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Slowdrifter reporting in with Tanesh Sundancer. All info should be in my profile.
Hannelia pins the brooch back, then covers it so it’s hidden once more. ”Well I’m always here for you. You know that,” she smiles. ”And yeah, definitely something Constantine would say. Maybe a good reminder for all of us. I went to see him a couple of days ago actually,” Hannelia says. ”I keep hoping he will get better but he clearly suffered a lot of trauma in Ravenmoor. Whatever it was he saw, it’s left some pretty nasty scars.” Emma surely knows this too so perhaps Hannelia is speaking for her own sake. ”And I think he is doing a bit better. But I also think he’s still got a lot to try and understand and work through. He does realise that though, and that helps.” She tosses her hair, still getting used to the new style. ”I guess I’m just worried about things,” she says, getting to the heart of what’s bothering her. An anguished look crosses her face. ”I couldn’t do anything for him,” she says, voice heavy with emotion. ”We were right there when it happened and yet I couldn’t stop it.” She sniffs and wipes away the ghost of tears beginning to form. ”It’s not exactly the same but I know I’m equally powerless in the face of whatever internal church machinations Sirio has become embroiled in,” she continues, everything she’s been bottling up starting to spill over. ”And he’d hate to hear me say it given everything he has been through and how much he needs to be able to do things for himself but dad’s getting older too. Not old by any means, it’s the passage of time that I’m sure will get us all in the end. But I’ve noticed that things he used to do easily seem to be just a fraction harder. And of course there’s now Shel as well. Don’t get me wrong, I love having her around but she can be hard work at times and I just feel responsible all of the time.” She’s on a roll now and all of Hannelia’s fears pour out. ”I just worry that I’ve taken on too much. I love being on the road with my friends and honestly things are great, even when they’re dangerous and hard. Until the point when they’re not. I… I just couldn’t bear for anything to happen to any of you.” ”You almost died, Emma!” she blurts out suddenly, her voice rising. ”You nearly died and I wasn’t even there! Thank goodness Iomedae is keeping watch over you!” Hannelia pauses for breath, her hazel eyes puffy and rimmed with red and the taste of perhaps one too many glasses of wine souring in her mouth. ”I know we all go into whatever we do with eyes open and I respect that choice - we understand each other that way. I’ve had to learn the hard way that I can’t control everything, I can’t protect everyone. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she declares, a note of defiance, slightly tinged with hysteria, in her voice.
Exhausted by events from last night, Ari is fast asleep when Rutilux shouts something about a large snake. She sits bolt upright, snatching Herald-of-Thunder from under her pillow and grabbing the scroll case she had fallen asleep with. Instinctively her thoughts form the word Mistsilver and the blade appears. Not a dream then, she realises. Unless we're having some kind of shared nightmare about giant serpents. The unconcerned tone of Shaggar's voice and Rutilux's less convincing attempts to adopt something similar makes her mind up that whatever it is, it's not an immediate threat. She mentally wills the blade away again and quickly stuffs the scroll case in her pack. She keeps hold of her other dagger though, just in case. Somewhere along the lines in the fug of tiredness last night she apparently made the rather baffling decision to change into her nightdress. Given the potential urgency of the circumstances, and not being prudish about her body, Ari decides that dressing properly can wait. "Morning," she yawns, white eyebrows rising up her face as she catches sight of the gallerok. "Looks like someone's overcompensating for something," she quips, before adding, "Yeah, that was pretty basic. If I said it was beneath me I'd be lying, but I've just been woken up so it's probably not up to my usual standards."
Part III: The Covenant: There is a soft noise, somewhere between a hiss and a fizz emanating from the silvery light. As Ari turns to face it, the noise stops, suggesting the being was signalling her attention. Stowing her new blade quickly and carefully the tiefling is now able to give the mysterious creature her full attention again. From somewhere in the depths of her memory she recalls the name of the creature: a firestar, or moondancer as they are sometimes called, kin to will-o-wisps. The sound stops and a voice speaks. ”We have shown. We speak?” The latter is phrased like a question but more than that, Ari is fairly certain the voice is inside her head. Somewhat rattled by this revelation, she replies in surprise, ”You can speak?!” ”We wait. We have shown. We speak.” There is a certain logic to the statements that Ari can’t refute. This time when she responds, she simply thinks it rather than vocalising it. ”Why did you lead me here?” She tries to keep the tone neutral but paranoia is only ever so far away from the surface and mysterious gifts from mysterious benefactors have set off any number of the tiefling’s warning systems. ”We are ending,” comes the silent reply. ”Ending? Like… dying?” Ari asks. The light blinks, seemingly in affirmation. ”We are no longer we.” Ari scrunches up her face in concentration, trying to parse the creature’s rather alien communication. ”We?” It blinks again. ”We are not we. There is only we. Without we, we will end.” ”You’ve lost someone?” Ari mentally wonders. ”We are not we,” the light repeats, before trying again, ”We are not complete.” Ari purses her lips. She thinks she has understood but it’s not easy to follow the unusual syntax. ”I’m sorry,” she offers. Then, ”This might be a stupid question - and I feel I’ve been asking plenty - but what exactly are you?” The light shrinks slightly, almost as if it is thinking. ”We are Ssszhh.” This last word is like a light humming noise. ”When we were we, we were Sshzsshh.” To Ari the second humming noise seems barely indistinguishable from the first, a slightly longer sound but presumably one invested with meaning. She rubs the heel of her hand on her temple. ”So… your people and your name?” she asks. The light blinks a couple of times in quick succession, which she takes as affirmation. ”Well met then, Sshzsshh,” Ari attempts to wrap her tongue - or at least the equivalent mental action - around the alien word, conscious that she is not able to achieve the precision she would like with something so important as a name. ”I’m Ari. Ari Zarromyr,” she adds. It’s highly unusual for the tiefling to use her full name - not that her family name is anything other than something she made up, having no idea of her origins and no family - and especially so to offer it up unasked. She’s fairly certain she’s never used it with any of her travelling companions, for instance, and they’ve been together for some time now. But something about the intimacy and importance of this encounter causes her to feel that it is important to share a secret at this time. ”Ari,” the light tries. It’s probably a better effort than her own but it’s clear that this is a new addition to its vocabulary, possibly a new concept. ”Ari,” it mentally sends again. ”We could be we.” ”You would like me to help you? Sure, I can do that.” Given the precious gift the creature has led her to, Ari has few qualms about offering some kind of payment in return. In response it repeats, ”We could be we.” Then, suggesting Ari had not quite understood, it tries again. ”We could complete. We will not end.” ”You don’t want to die. Well, that’s hard to argue with.” The tiefling thinks hard, knowing that she is missing something here. ”You don’t seem like you’re being chased or hunted,” she monologues. ”In fact you’ve lost your people - your family, or whatever. But you’re dying anyway? If it’s an age thing, I can’t stop time passing, not even the Gods can do that. So how do I stop that from happening?” She scrutinises the light carefully, looking for any clues in its reaction to her words. ”We could complete,” the light says again, before approaching Ari and trying to touch her hand. Instinctively Ari withdraws it, the same way most people would when touching an open flame. Ari, of course, learned long ago that she could hold her hand in the fire for some time before it hurt, a handy defence in the cutthroat world of the Twin Towers. The creature’s illumination dims - somehow it seems to be conveying disappointment. How does a light look sad? she marvels. Tentatively the light tries to approach again. This time Ari is expecting the action and, against her instincts, she holds her arm out away from her body and they touch. The somewhat insubstantial nature of the light means that her hand is swallowed by the light. She can feel something of the creature’s internal structure, so she realises it is corporeal. It’s a strange sensation as she can feel minute vibrations and the humming, hissing nature of its speech, but not unpleasant and certainly not painful. If the creature has any natural defences then it is deliberately lowering them. As an idea comes to her, Ari says, ”Let me try something.” Slowly, she raises her arm and the creature follows. She then traces a graceful arc before swishing quickly across in the opposite direction. It’s faster than she was anticipating and stays with her hand throughout the actions. ”We could complete,” the light suggests again. ”We could be we.” And then the pieces click into place. ”Oh,” Ari breathes softly, involuntarily vocalising her newfound understanding. ”I think I get it. You have lost your family or group. But it’s more than that - you share some kind of connection with them, as part of a larger organism or something. You’re now cut off and without being part of the whole, you can only survive independently for a period of time before you die.” The light flares brightly. Pleased as she is to have figured out the creature’s dilemma, the tiefling falls quiet as she understands the corollary and what it is proposing. It’s not exactly a small ask and she would surely have to be insane to consider it. Still, better to at least understand the proposition. ”How exactly would it work?” she asks. ”What would happen? We would… merge our minds or something?” Dimming, the light signals a negative. ”We would be we. We would be…” it is the creature’s turn to search for the right words. It then flares and grow as brightly as possible and says, ”Ari” before shrinking and dimming and saying, ”Sshzsshh.” An unequal partnership, Ari realises, and one in her favour. To reinforce its point, the light repeats its own name before extracting itself from Ari’s hand and glows up again, circling around the tiefling and giving her name once more. ”Let me check this,” she says. ”You would join with me, but only my hand?” The light blinks in agreement. ”Because,” Ari says, trying to follow the logic, ”you need to be part of a whole to survive. And because I am not a firestar, I am… bigger? more powerful? I would still make up most of the whole?” The creature blinks again. Ari puffs out her cheeks. ”I did say I owed you a favour but this is asking an awful lot. It’s obvious why you would benefit from this arrangement but what’s in it for me? Why would I agree to this?” The light floats back over to Ari’s hand and engulfs it once more. And then it takes the lead and moves, with the tiefling’s hand following. In a reversal of what Ari did earlier, the firestar goes through movements to demonstrate its speed and range of motion. As quick and dextrous as the tiefling is, her hand is moving more swiftly and with tighter control than it ever has before. Eyes wide as her hand moves without her control, Ari thinks through the implications. ”So I wouldn’t just be harbouring you - it would be a truer partnership then. We would work together?” The agreement she is expecting is there. ”Could we still communicate like this?” Ari asks, considering something. The light dims as the firestar responds in the negative. Trying to follow the logic, not to mention the major implications, Ari asks, ”Because we only share the hand, nothing more?” As the expected confirmation comes, Ari audibly exhales again, realising what the creature is giving up. And realising, too, that she’s not wholly sure how she feels about that. Truly, she’s not sure how she feels about anything which has happened this night but she has followed the path she believes Leira has set before her this far and deep down she knew a while ago that she was going to walk it to the end. ”Do it,” she says suddenly. Setting aside her usual caution and suspicions, Ari chooses to embrace the opportunity as the divine gift she believes it to be. And wants to get it over and done with before she can talk herself out of it. ”We will be we,” she reiterates, holding aloft her right hand. With her left she holds the newly found holy text. She flexes her fingers, stretching them out and bending them fully over backwards in her full, unnatural range of movement as she awaits what will come. The firestar flashes a few times and orbits around Ari’s head, perhaps saying goodbye in its own way to this chapter of its life. It settles around the tiefling’s hand once more and again she feels the strange vibrations as it does so. Her eyes remain focused on it but it’s what she can feel that is the overriding sensation. The light pulses constantly now and she can see it begin to shrink in upon itself. At the same time the pulse goes through her hand and her fingers are slowly pulled inwards. The strength required to pull in the force keeps increasing but Ari is merely the vessel here. Finally her fingers are bound inwards in a fist so tight that her hand begins to throb. At this point the creature is no bigger than the nail on her little finger, though the power she can feel it exerting is exponentially more. Then, with a flare of blinding silver light that fills the room, the firestar is no more. Ari’s hand flies open involuntarily as a reaction against the surge of power and she blinks rapidly, looking at her hand. Very faintly she hears ”We have completed,” in her head. Or at least she believes she does, though she also knows that most endings don’t tie up quite so neatly. Inspecting her hand closely, she can discern no outward sign of the firestar - or that it was ever there. She wasn’t exactly expecting it to be limned in silver but Ari is perhaps a little disappointed that there isn’t any visible sign of the change. She can feel it though, as Sshzsshh pulses to let her know that it is there. The quarters may be cramped and uncomfortable but Ari leans back against the cold stone, exhausted. Quite how long she sits there like that she doesn’t know, but it’s a good chunk of time before she feels ready to move. She knows that it will be a much longer period of time before she truly understands everything that has happened tonight and comes to terms with it mentally and emotionally. But right now that can at least be done from the relative comfort of a bed. Ari scans the room quickly and inserts the stone block back in the wall. Satisfied that she has left no trace, she offers a parting prayer to the Lady of Mists before lowering herself down out of the hole to the floor. Her head is buzzing but she simultaneously feels exhausted. Checking for danger in the street, she climbs back out of the window. Clutching her precious treasure tightly in her newly shared hand and a dagger in the other, Ari sets off quickly from the pawnshop to the inn. She doesn’t look back.
Part II: The Gift: She emerges into a small crawl space, narrowly avoiding bashing her head as she rises up through the hole. Ari sits, which she can at least manage comfortably, and takes in her surrounds. The space is not big, not like a proper attic, but has clearly been deliberately dug out of the rock given the regular dimensions and smooth walls. Some kind of bolt hole? she wonders. Or a hidden storage space? Deliberately constructed it might have been but casting her eyes around the small space there doesn’t appear to be anything else in it. The orb drifts to one side and blinks a couple of times. A signal. It goes against all of Ari’s instincts, her fingers twitching reflexively, but she stays her hand and removes it from the hilt of Herald-of-Thunder. Rationally she processes her thoughts. If it was going to do me some harm it presumably would have done so by now. Besides, is steel even going to do anything against a ball of light? She edges closer and crouches down, realising the creature is indicating part of the wall. Running her fine fingers across the wall she feels a join that goes round in a rectangle. Ari gets down on her hands and knees to peer at it. It is clearly expertly crafted as even knowing it is there the seam is barely visible. Logic dictates that such a perfect fit is going to be impossible to remove by simply manipulating it with her hands so she begins searching for some kind of button or trigger in the hope that there’s a mechanism. If it requires magic to open then short of divine intervention from Leira herself she knows there’s no way she could do so. Just as she has this thought, she finds what she is looking for: a small indent on the floor. As she sits back up, she realises that the orb seems to be watching her. Ari retrieves a thin piece of wire from her new toolset and inserts it gently into the hole. Soundlessly a block of stone slides forward, allowing her to gain purchase on it and the tiefling pulls it all the way out. Setting it down gently, she looks inside the hidden space behind. There are some jars that appear to be full of brown sludge, presumably once foodstuffs. A waterskin, now empty and releasing a stale smell as she unstoppers it corroborates the supposition. Given how many years this cache may have lain untouched, she wisely opts not to open any of the jars. She shifts them out of the way and behind Ari discovers something that looks much more interesting. The tiefling fishes out a small scroll case, dark slate grey with subtle silver veins and around six inches in length. The caps at either end are engraved with patterns of overlapping triangles and spirals in a geometric design and Ari exhales sharply. ”Tluin,” she swears softly. To the uninitiated, the decoration would appear simply as attractive ornamentation. However, to a worshipper of the Mother of All Illusion like Ari, the symbol of Leira, carefully hidden at the heart of the design stands out as clear as Selûne on a cloudless night. This is not a coincidence, she realises. This is a gift. Ari clutches the scroll case to her chest with one hand, the other tracing the invisible holy symbol tattooed on her hip. She kisses the cold stone floor. ”The grace to hide, the words to weave, the secrets to hold,” she recites quietly. ”Lady of the Mists, may I prove myself worthy of such a gift.” She flexes her shoulders as she sits up. Only once she has made her offering of thanks does Ari try to remove the caps. One of them appears to be fixed in place but the other she is able to carefully unscrew. There is a core rod of highly polished silver that runs through the centre of the case and around this is a tightly wound scroll that she is able to remove by tilting it and then grasping it with the tips of her fingers. Unfurling it, she can see it is thin paper of the highest quality, showing no signs of wear or weathering. When completely unrolled It is fully five feet in length and covered in tiny script accentuated with images. It bears the title “Beneath the Mantle: Lifting the Veil of Mists”. Ari scans the section below and sees that it is divided into numerous sections. There is a diary entry, a basic prayer to Leira, a myth of the goddess that she knows. She keeps skimming and discovers passages written in another language, or perhaps in code, images hidden within larger pictures, much like the scroll’s cap and much else besides. A holy text of Leira, then. Based on her studies, the document will be rich with hidden messages, layers of meaning, intrigues to unpick and much else besides. It takes a lot of self-restraint - something that does not always come easily to the tiefling - not to sit and read the whole thing now, though she grudgingly accepts that this is neither the time nor the place to do so. Rolling it back up, she inserts the scroll back around the silver rod. As she goes to replace the cap she notices a pair of overlapping runes inlaid in silver on the inside of the lid. She recognises them as symbols for ‘mist’ and ‘silver’. ”Mistsilver?” she wonders quietly aloud. At the word the cylinder seems to blur for a second and Ari blinks in surprise. No longer is she holding a scroll case but the hilt of a dagger. Where the top had been is now a blade: polished to a reflective sheen and yet also appearing somewhat insubstantial. She gingerly reaches out to touch with a finger, testing if it is merely an illusion. The blood that wells up from the nick in her skin gives her the answer. The blade is both real and honed to a fine edge. ”Mistsilver,” she says again and it becomes a scroll case once more. Ari speaks the command word for a third time and the dagger is back. Instinctively she keeps hold of the hilt and this time merely thinks the word. The blade vanishes just as it had when she spoke it aloud. ”Tluin,” she curses again. A mystery of a holy text that can turn into a weapon with a thought. This is a queenly gift. As malleable as truth can be, know that I am yours, Lady of Mists.
Part I: The Messenger: The feeling of millions of tons of rock overhead is oppressive and Ari can’t sleep. In spite of their exertions, she has been tossing and turning and the realm of dreams feels no closer. Sighing inwardly she sits up and abandons the idea for the moment. ”Going to get some fresh air,” she smiles at the deep gnome who is on watch; the air in the Underdark is stale and devoid of movement and feels the same within Brzaenthrone as it did outside. ”I won’t go far and I’m not looking for trouble.” A little adventure though maybe. Or at least something, even if a little fun seems off the table. It doesn’t take long for her to be well and truly alone in the dark. In reality Ari knows the others are mere minutes away but in the abandoned city it doesn’t feel like it. Her eyes have fully adjusted to the pitch black and she can see as clearly as under the sun thanks to a gift of her fiendish heritage. She keeps walking in a straight line down a street of empty buildings. She takes a few turns, confident that she can find her way back but some doubt kicks in when she hits a fork that she can’t recall. Perhaps she missed it earlier, perhaps she’s not quite where she thought she was. Either way, Ari thinks, it’s probably time to turn back. Before she starts to retrace her steps, however, she catches sight down a side street of the of a small light somewhere in the distance. Depth perception down here can be strange and Ari can’t tell how far away it might be. The light doesn’t appear to be moving but it suddenly winks out before flashing back on just as quickly. Ari waits, watching. After perhaps ten seconds, though she’d have sworn it was far longer, the light blinks a second time. She pauses, the usually self-confident young woman momentarily unsure. The light blinks again. If Ari didn’t know better she would have said that it was signalling to her. She racks her brains for a memory of a traveller’s tale that she half-remembers. All she can only conjure up, however, is an echo of all too many dark bard’s stories, ending with wanderers following a light into some kind of trouble and meeting a grisly end or a fate unknown. She shakes her head and in a flash it comes to her and she dredges up from somewhere a children’s rhyme. Not that she learned it as a child, but never mind. She recites it under her breath:
She narrows her eyes and squints at the glowing ball. It is silvery. Another half-remembered lesson from the Cavern of Mists floats into her mind. Will-o’-wisps can be a manifestation or sign from Leira. Whether that bodes good or ill for the recipient is naturally unclear, as is to be expected from the goddess of illusions. Ari traces the hidden tattoo on her hip, a prayer for guidance from her goddess on her lips. If there is a reply it comes only in the form of the silver ball blinking once more. She makes up her mind and pads softly towards it. For good or ill. Her sense of perspective seems off, or perhaps there is just confusion around distances down here in the dark as she doesn’t feel like she’s getting any closer. It’s not easy to tell but she quickly realised that the glowing orb is moving too, leading her somewhere. She stops again, unsure, and turns back around towards the direction of the inn. Although Ari knows it is so close by and that the city is far less deserted than it currently feels, the lack of light and sound makes her feel like there might not be another soul for miles around. The light blinks again. If they find my body to bury they can write ‘She was a fool’ on the headstone, she thinks, starting to follow again. The silver ball leads her around a couple of corners, waiting for her to catch up so she doesn’t lose it. The sense of time down here is warped and though it feels like she has been chasing it for ages, rationally she knows it can’t have been for more than a handful of minutes. Ari is close to it now and she can sense rather than hear it faintly humming. As she approaches, the light lifts up and disappears through the broken window of a building. So intent was she on following it, she hadn’t been paying much attention to the rows of buildings. The faded signage outside announces that it was once a pawnbroker’s shop, though it seems highly unlikely that it has done any trade in years. She checks for any remnants of glass and, satisfied she’s not about to cut herself up by doing so, Ari slips through the window after the light. The room does indeed resemble an empty shop and after checking the surroundings she heads into the backroom where she can see the light. As she enters, she sees it vanish through a hole in the ceiling where a panel has been removed. Ari grabs a chair and moves it under the whole. It looks to be sturdy dwarfcraft so she’s not worried about it collapsing under her weight. She is, however, much more concerned about what might be waiting for her up there. With a quick silent prayer, she hoists herself up. It turns out to be something of a squeeze to wriggle through even for the slim tiefling as she climbs up. Pushing her white-maned head through the hole, she prays that she is not about to become dinner for a grick or something even worse.
Welcome home, Hannelia. What have you been up to?: With summer having slowly turned to early autumn, the heatwave continues to play out so Hannelia is keen to enjoy the fine weather while it lasts and also to catch up with her friends. As much as she enjoyed her time in Absalom, the young woman still worried about things back in Saringallow. While she knows full well that her father and Shel are perfectly capable of looking after themselves, Hannelia’s protective nature means she can’t help but feel the burden of responsibility and a duty of care for them both. She’s looking forward to finding out what Shel has been doing and, given the girl tends to wear her heart on her sleeve, how she’s been feeling. Seeking to slay two birds with the same arrow, she suggests to Shel that the two of them go blackberrying. The girl jumps at the chance and they pack food for a picnic, setting off after morning chores.
It might be late in the season but Hannelia knows a secret spot a little way outside of town that she expects will still be flush with fruit. Leaving Saringallow by one of the west gates, the pair make their way through the Conerics Paths before leaving it and heading cross-country. About an hour’s walk brings them to a small, dense copse that Zuke first introduced her to as a teenager. It may be limited in size but it is packed with useful plants, both edible and medicinal. Shel points out some of the plants that she knows, sometimes by other names, while Hannelia leads her to a sizeable thicket of brambles still heavy with fruit. Fat, luscious berries, their jewels sticky with promise, are ripe for the picking. As the two women begin their harvest, Shel lets Sage out. While the mouse scampers around at ground level, nibbling away, she says, not for the first time, ”I do like your new hair, it looks real fancy.” ”It should do, the amount it cost,” Hannelia replies drily. ”I’m still not sure about it - or at least I’m still getting used to it,” she adds more seriously. She’s had it bobbed so it’s a fair bit shorter than she is used to, and neither is it tied up in her customary ponytail. Hannelia shakes her head from side to sore and the bob well and truly bobs as she does so. ”Well I think it suits you,” Shel says. Hannelia wrinkles her nose. ”I felt very out of place when I was getting it done. I swear everyone else there was a noblewoman or a politician or someone else important. I’m sure they knew I was a fraud.” There is a note of doubt in her voice that is unusual for the normally self-confident young woman. ”Probably a sensible precaution to change my appearance a bit though,” she adds. ”You got as much right to be there as any of them and I bet they ain’t done any of the amazing stuff you have,” Shel says supportively. ”Anyway, are you going to tell me what you were actually doing that requires a new haircut as a precaution?” Hannelia considers for a second before answering. ”You know I can’t tell you exactly,” she says carefully as Shel’s face falls in the way she was anticipating. ”I’m sworn to secrecy and while I have no real worries about any retribution - our tracks have been more than adequately covered - it’s still safer to not to know, just in case.” While this is most likely Hannelia’s natural caution kicking in, as her first direct mission for the Pathfinder Society she is also keen to follow instructions and make a good impression. ”I haven’t told any of the others,” she adds, ”so it’s not that I don’t trust you, Shel. What I will say - and I haven’t told anyone else this - was that it ended up being rather more like a heist than intended.” Shel’s face lights up, obviously pleased to be let in on a secret and her interest has clearly been piqued. ”Which is why we ended up with a lot of unexpected gold. Thanks again for distributing the presents, seems they were timely gifts as well.” With the barest of touches to her lower arm, Shel’s outfit changes to a sparkling ballgown as she demonstrates her own present, clearly having now mastered the magic. Hannelia mirrors the action and she, too, is instantly adorned in splendid eveningwear. The two women grin at each other. With a further touch they each revert back to garb more suitable for fruit picking. Shel looks like she’s about to say something else but the moment passes and she remains quiet. ”Feels like a good time to break for lunch,” Hannelia says and she opens her new backpack. She pulls out a large picnic blanket and spreads it on the ground, before withdrawing food and drinks, suitable vessels for holding them, and a pair of folding chairs that definitely should not fit inside. A container that not only fits far more inside than the outside space allows and that precisely orders things could not be better designed for Hannelia and it’s fair to say the woman is delighted with her purchase from the markets of Absalom. Sitting back in the autumn heat, Hannelia and Shel enjoy a leisurely lunch of many of the finest comestibles Saringallow has to offer, including a loaf from Gunty’s and even a small flask of lightly sparkling wine from the Witch’s End. When they’re done, they continue to sit and chat for a while before returning to fill their pails with fruit. After a while, and having decided that it might be easier to talk if they are doing something else at the same time, Hannelia says gently, ”Would you like to tell me what’s on your mind? Something’s bothering you and you’ve been threatening to tell me about it for the past couple of days.” Taken slightly aback that she is so easy to read, Shel’s instinct is to get defensive. Hannelia laughs, not unkindly, and cuts her off before she can protest. ”Sorry Shel, it was kind of obvious - but that’s because I know you,” she explains. Somewhat mollified, Shel nods and composes herself. ”Yeah, alright. There is something I wanted to ask you about. I ain’t even said anything to Jhessa yet. She listens to everything properly and gives great advice but I know she would say she believed me without question. I reckon you’ll tell me true what you think.” Hannelia keeps her face fairly neutral. ”It’s a good thing to have a friend like that,” she says, ”and Jhessa’s no fool. But I understand what you’re saying,” she adds before the girl can jump in to defend her friend unnecessarily. ”And thank you,” she says quietly, then gives Shel the space to talk. ”Um, well,” she begins hesitantly, before plunging straight in. ”My dreams come true. Or some of them do anyway. While you was away I had a dream about dragons. And then your friends did fight dragons - two of them - on behalf of another dragon! And before you say it was just a coincidence, I know that it was connected to my dream. I can’t explain how I know but I do; it wasn’t like other dreams.” She casts around, looking for the right words to help. ”It were both more and less real than a normal dream. It felt so vivid and clear that I was there, could smell the smoke on their breath and taste the last meat they ate, but at the same time I was also detached. Sort of like I knowed I was dreaming and was watching the whole thing through a window.” She looks imploringly at Hannelia, desperate to be believed. Hannelia thinks for a while before answering. ”I’ve never met anyone who has claimed such an ability before, but that’s not really a good measure of anything. However, I have seen an increasing number of strange and wonderful things in the past few months that may sound implausible to someone else so I’d be a fool to dismiss it out of hand, even if it was a stranger telling me this rather than you.” The corners of her mouth lift up into a small smile. ”I certainly think it likely that some people do have such a gift though. There are just too many stories and accounts for it to be otherwise, I think. Some of them I’m sure are simply coincidence, others housewives’ gossip or tavern talk. But there are many tales that are otherwise difficult to explain and that have been supported by credible sources. So if you think you sometimes have dreams that show glimpses of the future, Shel, then I have no reason to doubt you.” Her smile gets broader, hoping to appease the girl’s worries about sharing something personal that she was obviously worried about being disbelieved or even ridiculed for. The relief on Shel’s face is obvious. ”Is this the first time it’s happened?” Hannelia asks after giving Shel a little time to process the response. Shel rubs her forehead with her hand. ”Yes,” she says. Then, ”Actually, no. It’s definitely the first time where I knowed I was seeing something real that weren’t a normal dream. But I think now that it has happened before, maybe three or four times I can think of. They were small things so I just assumed they was coincidences, like you said, and didn’t realise what had happened at the time. They wasn’t as clear as this time neither.” She looks directly at Hannelia. ”Does that make sense?” The woman nods. ”It does. Often we can only see patterns and understand more clearly in hindsight. Have you always been able to do this then? Since you were a child?” ”No.” Shel shakes her head. ”First time it happened was a couple of weeks after my first blood offering to the Dream Tender.” As she says the words, a look of discomfort appears on her face. ”Sorry,” she says, reddening, ”I’ve never learned another name for it.” ”It’s fine,” Hannelia reassures her, ”I know exactly what you mean. And I’d usually say monthly blood, or moon’s blood. But please carry on.” Shel’s brow wrinkles a little as she commits the terms to memory. ”I remember it real vivid.” The girl’s face is animated now. ”Sorry, I’m not explaining right. My memory of events is very clear, not the dream itself. I don’t know that I even really would have said it was a dream exactly, things was real hazy, but I do know that one morning I woke up knowing that Jory Podani was going to try and rob the shop that night. Not just steal something but take all the money,” she clarifies. Hannelia silently encourages her to continue. ”Well I didn’t really know what to do. I couldn’t tell anyone because I didn’t have no evidence and who would believe a girl over one of the best-liked men in the village. I just felt real sick and worried all day and I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep.” ”Anyone would feel the same,” Hannelia reassures her. Shel looks grateful, if slightly sick at the recollection even now, years later. ”I don’t know what time it was but it was very late in the darkest part of the night when I heared him come in. He was so quiet there’s no way I would have heared him if I wasn’t expecting it. Momma and Poppa didn’t wake up neither. I still didn’t know what to do and I still don’t really know why I did it but I crept downstairs quiet as a mouse and I screamed. Then they did wake up.” The ghost of a smile plays on Shel’s face, but there’s no mirth in it. ”Then it was all chaotic as I must have woken up some of the other villagers and then Mayor Kriegler came and I had to explain what happened. I said I had heared something and had woken up and everyone believed me. I mean, why wouldn’t they? But Jory’s face said that he didn’t, he couldn’t believe that anyone could have done.” She runs her blackberry-stained hands down her dress, thinking. ”Maybe he had some kind of silent magic or something? I don’t know.” ”I didn’t know what was going to happen to him but Mayor Kriegler said that we were a small community and that we shouldn’t turn on each other. He said we look after our own and that Jory would learn his lesson.” Having met the mayor, Hannelia raises her eyebrows, both at the surprising benevolence of his words and the sinister double meaning hidden within them. Shel clearly realises this too, likely for the first time, and she exhales deeply. She sits down on the blanket, shaking slightly as she says, ”So he wasn’t punished, not in public. But a few months later, once everything had died down and people had started to forget, Jory left the village. It was said he’d gone to live with a cousin someplace else. Senara maybe it was?” The way she says the place name suggests that it may as well have been in Irrisen for all most Ravenmoor folk knew of the outside world. Hannelia lowers herself to the floor too and the two women sit silently, neither needing to vocalise the obvious fact that Jory Podani never left the village alive. Sensing his mistress’ distress, Sage scampers along Shel’s arm and she strokes him absentmindedly. Hannelia reaches out and squeezes her other hand. ”None of that was your fault,” she says softly. ”I know,” Shel replies. ”I ain’t responsible for his actions.” ”Nor for anything that happened after,” Hannelia agrees. ”I hope you didn’t give yourself a hard time over it at the time though.” ”Not really. I didn’t understand and I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do anything and over time it sort of just became this weird thing that happened to me,” Shel says. ”You didn’t speak to anyone about it?” Hannelia asks, though she’s pretty sure she knows the answer. ”Your parents?” Shel barks out a laugh that serves as an answer. Tentatively Hannelia says, ”I know things aren’t easy at the moment and there’s no hurry but it might be worth speaking to your dad about it at some point. It’s said that such gifts can often run in families,” she adds, by way of explanation. Puffing out her cheeks, Shel exhales deeply in recognition of the current strain between father and daughter. Hannelia squeezes her hand again in understanding. ”It’s completely up to you,” she says softly. ”Obviously.” Shel leans forward and wraps her arm around Hannelia, pulling her into a hug. ”Thank you,” she says. ”For believing me.” As something of an afterthought Hannelia asks, ”You weren’t tempted to say anything to Majara and the others?” Shel shakes her head. ”I didn’t know what it meant at the time. And besides-“ ”You weren’t sure what to say or that they would believe you,” Hannelia finishes for her as she realises she already knew the answer to the question. ”Exactly,” Shel says. ”For a second I thought Mister Hawk was going to ask me about it but he didn’t and I’m sort of glad so I didn’t have to say anything.” After Shel disengages, the two women sit there in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the autumn sunshine, before talk turns once again to matters less serious. With the brambles picked sufficiently clean and all their containers full to bursting with glistening inky purple fruit, the pair eventually make ready to leave. Standing, Hannelia checks they have everything and that it is all carefully stowed away before offering Shel her hand to help her up. She loops her arm through the younger woman’s in a sisterly fashion and the two set off for home. Yes, she thinks, it’s been a good day.
Although he is getting increasingly frustrated trying to get the Hellfire Rod to reveal its secrets to him, at least Hawk is able to identify what the final two scrolls do: one counters magic, the other heals physical or mental ailments, and both have obvious uses. He looks fine in his new hat, too.
Is Hawk’s hat ready early?
Ari nods at Kiley's words rather than uttering a reply, biting down the laugh that rises to her throat. Trust is something that still does not come readily to the tiefling. She's been burned before and her default assumption remains that people are ultimately out for themselves. Besides, most people who look at her tend to react initially with the same fear and suspicion they do when greeted with a gnoll so it's not like she's in a position to judge. Still, she realises that she does trust the group to have her back at least, for reasons of mutual protection if nothing else. They're an odd collection of misfits and outsiders and perhaps that's why it works. The others all seem to have accepted her for what she can do at the very least, and don't seem concerned about what she is. As for who she is, it's not like she's offered up too much of herself - better that way, cloak yourself in layers for your own protection - but they seem to work alright as a team. She's not here to make friends. Probably. Or so she tells herself. Best not to dwell on such things too much though, lest she is forced to examine things more deeply.
”Go wrestle with Umberlee, you oversized mutt,” Ari-as-Haliyouna replies gruffly. Then, in her normal voice, Ari adds, ”I thought it was funny, even if my watery friend here doesn’t share my sense of humour.” She then rearranges her face to look sternly at Shaggar.
With Shaggar slicing up the grick into fish bait, and the other worm vanishing at speed, Ari saunters over to Kiley. She inspects the door contraption but she tends to work on these things more on instinct than figuring out exactly how they work. "You know, I'm not sure I can," she frowns.
From what she understands of the tough hides of these creatures, Ari isn't convinced that she can even hurt them with her bow. Still, worth a go, she supposes, sidling up to Kiley and mirroring the other tiefling's action with her own shortbow. As it turns out, her aim is bang on and she plant an arrow right into the grick's face.
GM rolls:
As you carefully make your way deeper into the Scorchfeathers territory, the volume of the background chatter feels like it has been turned up. Roger and Nerissia help you pick a path through the trees until you come around a rocky outcropping to be greeted with a loud animal screech, followed by excited laughter and cheers of triumph. A large avian creature with stunted wings is struggling to break free from a dirty mass surrounding its legs. A trio of small, greenskinned humanoids cackle and cheer as they fire arrows near the trapped bird. Overhead another goblin mounted on an oversized bird of prey circles around, laughing madly along with its earthbound comrades. They appear to be wholly engrossed in taunting the captured bird. Emma's mind is similarly elsewhere, perhaps thinking how much she would prefer to be munching on one of Gunty's pastries rather than trekking through this endless woodland.
Knowledge nature DC 12:
The flightless bird the goblins have caught is an axe beak. It is prone to charging and tripping its opponents, at least when able to move.
"The Order of the Aster!" Joreld says with surprise. "I've always.." But then the paladin quiets himself. "It would be an honor to become a member of that elite Lathanderite force... But I am a Huntsilver. I have many family obligations awaiting me on my return to Suzail." Joreld smiled. ”Perhaps I can speak with Lynthaen tomorrow, after Sunrise Mass.” Harndarr returns the smile. ”You would be most welcome. I am sure he would relish the opportunity. Until the morrow then.” * * * * * "Was there a map in the offer?" she asks Tunfer when he pauses for questions. "And supplies; horses, at least, for those of us that prefer to ride." ”To your second point first,” Tunfer says to Ialia, ”we can certainly provide you with mounts. I did not to wish to presume any preference or skill with a horse on anybody’s part but if you desire it then it shall be so.” "Though my own healing abilities are spent", the red warrior answered, "it may be unlikely we will need them before tomorrow, if we were to leave immediately. I understand that Labelas Enoreth is of the Essence to seek out Glanwyn." ”I would gently suggest that you ensure you are fully prepared before you leave,” Cariamma says. ”Options to resupply elsewhere will be few. A lot of these villages are scarcely more than a handful of farms. It would be fair to say these places will be quite different to Suzail or Selgaunt.” She looks from Joreld to Ialia as the big city dwellers. ”I beg forgiveness, the fault is surely mine, but I am unsure why you are invoking one of the Seldarine, Lord Huntsilver? Please could you elaborate.” ”We had been discussing the lay of the land previously - I believe we covered the rough area we believe Glanwyn was likely in.” Tunfer beckons you all over to a large and detailed map of the Dale spread out on the table. "We know he took the Tethyamar Trail down south and stopped through the three villages here.” The priest points to a trio of places marked Anathar’s Dell, Nettle and Upper Nettle. ”That was the last we heard from him,” Cariamma confirms. ”We assume he was somewhere between the Dagger and the Tesh.” She picks out the two rivers running broadly in an east-west direction. ”He would have planned to call in on these two villages - Dagger Springs and Goldfields. Unlike some of the villages, the Zhentarim drove out or slew the whole population when they conquered the Dale. Both have been resettled and are recovering slowly. Stonehouse,” she points to another spot on the map, ”was abandoned decades ago when the quarry ran out.” ”It’s regularly occupied by orcs, goblins, sometimes bandits,” Tunfer says. ”At least until some enterprising group kicks them out and then another band of greenskins moves in and the cycle begins anew. Glanwyn would have gone to scout out it’s current occupants but he’s no fool and would not have engaged unless he was extremely confident he could remove any threat himself. Even then, it’s a big risk when travelling solo so seems unlikely.” Cariamma nods in agreement, though worry lines crease her face as she does so. ”He would have given this place a wide berth and I would ask you to as well.” She points to Gwathburg on the map. ”It is ruled by some kind of army of undead, or so the stories say, but they have always kept themselves to themselves so travellers just steer clear. I'm sure he would have stayed away. Unless there was something out of the ordinary. No, I just can’t see any reason why Glan would break that. But what if–” ”Stop equivocating, Cariamma,” Tunfer interjects. The tone is firm but there is a kindness to it as well. ”Glanwyn is one of the most patient, least hot-headed people I’ve ever met. We’ve just agreed that it’s unlikely he would launch a solo attack on a bunch of goblins. He’s not going to single-handedly march into a castle full of the living dead.” ”He’s right,” Rissa agrees, looking over at Cariamma with large sympathetic eyes. The gnome is stood on a chair next to the table and has been surprisingly quiet for a while. ”It’s got some interesting history though - Gwathburg, that is. It’s the reason why Daggerdale is called Daggerdale. Would you believe that it used to be called Merrydale? Well, it did until a large number of vampires originating from the castle spread across the Dale and people decided that such a cheerful name didn’t seem very appropriate any more. Which is fair enough really. I can’t find out anything about Gwath though.” Rissa looks disappointed. ”You’d think that there would be more stories if you’ve given your name to a place but I’ve struggled to find anything. I think they must have been some kind of undead though given what we do know about it. A vampire is likely, obviously, because of what I just said. But they might have been a lich or something else too.” ”Thank you for that history lesson, Rissa,” Tunfer cuts her off as the gnome seems to be getting into her stride. ”Whatever lives there, I am not aware of any conflict or even involvement with anyone outside the walls of Gwathburg in decades. According to Zhent records we found here they mounted an expedition there many years ago but apparently it vanished without trace. They never tried again. But nor did they believe that they suffered any reprisals.” The Tyrran priest does not look as if he particularly enjoys the idea of having those kind of neighbours but he continues, ”Frankly we have more than enough other issues as it is. Glanwyn would not have gone anywhere near that castle and I am not willing to sanction a fool’s errand which risks stirring up something powerful and unknown.” ”The other place I would ask you to avoid is Green Orb. Glanwyn passed by going down the Trail anyway, but it’s politically sensitive. It’s a fairly wealthy place and a lot of the villagers have sympathies with the Zhentarim still. They don’t much care for outsiders. Make no mistake, it’s a thorn in the foot but we’re dealing with it.” Tunfer looks pointedly at you all to ensure that you have received the message. ”I think that covers the western Dale,” Cariamma says. ”And while that is a special case, it’s not just the people of Green Orb who may be wary. Dalesfolk are a resilient lot but many of these people are still getting used to freedom after either fighting hard for it or suffering under the Zhent yoke for a long time. I would caution you to be mindful of this and use sensitivity and care.” ”I appreciate that was a lot of information to absorb. Any questions?” Tunfer asks.
This is not feeling great, is it? I have reached out to Tara but with no reply. I'm assuming nobody else has heard anything? Obviously I think everyone understands that life happens, often unexpectedly, so I'm happy to wait a bit longer. Mostly just hope that she's ok.
In terms of stat adjustments, I set out my general opinions in the original recruitment thread. I also want to make it as easy as possible so you nobody has a ton of reworking to do. To that end...
I'm also conscious that I don't want to keep people waiting so I intend to get a first gameplay post up today so you can start making in character introductions etc. I'm assuming that none of your characters know each other, though I welcome pre-existing connections if you think it makes sense and want to work on them. This can be done in the background though, it isn't going to hold up getting started (same with stat tweaking etc.) @Tara The above also applies if you're still working on your character. No worries if they're not finished but provided you've got an alias you'll be able to jump right in.
After much deliberation I have made my final decisions. Would the following please make their way to the discussion thread and say hello. TheWaskally - Joreld Huntsilver (human paladin)
Thank you again to everybody for taking the time to apply, giving me a lot of interesting reading and difficult choices, and for responding to my queries. Best of luck and happy gaming to all.
I’m very excited (and, if I’m honest, a little daunted!) to be playing with you all but we’ve got some great characters and players here so I think that will translate into a great game. I’m sure you’re all keen to get things started but I wanted to run through some general housekeeping and things first. Hopefully much of this is ‘common sense’ and what you would expect of other games on the boards, though I know that can be a very subjective term so better to be clear from the start. I know there’s a lot here but I think it’s useful so there’s no tl;dr I’m afraid. Information I’m a firm believer that we’re all ultimately playing here together on the same side. My role as GM is to help create and facilitate fun stories and situations, not to be adversarial. This is supposed to be fun for everyone. To that end, I think the onus is on everybody to post regularly and keep things moving, though as GM ultimately I am that bit more responsible and that comes with the territory. I know we aspire to a post a day but I also know from experience that everybody has other things going on and sometimes life gets busy, sometimes unexpectedly. Hopefully we have enough players to move things along and pick up the slack when somebody is a bit quieter. And, if possible, a heads up is always appreciated. To that end I plan on using Discord for general group chat. I’ve found it to be very helpful in my longest running games and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. It allows for quick communication, gives people a good place to chat out of character and aids group bonding, all of which is useful in keeping a successful game going. Just in case anyone is sceptical - and this is purely anecdotal - I’d never used it prior to my first game on the boards and I definitely see the value it brings so please give it a try. I’ve not found it has mattered but just so you all know I’m based in the UK so probably operating in a different timezone to many of you. And with two small children I’m usually up before some west coast US folks have gone to bed! I know everybody will be coming in with different levels of knowledge of the Forgotten Realms - I’m a big fan and this was one of my inspirations for deciding to run the game. Building knowledge is also not helped by edition changes and inconsistencies (maps, deities and the planes are things that seem to change and shift every edition). To reiterate, we’re playing in a 2E/3E era timeline, starting in 1373 DR, so this is all pre-Spellplague. There are plenty of resources online and the wiki is generally a good place to start. It’s full of information though you do have to get used to the fact it’s written in the past tense and bouncing around between articles isn’t always the most coherent way to absorb information. The relative paucity of lore developments in the 4E/5E era also means that the majority of information there should be relevant. I’m also always happy to answer questions and please prod me if I get lost in the weeds with niche lore or information dumps. I’ll always want to make sure that you know the things that are important and anything else that is window dressing but helps with worldbuilding and what’s going on around you. I don’t believe that players should be penalised for not knowing things that their character would. And on a similar note, I don’t think players should be penalised for not remembering things either. PBP is a long form game and weeks or months can pass in real time between critical pieces of information so I’m always happy to prompt and recap things that your characters know. In terms of tone and content, bad things can and do happen in fantasy worlds with unpleasant people and literal demons. I like to keep options on the table in terms of how people want to develop their characters and the Realms can be an open, tolerant place in some ways and less so in others, often dependent on who and where we’re talking about. In However, there are obviously red lines and the things that you’d expect to be off-limits (sexual violence etc.) very much are. Think Lord of the Rings rather than Game of Thrones. If anybody has anything that for whatever reason they would like the game to avoid in terms of content or themes then please let me know either publicly or privately. I also ask everybody to be respectful and mindful of other people’s boundaries, beliefs and values. I posted a little bit about myself when I said I was going to run this game but I grew up playing 2E D&D and have most of my experience in the 3/3.5E era, through which I was Forever GM in my regular group and also played a bit of PBP. We started to switch to PF1 when that was just starting but it also coincided with me relocating after university and with a new city, new job etc. fell off for a long period of time. However, I started to dive back into some of my old material a few years ago, culminating in me taking the plunge and applying for a game on the boards. Three years later it’s still going along happily. All of which is a long-winded way of saying I definitely don’t have as much experience on the boards or with the game as many people here and the PF rules are large, unwieldy and sometimes unclear and open to interpretation. I have definitely made mistakes but am always happy to work with people to correct rulings and retcon things as necessary. And when it comes down to it my inclination is normally to “yes and” and lean towards story and rule of cool over complex rules lawyering. Player actions There are also a couple of things that would be useful for you all to please look at before we get going properly. The game will be starting in Daggerdale, where a call has gone out from the Lord of the Dale looking for adventurers. Can you think please about how you have heard about this and what brings you to answer the call. Realistically such news will only travel so far regionally but you’re all experienced adventurers with friends, allies and information networks. For example, you could have heard about it through your church, the society you’re a member of, or your cousin in Shadowdale town who knows that you’ve been down on your luck recently and in need of coin. I don’t need essays - or even anything necessarily written down - just a basic idea of what brings you here. Mechanically, I’ll have a look at the previously mentioned stat tinkering and speak to you individually. Now we have the full party you are welcome to make any tweaks in light of the party make up, e.g. spell options if you want to avoid overlap or ensure more bases are covered. I’m sure you’ll be checking out each other’s character sheets but I think it would also probably be worth just giving everyone a brief summary of your build in terms of what you see your role as, both in and out combat. If anyone wants to do a deep dive into the party’s strengths and weaknesses I’m certainly not going to stop you but given the generous build rules you’ve got a lot of power and flexibility. One of my considerations was trying to assemble a broadly balanced party and with everyone capable of doing more than one thing, I don’t think there are likely to be any major gaps in your capabilities. If you could also post and then delete in the gameplay thread then it should link your characters to the game. * * * * * Apologies for length but I think it’s worth taking the time to do this - plus I’m a natural worrier! I’m also sure that I will have forgotten something so if you have any questions please do ask. A common thread running through a lot of this is communication (and at least 50% of TTRPG questions posted online can usually be answered with “Have you tried talking to them?”) I always aim to be open, approachable and collaborative and feedback is how we improve and make sure everyone is having fun, which really is why we’re here...
I'm waiting on some messages but hopefully I should be able to make a final decision soon. Thanks again to everyone who has replied to my questions.
Re. character roles. My view is that with the stats, skills and feat allowance, most characters can do quite a lot and perform some roles to a lesser or greater degree. Having some kind of broad categorisation is definitely useful (thanks Tara!) but it's never going to capture everything a character can do and just looking across any of the categories you can that the characters within are all pretty different. @Sigmar Darastrix I have a few thoughts - and this is purely my opinion and how I'm looking at it - but I think you're making the wrong comparisons here. Sigmar's stats do make him superhuman. The average stat is 10-11 so your average man or woman has that across the board. Assuming a normal distribution curve, the majority of people will have stats clustered around that, some a bit higher, others a bit lower. Sigmar is insanely strong and incredibly charismatic, far in excess of the vast majority of people. Then throw in draconic heritage, magical powers and gear worth far more than the average commoner will see in a lifetime. To all intents and purposes, he is superhuman compared to almost everyone he meets (you could argue that probably most adventurers are to some degree once they get beyond the first few levels - sometimes it's easy to forget how powerful adventurers are compared to most people). It just happens that in this instance he's teamed up with the Avengers - or the Justice League, if you're prefer him to be Batman ;-). Definitely not every character will far outstrip him in all respects, this just might be one of those rare instances where he encounters someone he can't beat in an arm wrestle without trying. And as heroes and villains have found out in stories as old as time, there is always someone smarter, stronger, more powerful. Personally I'd see that as a great roleplaying opportunity and a chance to see how he reacts and develops. Obviously it's up to you - I'm happy to consider you still if you'd like. Equally, if you'd prefer to withdraw that's absolutely fine too. But thought I'd share my perspective on the situation.
Thank you for the enthusiastic feedback everyone, it’s appreciated. @Monkeygod I’m happy to consider your application. I’m going to draw the line there as you’re the sole character on the list that was part-developed at the original cut-off point. The deadline will be to have them ready by the time I’m making my selections, though I can’t give you an exact timeframe for that as it’s dependent on when GM Tara makes her choices. @Albion, The Eye Yes, to clarify I will be using the same character creation rules. To do otherwise would require a large number of people to make changes to a lesser or greater degree, at worst causing some people to radically rethink their character concepts or builds and that doesn’t seem fair to me.
Game recruitment announcement Hello all, as ever there are a lot of cool characters here, far more than will go into one game. I’ve been speaking to GM Tara and with her blessing, I’m going to run a second table for this game – or at least a totally different game set in the Forgotten Realms using some of these characters. Once she has made her selections I will then make mine from the remainder. I have offered GM Tara a place at the table as she’s already done the hard graft of prep for this one and I have another place reserved for a player who I owe a game. I will therefore be choosing four more characters from the excellent array here to bring the party up to six. I will default to assuming that everyone would like to be considered but if for any reason you don’t want to be that’s obviously fine, please just let me know. A little about me: I’m a big fan of the Forgotten Realms from this era, it’s what I grew up playing and if I were to pick a game that is always going to pique my interest it’s this. It’s also what I’d choose to run and I started to think about it and come up with some ideas so I’ve decided to run with it. I enjoy worldbuilding and storytelling and aspire to have the heroes as the focus in a living world. I’ve been around the boards for a while now, not as long as many of people here but I’ve had the pleasure of playing with a number of you and hopefully will with some more soon. I will endeavour to get things going as soon as I can. Thanks for your time and happy to field any questions.
"That does sound tempting," Ari concedes at Luxvoryna's offer. As ever, however, she is suspicious. Whoever heard of a dragon voluntarily giving away its treasure? Either she's desperate or she doesn't expect us to come back so doesn't expect to fulfil her side of the bargain. She considers her next words carefully. "I understand that it's impolite to ask a lady the size of her hoard, but I just wanted confirmation that it is a worthy treasure, rather than say a small bag of silver and three goats? Of course my assumption is that one with such an important job as yourself will have an equally splendid hoard to match, I do not mean to besmirch your good name."
She nods along as Shaggar puts forth his understanding of situation and shares the group's experiences to this point. "If we are to set off on this new errand - and I'm not saying I definitely am yet - we need to conclude our business in the village first. I don't want to be watching over my shoulder the whole time." A small smile plays on her lips as she says this - when is Ari not watching her back? "And if there's anywhere we can resupply that would probably be useful too." She's talking as if her mind is not yet made up but Ari is already in this far and realistically she's not turning around now.
Sirio’s eyebrows rise up his face, giving it something of the appearance of a bird of prey. ”I didn’t realise you had professional training too, Ms Vael. Only it strikes me as strange that you’re failing to account for one of the fundamentals of Chelaxian law: verbal contracts are equally as binding, witnessed as they all are by His Dark Majesty,” he says silkily. ”But since we’re discussing it, this is what was agreed: ‘You may know that the Irrica summer estate lies north of here along the river. I am looking for your help to secure it for me and to return any property you can which is rightfully mine’,” Sirio quotes verbatim, an impressive trick but one necessary in his profession. ”As you know, the first part is accomplished but self-evidently the latter part pertaining to the property is more ambiguous. I presume this was a deliberate decision on the part of Ms Irrica to keep the definition broad, not knowing what we might find.” He is in his element now and all eyes are on the priest. ”Ms Irrica is the legal owner of the property and the amendment to her grandfather’s will we found at the property also makes her the legal claimant of the four items mentioned within. This is not in dispute. It was, however, unknown to us at the time and if Ms Irrica had any knowledge or awareness of the family heirlooms she chose not to share it with us. The crux of the matter is whether the contract includes further possessions not to be found within the Irrica summer estate. A strict reading could certainly lead one to that conclusion and the case for it is based on solid foundations. However, there is also a valid, and in my view stronger, argument that this is too open-ended a reading and does not take into account the context of the first clause regarding securing the property and the obvious link between the two parts.” The priest focuses his gaze directly on Nerissia. ”Now you have the full context, perhaps you would care to apply your expertise directly to the problem at hand,” he says in conclusion.
"Another key difference is that it doesn't look to me much like that dragon is playing, chess or otherwise," Ari remarks, gesturing with a dagger hilt at the unconscious wyrm. "If you'd care to explain to us simpletons, then maybe we would understand, but it looks all too clear from where I'm standing." Where the tiefling is standing is now behind the alchemist, having circled round to stand opposite Shaggar once more. Hurt bodily, and perhaps also in pride, Ari is not feeling charitable enough to wait for a reply and she thrusts a blade towards the man's neck.
Satisfied that you know where you’re going, the boy wastes no time in scurrying off as fast as his long legs will carry him. Emma takes point, as she regularly does in considerably more dangerous situations, and leads you through the streets of Saringallow to your destination. At the Venators’ house, you knock on the door and Shel opens it. She is, despite the heat, for some reason dressed in a one-piece outfit made to look like a black dragon, complete with tail. A hood in the shape of the dragon’s head is pulled over her own, with fabric fangs hanging down to form its ‘maw’. ”Uh, hi,” she says, colouring slightly. From inside comes a giggle and it is apparently contagious as Shel, too, joins in. Peering inside you see Jhessa sat on the edge of the kitchen table, similarly attired except her costume is red. ”Um, I had a dream about dragons,” Shel says in between peals of laughter, an explanation that explains very little except perhaps the fact that they are teenagers. ”Come in, anyway.” She taps her wrist and her outfit magically changes, giving you a glimpse of something pale blue and gauzy for a second. ”Oops.” She repeats the action and is now attired in a long dress of spring green, belted at the waist. Jhessa performs a similar action and is now dressed more normally in the well-cut robes of an acolyte of Shelyn. The girls make eye contact with each other and start giggling again. ”Sorry,” Jhessa says, slipping down from the table. Shel pats her hair down, the dragon costume was clearly quite warm and rather impractical in the heat. ”Yeah, sorry. I had a message from Hannelia for you. I knowed you was out of town so we’ve been keeping an eye out for you.” She disappears off to her room and returns carrying a number of parcels of various sizes. Jhessa goes to help her, taking the topmost package that is balancing somewhat precariously and placing it on the table. Shel is then able to put the others down beside it. Judging by the outfit-changing magic the two girls have been experimenting with, it would appear that they too received presents. Shel offers you a small scroll, carefully bound and sealed with wax. Unfurling it, you are greeted with a message in Hannelia’s neat script:
There’s a short addendum on a separate note written in a different hand. Presumably Shel has transcribed this:
It is clearer what this last point refers to when you open the first package addressed to “The Saringallow Seekers”. Inside are several sets of polyhedral dice in a variety of colours. Each bag has a name written on it. There is a note on the top that reads “Look what I found! Apparently they call them “Shackles dice”. Maybe you’re not as excited about this as I am but I couldn’t not buy everyone a set. Remember the game we played in the manor? There are a few things here that I think could be useful to anyone so perhaps you’d like to play again.” Lifting out the various dice sets you can see that there is a small wooden box, maybe six by eight inches. It has perhaps seen better days but looks to be sturdy still. A tiny key has been neatly tied around the box and a note on the top simply reads “Treasure”. Shel and Jhessa start handing out the dice sets according to the labels, a deep red set with black numbers for Sirio and bleached bone numbers on black for Roger. Emma receives a silver set with white numbers and Majara’s are lurid purple and green inscribed in blue. Shel sets aside one marked “Constantine” and takes a look at the additional sets - naturally Hannelia sent spares. She passes one in a vibrant orange with black numbers to Hawk. ”These are for you, Mister Hawk,” she says. ”I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Jhessa says politely to Nerissia, looking over at the tiefling and down at the remaining dice a couple of times, ”but this is a time for gifts and I think these would suit you well - they’ll compliment your tones.” She hands the newcomer a violet set of dice inscribed with cream numbers. Shel offers the chest to Roger. ”Mister Roger, would you like to open it?” Despite its somewhat marked exterior, the key slides nicely into the lock and the lid flips open smoothly on its hinges. A note addressed to Roger is on top and lifting it up reveals the chest is divided into half a dozen sections, with a coloured fist-sized stone of varying shapes and hues occupying each of them. ”Ioun stones!” Shel blurts out. At the looks of surprise that the young woman seems to know what they are, she explains, ”When I was little a travelling singer came to the village for the Founder’s Feast and he had one just like that,”[b] she points at one of the stones, [b]”that would fly around his head while he played. It was the first time I ever seed magic so I’ve never forgotten it.” She suddenly puts a hand to her mouth and goes quiet, perhaps wondering what may have happened to the singer now she has a better understanding of how the darker underbelly of Ravenmoor’s politics worked.
Roger:
The note reads “Roger, I know you’ve admired the craftsmanship of my armour and I actually managed to find something that I thought would suit you but they were demanding a frankly obscene amount of money and I didn’t have the time to haggle them down to anything remotely reasonable so I’m afraid that particular gift will have to wait. Not that I mean to disappoint you by telling you what you haven’t got, but you know what I mean. Anyway, these are called “ioun stones”. None of them are in perfect condition, as you’ll soon see, but they each provide some useful benefits. I’ve earmarked the elongated pink one for you - it’ll help keep your reactions sharp and ship-shape. The other five you can assign as you like between you. Or just roll for them… - H”.
Drawing out the named stone, you can see it’s a rose colour and shaped into a hexagonal prism. ”Mister Hawk, this one’s for you,” Shel says, probably relieved that the conversation has moved on, as she points at a deep raspberry coloured stone. Hawk:
The other four stones consist of a pair of spheres, one swirled in green and pink, the other a solid blue, a forest green coloured medallion, and a squat triangular prism in a vibrant publish-red.
With these first gifts out of the way, you are able to turn your attention to the stack of packages and focus on the ones addressed to the rest of you. One marked “Everyone” appears to be a fairly nondescript sack, sturdy enough and bound with thick cord at the top. In smaller letters the note reads “Look inside…”. Opening it you are presented with something unexpected: a well-made wooden rocking chair that clearly should not fit inside the bag. As you pull it to take it out, the neck of the bag widens to allow you to remove it with ease. A note on the chair reads “This is for Dad, the bag is yours. Should be pretty self-explain what it does!”
The one labelled “Majara” is small and also has a note marked “Fragile, please handle carefully”. Majara:
Majara’s note is short and to the point, presumably because Hannelia assumes she will appreciate the directness and brevity. “Majara, I believe you will find this flask to be useful. It is enchanted to aid a working alchemist by preserving its contents beyond their usual lifespan. - Hannelia.”
Unwrapping the outer wrapping of the package reveals some carefully bound padded material wound several times around the actual item. Removing this in turn reveals a square-bottomed flask, with its sides tapering upwards to a stopper. The glass actually looks to be fairly sturdy but any glassware probably ought to be looked after with care. Emma’s parcel is roughly a foot square and very thin. It is surprisingly light as she picks it up, whatever is inside must be almost weightless. Emma:
Inside the parcel is a light blue undershirt, decorated with countless pairs of tiny winged feet picked out in pale cream. The fabric is gossamer-thin and practically weightless. It’s clearly extremely well-made, but doesn’t look like it would turn aside a blunt teaspoon if the wearer was attacked by one.
The note, in Hannelia’s orderly hand, is not as brief as you may have been expecting. “Emma, my friend - I think I owe you an apology. I came across an enchanted brooch that would allow you to slice through any swarms or plagues as easily as you strike down other foes. Unfortunately, the vendor was clearly a less than honest lady and was demanding an eye-watering fee for it. I almost parted with the money anyway but I wanted more time to think as I wasn’t entirely convinced it was legitimate. As it happens, the matter was taken out of my hands as by the time I came back the next day, our honest broker had been hauled away by the authorities for selling damaged and dangerous magics. So sorry about that. I then remembered the attack on the Mermaid’s Klivanion - which I apologise for reminding you of - but you mentioned how frustrating it was to be constantly chasing the spellcaster, weighed down by your armour. As I understand it, this garment can’t do it all the time but it can help you get where you need to be. No doubt that means leading from the front, which is what you do best. Anyway, please forgive the self-indulgent musings, I just miss talking with you. - Hannelia.” Sirio helps himself to the parcel addressed to himself, scans the note and turns away to open it. Standing in a corner of the kitchen with his back to you, it is unclear what the priest has unwrapped before he stows it away, but judging from his comment of “Well played, Ms Venator, that will do very nicely indeed,” he seems pleased with it. There is a small package left over labelled “Constantine” to go with his dice set. Obviously Hannelia didn’t know whether he would be able to join the party again but had sent a present anyway, perhaps in hope more than expectation. ”We can take it to him,” Jhessa says, picking up that there is a sadness around the situation. ”Yeah of course,” Shel echoes. ”We’ll be at the temple later anyway.” She looks slightly flustered and a little relieved, probably at a task successfully completed. ”I don’t know if you got other things to do but you’re welcome to stay for a bit if you ain’t busy. I been brewing some dandelion tea.”[b] She look over to the hob where a large pan is gently steaming. [b]”With milk, honey and a little bit of this stuff I got at the market - cinnamon, it’s called - it’s very nice,” she adds, a touch defensively, lest anyone should choose to question her drink-making skills.
Information you have picked up:
From Rutillo’s will you know that the mace is his. You know that he died during the attack on the house during the Goblinblood Wars, along with the majority of his family. Also from the will you know that the signet ring was originally Rutillo’s grandfather’s. From the letters you found, you know that Dremlut wore it and that he was a member of the Order of the Rack Hellknights. From your research in the archives and the family tree you know he didn’t die during the Wars but disappeared and presumably died some time later. The will also tells you that the locket was possessed by Rutillo’s daughter Althea. From the family tree research you know she died very young, a year before the Wars took the lives of most of the rest of the Irricas. The Hellfire Rod is mentioned in the will as being the family treasure. This is corroborated by Asmodea’s portrait. It is unclear who possessed it or where it was kept but you could probably make some reasonable assumptions. There have been multiple mentions of a savage or wrathful angel, including in Rutillo’s will and your archival research. The will states that the four items can be used to command the angel. There is a well at the estate with an erinyes statue and the haunt took the form of an erinyes. The haunt made reference to Vegoran Thrune. Your research told you that he was a patron of the Irricas before he mysteriously disappeared. You identified the goblins who destroyed the house and killed the family as belonging to the Scorchfeathers tribe. You know they like burning things and lair somewhere near Umok in the northeastern part of the Chitterwood. Your research in the archives mentioned a distant relative of the Irricas, Delara Adnen of Valten, inheriting some items.
"Oh, I think we can trust them, Sasha," Ari says deliberately, projecting her voice in such as a way as to draw attention to herself. These are the first words she has spoken to the goblins and once she is satisfied that all eyes are on her, she lowers her hood, running a hand through her thick mane of hair to show off her unusual heritage. "I trust that Gix and his crew are not stupid enough to try anything that would risk their skins." She flashes the goblin leader a wicked grin. "I'm Ari. I'm here to look pretty and stab things. Not necessarily in that order." To emphasise the point she stretches her arms out languidly in front of her, intertwines her fingers and pushes them outward. As she does this, the the tiefling's fingers don't stop where they should, keeping going and bending into an impossible angle until the have fully doubled back on themselves. Ari knows others find it a little unnerving, which is why she generally keeps this hidden, but she feels it should have the desired effect of keeping the goblins in line. While the focus is on her hands, she dips her tail into a boot, pulls out one of her numerous daggers, and waves slowly it back and forth behind her head, further emphasising her fiendish ancestry. "I can read minds too, you know," she adds casually. "So if any of you even think about betraying us, I will know. And I will kill you." She smiles sweetly, looking directly at each of the goblins in turn. "I trust that we're all clear on the matter?"
With the expected violence not having happened - yet - Ari keeps her hood up and skulks around, letting the others handle the conversation. Her quickly self-appointed role is to act as an enforcer, should one be necessary. On the one hand it seems everything is in hand, on the other her playful side quite fancies hamming it up and threatening to break some goblin skulls.
Ari looks surprised as her glancing blow is apparently sufficient to down the werewolf. She assumes it must have been suffering even more severely from its other wounds than she realised. ”Be my guest,” she says to Shaggar. She wipes the dagger on the dead creature’s torn clothing before holding it out ceremoniously in front of her balanced on both palms. At the mention of a wire rigged on the doorframe, Ari sighs. ”I don’t suppose anyone enjoys wrestling with this sort of nonsense? It’s always ‘Ari, you look like you’d be good at this kind of thing.’ I look bloody stupid, they always mean.” Or dispensable. ”Why does nobody ever want to risk their own fool neck?” Still muttering to a string of curses to herself she starts look through her backpack for the set of rudimentary tools she keeps for suck unfortunate eventualities, before heading over to check out what Kiley has discovered.
"And they suit you well," Ari reassures Shaggar as the gnoll rushes in with a mighty chop of his axe. "I'm just less sure I'd look so good if I were sporting a pair." She's never going to be able to swing with the same heft but caught between four of them now, Ari is confident of getting her timing right to catch the werewolf off guard.
She does, but perhaps she got cocky, for she expected to plunge her dagger in to the hilt but instead only catches the creature a glancing blow, the knife trailing a cut but nothing more.
"Have you run into any goblins here yet? We saw signs of their presence. I was expecting, well, them, and not a damn barbazu."
Nerissia survival (track) DC 15:
Although it is obvious from various indicators that goblins were responsible for much of the damage in the house, you have seen no evidence to suggest that any of the ugly little pests have been here any time recently.
An expression of surprise registers on the barbazu's face, twisting into a snarl. No mortal should have survived that blow, let alone be standing once more. The accumulated injuries have taken their toll on the bearded devil and like any wise general, it can see which way the battle is going and readies itself for a tactical retreat. Emma ensures that it does not get the chance. The light of her goddess burning inside her, she steps forward and thrusts Redemption into the beast's chest, a mirror of the blow struck against her. This one does not go as deep, but it is sufficient to snuff out the lifeforce binding the devil to this plane. Its corpse slumps to the ground before fading into nothingness. It's less flashy than the disappearance of the imps but a cold metallic taste is left in the air for a minute or so before dispersing.
As she lies comatose on the floor, lifeblood pouring out of her, Emma is sure she can hear a voice talking to her. It sounds remarkably like her mother, but it can’t be… No, it’s definitely her mother. ”What do we do when we get knocked down?” She tries to reply but her mind is fuzzy and she finds herself unable to answer immediately. Instead she is transported back to a memory of sparring on the practice field at home. * * * * * Sweat pouring down her brow, Emma grunts and parries the sword strike. She resets her footwork, as she has done a thousand times before, a mechanism now so well drilled she does it without being conscious of it. Opposite her, Lucia Blackford presses the attack, swinging her blade towards Emma’s legs. The teenage girl sidesteps, avoiding the blow but unable to mount an effective counter. The next attack comes high and Emma lifts her sword to meet it but remains on the defensive. ”Use your shield,” her mother instructs her, disengaging. The pair start the routine once more, going through the same moves and countermoves, though this time Emma does intercept the blow with the well-worn shield strapped to her arm. She still cannot see a way to retaliate, however, and Lucia stops the sparring again. The hero of Piren’s Bluff shakes her head. ”That is your shield arm. Your shield is your faith. You are not a common sellsword, Emma. Iomedae will protect you if you put your trust in her.” She steps back, ready to begin again. ”But you have to trust her.” This time when they dance, Lucia’s high strike is a feint and instead she gets in close, too close for engagement with wooden swords. Using her momentum, she braces her shield and leads with it into Emma’s shoulder. Taken by surprise and caught off-balance by the unexpected move, the girl is unable to keep her feet and stumbles backwards, landing painfully on her backside. Lucia studies her daughter. ”What do we do when we get knocked down?” she asks. A determined scowl crosses the teenage girl’s face. ”We get up again,” she replies. ”No,” comes the sharp response. Lucia Blackford nevertheless offers her daughter an arm up, an affectionate gesture perhaps, though certainly one solidly clad in steel. She does not see the look of disappointment that Emma cannot hide, or at least chooses not to. Instead she locks eyes with her child. A pair just like her own stare back at her. ”No. We do not get up again because we do not fall.” The senior knight steps back, waiting momentarily for acknowledgement before heading over to stow her practice sword on the weapon rack and attend the many other duties of the commander of Piren’s Bluff. Emma is left stood alone on the training ground to reflect on the day’s lessons. * * * * * ”Mom,” Emma whispers. Then, a little louder, ”We do not fall.” A silver-blue nimbus surrounds the fallen warrior for a couple of seconds. Sirio rocks back on his heels from where he was crouched over her, trying to stem the gaping wound in her chest. And then, in what surely must be a sign of the Lady of Valour’s favour, Emma rises to her feet. She raises her shield towards the barbazu, Redemption held out in front of her, and readies herself to continue the fight.
"Oh, absolutely not. Quite the opposite, actually, I am extremely grateful for your help. But I won't have my companions' secrets spread throughout the glade, that is all I meant." he says, amending his voice to be much more gentle. While the others engage in some light-hearted banter, Ari takes the opportunity to whisper, barely audibly, "By the Mistshadow's wiles, it shall be so." Respect to her goddess paid, she sets about proving that she is indeed as much fun as she believes herself to be. "Perhaps Rutilux could set you up with that cousin he mentioned, Kiley. If he's particularly tall for a halfling, or we find him some oversized boots, you might be well-matched."
"Beautiful, but empty." "Exactly how I prefer my men," Ari quips, tossing her hair. "Avoids a lot of issues. But I digress, if we're done here then I'm all for eating and talking."
"Or do you think that she has masterminded this whole situation?" Ari asks, finishing what she thinks Kiley may be trying to say. While she doesn't like the situation, the tiefling can't help but admire the deception required to pull off something like this. She is impressed by their adversary's skill, whether that happens to be Lucina, as Ari is now leaning towards, or somebody else. Not that it will stop her slipping a dagger under their ribs if she gets the chance.
While the group debates their course of action, Ari tunes out to take a closer look at the dagger they have found. Rutilux had assured her that it was magical but, naturally curious, she wanted to check it out for herself. Although it is undoubtedly a fine piece of craftsmanship, it looks somewhat different to the numerous knives she invariably has secured on her person. The blade itself is a touch shorter than her other daggers and, while well-made, is devoid of any distinguishing marks. It is unclear how long it has been in the worg’s possession but the edge doesn’t look in need of a whetstone. Ari briefly considers running a finger along it to test this theory but thinks better of it. The handle is made of what appears to be a single piece of hardy suth wood; it isn’t wholly symmetrical and has subtle grooves to hold it. A squat cylinder of bone that tapers into a dome makes up the pommel. Inscribed on the end is the outline of a cloud and the words ‘Herald-of-Thunder’ are written in elven script around the cylinder. A name? Or a command word, perhaps? she wonders. The tiefling then smiles, piecing the information together: Rutilux told her that the blade could unleash a jolt of electricity, and what usually precedes thunder? Lightning, of course! So it seems to be an explanation of its magical property and, as far as Ari is concerned, a fitting name for her new dagger too. She weighs the blade in her palm before resting it on a finger; it is light and feels well-balanced. The tiefling tosses it lightly from left hand to right and then back again, before casually throwing it up towards the cave’s roof. The blade rotates two, three, four times before she plucks it out of the air with her tail. Taking it back into her hand she runs a finger around the pommel, tracing the writing. As she does so, Ari is suddenly assaulted by half a dozen images each lasting no more than a couple of seconds. She is a young girl, sitting cross-legged in a treehouse. She listens raptly as a man with a stern voice proclaims ”Nature is bountiful but not generous; it can also be cruel. Take nothing you do not need and repay what you take threefold.” The scene shifts to a flash of a lightning-struck tree, blackened and smoking in a dark forest. Branches surround this once-mighty giant, now toppled and no longer intertwined with its neighbours. Then she gets a look at a rangy young woman with long sun-browned limbs, clad in skins and furs. Pointed ears are visible through a tangle of wild brown hair woven with sprigs of mistletoe, the pearly white berries gleaming in the sunshine that is breaking through the tree cover. Now she is a bird of prey, riding the currents in a cloudless sky. Trees as far the eye can see in every direction indicate that she is above one of Faerûn’s mighty forests. Ari is jolted into movement. She is running hard. Fleet and light of foot she moves through the woods but her breathing is ragged as if there has been a long chase. Whatever is pursuing her is persistent and she feels the hairs on her arms stand on end. There is a sharp metallic tang in the roof of her mouth and she recognises the sensation as the taste of fear. Finally, the bird again. This time she sees it, circling cautiously around a fallen figure in a forest clearing. It looses a mournful keening cry and suddenly Ari is back in the cave once more. It takes a moment to register but given the conversation is exactly where she left it, she realises that the visions - memories, she instinctively knows, of a former wielder of the dagger - only lasted a matter of seconds. Still, the intensity was such that her heart is beating faster than it did in the fight with the worg. She wipes the back of her hand on her forehead and exhales quietly, before lifting the dagger up in front of her face. It does not look discernibly different to how it did before. With a mental shrug, she cautiously takes a finger and traces the inscription once more. Nothing. It would appear that the enchanted blade has imparted as much of its history as it is capable of. It leaves Ari with fragments of a story, albeit one that doesn’t require too much embellishment to come together into a coherent narrative. She sheathes the dagger and looks up, turning her full focus back to the discussion.
Ari arches a white eyebrow and looks at Sasha. ”With an unknown number of flawlessly disguised werewolves potentially walking among us I’m not sure I’m willing to place an upper limit on my level of suspicion.”
Majara's assessment of the painting reveals no obvious hazards or mechanisms so while Roger stands watch, you are able to remove Asmodea’s portrait from the wall. Having done so, you can see that a piece of parchment has been affixed to the back of the painting with alchemical glue. Clearly this is what was stopping it lying flush with the wall. On it is a hastily updated handwritten addendum to Rutillo Irrica’s last will and testament, dated the day he and his family were killed. Reading it, the first part sets out the legal technicalities of how it interacts with and supersedes parts of the original, but the latter part stands out as being far more interesting:
"Perhaps. But they did. And like I said, you chose otherwise. Besides," Ari meets Kiley's eye and smiles slightly, trying to lighten the tone, "I've always been told monsters have blue skin, white hair and eat children." "And, er, any time I guess. Any secrets you've told are between, you, me and Leira, and I'm not judging your reaction to something that would have shaken anyone up. I will, however, judge you if instead of drying your own tears you ask Rutilux for magical assistance." Disengaging slightly, Ari puffs out her cheeks and thinks. "No..." she says carefully, "I don't think so. Would I be missing the mark if I were to surmise that it's a name connected to our silver-stained friend over there?" The tiefling gestures in the direction of the worg's corpse.
On many levels Ari is hard to catch off-guard. Years of having to fight her corner, to watch her back, trusting to herself and herself alone, means she is used to sleeping with one eye open and several knives within easy reach. This, however, is a totally different situation and she is taken unaware by the level of physical and emotional intimacy coming from Kiley right now. The former she can deal with on at least some level, even if it's different to the kind she would ordinarily seek out. The latter is something she would usually run from as quick as if somebody yelled "Incoming beholder attack!" But here she is. Ari slips a slender arm around Kiley, pulling her in close and hoping that the vulnerable young woman can't pick up on the awkwardness she is currently feeling. "Shhh," she whispers. It would be fair to say Ari does not have any real maternal instinct but she makes soothing noises like she's seen parents do with crying babes and upset children and gently rubs Kiley's back. She doesn't have an answer to all of it but Ari senses that this reaction is not solely due to the vision but has triggered some unpleasant memories from Kiley's past. "It wasn't real," she whispers in what she hopes is a gentle tone. "Trust me, if there's one thing I am familiar with it's illusions. I know how powerful they can be and how they can screw with your head. But it wasn't you." She gently touches her hidden tattoo with her other hand, offering silent thanks to the Mother of All Illusion that her training at the temple has at least given her a fair idea of what Kiley is going through. "It's horrible to feel like that and how it messes you up. But it wasn't you. You're not going to lose it, ok?" She casts around for the right words, hoping that her usually smart tongue has not deserted her. "The fact that you're repulsed by it is how I know that. Having those emotions imposed on you, well it must have been tlarning horrible. But you didn't do those things and you're not going to. You're not a monster, Kiley."
”So you’re saying they’re all basically wannabe dragons?” Ari grins. Given the clarity of the water, a surprise given the surroundings, she starts to shed outer layers of clothing, ready to dive into the pool and retrieve whatever it is that had caught Shaggar’s attention. ”Only one way to find out what it is,” she preempts any querying looks or questions, ”but if one of you spellslingers could hurry up and tell me whether it’s going to hurl a lightning bolt at me when I touch it that would be appreciated. As much as you may be enjoying the view,” she wiggles her hips and waves her tail seductively from side to side, ”we’re into the dregs of Uktar so it’s not really the weather for a leisurely dip.”
Looking around at the gathered loot, Ari has a sense of unease. It might be simply a lack of knowledge on her part; maybe something sinister, maybe not a concern. She gives voice to it, hoping that one of the others will confirm it's the latter. "I know the creature spoke, and talking wolves have not until this point been a major part of my life, but is it weird to find so much coin here? Like, has it deliberately collected it because it values it - or at least knows other beings do - or is simply that its victims had it and it just accumulated it?" She pauses a second, before venturing a third option. "Or perhaps someone - or something - is in charge and tasked it with amassing a small fortune? Anybody want to put my mind at ease here?" Coming over to stand by Shaggar as he gazes down into the pool, the gnoll alerts her to the log.
”Well I can see the arm and I can see the cow and I can see the trail of blood which got us here,” Ari says lightly. ”And I’m pretty good at identifying who’s most likely to buy me a drink in a busy tavern.” She meets Kiley’s gaze. ”A useful skill, but alas, not particularly helpful right now, I’m afraid. I can try and stay out of sight and keep lookout but I don’t think I’ll be able to assist directly.”
Also so we're on the record, we are switching to automatic bonus progression. Thanks all for your input and please update your sheets accordingly.
Although she is young and energetic, this morning Ari feels anything but. Late nights and even all-nighters are nothing new, but usually they involve a lot more revelry and pleasures of various sorts rather than getting lost inside her thoughts and fears. During happier occasions she can usually sleep off the worst after-effects. There are no such luxuries right now. She keeps her hood down, partly to hide her tired features, partly to signal that she’s not really in the mood for conversation. She breaks her fast quietly, trying to rid herself of the black cloud that has been following her around since last night. Kiley seems to be avoiding her, sticking close to Shaggar. Ari doesn’t blame her, but neither does it do much to lighten her mood. The closeness of the two friends’ relationship is another point of contrast to her own situation, especially with Lisyil announcing her departure. It’s not that the two of them had been bosom companions, but she had enjoyed the half-elf’s company and it felt like there was a foundation there to build on, had Ari been able to summon up the courage to do something about it. She doesn’t blame Lisyil for deciding to turn back. The mass dream last night was apparently too much, a realisation that whatever it is they are involved with here is both serious and dangerous. Maybe she’s the smart one. Still, another missed opportunity. Another waste of time. For all that she can be introspective, Ari isn’t usually prone to self-pity. This morning, however, she can’t seem to shake it, the dark mood clinging worse than a hangover. Too far away to hear the words, she sees Shaggar make a comment and Kiley’s face light up briefly in response. To the tiefling it feels very much like a fresh bruise that has just been punched. When they encounter the halfling and the pair of goblins he has felled, she simply gives her name by way of introduction and leaves it at that. Ordinarily she would enjoy a spot of verbal sparring with the verbose hin but she can’t summon up the energy right now. And you might need that, and more, later, a doom-laden voice in her head tells her. At lunch she seeks out Kiley, holding her palms out in placation at the wary look on her face. ”Sorry,” she mutters. It’s not a great apology as they go, but right now it’s as much as she can manage through the murk in her head so it will have to suffice. Job done, she again removes herself from the main group and picks at her food.
Ari’s reply to Kiley’s confession is more considered than her previous outburst. ”Hiding a thing gives it value by the very act of cloaking,” she says, repeating a basic litany of the Leiran church. Not that she can’t really fault the woman’s actions in the circumstances either. There is a long tense pause before she huffs, ”Get some rest. I’m not sleeping any time soon so may as well take watch.” With that she stalks off to the edge of the camp. Away from the others, she makes a careful inspection of her surroundings before taking a seat on a large log. Ari does a quick check that she has all of her daggers on her before pulling her cloak tight around herself, trying to ward off the night’s chill. It’s not that she’s really mad at Kiley - ok, she is, though on some level Ari knows that her reaction wasn’t entirely rational. From a point of view of dogma, what she did is perfectly in line with Leira’s teachings. And regardless, if you put a knife to her throat, she couldn’t in all honesty say that she would have behaved any differently in the other woman’s shoes. Would indeed jump at the chance to be able to blend in so easily. Why, then, did she react the way she did? Partly she does feel that her concern is valid. Travelling with a wanted woman does alter the dynamics of her situation and not in a way Ari likes. Still, she acknowledges that she probably could have handled it better. A gust of wind interrupts the still night and Ari hunches down deeper within her hood, cutting a lonely figure. She scans all around her for any sign of life or movement but all is calm once more. Somewhat grudgingly she admits to herself that Kiley’s words scared her. The idea of being pursued is one that she had left behind. Paranoid as she is, it had taken a long time to convince herself that the church of Cyric was not out looking for her. Logically it made sense - she’s not special, why waste time and resources chasing after an escapee when they could simply find some other poor soul and force them to take her place? She runs her fingers over the brand on the back of her hand, the symbol of the Dark Sun and a symbol of her status of servitude. It has faded over time and Ari does her best to conceal it - make up, gloves, disguising it as a tattoo - but it is still there, a reminder of a past that she had otherwise long ago left behind. The difference in her situation and Kiley’s is that apparently she is special. Or at least the Zhents seem to think so. Ari thinks about what it must be like to constantly live in fear, to be in hiding and ever-wary - something that requires not so much a leap of imagination as a tiny sidestep. Still, she realises that she feels sorry for the other tiefling. The other tiefling. It’s a strange thought. The two women both have some kind of infernal blood in their bodies but they look completely different. For a start, Kiley can fairly easily pass as human in a way Ari can’t. Of course she had known that Kiley wasn’t human since the first day. Her disguise is good and the vast majority of people wouldn’t see her as anything out of the ordinary. It was probably just Beshaba smiling down mischievously on her that she happened to meet someone else equally adept at hiding a tail. She hadn’t been sure until tonight exactly what Kiley was though. Experience and prudence - not to mention more than a little prejudice thrown in her direction - taught Ari very early that what someone is like is far more important than their appearance, title or any other outward trappings. She can only remember meeting one other tiefling, who looked totally different again, though she is reevaluating this in light of what she now knows. It seems likely that she may have met others who were fortunate in being able to more easily hide their fiendish heritage. Probing at the matter, Ari realises that it’s this which has really got under her skin. She has never given much thought to her heritage. She doesn’t know who her parents were and doesn’t much care. Even if she were inclined to pursue a fool’s errand, where would she even begin to start across the whole of Faerûn? They could be from anywhere. They could be dead by now. They may well have taken one look at their blue-skinned, obviously evil-tainted daughter and left her for dead. No, she realised long ago that she would never get any answers and made her peace with it. That’s not to say she didn’t try and understand more about what she is. She was different, obviously, and endured “demon-spawn” and “devil-kin” and worse when she was growing up. She didn’t hear the word tiefling until after she was out of the Tower of the Eternal Eclipse. Carrying out research - surreptitiously, as she recognised it might not be a smart idea to ask loud questions about her heritage - she learned that she has some kind of infernal taint in her bloodline, though with no easy way to tell what kind. Mutations can lay dormant for years so it could be generations ago or it could be more recent. But as she understands things, neither of her parents is a fiend as she would be something else, something considerably worse. It had not occurred to her until Kiley mentioned demon cults that her progenitor may be looking for her. Again, given it could be decades back and her family tree could have veered off in directions that make it hard to trace, not to mention the fact that she was orphaned and it was unlikely anybody would be pressing a claim on Ari as their child. But still, the whole idea has sent a chill right through her very being. The rest of the night passes uneventfully at least but, lonely, cold, and lost inside her own head, Ari does not manage much, if anything, in the way of rest.
The aftermath: Hannelia is waiting in the kitchen when Shel storms in and essentially throws herself at her and collapses into tears. Hannelia wraps her arms around the girl, letting her cry until she feels ready to speak. Once she has started, the floodgates open and the whole story of her conversation with Emma gushes out, punctuated with wracking sobs and sniffles. Hannelia just holds her, muttering soothing words and listening to Shel pour her heart out.
Shel has taken the news about as well as Hannelia had anticipated, though she is - mostly - confident that Emma had been a lot kinder than in Shel’s telling. No, that’s unfair. Emma fronted up to this and for all that she can sometimes be awkward, there’s no way she didn’t do this gently and honestly. Hannelia reflects on the subtle changes in her friend in the last couple of months. It seems to her that she is starting to process things with her mother better and perhaps beginning to step out of the shadow that Emma has previously - and to Hannelia’s mind, unhelpfully - been determined to stand in. From what Emma has told her of it, she is very grateful for the conversation she had with Hawk, the itinerant tattoo artist they had met on the Mermaid’s Klivanion. Her mind is unable to wander too far, however, given the immediate need currently clinging her to her in the form of Shel. ”Nobody is ever going to love me, Miss Hannelia,” she sobs, unconsciously slipping back into the more formal address that she has since dropped with regards to Hannelia. Hannelia strokes her hair, ”That’s not true. You’ve got so much going for you, Shel. You will meet someone, I promise.” ”But I don’t want someone,” Shel sniffs, ”I want… I want…” She seems unable to say Emma’s name. ”I know, I know,” she soothes. ”But she was honest with you, and I’m sure she did it as kindly as she could. Trust me, that’s not always the case. Relationships can be hard and complicated and people can do horrible things to each other. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you, even if that doesn’t make the pain you’re feeling right now any better.” ”I don’t even know why you’re friends with her anyway!” Shel fires off irrationally. Keeping her face strictly neutral, but smiling internally, Hannelia replies gently, ”Probably for a lot of the same reasons you like her. I know it’s not what you wanted, Shel, and I’m sorry. I really am. I wish there was something I could do to take your pain away. If I could, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” ”And Shel,” she says, her tone now serious, ”however hurt you might be feeling right now, don’t even think about trying to curse her. It might make you feel better, but only until the point when you regret it and you’ll then feel so much worse. Trust me, I’ve been there.” Shel looks up, intrigued, and Hannelia sighs. There’s a story here that she has alluded to a couple of times but it’s not something she’s proud of so has had no great desire to share. Still, given its relevance to the current conversation and the fact that it might prevent Shel from making a similar mistake, now does seem like the right time to tell it. Sensing a story coming, Shel extricates herself from Hannelia and slips into a chair right next to her instead. ”Things with my first ever boyfriend didn’t end well,” she starts, skipping to the important part. ”I discovered that he was cheating on me with someone else and when I confronted him, he then promptly left me for her. It would be fair to say that I didn’t take it very well.” She winces, the memory still prickles, even after several years. ”I wanted to show him that he was making a mistake and he was messing with the wrong person so I broke into his house, snuck into his room and left him a message telling him exactly what I thought and how I felt. I wanted him to know that this was something I could do, whenever I wanted to, and to put the fear of the gods into him.” She smiles a pained smile. ”I mean, I think it worked, but it was a terrible thing to have done. I might have been the victim in the relationship but there’s no excuses for how I behaved. Learned some things about myself that I didn’t like very much.” ”As it happens - and not that I wanted to see him for a good long time - he was a lot nicer to me after that. Although I suspect a lot of that was down to his new girlfriend. I’m pretty certain she didn’t know about me and felt awful about the situation. Made it very clear to him what would happen if he treated her the way he had treated me. And to be fair to him, he learned his lesson too - they’re married now.” Hannelia runs a hand through her hair. ”I actually really like his wife, we get on well, though I wouldn’t say we’re particularly close. You might have met her actually: Daisy Gaspare, short dark hair, works at Torvello’s Candles?” Hannelia realises that she’s somewhat wandered from the point, but also that Shel’s sniffs have mostly stopped and her previously ragged breathing has settled into a calmer rhythm. She brushes some hair out of Shel’s face in order to look her properly in the eye. ”Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that relationships can be hard and can make people do stupid things. Be better than that, ok?” Shel nods, not looking entirely convinced, but perhaps she’s not unhappy with the change of tack and to be focusing on something other than her own pain and unhappiness. Given where the conversation has been, she seizes on it to ask something that she has been curious about but - perhaps surprisingly - has managed to keep to herself. ”Hannelia,” she asks, ”why ain’t you got a boyfriend now? I always wondered because you’re, just, well, really good at everything.” She colours slightly, as does Hannelia at the compliment. ”Well, I think I’ve just demonstrated to you with that story that I’m really not,” she says drily. ”And I’d like to hope that previous deeds haven’t earned me an unfortunate reputation.” The glib answer buys her some thinking time while Hannelia ponders the question. It has been a while; she realises that somehow it’s been eighteen months since she and Carius had split up. Not acrimoniously, just that they had started to want different things and had begun to drift apart a while before it dawned on either of them that the relationship was coming to an end. ”I suppose I have been pretty busy this year,” she says truthfully - her life has certainly been eventful these past few months. ”And I guess I just haven’t met anyone I’ve liked in a while.” It’s something of a cliche but it also doesn’t make it any less true. ”Actually,” she says after a pause, ”that’s not entirely true. You remember that Desnan priest who came to see me a few weeks ago?” ”The friendly one with the nice smile?” Hannelia laughs, ”Yes, that’s the one. Well, I did tell him that he should stay in Ravenmoor until he’s happy that his work is done, but that when it is he should hurry back here so he can take me out to dinner.” Shel gasps in surprise and delight. Apparently this exchange has totally passed her by. She snuggles in close to Hannelia again, who puts a sisterly arm around her and strokes her hair. ”It’s going to be ok,” she says softly. ”It hurts now and I can’t take that away, but it will pass, I promise. And you will meet someone who feels the same way about you that you do about them. It’s going to be ok.”
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