No worries Skäne, we've all been there. I always appreciate your guys' patience as well. If i miss anything in the combat when I'm posting feel free to remind me; I'm bound to overlook something running the enemies and 2.5 PCs, lol.
Leaving the lumbering giant to its own devices, you filter through the now-open doorway as Skäne covers the hall, the shouts of the giant still echoing through the stone corridor. As the Ulfen warrior passes through after the rest of the party, you close the door and Mithas resets the lock, and the noise of the frost giant is suddenly silenced. The new stone hall you find yourselves in is noticeably different; a warmth and humidity clings to your flesh and the scent of wet vegetation and swampy water hits your senses. You can see a soft luminescence at the end of 80-ft corridor as it opens up. As it is your only path, you move forward, the temperature and scents growing gradually. About ten feet from the end of the hall, you start to hear some faint music playing as you enter the room proper. This large natural cavern is warm and humid and stinks of stagnant water. Wisps of vapor hover just above the floor, somewhat obfuscating a swampy morass of fungus. In some areas of the cave, large lumpy piles of the fungus rise from the slop like fetid islands, and long, rubbery strands hang from the ceiling and walls and across an opening about forty feet away that leads out of this cavern. The sound of the music here is also louder; pleasant and jovial, your ears are keen to it...perhaps a bit too keen.. A sly, soothing masculine voice, thick and sugary like honey, echoes out from beyond as the music quiets for a moment. "Hello friends...so cold out there, why not come get warm in these lovely pools?" it coos as the music, a charming wind instrumental, swells again. For everyone except Geedra, this sounds like an absolutely wonderful idea. Even Enii seems eager to warm her sinews in this luxurious water. Byakko and Enii, Skäne, Mithas, and even Krosh begin to move towards the center of the room where the warmest waters await as Geedra blinks and watches... Rolls:
Before the ascent, Krosh approaches Enii and jingles a talisman before pressing it onto the white tiger's forehead, intoning a spell before looking to Byakko. "The beast can now fly for a time, if you can communicate that. The shaman also casts a spell upon himself and you see his muscles swell beneath his layers of hide and furs, his strength increasing. You begin your perilous climb of the statue - a climb actually made much easier by the flying goblin ferrying ropes and pitons around you, giving her sly Geedra cackle all the while. Byakko makes spry work of the statue, sure-footed for much of the run until a misstep causes his feet to slide out from under him...but a quick cast of a spell keeps his grip sure. Enii is a somewhat comical scene, floating upwards with strange motions that betray the grace of a cat, but effectively nonetheless. Krosh's enhanced strength and methodical pace sees him rightly to the top without issue, a result that even he seems surprised with. You can hear him muttering thanks to the spirits upon completion. Mithas, surprisingly, for all of his agility, as quite the rough time with a straight strenuous climb. Three times do you see stones crumbled away under his fingers or a misplaced foot slide clean off the side of the stone, but each time, in a heart-dropping moment, he manages to keep hold and make a breathless recovery before moving on. Skane's armor indeed takes a bit of a toll on his as he climbs. He too finds a few missteps, but the determined warrior does not give the earth below the honor of slaying him and anchors himself to the stone each time, trudging his way to the top. By the time you all gather at the crest, those who climbed are heavy with sweat despite the cold, with muscles sore and burning from such an endeavor. Before even witnessing your surroundings you pull yourselves up and lie for a few minutes, gathering your senses and breath before standing. You see vertiginous cliffs surround the statue's mesa-like top on all sides, though a rock wall backing the top of the Watcher's head rises above the plateau, creating some cover from the cold winds blowing at this altitude. From every direction the view is dizzying, offering a clear panorama of miles and miles of Iobarian wilderness. A small copse of bare, weathered trees stands in the shelter of the rock wall, their knotted roots clinging desperately to the cold, hard stone. Dozens of bones litter the ground before this strangely placed grove, some so ancient that the trees' roots appear to grow right through them. Most notable the central tree is a towering 18 foot tall willow with a trunk that is in the shape of a humanoid woman. Behind the trees, a shadowy arched opening in the wall leads deep inside the rock. You also spy the grim sight of a gutted centaur hanging from one of the trees, his flesh pale and bloodless, frozen features twisted into a ghastly visage of shock and horror. so many rolls:
I just realized that krosh has had Fly prepared the whole time, lol. He can cast that on Enii to make things a bit easier if you'd like. You're right about climbving a straight half mile on a stone statue isn't quite the same as climbing a tree, so this might be the best option lol. Don't see any reason why Paragon Surge wouldn't work with share spells!
Welcome aboard indeed. Glad to have you, Chaunce. A ranger is a fine fit, and I am generally good with any Paizo-published subclasses/archetypes if you see one that seems interesting to you. This campaign and subsequent replacement PCs have all done an 18-point buy rather than the standard 20 point buy, as over the course of the campaign they have taken up the mantles of Baba Yaga's riders (humorously down to 1 each for the three; Geedra the Black Rider, Skane the Red, and Byakko the White). There are no more riders to convey a special bonus onto you, but I don't want you to feel lagging behind, so you can also do the 18 point buy for stats and have an additional +2 you can put into any score. This would be in addition to the ability points granted for levels 4 and 8. So basically: 18 point buy, two floating +1s, and a floating +2. Rather than do the standard wealth for a higher level character as put forth in the rules, I like to look at the average GP-worth of items the party has and grant you that, as by the rules a freshly made higher level character will have much better/more gear than a naturally leveled one due to the new PC having immediate access to character-perfect gear. I'll take a look over that and give you a GP amount you can use to procure your equipment. Other than that, no worries if these mid levels are newer for you. Feel free to ask any questions or anything on board or in PM at any time. 80% of my playgroup offline is basically all brand new players so I have no problem giving time for people to get into the swing of things. And offline is 5e at that; pathfinder is a jump more convoluted with all of the numbers and modifiers, so there's definitely a learning curve as the levels increase. Feel free to take a look at the player's guide for this adventure path for some ideas/basics. You get 2 traits, and 1 of them can be from this guide if you wish. Other than that, go ahead and send me a PM with some character info and I can help get you plugged into the goings on. Looking forward to playing with you. Also, thanks for the reminder Geedra, I need to fix up Krosh as well, lol.
Byakko moves from one fallen demon to a standing one, and joins his companion in bringing the fiend down. The first swipe of the katana fails to bite through the demon's abyssal hide, but the follow-up blows more than make up for it. The silver flashes across the dark hide, carving a sanguine path down from its throat, across its chest, to the stomach. A sputtering howl swiftly becomes a wet gurgle as black-blue blood surges from the wound, raining down to the forest floor as the demon itself dematerializes into icy sludge...
Erdija wipes her brow and slowly stows her bow. "Never seen these things before...but the giants and our rivals are both known to make strange allies. Seems they'll work with any monster they find." She gives a disgusted look to the decomposing goop, but then turns her gaze to the unconscious fiend. "And what of this one?" She asks, trotting a bit closer to it but still giving it a fair breadth.
Erdija stretches by the fire, yawning loudly as she works the cold from her bones. "True, true. My people tell a lot of stories. Sometimes too many," she says, rolling her eyes. But all right, all right, settle in, I'll think of something to tell you.."[/b] She gnaws on the pheasant as her mind wanders, before snapping her fingers suddenly after a few moments. "Many generations ago," she begins, shifting her voice to be more dramatic, lowering her tone and leaning forward so the fire sends shadows flickering across her face. "There was a mighty chieftain of a clan, the Rostovokan Clan. Her name was Koltaya of the Three Mountains. She was the first of all centaur to journey to the three sacred crags, spread across the land and filled with dangers. Atop each she communed with the ancient guardian spirits from a forgotten age. She met the Khan of Wisdom, and when asked what makes a great leader wise, she answered that wisdom must be heard among the whole of the clan and all voicesm within it, and the Khan smiled upon her and sent her away with his blessing." Erdija looks around and smiles, nodding along at her own approval. "Koltaya went to the second mountain and found the Khan of Cunning. The Khan asked her what made a great leader cunning, and she answered that to be cunning a leader can never stop learning, never stop adapting, never stop sharpening her mind. The Khan of Cunning gave her blessing, and Koltaya descended the mountain. The third mountain held the Khan of Strength, who asked what makes a great leader strong. Koltaya told him that the greatest strength was knowing that the clan depending upon her and that she would fight to protect her people. The Khan of Strength smiled and sent her away with his blessing." Erdija draws closer to the fire and stokes it, making the flames rise higher. "When Koltaya left the mountains and was returning to her clan, thrice blessed by the ancient Khans, a fourth spirit came to her. It asked her if strength, cunning, and wisdom were truly enough of a blessing. Koltaya told him, what else could be greater? These things would make a great leader, a Khan who could lead a tribe, bring it to greatness, and protect it. But the spirit told her, these things are all well and good, but mean nothing when the Pale Mare - that is, death - comes to take us across the fields to the beyond. As cunning as one is, as wise as one is, as strong as one is, none can stop the Pale Mare, and then what would become of their tribe, without their blessed Khan to lead them?" "Now, Koltaya was cunning. She was wise, and she was strong, but she also was prideful. She believed herself the only one fit to lead her clan, and gaining the three blessings was proof enough of this. She stared at the spirit, this fourth Khan, and asked him how a powerful chieftain might take a different path. The spirit told her he could grant his own blessing, but it would come at a cost. Koltaya was unsure, but the spirit showed her a vision, a vision of a time beyond the end of her life, when her beloved clan was run down by enemies. They called for their blessed Khan, but she was gone, and none could help them. Koltaya asked this fourth Khan what the price would be, and the Khan smiled. He told her that she must bring his blessing, his blessing of the everlasting, to all of her tribe." Erdija stares deep into the flames, sweat gathering on her brow. She exhales deeply. "Koltaya agreed, and the fourth Khan made her everlasting. A Pale Mare all herself, a thing living but dead, but with all of the power of the endless fields beyond. The blessings of the first three Khans withered away, falling from her like leaves, scattering to the wind, and her strength, wisdom, and cunning were replaced by an unbeating heart, unbreathing lungs, and an empty soul. She rode back to her clan and in her wake the grasses wasted away, the flowers shriveled, the trees shrank away, the waters grew poisoned. Her breath was green fire and her once lustrous coat was an ashen husk. She brought the Pale Mare's cold stare to all of her clan, becoming the enemies in the vision the fourth Khan had given her, and just as she rode them down, so did they rise, everlasting and unliving, empty shells of caged spirits in her thrall." "Koltaya returned to the fourth Khan, who cried. He vanished, and the first three Khans appeared, pained and dismayed."You have failed," said the Khan of Strength. "You thought yourself to have the strength, the cunning, the wisdom to lead, but you gave them all away without a thought. You thought our gifts unworthy, and let a whisper and a trick lead you this. Now you are damned, and you will ride forever with the anguished souls of your people at your hooves, forever screaming." Erdija leans back and stretches again. "That is the story of Koltaya Clankiller. Whether or not it is true...well, who knows?" She smirks. Later, you sleep, taking turns keeping watch in this cold, unfamiliar land. Skane's watch passes and he wakes Geedra before turning in himself. About halfway through Geedra's watch, despite her narrowed eyes mostly falling on the slumbering Erdija, perhaps wishing for a horsechopper, the witch's ears prick in the dead of night. A heavy footfall breaks through underbrush not too far from the camp, and as she looks, she sees a muscular, hunched form lumbering slowly through the foliage... rolls:
Byakko: You chat with Voran Veig as you both work, him giving you access to his forge and materials in order to uphold your end of your trade. He gathers the pieces of chain, padding, and leather to reforge them into a new suit of barding, expanding on the existing protection Enii was already wearing. There is a rhythmic proficiency to his craft, one that is different but no less austere than the craftsmen you spent your time around as a youth. The muscled horse-man couples his great strength with the leverage and stability of his strong hammer swings with four legs, giving him an apparent edge in his work. As you melt and temper the silver, choosing and altering a mold to suit your needs, you spin your tale of life, death, and rebirth, of losing and finding, of blessings and curses. Vorag listents intently, but remains focused on his work, and does not once open his mouth to punctuate your story with any comments of his own. At points his jaw stiffens, or his eye twitches, or his face tightens in response to a word or a sentence, but he lets you flow through the entirety. He is unflinching when embers dance on his forearm, where the tiny stippled pocks of a lifetime of little burns tell their own tale. At a few points he takes a piece he is working on and walks to Enii, holding it up against her and eyeballing measurements and sizes before returning, but never seems vacant in his listening. When you come to the end, he is quiet still for another minute or two, before he gently sets down his hammer and exhales deeply. "You tell a fine tale, two-leg. Storytelling is of great import to my people, and you did not disappoint me. I thank you for the story of your life, for I do not often hear those of outsiders." He looks out across the tents and wipes sweat from his brow. "I have encountered two-legs before. Many think us simple and savage raiders, or mystical fey-folk, or elsewise, but we are just people. People with stories and families to do not balk at the might of the wilds or its many dangers. I will admit that generations of these interactions have not made my people any more receptive or welcoming to other folk either, but perhaps if we all shared our stories, we would find ourselves not so different from one another." He gives a half smirk and shrugs. "But I am just a smith, what would I know of putting two materials together in a functional way?" Now, let us see what we have made." He goes to inspect the brooch and smiles. "The tusks! How fitting. Your craft is in measure to your storytelling. Well done. My mate will be thrilled, and with this I pray she will find my long hours of toil in this time of war easier to accept. And for you, or your companion, I should say..." He presents the armor, and the scratched, dinged, dented, and otherwise battleworn mail that Enii had been wearing - uncomfortably as of late - is no longer recognizable. Supplemented by Voran Veig's materials and skill, this new chain barding appears brand new, bereft of blemish or defect, and slips on Enii like a second skin. She gives a low hum of approval, nuzzling into Voran Veig's hand once more. "Well, Byakko Whiteclaw, we have shared stories and made trade in the crafts that are bound to our lifesblood. We are honorbound by custom now to never be enemies, lest our hands become lame and our voices silent. Even if we never speak again, I will tell the tale of the moon-touched two-leg to my children, and the piece he crafted will one day be theirs." He puts a hand on your shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze.
The Celebration: The archery competition draws many spectators, and is often the highlight of these celebrations, you learn. The rounds are heated and close. Geedra gets a slower start but ramps up at the end, drawing unexpected cheers from surprised centaur. Mithas gives the centaur quite the challenge, and in the final round, the scoring comes down to the elven scout and Gan Batu the Huntmaster himself. Both archers let fly at their target (a mock frost giant, not to scale), at 200 feet out, the longest shot of the competition, and both arrows mark the same painted ring, netting the same score on the final shots...which in all sees Mithas Aran narrowly defeating Gan Batu in the contest! The centaur are in awe, collectively favoring their Huntmaster and expecting him to dominate these newcomers. In fact, when the realization that Mithas has won, there is a still silence for a moment as all eyes seem to go to Gan Batu, the long-time champion of this test,.. The Huntmaster grins and bows low, placing his bow gently on the ground in the customary sign of surrender, upon which the centaur rear up and give their cheers for a contest well fought. Many rush over to congratulate Mithas and express their astonishment, many saying they have learned not to underestimate a two-leg if they should come to blows with one. Gan Batu approaches Mithas after the bouts and presents him with an object rolled in a piece of hide. "Should you face a giant again, put this between its eyes and tell them Gan Batu bids them a swift journey to the Hells." He unwraps the hide to reveal a pristine arrow, etched in sylvan runes and fletched with red feathers. Byakko does not fare so well in his competitions, the pungent valkyut perhaps getting the better of him. Voran Veig comes through and wipes the floor with all competitors in the spear toss, half-elf and centaur alike. Indeed, Enii doesn't seem to quiet understand the concept of a race, seemingly content to have more fun chasing the centaur than trying to get ahead of them. A spry young centaur woman named Hulsari, incredibly nimble, takes the prize. The next morn: Erdija is quick to laugh and quicker to jest. "Oh ho, worried about harm coming to me? How sweet. I'm more worried about me looking after all of you and making sure the scary monsters don't bite you. I'm ready when you are." Wen you finalize your preparations, Erdija leads you out of the camp and wastes no time in taking you quickly through the hoofpaths, turning at seemingly random intervals and directions to shift course. It is quickly apparent that you are quite fortunate to have this guide, as this region of the Hoofwood is densely packed with towering pines and everything looks so similar it would be no great feat to get lost. Erdija moves as if she could do this trek blindfolded, and sometimes disappears into the trees and foliage ahead, only to come up behind you after having made a fast circle, just to sneak up and spook you. She laughs and rides ahead again, giving you a big grin. Though you move more swiftly with Erdija then you would alone, your progress is still slowed overall due to the terrain and the constant course corrections to avoid known dangers. Night falls, and the forest is swallowed by blackness, a haze of clouds obscuring much of the starlight. Erdjia finds you a clearing to make camp. "Oof, I'm starving," she says, pulling a now frigid roasted pheasant out of her pack. "Come on now, let's get a fire on and rest our bones. Maybe I'll tell you a ghost story," she laughs.
Rolls:
Krosh puts a hand on Skäne's shoulder. "I would not linger on it, Twice-Mantled. We were sent only to learn of her true desire, not to enact it," the shaman advises. "Though it is true..none of these ilk can be trusted." You return to the glade and its pool, where the third raven awaits. Upon speaking the desire of the animated dream, the bird cackles and the auditory figment of applause sounds throughout the room. "It is so, and so be it." The raven's eyes flash and the iron amulet around its neck disappears, reappearing floating in front of the group. "Seek now the Sisters Three who are One. Maiden, Mother, Crone. But know the Maiden is elusive, and may only be caught with the waxing moon." With that, the raven suddenly descends into the pool. There is no splash or distortion of water, instead the bird seemingly phases through it, passing into another world and wings off into the glorious sunrise seen in the deep waters. The avian form grows smaller and smaller until it vanishes. The floating amulet bears another rune, this one Geedra identifies as "Artrosa." Knowledge (history) or (local) 20:
Artrosa is the name of a trio of giant carved figures in northeastern Iobaria known as "the three who watch." You are also able to ascertain that the amulet functions as a chime of opening with 9 charges.
The spectral woman stops all sound and movement as she hears Byakkko's voice. Her pause is eerie, just a tad too long, but then she suddenly breaks from it and rushes in a twisting shape of smoke and darkness right at the oracle, until she halts abruptly just in front of his face, taking her womanly form once more. "Many sisters, endless before, endless to come, all little dolls for Mother. I dare not speak her name!" She inches closer and closer to Byakko, until her ghostly lips are right at his ear. "I cannot speak her name." Krosh speaks again. "One of the Witch Queen's own daughters. It is said no one knows what happens to them after their tenured reign comes to an end...I wonder if this fate was unique to her, or if all her sisters share it somewhere, someplace."
She writhes over to Mithas, nestling behind him to speak over his shoulder. "Never free, not until the end that can never come." She looks to Geedra, then sweeps her eyes across everyone before drifting slowly back to the bed. "Mother's end is the only peace for me." Krosh whispers, "Vengeance on the Queen of Witches...this sounds like a desire to sate the raven's riddle to me."
The spectral dream continues to flicker and distort, this time shifting her unstable form in Skäne's direction. She reaches out towards him, her arm warping from human to corpselike, but does not move to touch him. "Nails, nails, nails. I hung a lovely picture in my bedroom with a nail when I was a little girl. I asked mother if she liked it but she wasn't there. Nails, nails, nails. I dug into my own flesh with my nails when I left the lovely throne. I asked mother why, why, why am I here, but she only laughed and left me." She shudders, whether from fear or from her mutable state is uncertain. "Those things won't work on mother, but you could hang a picture with them." Geedra's voice pulls her away from Skäne and with another eerie twisting of her self, she hovers around the goblin. "Buzzing little flies," she says, distantly. A cold chill traces down Geedra's arm as the dream brushes past. "Mother trapped me in a jar with all these flies. Are you a little frog come to catch all the flies in my ears? They eat my thoughts and come out my eyes. If only you'd a long enough tongue to catch.. She stops. Flickers swiftly, and puts her hands to her head. "oh, oh no, I am sorry, please don't eat my brains." She starts to sob, whisping back over to the bed.
My favorite part of DMing is having good moments for characters and fostering things that make them feel more embedded in the story or unfolding events, so I always implore everyone to snag any thread they might want to pursue. It's a little more cumbersome for me working that into an adventure path (especially this one since it is kind of heavy handed in the plot signposts and order of events and locations) as I have always run homebrew stuff in my offline games but I try to get it in where I can. No worries, Skäne. I definitely understand that. I'll do my best not to sully Twice-Mantled's good name.
You all watch as the scene inside the perimeter of colored flames suddenly springs to life, where two dormant fighters now erupt from their slumbers with a seemingly single-minded purpose. As the boar's eyes open once more to atramentous portals, Byakko's seem to shimmer with opalescent moonlight. Both abruptly jolt to their feet, and Byakko slips into a beastlike state, his blade gaining fresh air as it slides forth in its wielders wild dash. A blur of white follows close on his heels... Round 1 Byakko and Enii set upon the gnarled boar in a display quite unlike any you have seen out of the pair. Enii leaps mid run up and over Byakko, landing on the mighty boar's back in a maelstrom of fang and claw. You hear the bone-rattling roars of the strange beast as the air is colored with blood and hair. Deep, vicious gouges appear along its sides and back, and Enii's fangs pierce the back of its neck, causing it to rear its head back in reflex. Which gives Byakko the perfect strike, ferocious, two-handed swipe of the blade across the exposed throat. The roars peter out to gurgles as blood cascades from the massive wound, dousing a fair bit of the half-elf's body in it. Enii stays latched on until the boar collapses, a heavy, final thud as the huge form collides with the ground. All is still and quiet for a spell as the moment of sudden tension ends as quickly as it began. There is a strange sensation that the boar's body undergoes - almost as if it gives a final exhalation, a last gasp. You see a shadow, or cloud of dust, or trick of the light...some such flicker rise up from the body, but it disappears just as quickly, if it even ever existed at all. The four colored flames in the four bowls snuff in unison without assistance. Krosh approaches the boar, Byakko, and Enii. He takes up a handful of the pungent sludge from the fifth bowl that had sent Byakko under, and smears it just-so across the boar's head and closed eyes. "May you find your way," he mutters. He then looks to Byakko and Enii. "A single blow. Almost as if...it were meant to be."
Post forthcoming this evening. Picked up a bit of poison ivy recently which I am super allergic to, which also caused a big hive outbreak, including on my fingers and palms, so haven't been able to do much in the way of typing. Or most other things involving hands. It's cleared a bit now, though.
You know, I read that entry like 3 times, and somehow I overlooked that 'you can speak with animals' bit every time. Either that or I ran it together with the 'choose your animal' part and read it as you could only speak with animals with the chosen type or something. Either way, my bad haha. I'll play it as Krosh setting things up but you can do the actual communing... ready for a spirit walk?
So from everything I have looked at in regards to the Lycanthropy curse, I don't believe that it innately would allow you to freely speak with animals - it does denote that other people can understand you if they are under a speak with animals effect, but you yourself aren't granted such an effect in relation to other animals. You do get an innate +4 bonus on Handle Animal checks with a chosen 'lycanthropy-related animal' (small random rant directed at game developers - therianthropy would be a more apt term when referring to were-creatures, as 'lycan' specifically refers to wolves!) I also didn't notice in your sheet if you made that decision, figured it might be tigers? Regardless, I would allow for a Handle Animal check when in your bestial cursed state to attempt to communicate with the beast if you so desire! No need to apologize for wanting to engage in some roleplaying :) Feel free to inject it whenever you feel so inclined.
Surprise Round Bolstered by Krosh's spirits of might, Skäne advances forward on the massive, grizzled boar's position and plants himself firmly in its path, bracing his spear for the beast's coming. The boar recovers from Mithas's pinpoint strike at its heavy head, and stamps the earth in front of it in defiance, snorting and looking ahead with a fiery gaze. It does indeed break into a wild charge, focusing on the first target in its path - a readied Skäne. As the monstrous creature draws near, Skäne sees his opening, angling the head of the spear to a point that slips it past the boar's massive tusks. With the butt end anchored against the earth and Skäne's magically enhanced frame holding the haft, such force combined with the boar's own momentum forces the point of the spear directly into it, though its able to have enough sense to move its head. The spear drives into its shoulder. The boar continues on, its weight carrying the charge forward, further impaling itself on the weapon. The tip of its deadly tusks make it mere inches from Skäne before the brute comes to a stop. As it keels over, it pulls the spear from Skäne's hands and collapses onto the ground.
Mithas investigates the heavy door and it proves to be, to the elf's satisfaction, untrapped and unlocked. There is no response to the knocks Byakko makes, but the door, though weighty, does swing open with the subsequent effort. A slight chill wind wafts through this room, carrying the stale scent of carrion and peat. Beyond, an impossible forest seems to have devoured the entire chamber. The walls are woven from tangled knots of black, leafless trees, and fine flakes of rusted iron cover the floor, softly crumbling to dust. A pale light emanates from a fist-sized orb that rests within a nest of black iron branches in the center of the room, turning all forms into ebon silhouettes. Shortly after you filter in the room, taking stock of yet another strange magical forest, you hear the flapping of wings. A raven suddenly emerges from the darkness from the side of the room and lands carefully on the odd glowing orb. It stares at the group without making a sound, but tilts its head this way and that as it watches you. Perception DC 15: You notice two things. The first is that this raven seems to be wearing some manner of small iron amulet hanging from a leather cord around its neck, and second is that at the rear of the room, partially obscured by dead branches and leaves, is a path that leads further in.
Onto book 3 - Maiden, Mother, Crone. I have run this adventure offline at the table, and the whole time of us getting here I have been wondering how well this one will work on the forum medium. This adventure has a lot going on and a lot of stuff that might be difficult to translate in forum posts, so just a heads up for that. I might be a bit more heavy-handed in using Krosh as a voice in this adventure at certain points because of this, though with his background and whole guru spirit guide dreamspeaker type deal, it will at least make a bit of sense. I will say mark any posts or jot a note about things that seem important! There's clues and things of that nature that you may need to call back to.
Zorka pipes up as she carries the keys back to the cauldron room. "Can leave Keystone Book in main room with cauldron. Cauldron room always here no matter where Hut goes or how hut changes!" she advises. Once you are all back in the room with the ever-bubbling cauldron, Zorka happily tosses the two keys - the plague doctor's mask and the tuft of frost giant here bequeathed unto Geedra by the former Black Rider - inside, with no thoughts to ask if preparations are complete. The contents of the large pot start bubbling more furiously, and Zorka carefully stirs it with a large wooden spoon. "Finally! Time to go go go! Bye bye, nasty city! Bye bye, nasty daughters! Let us find the true Queen!" As the fey creature cackles, nothing seems to happen. You all look around, but you don't see or feel anything...until you look out the windows that once gave view to the forest clearing are now pitch black. A moment later, the walls of the room start to shimmer, and shapes begin to melt and bleed as new ones rise. The cauldron and the table near it are immutable, but everything else slowly dissolves away and is replaced.
After only a few more seconds, the hyperactive bubbling stops and Zorka ceases her stirring. You stand in a room that is similar to the one you were just in, but not exactly. The cauldron and table remain, but the doors you once used to access the library and map room are gone. A grand cobblestone hearth now fills a corner, dying embers filling the rustic room with a dull red glow. The floors are timber, the walls heavy logs, and where the shelves and tables of strange alchemical ingredients and components were now sit stacks of crates, barrels and other containers in much of the space. They seem to be full of mundane supplies - ropes, tools and farming equipment, canvas for tents, pitons, flasks of lamp oil, and other odds and ends. A rickety wooden staircase climbs a short distance to a small landing where a shallow alcove is home to a set of heavy wooden double doors. Zorka is delighted, and breathes a sigh of relief. "Not sure where we are, but glad to be gone of that place! Ok you new Riders, time to do your jobs! Get out there and follow Witch Queen's trail! Likely more keys to find wherever we are, more keys to take us to next place! Baba Yaga very smart, plans very good!"
The wooden doors are heavy and difficult to move, but not stuck or locked. They swing open to reveal a long corridor that stretches out left and right, the aged plank floors seeming to continue forever. Solid logs form the passage walls, intricately carved with knotted designs and images of lances and centaurs, ravens and female figures. Pale-winged moths and fireflies flutter though the hallway, their flickering glows filling the corridor with dim light.
Bear with me as a power surge earlier this week did something to my modem which has kind of stolen my non-phone internet access :/ Trying to get an ISP to do something is a real struggle.
You move cautiously towards the Hut, which continues to calm as you grow nearer. It "looks" down at you, pulling its leg forward to rattle the chain affixed to it. After it does this a few times, it settles down and nestles low to the ground, putting the steps to its porch level with the forest floor. Krosh closes his eyes for a few moments, gesturing in the air as he whispers, and then nods. "This is no normal chain," he says. "A shackle to deny magical travel. A dimensional anchor." He beckons the rest of you towards it. As the four of you draw nearer, a sharp sound, barely audible at the heightened edge of hearing, suddenly rings out. The chain begins to shake, and does so more swiftly with each step you take. When you all get within ten feet of it, it suddenly shatters like glass into countless motes of scintillating blackened shards that hover in the air for a long moment before vanishing. With an understanding you can't quite place, you somehow know that your possessing of the mantles was enough to undo this magic. With the chain gone, there is only one thing left to do, enter the hut. You clamber onto the porch, and the sound of the door unlatching sounds out as soon as you make it there. It creaks open, granting you passage. You enter into a single room, but already you can see more of the magic this strange construction has to offer. The single room you enter into is easily double the size of the huts exterior - outside, the hut seemed to be no larger than fifteen feet per side, but this chamber is easily nearly forty. A cozy room, bundles of dried herbs hang from the rafters, and the walls are lined with numerous shelves that hold a bewildering variety of glass jars, bottles, and vials containing all manner of strange magical components and alchemical ingredients. A massive cauldron sits in the center of the room. No fire burns beneath it, but the liquid within it bubbles and churns, and white fumes rise and lap over the brim. A large stove, a writing desk upon which sits a cracked clay bowl and a brown chicken egg, bookcase, and fireplace complete the room, along with a number of crates, barrels, and sacks. A short flight of steps leads up to a set of double doors on the far wall (further chronicling the strange dimensional space you now find yourself in), and a small ladder climbs to a trap door in the ceiling in the corner. Two windows flank the door from which you just entered, looking out over the clearing that moments ago was a battlefield and a pyre.
You can choose. I'll get Krosh leveled up. Been under the weather the past few days and getting back to normal finally. Feel free to continue on with any reactions/actions the gameplay thread. You Riders still have a hut to claim :)
Round 8 Mithas looks up at the flying witch and lines up another shot. The arrow tears through the air but glances off of the jadwiga's invisible arcane armor. Skäne throws the emptied potion flask to the ground and lets out a roar of fury, unslinging his magical spear as he suddenly takes off from the ground, a shower of snow swirling behind him. His newfound flight takes him across the clearing and straight at Nazhena,
The Ulfen warrior's spear plunges into the witch, forcing its way through her magical defenses. She coughs up blood onto Skäne's face, looking down in disbelief at her sudden predicament. "Filthy...Ulfen...dog," she spits. Skäne twists the spear and she lets out a final grunt before sliding off of the weapon and falling unceremoniously to the ground, crashing into the snow.
An eerie quiet settles upon the land as you gather yourselves and take stock of what has just happened. The sound of the dancing hut itself scratching at the ground and pulling on its huge chains snap you back into focus as you gather back together. The woman impaled on the fence stirs, the red stains on her pure white garments, flesh, and hair a testament to the damage she has sustained. She inclines her head and narrows her cloudy eyes. Mithas and Byakko recognize her as the woman from their dream. She looks first to Geedra, and then to Skäne. "Black Midnight...Red Sun," she says weakly with a half smile. "Well...not the ones I know, but you are they now. You've...done well." She coughs up some blood, not unlike the jadwiga a few moments ago. "There is no time to waste...I have..held on as long as I could." She raises a hand to Mithas and Byakko, beckoning them closer. "Three...riders must there be. Three Riders to herald the Queen...Three Riders to save her...to stop what has begun. My light wanes, but...yours shall ignite." Stoic Krosh steps up behind Mithas and Byakko and nods, nudging them forward. "She speaks true. I have dreamed of this. The final piece to set into place." The white lady narrows her eyes again. "I have...seen you in the veil, horned one...I may...have enough strength to bestow upon three..." she hesitates, but Krosh raises his hand. "My soul obeys different masters, and I am bound to them. They have given me leave to serve the Riders, not become one." The woman nods in a strange and instant understanding. "Then let it be so...Bright Morning must ride again." She closes he eyes and her hand starts to glow a pure, bright white. When she opens her eyes again they are solid pools of radiance, and a blazing white aura flares up around her before flowing out through her hand towards Mithas and Byakko. A warmth envelopes them as the light spirals around their forms. Their eyes burst in light too as the glow grows stronger, pulsing brighter and brighter until it abruptly enters their bodies and vanishes. The glow of the eyes lasts another moment longer before they fade back to normal. A bristling strength courses through the veins of the elf and half-elf, an electric current of energy. And also an indiscernible sense of purpose. "Save...the Queen..," are the last words of the white lady, her final act of passing the mantle of Bright Morning to her successors sapping her remaining life force. She fades, her hair dimming to a muted brown, her once alabaster flesh to a more normal rosy hue. "And now the hunt begins," Krosh intones.
2 potions of barkskin
Emberchill - This sickle has a hilt of bleached bone and a cruel, jagged blade forged of magical ice. It functions as a +1 Frost Sickle and is immune to fire damage. Additionally, a spellcaster can store a single spell of any level with the cold descriptor and a casting time of 1 standard action into the weapon. The wielder can use the stored spell to counter a spell with the fire descriptor with a spell level less than or equal to the stored cold spell. The wielder must still ready an action to counter the spell. Emberchill currently has a Wall of Ice spell stored within. Hyperboreal Robe (body slot) - A beautiful robe of fine blue silk embroidered with silver thread and trimmed with own feathers and tiny crystal shards. The wearer gains a +2 resistance bonus on all saving throws. In addition, anyone who strikes the wearer with an unarmed strike, touch attack, or a natural weapon takes 1d6 points of cold damage - this ability can be activated or deactivated as a free action. Ring of Entropic Defense - a delicate band of braided metals - one a dark blue and one an inky black. This ring allows the wearer to use an immediate action 2/day to project a personal field of entropy to stave off ranged attacks. This functions as entropic shield, but only lasts until the end of the turn of the creature during which the ring was activated. Blue quartz tiara worth 500 gp
Round 1 Mithas begins the fray with the jadwiga by dashing forward and firing off an arrow in her direction. It sails in between her two hulking ice guardians. As it nears her, however, the arrow starts to distort in the air around her... .. but the projectile punches through her defenses, just barely managing to find her flesh. She clenches her teeth but does not betray herself to any vocalization of pain. Skäne, bolstered by his allies, marches forward as he unslings the hefty adamantine warhammer. In a booming voice he bellows out a dire threat to the witch, who looks up from the arrow wound to lock eyes with the hardened ulfen. You can see her shrink a bit where she stands... Nazhena takes to the air, flying fifty feet above her ice minions. Her eyes start to burn a blue so fierce they look to explode from her skull. She raises a hand above her head and the already dark skies churn and blacken more. "You may have bested my trolls, my dragons, my apprentice...but I am a Jadwiga, of Elvanna's own blood...here you will fail." Her words have lost some of their punch from Skäne's threatening demeanor and own utterances, but she manages to muster her regality nonetheless. As she brings her hand in a downwards swipe, the skies suddenly open up with a downpour of cyclonic wind and arcane-infused precipitation, blinding pellets of snow and sleet that whip through the clearing, stinging your exposed faces. Though not strong enough to cause physical harm, your find your vision obscured by the storm, and movement hampered.
Mithas
Whatever purpose this anchoring font serves, you decide it is best to sever its connection to the world from which it came. Gathering what brush and kindling you can from the clearing and putting it around the trunk, you set about setting it ablaze. Bonded with the roaming fire spirits for the day, Krosh can assist with the flames those spirits have imbued him with, and with a combination of the mundane and the magic, the foliage is lit. You all watch in stony silence for a few minutes as the red and orange flames lick up the trunk. The breeze intensifies around you, as if the clearing itself were shuddering in abhorrence of the burning. The bark cracks and crackles as it starts to split, fragments dropping off as the heat pulls it from the trunk. All else is quiet. As more and more of the bark cracks and separates, you begin to see a faint silvery light glow from within the tree itself. It grows brighter the longer the tree burns. The flames roar on and you steel yourself at whatever strange magic is at work. The winds pick up stronger, colder, sending your garments and hair flapping wildly. A few moments later the force of it strengthens again, threatening to knock you over. The leaves and sticks from the grown are kicked up in a near cyclone around you and you shield your face from the airborne debris as the fires climb higher and higher in the tree and more light peers out from beneath, until everything finally culminates in one loud snap of sound. The tree shatters like glass, both in sight and sound. The trunk and branches break apart into countless fragments wreathed in flame. They float in the air for a moment that seems like an eternity, and past all of it you can see a pulsing silvery core of energy floating in the middle. It shudders and shakes, growing immensely bright for just a mere second before it suddenly implodes. The wind abruptly stops, and all of the fragments fall to the ground, along with the sticks and leaves. Somewhere deeper in the woods, you hear the same faint sound of shattering that the tree made in its last moment, and then all is quiet again. "The first is broken," Krosh intones, both tentative and ominous.
Round 3 (Continued) Skäne pulls himself together after reeling for a moment from the electricity coursing through him. Still tasting the sour tang of iron in the back of his throat, he presses on the fey in the air, delivering two forceful punches with his spear. The first catches her on the side, slicing through her thick clothing and cutting a ragged wound on her side. She hisses in pain and puts more focus into avoiding the second impalement, twisting and using her rapier to help parry the blow. Abruptly, the sounds of the midair melee go silent. Skäne's battlecries and grunts as he stabs at the fey are sucked out of the air, and with it the clamor of weapons. To Skäne's own perception, even the sound of the blood pumping in his ears and the adrenaline-jolted heartbeat are whisked away, leaving the two fights in a void of supernatural silence. Byakko edges into the range of the spell as well, looking up to give a gesture and a nod towards the Ulfen warrior. Geedra glowers at the enemy, her eye taking on a strange and eerie hue, almost looking to double in size for a moment. The bareful stare washes over the dawn piper, and she seems pulled by some unseen force to look in the goblin's direction. A shiver runs down her spine. Ignoring the small fey trying to skewer him, Krosh puts all of his efforts in keeping wounds closed, channeling his divine energy outward again. hp back to everyone. Round 4
The fey looks like she wants to cast a spell but realizes she cannot, and turns her flaring fury outward with more than just an expression. Her silver skin starts to glow white and as she flings her arms out to the side a flash of pure radiance pours out from her and fills the area.
She then flies back towards the tree, landing softly on a branch, a graceful movement that belies the seething rage on her face. The plant-fey laughs in eerie glee as it forsakes the white tiger behind it and moves again to skewer a now-blinded Krosh. It finds purchase this time, squealing in delight as it pokes its needle-like spear under the half-orcs armor. Rolls: plus
You make known your intent to press on, refusing to back down as part of the magical oaths some of you have taken up. The fey woman gives you a detestable look, and a silver flute suddenly appears in her hand. "So be it." While the brief exchange occurs, Byakko begins to weave the outline of a spell, preparing it for use.
Map
Mithas
Init:
Round 2 Most of the campsite turns into a brazen melee with claws, weapons, and spells being flung across it. Despite this, the three merchant men have become so complacent with their prolonged ingestion of the wine that they consider it nothing more than a slight bother, occasionally hollering out that you mind the food and don't spill the wine. Mithas realigns his aim and snaps off an arrow at the sister trading blows with Skäne. The ever-accurate elf slips the projectile neatly in their martial dance, striking the now-feral woman in the arm. She hisses as she glances down at the wound. Geedra hexes that same sister, restitching that tapestry of fortune that is draped across the shoulders of all as she has become so keen to do. The woman's eyes take on a grey hue as she slumps slightly where she stands, as if suddenly dragged with some invisibly weight. Skäne takes the opportunity granted to him by the one-two punch of the arrow and hex to add a third strike - another forceful thrust of his magical spear. Again the weapon finds her, opening another vicious wound in her gut. Enni lets out a primal roar at the sister that slashed her, but the woman responds with one of her own, unfazed...until the cat lunges out and wraps her paws around her, settling in with claws. Byakko cuts into Elzbethe as he flicks his blade into a horizontal cut which she doesn't succeed at backing away from in time. Her green and brown vestments are slashed as well as the flesh beneath, coaxing an emission of blood. The half-elf joins in the roaring, and his proves to be the most ferocious of all, causing the woman to shrink back before him. All three woman's eyes suddenly gloww bloodshot as they let their fury truly take hold, their bestial forms becoming even more savage. The sister fighting Skäne launches out in a furious flurry. Her mouth of jagged fangs collides with the shield - she hisses through her teeth when she touches the boss of the bulwark, wisps of steam coming off of her skin upon coming into contact with the cold iron... One claw looks well-placed, but Skäne parries it with his spear with a forceful grunt. Another claw again slips past his defenses and looks to widen the gash on his neck...but at the last moment the raking talons are repelled, almost as if by some unseen force.. The grappled woman tries to break free of the cat's grasp, mustering with her now enraged strength. She just manages to break free, pulling out the clawed hold, but is unable to act further after the contest of might. Elzbethe, though cowed by Byakko's demeanor, presses her attack with the help of her own rage. Both of her claws fail to find purchase - one unable to break through armor, the other dodged - but her teeth sink into the oracle's arm. As the fangs break flesh, however, the glowing phantasmal flame in front of him suddenly explodes in a wave of fire that washes over her. She shrieks out in surprise. Krosh casts produce flame, muttering to the spirits and conjuring a spherical flame that wreathes his hand.
Rolls:
Geedra starts walking towards the campsite, and the three men cheer as she does, one throwing his arm around another as they laugh. They hold out a skin of wine towards her as she takes a seat. "It's quite good! Have some bread and hare if you want, as well!" One of the women smiles at Byakko. "I am not without gifts," she says. She holds up a hand and gestures to one of the hanging trinkets from a nearby branch and she traces her finger through the air. The token moves by some unseen force, following her direction to nestle neatly on another bough. "We are acquainted with the fey magic, and we know how to protect ourselves from it, and those who wield it." She shrugs and her sister steps up next to her, looking a little sour. "Elzbethe, ff they don't want our hospitality, so be it. Begone with them then, I say," she says, crossing her arms. The first woman, Elzbethe, sighs. "Ease yourself, Joli, I'm sure these travelers are just tired and upon edge from the trials of this place. Mind yourself," Elzbethe scolds. "She is right though, those of you who do not wish to accept our offer, please be on your way. Any who desire to stay are welcome. I am not sure what information we can supply to you, my elven friend. Plenty is unusual. What lies at the center of this place will do whatever it can to protect itself. If you care not to weather the storm with us, I suggest you find your way out of here. You look like capable sorts, but you do not wish to tangle with the things that dwell deeper here, nor the barrier. Now, it seems your goblin friend wishes to join us, but the rest of you can kindly depart." She smiles again, but there is a certain sharpness to it this time. Geedra:
You just can't help yourself. You didn't realize how hungry, thirsty, and tired you have been! The smell of the still-warm rabbits fills your nose, your mouth waters. The human man shakes a skin of wine a foot from your face, and you long for the sweetness. You help yourself to food and drink, cozy by the flames. Indeed, Geedra sits upon a log, having taken the skin of wine and a roasted hare to fill her toothy mouth. She grins her Geedra grin, grease and spirits dribbling out.
"My, my," Ringeirr says, hesitantly receiving the sword and scabbard from Skäne. "The goodness of you and your kith knows no bounds, does it? You have the old honor in you. The iron honor of our forebears. May it and they keep you." You all find a welcome rest in the hot springs this evening. You are free to use the springs at your leisure, and are tended to by the clerics of the Heralds, who are generous in their offerings of healing magic, bringing you all back to full strength for the trials ahead. The food is meager fare, but given freely for your assistance and services. Hard mostly stale bread, thin broth, dried and salted fish. It isn't wonderful, but it sustains. Before you settle into sleep in the bunks, an agent of Solveig does deliver to you a satchel of what additional supplies the heralds could spare. You are given 2 light healing potions, 2 moderate healing potions, 1 divine scroll of remove fear, and 2 flasks of holy water. You are then left to the night. Skäne:
Another dream...
You stand in the wood of silver pines, frost limning the needles as the shiver in the north wind. The air swirls the loose snow about you in a crystalline mist, and you hear the crunch of a footstep behind you. You spin and see nothing, but at your back feel a powerful presence that you have felt before, commanding as a shadow falls on you. You turn again to see the massive silvered bear, Ilvarang, his sapphire eyes peering through your flesh and bone to the true man beneath. His breath steams heavily in the frigid air, smelling of turned earth and old bark. He lowers slightly, angling his great head to look into your eyes now. "These lands were once my own." His voice thunders through you, deep, guttural, but also sonorous. You can feel the weight of countless eons of strength and wisdom that they carry. Though you recognize the words as Skald and can understand them, they are in a form you can tell is ancient. Primal. "But I am no more than what you see before you, in this land beyond those you walk. The Taken Land. The children I once watched could not defend it, and now you have picked up their broken blade. But you do not yet know the true strength within. The dark magics were in your blood, thick and foul. Not always will the light magics be there to purge you. You must learn to cleanse yourself." Ilvarang turns and lumbers through the snow, which parts before him in complete obeisance. "Gather unto me with a hexer's tongue, sacred waters, and liquid silver; enough to fill a stag's skull. I will return, and you will learn the first lesson." The sudden, ferocious howl of a wolf reflexively forces you to spin again, and when you look back, Ilvarang is gone, and the world dissolves away as you awaken...
The next morning, once you are fully readied, Solveig speaks to you once more. "I fear this may be the last we see of each other for some while," she says. "Know that you forever have the gratitude and friendship of the Heralds of Summer's Return. I know you have a journey ahead of you that is more perilous than I can imagine, but I wish you all good fortune I can muster. What you've done in the city will greatly aid us in our efforts, so know that you leave this place better than you found it. Scouting reports show that the only visible entrance to that cursed wood is lightly guarded - a few trolls, but the rest of the winter guard has abandoned the perimeter. They and the winter wolves are in full focus on the guerrilla skirmishes the Iron Guard and Heralds are waging throughout Whitethrone. This is the best chance you'll have to get in without a full contingent of Winter Guard on you. Mithas and Byakko know the way. And please...be careful in there. Gods only know what horrors lie in wait." Ringeirr nods along and waits for the exchanges with Solveig to finish before he chimes in. "I'm not as flowery with words as the commander here, but you know you have my thanks as well. Not just for what you've done here, but for my family as well - Nadya and her children. I've no doubt that you'll give every troll, fey, and witch from here to whatever fairyland they crawled out of a good Nine Hells of fury. Kill one or two for me and tell 'em old Ringeirr sends his regards!" Once your farewells are sated, you leave the springs and navigate back through the city, Mithas and Byakko leading you to the town square, where the shops and homes of the Merchants' Quarter stop abruptly at a towering wall of evergreens that burst through the snow-covered cobblestones of the city's streets. As far as you can see in any direction, the snarling mass of thorn-ridden trees obfuscate all sight beyond. Ahead, the trees part to form a path winding into the dark forest that has replaced all sights and senses of the city around it. From your vantage in the last alley before the square, you can see the three blue-skinned trolls Solveig told you about milling about. They are a good thirty feet from the treeline, and every so often look ominously towards the forest as some strange noise emanates from it.
Granny Nan's eyes stare long and hard at the hex nail, and Skäne's offering a favored activity are not lost on her. She narrows her eyes to mere slits, clearing her throat before shifting to regard the Ulfen warrior. Her voice, a moment before possessed of a superior air, is lower and flatter. "What do you want, orrostumaðr?" she says through her teeth. Sense Motive DC 18: Skäne has obviously cowed this witch to a point - this interaction did not go as planned for her. Perhaps she overestimated her charm; more effective on trolls.
Nan narrows her eyes at Geedra, her brittle fingernails tapping the top of the iron stove. "Cooking," she says. "Trolls eat a lot."
Greetings, and welcome aboard! Current party is Rogue (Scout), Fighter (Viking), Witch (Winter), and NPC Shaman (Animist), with a Bard (Arcane Duelist) being the retiring ex-PC. Pretty much anything will supplement the core four well, so whatever you want is fine. 6th level, 18 pt point buy, as you saw. And there will be a boon by the end of the book (soon) for you and Mithas to bring you alongside the other two. I did a quick tally of the PCs gear, with what they've just accumulated with the dragon battle, and 15,000 gp to start for you sounds good. We will be able to bring you in right after the PCs are done with the clock tower.
Round 3 Skäne pursues the dragon through the air, coming upon him as he blasts the platform with another frigid breath, allowing the battle rage within him boil his blood and swell his muscles. A mighty yell escapes the berserker as he thrusts his spear into the dragon's flank. The head punches hard through the ice-crusted scales, finding egress only when the beast twists and writhes in pain, pulling away from the strike. Blood flows steadily from the wound as the dragon seethes, his glacial stare sweeping around to look at his gathered adversaries...suddenly not looking so confident. Mithas and Geedra:
You cannot help but look past the dragon to Skäne as your Ulfen ally yells in his rage, and for a moment, as he enters that state, you think you catch a passing glimpse of a wispy shape around him that looks like a bear...but then it is gone. A trick of the light? "This..." the wyrm hisses, his gaze turning back to Skäne. "You-" Whatever taunt, threat, or other utterance was to follow is cut short. An arrow pierces his neck from the side, the head emerges through the front of his throat. His wings slump, his head cranes back to the platform to see Mithas's bowstring still reverberating from its action. The elf himself still in firing stance, eyes locked on the enemy. Logrivich's eyes roll to the back of his head and he falls. He hits the edge of the platform, taking a chunk of ice away from the edge with his weight, before plummeting hard to the ground below with a mighty crash.
Geedra scampers across the ice unimpeded due to her witchcraft, and conjures a dark mark upon the white dragon. The creature has a flash of uncertainty in its bout with Skäne, eyes shifting left and right for a moment as if looking for some unseen force. He manages to regain his composure in time for Skäne's spear thrust, turning aside just enough to make the attack a glancing blow. The sound of the spear grinding across his ice-flecked scales makes an unsettling scraping noise. "All this grit to fly up here to face me, and you don't even give me a show..." His grin bares pink-stained fangs. His breath is frigid mist. Katie charges his bow with arcane power while continuing her saga about the old Ulfen Linnorm-Slayer. As she draws the arrow back, its head shimmers with blue and red light before she lets loose. It punches into the dragon's side, and he hisses, neck craning around Skäne to look at the forces on the ledge peppering him with arrows. Round 3 Krosh reaches out and touches Mithas's bowstring. With his other hand, he spins a trinket hanging from one of the tines on his antlered helm, and after a moment a familiar shower of wispy silver motes flow out from him. Instead of nursing wounds, however, the particles surge into Mithas's bow, causing the weapon to glow that same silver light. "Listen to the singer's tale. Be the slayer of dragons."
Rolls:
Skäne moves over to the door after Mithas relays what he hears. He tests it a few times with his hand before bracing his weight and steadying his frame to give the portal a good ram. He lunges forward shoulder first into the barrier once with all of his might and there is a crack in the wood. A collective wince from everyone follows the sound as you all tense and look around to see if there is any response to the noise, but the grinding clockworks seem to have masked it, insofar as you can tell. The singing does stop at the crack, however, and with a second slam into the door the thing breaks loose through the lock and Skäne catches himself before stumbling too far into the room beyond. On the other side of the door is a wide, comfortable looking suite. It is only ten feet across, but looks to be about thirty feet left to right. A large bed complete with fine linens and draperies sits in the far left corner next to a upholstered chair. A dresser sits in the center, and a bookshelf stands at an angle to the right. An ornate silvery mirror hangs on the wall above the bookshelf. Frosty windows look out onto Whitethrone, though they are shut tight. At the window in between the bookshelf and the bed you see a young human woman. Pale skin, delicate features, smooth shoulder-length dark hair, bright green eyes, silver jewelry and embroidered noble clothing, she certainly seems something like a princess. At second glance, you can see the tiredness on her face, the circles under her eyes, the apprehension in her posture. She currently has her back to the window, looking towards the door, startled and anxious. "Y...you're not..who are you?" she stammers.
Surprise Round Skäne roars out in challenge to the trolls, charging across the hallway brandishing shield and spear. The trolls turn at the sound, only to see the Ulfen berserker barreling towards them. Shifting the spear into a horizontal position and drawing it back, Skäne thrusts forward, using the momentum of his dash to plunge the weapon deep into the troll’s side. It bellows out, greenish-black blood spewing from its wound. As Skäne withdraws the spear, a gruesome exit, an arrow from Mithas’s sails over his shoulder and rips into the wounded giant’s neck. The head of the projectile makes a wet punching noise as it strikes the thinnest part of the throat, continuing through until it emerges from the other side. The troll gurgles and groans, blood bubbling from its throat to join the river running from its side. Geedra cackles from the back, reveling in the misfortune of these two enemies. Conjuring up eldritch craft, she sends a humming bolt of swirling dark grey and black mistlike energy through the air. It sails past Skäne and the wounded troll to hit the second foe in the far chamber. Upon striking the energy dissipates, swirling around the giant. The creature’s pale blue skin takes on a sickly grey hue where the tendrils of shadow energy pass, cracking and withering. The curling fumes of unlight converge on its head, the planar smoke entering into its eyes. The troll yells out, throwing its head back until the remnants of the spell have been completely absorbed, and its eyes left black and lightless. It shouts out in confusion, turning about where it stands. Round 1 Skäne continues his melee with the hemorrhaging troll, sounding out a threatening promise of doom, though his words seem to fall on deaf ears - more due to the troll’s standing precarious position teetering on death’s threshold than the creature’s strength of will. It does manage, however, to barely use its lanky, toned arm to bat away the Ulfen’s next spear thrust which would have certainly done it in… Only to be struck again by a whizzing arrow that finds a new home between its eyes. Soundless the troll falls, collapsing to the ground as Mithas lowers his bow, the string still faintly reverberating. The remaining troll, injured, blinded, and perhaps aware of the sudden removal of its comrade from the battle, runs full speed back into the hallway, yelling in a frantic avalanche of giant-speak. Its blindness and disregard for anything but egress leaves it quite open to attacks, and by the time it runs the gauntlet of the hallway, the flash of weaponry from your gathered forces drops it to the ground. Wordlessly, Krosh places his fiery hand onto the corpses of the trolls, burning the regenerative power out of them.
You climb the stairs that ascend to a landing before climbing up again and again in a switchback fashion, bringing you to another landing. As you make your way up, you are obnoxiously aware of the continuous grinding of gears and other mechanical apparatuses that operate the clocks above in the tower. The are loud enough to be consistently noticeable, and even somewhat distracting as they fill the air with the ominous shifting of inevitability. At the second landing, a heavy wooden door sits in the southern wall and the stairs continue upwards.
So sorry Skäne. I truly feel for you. It's terrible to lose such a cherished part of your life. Take all the time you need. Thoughts to you and yours.
The children quiet down at Mithas's behest, a few crowding around him. "Stay here...?" one says. They exchange nervous glances. "But...but what if the trolls come to eat us?" They start muttering amongst themselves, and the eldest girl speaks up again. "Some of us have no family...some of us just taken...some taken to punish family. There were more but...when they take you upstairs...you don't come back. Most of the time. I was up there once...there is an old witch that..cooks kids for the trolls! There's a ghost, too...and the dragon that's king of the tower. And a black monster that breathes fire! I almost got cooked but there was yelling and I got put back here." One of the youngest girls also makes an addition. "There's a pretty princess! She sings...when she isn't crying." A few of the other children nod in affirmation. When Skäne approaches and hands over the daggers and horn, that seems to settle the children enough to get them agree to stay put. The oldest girl takes the horn gingerly into her hands, looking up at the viking with a curious look. "You...look like my father did." There is a flat sadness in her voice, and her fingers tighten around the horn. In regards to the scrolls, Krosh peers at them from behind his mask. "It is a foul thing, to force the dead to rise. To shackle a spirit. I am to serve the Riders now, and if the Riders would have me do so, I would, to serve the greater purpose...if I could. These scrolls are not my magic." A very subtle turn of the head sounds one small jingling of a trinket as he turns to Geedra. "These are your craft."
Okay everyone, I've updated all the loot up to and including the bugbear you just defeated. The Campaign Info tab has everything, and I'll take over keeping it up to date. That said, I'll note the following: I will assume everything that is on the Campaign Info loot table is in the Bag of Holding unless someone specifically claims it. If you would like something, please make it known and add it to your character sheet and I will remove it from the loot sheet. Additionally, I believe there was talk about Skäne carrying the bag, but was never a confirmation, so I would like to have someone officially holding the bag, just to keep record of who exactly has all the stuff at any given time. If there are potions or scrolls you think you would want to use in combat or other situations when retrieving them from the Bag would be improbable, might be a good idea to take them onto your person. I also might have an offline friend joining us after the holidays to replace Katie, so I'll keep you updated on that as well.
Bound by Krosh's magic, the white-furred brute of a bugbear can only look on helplessly as Skäne maneuvers his spear beneath its chin and thrusts it upwards. The magical head of weapon pierces into the jailer's decidedly no-so magical skull, bringing a swift and unceremonious end to its cruelty. When the viking withdraws the spear, the goblinoid collapses to the ground in a heavy crumpling, never to move again. The children within the cages all cheer, banging on the bars of their cells in excitement, jumping up and down as they witness their tormentor brought to justice. Krosh lowers his hand and shakes his head. He closes his eyes and draws a finger across several of the trinkets woven into his armor and dangling from his antlered helm. He whispers into the aether for a few brief moments before opening his eyes again. "So many lingering spirits...they can pass now and find peace, and avoid becoming foul specters, or worse." He nods approvingly. The bugbear doesn't seem to have been carrying much - the masterwork ogre hook that lies in the pooling blood, a suit of scarred masterwork studded leather armor, three javelins strapped on the back, a pouch with 75 gold pieces, and a non-magical necklace of...severed fingers. The bloodstained butcher's block has a whetstone and the huge, honed cleaver more fit for troll hands than any smaller creature. On a nail half-protruding from the side of the table is a ring of keys. Setting the children free from their cells, they are quick to spring out into the room. They shower you with praise and thanks, a few of them even hugging your legs. One girl throws her arms around Geedra from behind, much to the chagrin of the goblin. One of the other girls who looks like the oldest speaks up. "We didn't think anyone would come..." she says. "Is it safe to leave? Can we go home?"
Skäne, that's just horrible to hear :( So so sorry that you have been dealt this hand, and sorry for the hund as well...ugh, no words can alleviate such a loss. I am sure you will do your best to make his remaining time as best as it can be. Take care of yourself and yours.
Skäne wastes no other time beyond approving of Katie's beheading of the troll before he turns to the hound vexing his other ally. Muscles swelling beneath his innate strength, that of his fury, and the magical endowments, he grips the haft of his spear firmly to aim a skewering strike. The spearhead finds ample purchase on the grotesque beast's side, sinking deep into flesh and sinew. The viking rips it out with a mighty yank, causing the creature to howl in pain - a horrible sound that is some mix of hound, boar, and something else. Though it still stands, the troll's pet is certainly staggered from the blow.
Mithas: 25
Mithas investigates to the door to the right, cautiously looking over it as he tests it for ways it could be trapped. After being satisfied that the door is not a danger, and not hearing anything beyond, he gives a nod and opens it . Beyond the door is an armory. Weapon racks line the walls to the left and right and a few battered wooden training dummies sit askew on their anchor posts, having been subjected to more than a few beatings. A scarred, heavy table takes up some of the center of the armory, covered in weapons of various make and size. At the other end of the room, near another set of double doors and a training dummy, an ice troll stands idly as he runs a whetstone very slowly over a large axe. Near his feet lays a vaguely canine beast, a squat, scaly, green-tinged monster dotted with warts and sores. It is currently slobbering over a bone, a turquoise bile dripping from its fanged mouth. Both occupants look to the door as it opens, and the troll throws down the whetstone and punches the training dummy in anger as he bellows. Giant:
"Intruders!" The beast hops up to its feet and growls. Init: Mithas: 25
Round 1 Upon seeing the enemies, Krosh mutters an invocation to the spirits, and flames spark to life in his hand.
Init:
Yeah, probably. I'll look into it, but either way I expect to kick things back off this weekend and get the show back on the road.
"The dragon must be brought down one way or the other, little one," Solveig says to Geedra. "If you truly bare the mantle of Baba Yaga's great riders, you are more fit to the challenge than anyone else. You will have the element of surprise on your side, surely, and as I said, it is our only chance to clear the magical forest of Winter Guards. Pay heed to your Ulfen comrades, little one. Not everyone can boast the title Dragonslayer." Solveig offers a reassuring smile to Geedra and a firm nod to Skäne. She starts to move towards another passage leading out of this chamber, and looks over her shoulder. "I'm not unaccommodating. The Heralds do not ask favors empty-handed. If you're in, follow me." She heads down the passage. Krosh's voice hums from behind. "The spirits of fire mark that one with their aura," he says. "She burns bright. There is no facade to her zeal." Apparently, this statement is enough of a justification for Krosh, and he starts to follow. The passage leads past a few small rooms that look like simple bunks and tucked-away rest areas, but eventually leads to a larger room where you find Solveig has stopped. It looks to be a storage area of sorts - there are a few weapons and suits of armor, but calling it an armory would be quite the overstatement. Solveig lays out items on the table, and you notice a few others standing nearby - a male human in priestly vestments with long blonde hair, a human female in leather with short dark hair and a missing ear, and a male elf in the corner currently donning a shirt of sleek mithril chain. "Healing potions, holy water, and resistance balms for your trouble. They should help you in scaling the tower's interior and defeating its inhabitants. As long as you are in Whitethrone, you have full access to the Heralds - our clerics can tend to your wounds and afflictions, our cooks can feed you, our beds can rest you, our attendants can sharpen your steel, restring your bows, repair your mail, and restitch your leathers. I know that I made it clear that this mission is urgent, but I don't intend to send you straight away, but our timeline will require action within the next day, or two at the latest. In the meantime you can rest and recover, and if you have any need to trade or further supply yourselves, my people can take you to merchants who are friendly to our cause, or for more potent wares, ones who are more...indifferent to the current regime. And finally, to show that I am not intending to send you on a suicide mission..." She looks across the room to the elf you noticed and whistles, motioning for him to join your conversation. "I will send one of my own with you on this task. May I introduce you to Mithas Aran. He knows the city well and is one of my most seasoned combatants, and should be a great boon to you in the trials ahead."
Looks good to me! Just figure out where to put that 1200 gp and we'll be set. Krosh has cure light wounds wand with full charges as far as communal items go; other than that, not sure what the group would want. I'll get us moving here in the next day or so, and then onward to slay a dragon!
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