the side of the path and prepares to load her crossbow.

As the volley bursts out the open door, the hedge-witch's eyes go wide. "Nope!" Almost impulsively her hands twist in a cryptic manner to unleash a soft glow of arcane energy, which settles and hangs off her like illusory parade armor comprised of plated metal and ghostly ornamental wings.
Lyudmilla casts Mage Armor on herself, emulating a less ostentacious Polish Winged Hussarand begins loading her crossbow.

Lyudmilla prepares to let loose another bolt as well as an appropriately witty barb about fortune favoring the bold, when suddenly Barnaby drops out of sight. The stakes having risen suddenly, a quick "Why choose?" comes out instead, nudging kismet the nimble warrior's way.

Fortune on Alethea and Cackle to keep it up! Probably muttering about a Gelato recipe.

'Blyat.' Lyudmilla muttered after closing the door to the apothecary's shack. The egg of the Rhemorhaz eluded her once more! Just another rumor in another backwater. An Axe Beak egg, as it had turned out be, which are much better raised to be valuable mounts than cracked into any dish she could make. He did offer a lovely late lunch though and tips on local technique for rabbit dish so not a total dead end. The unseasonable chill in the air sent her hurrying back to her coach, wondering just how south she had to be to get someplace warm.

With a stoked fire and rolled dough, the cookery was opened for the latter half of the day near the Silver Stoat serving up rolls and soup to battle the cold. The aroma of baked goods filled the area and lured a customer or two, everyone from farmers to trades folk. Some stuck around long enough at her open window had to tell their tales. Rumors seemed to be the order of the day as some blamed the frost on foreign agents and others spoke of crop theft and sickness. Not so sleepy a town apparently.

‘In a quiet lagoon, devils dwell.’ As the old saying went. Their fear and concern were genuine though and she felt for their plight. But she wasn’t exactly the type to set out and fix something like this. Her eye wondered guiltily to the unfinished note covered tome sitting in the back of a nearby cupboard, taunting her to finally heed the call of adventure.

Poppy wakes groggily, clumsily searching for the ingredients to her custom hangover cure and by chance found the majority of ingredients in her shelves.
Half asleep she lights her mobile oven and crafts a meal of eggs and a small bowl of blueberry, banana oatmeal. She finishes the brunch with a cup of lemon ginger tea and a flay leaf stuffed longpipe, sifting through the haze of memories last night.

As she watched the street from her carriage window she admires her garden and munches her meal watching the folk that passed along the streets in the early midday. She considered the past days events and what her next move might be when she noticed something odd after a few minutes, people seemed to be having particularly fortuitous days. One person found a silver coin in the muck, almost walking past. Another, a dwarven smith nearly falls after placing a new shop sign but lands perfectly, a one in a hundred chance. A stray dog successfully steals from a nearby vendor, snatching a whole leg of mutton for himself.

Poppy's eyes brightened at a sudden realization. And whispered,

A soft fluttering of movement filled the carriage as a colorful tiny figure entered her sightline. She observed the carved food hummingbird flit about head height, watching her curiously. She offered a hand to the food sculpture she'd crafted to serve as a vessel for her patron, where it hovered momentarily before landing. Sculpted of watermelon and apple, the details were extensive, fooling any who didn't take time to observe it.

She'd kept Jun hidden from even her journey associates as she was uncertain how she'd be recieved. Truly she was an oddity, and they'd both had past instances of attempting snatching or noming and had to report. Poppy assumed the likely hood of such an event occuring on an ADVENTURE was perhaps increased, so they played it safe and ket her out of sight.

Poppy couldn't hold back her cheshire's grin at her companion over new found ability and how much of a game changer it was. She took a long draw from her longpipe before admitting with a shrug,

"Guess it's my lucky day."

Poppy listened respectfully to the prayer, stopping the clanging of pans in her cleanup efforts to wait and watch. Her mind drifted to funerals past, lingering on her mothers until Lor-Sinn finished.
She always hated adventurers. Sorry maică. But the book chapter will be great! The publisher will love it. Maybe I should get a recipe from the Kaijitsu's...

The rest of her packing was done in silence as she considered the end of her one and only adventure. She couldn't help but feel a little melancholy. She smiled sadly at the group, wondering which of them would keep up the questing life. She liked to think living past a century tended to give her a little insight with people.

Asuka for sure. Nothing could keep that spirit down. The world would be safer for her efforts, no doubt. Kaji was the closest to one before this what with guarding caravans. He'd secure our trade routes well and should probably be put in charge of something important. Sam I could see being a renowned traveler but adventuring? He seemes to share my stomach for roughing it in the wilds, which is, not very well. But who knows, his resourcefullness and superior spellcasting could take him far. Lor-Sinn was an exceptional team player and seemed to be one of the most straightfoward people I've encountered. Small town guard with her heart on her sleeve, maybe she's just looking for a cause? But Ruka...seems frighteningly angry. Probably closest thing to a leader we've got and I trust her, but she seems so uncertain of her potential. To be fair, some people don't wanna be heroes or prove themselves. Some folk just WANT live. Maybe after slaying those goblins, she can find some measure of peace.

Then.

Poppy had spent the trip mostly in silence, a stoney glare painted across her face. She bounced along on Arti's back thankful her small size afforded her the opportunity to avoid the slog. Judging by poor Sam's appearance and struggle, this had been the right call. She'd have to remember to add mollasses and apples to Arti's next meal for being so helpful. To any outside observers, one could presume that Poppy was struggling internally with some drastic concern. Was it a moral issue regarding the occupation of adventurers in general? Was it regarding her recent brush with death? Or perhaps the momentous discovery of lost family members and a growing mystery surrounding the Kaijutsu family?

Hmmm, Should the bones be made into Broth Gravy or Stew Stock? Maybe bonemeal for garden? Decisions, decisions...

Now.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Knowledge Engineering: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13

Poppy marveled at the ship, despite the fact that it had seen far better days. From what she could make out, it's design was quite different than the ship's she had seen previously, though she'd only ever sailed once or twice in her life and there was very little left to detail differences with any degree of certainty.

At the sight of more Skellys facing their group down, Poppy slide out her knife and positioned herself defensively behind Sam and the frontliners in the hopes of avoiding another sucking chest wound. Passing by Lor-Sinn, she grazes her armor, providing a little magical support as Poppy was depleted of her more heavy magics.

Scrunching up her face in a mocking fashion, she hissed out a goading call to their boney opponents. "Pleaze, do not mind us, ve are boat inspectors and The Blossom iz long overdue. Do you have necessary paperwork?"

Guidance on Lor-Sinn and moving by Sam.

Poppy dropped her hand from her knife sheath and occupied it by rubbing her temple with concern, head downcast in thought. Still shaken, she considered his strange words and what they meant moving forward.He's lost everything because of this adventure. He likes you because you were nice. No one ever taught him anything close to tact. A swell of pity drowned out her previous concerns and she paused a moment to think and explain to the group

" He sayz he vas protecting me from you all. Thinks I'm a...Queen?", she said cringing slightly from the absurdity of it all.

Rubbing her throat, sore from having to alter her voice speaking Goblin, she finally answered him.

She then proceeded to try and explain the concept of boundaries to the Goblin, fully aware that this might require an ongoing process.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22
Linguistics: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

Rolling both skills to try and introduce the idea of boundaries and personal space to the little guy.

Poppy had settled into the evening with a sense of comfort, happy for the opportunity to feed her fellow adventurers, grinning at the thought that that description now included her as well. Adventurer... . The journey so far had been filled with the weird and wild, like the wonders at the edges of one of Sam's maps, so to speak.

Here be dragons..., she mused. Many commonfolk never got to break out of their monotony, but gnomes more than most itched for the new and exciting. Fundementally, it was the same, she was still cooking and traveling as she would normally, but that dash of danger was sure to scratch whatever itch had been building up over the last couple decades or so. And best of all, her publisher had no reason to deny her cooking volume to the Adventerures guide anthology.

"You can't contribute to a seminal series on adventuring...if you've never been on an adventure or quest-like endeavor!", the response letter from StormHearth had declared and though disappointed at the time, she couldn't really fault their logic. But now, she had two new monster based recipes and a pile of Goblin ears that showed without a shadow of a doubt, whether she deserved to be in that glorious text.

Thanking the group for their efforts and especially Sam for being on perpetual dish duty, Reaaallly need to learn that spell. Poppy hunkered down for the night, and wondered what the next day held in store for them.

The first lesson of the next day was that tallfolk were damned heavy.
"Yow!", the gnome yelled as she found Ruka partially sprawled out before and on her. She rubbed her hip as a painful low throb took hold, early signs of what was sure to be a bruise. "Poppy iz not shoe-", the gnome started to say, until her eyes widened at the unwelcome sight of the familiar greenskinned presence, literal feet from her.Worse, his stench was all over her and her blanket. He SLEPT here with me?, she thought mortified. Sure he didn't DO anything as far as she could tell, but it was a violation, regardless.

Poppy stood up shakily, grogginess quickly dissipating as her hand flew to the sheathed butchers knife at her side, and took two large(ish) steps back away from her bedroll. She wracked her brain for the word 'boundaries' in the goblin lexicon, but quickly realized it was likely a futile effort.

She croaked out what was clearly a threat followed by a question, indicated by her inflection.

Poppy returns to the general area where the group was operating, bringing whatever ears she could salvage from the firepit. There weren't many left, but she thought one or two were still recognizable as ears? Maybe? If she held it this way? One she had collected under later scrutiny was most definitely part of a foot. Gold lost. Hmm...Had she ever eaten goblin? She stopped to pet Arti and consider her mental meal library when she heard Sam's question about resting. "Da?! Iz time to camp? Ura! Ce ușurare. Ve've missed two meals already! No vonder everyone iz so cranky. Ha!"

Poppy seemed to get a spring in her step at the thought of food. It wasn't just a distraction, it was a way of life. She jumped to peeling off cooking equipment from her mule, her eyes locked on a clearing devoid of swampiness, perfect for a blazing fire.
"Somevone please be best adventuring friend to Poppy and secure me a nice, dry sleep spot. Preferably in room vith fewest corpses. I'll revard vith best potato!"

Though the clearing was more of a flatish rock, she nonetheless got to work setting up some her last firewood mixed with what dry kindling could be found nearby, which was admittedly very little. Snapping her fingers and uttering a whispered foul word, a small blue spark erupted, lighting some bark. Once nursed to a respectable height, the gnome broke out her metal utensils and got to work cooking baked potatoes in bacon fat with onions in one covered pan, waiting to split them and dash them with diced cheddar. In her cast iron Bedourie oven she placed six baked apples covered in brown sugar, she'd been saving to celebrate their victory and decided to etch them into cherry blossoms. And so, Poppy toiled away, happily getting lost in her work and relishing the emerging smells.

Cooking Alchemy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (1) + 11 = 12
Artistry: Food Sculpting: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Using Spark cantrip to start the fire. This is all with the assumption that we don't come under attack or no one stops her. With those rolls, she's clearly still processing the days events and so the food will be pretty but only decent in taste.

"And leave this part out, Asuka! I don't vant to read 'Love in the Time of Green Oni' or any such vulgarity!", Regular-Poppy shouted back up to the room as she descended the ladder.

Moving with purpose to distance herself from the goblin spouting love proclamations, she didn't even glance back when she heard something fall against the floor upstairs, cutting the strange language short. Her climbing slowed as she reached the end and caught muffled mentions of her name, one of them being Lor-Sinn

Somebody probably knocked him out, thank Asuka's God. Kaji's HONOR wouldn't allow anyone to kill the goblin. Even Ruka. But at this point, Muckbreath's problems were his own. Instead of climbing back up, she collected Arti and headed towards the bonfire of goblins to see if she could scrounge up an ear or two.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

Regret seemed to be the order of the day as Poppy layed eyes on parts of a Goblin that most no one outside of Anthropologic circles would deem worthy of observation. Poppy could only stare wide eyed at the approaching nude Muckbreath offering itself to her, a battle between disgust, bewilderment, and amusement warred across her face. For a moment, the usually quick witted Poppy was actually at a loss for words and only a startled "Ha!", briefly escaped her lips before she could cover her mouth.

She attempted a stammering and halfhearted diplomatic response,

Slightly shellshocked, she offered an awkward curtsey to the Chief,

Poppy does NOT translate the new Chief's offer, nor her response. Some things are better off unheard.

Dropping the disguise hex. It's served WELL beyond it's purpose. Lol .

Goblin-Poppy entered the recent warzone cautiously, stepping around as warm blood still dripped into the floorboards from a recently decapitated goblin. Her party had sure made a mess in here with their short work of the others, but she was glad that they had the wherewithall not to include HER newly transformed self among them. She scratched at the torn version of her illusory clothing unconciously before looked at the monster curiously and felt pity overwhelm her childhood fear of the creature. I know you'd slit my throat if my back was turned , but is that who you are or how you were raised...?

She realized everyone was staring at her and such ponderings could wait. Do something gross. To defuse any sense of imminent violence, she crouched close and threw up a common nonthreatening gesture, picking at her nose while she spoke.

Poppy ceased her gross manuever and looked through her bag briefly before pulling out one or two food bits. A tomato, large crumbles of parmesan, the last piece of a poppyseed muffin on the verge of staleness and cured strips of beef. She had a feeling which one it'd want most but shoved the muffin and cheese closer to it first as a show of good faith.

If the goblin seems open to terms, Poppy then looked up at the group and asked, "Vhat do you vant to know?"

As Poppy watched for signs of any newcomers to their scuffle, an anxious tingle crept up her neck. The thought that she wasn't helping enough by watching what appeared to be nothing, as shouts of pain emanated from within the room, some of which appeared to be human. They could be dying in there. What are you, watching for foes that aren't there?

When Lor-Sinn dropped her stance and burst into another nearby room behind them, she felt another push from her inner critic to try something different and Kaji's talk of "keeping one alive.", struck a chord in her. "Iz last camel straw broken.", she whispered to herself.

Poppy let the crossbow fall from her hands which caught then hung from its shoulder strap, before muttering a quick chant and rolled her fingers in a curious manner. She imagined the creatures that stalked the caverns of her youth. She thought of the smell and taste of their vile, barely cooked food and embraced their image in her sense memory, a form she hadn't taken in years. She finished with a flourish, twisting her hands from her head down to her toes, a new shape slowly emerging. This new figure appeared to be Poppy, but also not. The green skinned and decidely toothy individual resembled a goblinized version of the gnome, topped by a mohawk of red curls.

"Do NOT strike Goblin-Poppy, or I vill be peessed!", she barked quickly before backing up between Lor-Sinn and Asuka. Her language then turned guttural and piercing in an effort to cut through the cacophonous fight.

Poppy uses her standard action for the Disguise Hex and a move action to snuggle up between her allies and yell at all present.

Poppy briefly looked up from dicing garlic bulbs and answered Proudstump's query. "Şarpe Ciorba Radauteana...eh iz basically Sour snake soup but vith rice. Then iz Gumbo. Usually uze cheekin but snake vill pair fine. Just need extra butter."

She moved quickly and confidently through the cooking process sliding in veggies the group had cut into the gumbo and simmered the snake in oil and herbs before placing it in the concoction as they didn't have six hours to wait for perfection by cooking it with the rest. It'll be fast and messy but still tasty. She was glad that the kitchen was suited for a halfling, so often she had worked with tools and counters meant for tallfolk when not in her cart so this was a nice reprieve. As was cooking together as group. Food tended to bring people together in unique ways and she was glad to see that they were no exception.

Waiting for the food to finish cooking, she tried to help Lor-Sinn pull out the jammed knife from the wooden block, but turned back to address the wounded Kaijitsu. "Iz no trouble. You took brunt of attack so ve didn't haf to. You've done your job, so let me do mine! Ve'll all just have to be careful until next I can rest." she quickly abandoned the stuck blade to those with actual muscles and placed a reassuring hand on Ruka's shoulder, releasing the last of her magics to aid in the warrior's repair with a few whispered words.

CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7

Poppy watches as Ruka exchanges strained words with Ameiko before storming outside and couldn't help but wonder what she had missed while in the kitchen. Regardless, she seemed to be still joining the makeshift group tomorrow so Poppy saw no reason to pursue her.

Poppy took note of Shalelu's instruction, bolstering the Sherriffs previous mention of Brinestump when he'd first arrived and began mentally preparing. I'll need some long boards to tie to the wagon wheels in case mud becomes a concern. WHEN it becomes a concern, as it is a Marsh. We'll need a little extra wood for torches to aid her vision deficient acquaintances after dark. Poppy then overhears the horned ones quip about insects and makes a final mental note. Bug repellent. Definetly need bug repellent.

Suddenly distracted, Poppy turns her attention to the other younger adventurers as they discuss what they could offer to the cause. All in all, it seemed like a talented bunch, many of which thankfully knew how to navigate more treacherous terrain. The cadre seemed to not hear her previous statement over the general excitement of introductions and plans. It was very much contagious. Was this how Sandru use to feel? She couldn't help but smile at the groups enthusiasm. She'd seen many brave hopefuls set out on perilous journeys and had never envied them before, so why now? Their faces either bright with excitement or shimmering with steely resolve. Caught in the moment, she felt what could only be a genuine experience of yearning for glory and fortune. A chance to finally finish her cooking volume! A call for something more! Or maybe it was just indigestion. Time would tell.

Poppy, taking a note out of Asuka's book, suddenly climbs up on a nearby chair and raises her unsheathed spatula in the air in mock triumph. "My name is Poppy Cotton of Cotton's Coach Cookery, wielder of savory spices and champion of second breakfast! I am no hero, nor adventurer. I have no skill vith longblade like Asuka, nor vith bow as dear Kaji claims. And my current magics are more trix zan true enchantment. But I can promise you one zing, you vill not go hungry for true flavor as long as I draw breath. Death to trail rations!", she declared half jokingly to her new allies.