Ultimately up to y'all, but I'm also okay with breaking initiative order and allowing those who desire to engage the Kobolds.
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icmasticc
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Sanity is not statistical.
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Wowzers, Hekazu! Super cool!
It actually worked! That is some awesome mechanics.
Torus/Xaron is up for anything. I leave it to Harbinger's suggestion.
It actually worked! That is some awesome mechanics.
Torus/Xaron is up for anything. I leave it to Harbinger's suggestion.
The crow secured its perverse talons around the strap fastened onto the plump water skin, dripping pieces of Rubicon in its flight, glittering the Gaul sky with the gall of one of Torus’ many leathery canteens. Hovering above the temple, the bird's eye caught six kobolds, motionless, with a draconic knight impaled by an orc’s javelin, like Dragonchess pawns captured and blissfully tossed to the side from grandmaster play. The feathered scout circled once more to obtain a better position over the inaugurating fumes, egressing from the enemy’s festered gathering.
Inscribed upon the edge of the sailor's wooly brows, survived wrinkles of knotty concentration, peering into grim smoke, exchanging sight between his pupils and that of the familiar’s, oscillating from fowl to fiend. And back again, as a female tyrannical voice uprooted within the occipital portion of his brain, gnawing and itching the noxious urges of the elder’s desire for mortality, his aspiring altruistic sacrifice to the oblivion.
Where flowers wither before they are planted.
Xaron remained ever interested in this spinal affair, relishing the marring distraction of bereavement, needless to say, as long as her currently bequeathed carcass, namely the aged pirate, remained intact and without peril. Her existence imprinted a half-century of nirvana amidst repressive despotism, the combination of raw cruelty and sophisticated edification. However, the psionic bard’s dharma realized, if all garnered entry into the shrine, each individually would surmount impeccable odds, unless they could corral those within to retaliate against meekness, and reinherit Greenest, once again.
Or, alternatively, reunite with death and life’s realtors.
The smolder proved more abstruse to decipher than the prophetic after-glow of Socratic oracles, challenging the intricate perceptional relay of the raven with the senior's own glimpses, to biangulate the sacrilegious perpetrator before Brannor, Orchid and Kyra. The intention was to fulfill a promise of Cicero, to release an aquatic anchor upon a licentious life, the analogous guillotine to the remaining sycophant of Tiamat. Serendipitously, the feminine culprit was distracted by a rallying voice, engineered masterfully by the blue-haired Hin. The womanly shadow held its armed stance, before the three, within the obscuring mist, providing an opportunity to plunge the soon-to-be ice-filled mortar, as the golden-eyed Sylvan paladin prepared the next evanescent strike.
With quivering aim, the squawk released its message upon the earth below, hoping it would not harm friend, but only foe.
Inscribed upon the edge of the sailor's wooly brows, survived wrinkles of knotty concentration, peering into grim smoke, exchanging sight between his pupils and that of the familiar’s, oscillating from fowl to fiend. And back again, as a female tyrannical voice uprooted within the occipital portion of his brain, gnawing and itching the noxious urges of the elder’s desire for mortality, his aspiring altruistic sacrifice to the oblivion.
Where flowers wither before they are planted.
Xaron remained ever interested in this spinal affair, relishing the marring distraction of bereavement, needless to say, as long as her currently bequeathed carcass, namely the aged pirate, remained intact and without peril. Her existence imprinted a half-century of nirvana amidst repressive despotism, the combination of raw cruelty and sophisticated edification. However, the psionic bard’s dharma realized, if all garnered entry into the shrine, each individually would surmount impeccable odds, unless they could corral those within to retaliate against meekness, and reinherit Greenest, once again.
Or, alternatively, reunite with death and life’s realtors.
The smolder proved more abstruse to decipher than the prophetic after-glow of Socratic oracles, challenging the intricate perceptional relay of the raven with the senior's own glimpses, to biangulate the sacrilegious perpetrator before Brannor, Orchid and Kyra. The intention was to fulfill a promise of Cicero, to release an aquatic anchor upon a licentious life, the analogous guillotine to the remaining sycophant of Tiamat. Serendipitously, the feminine culprit was distracted by a rallying voice, engineered masterfully by the blue-haired Hin. The womanly shadow held its armed stance, before the three, within the obscuring mist, providing an opportunity to plunge the soon-to-be ice-filled mortar, as the golden-eyed Sylvan paladin prepared the next evanescent strike.
With quivering aim, the squawk released its message upon the earth below, hoping it would not harm friend, but only foe.
Gotcha. My bad. I totally misunderstood. Will have the post up shortly.
Now, how should we resolve this improv?
Now, how should we resolve this improv?
If Parum casted the rally as a Minor Illusion, does that dissipate the smoke from the previous Minor Illusion? Or was the cloud invoked by an actual physical object, i.e. a bomb?
I'll write in the attempt, for sure, regardless! It'll be fun. Hope it doesn't hit anyone of us. :/
I'll write in the attempt, for sure, regardless! It'll be fun. Hope it doesn't hit anyone of us. :/
Gracias, sir! Sounds great!
No worries! I can definitely alter it! Give me a sec.
EDIT: Changed it up. Does this new readied action work? For future reference, can Torus make a mound with Mold Earth, with surrounding loose dirt, if he can't simultaneously excavate the vicinity's ground?
EDIT: Changed it up. Does this new readied action work? For future reference, can Torus make a mound with Mold Earth, with surrounding loose dirt, if he can't simultaneously excavate the vicinity's ground?
Agreed.
After Mr. Lake offered insight to the reach of his arcane arsenal, the cleric aptly provided roles and tactics to encapsulate the troupe guarding the sanctuary’s rear. Quickly, sand saturated the atmosphere, carried thriftly towards the opposing campfire, swirling tendrils of silt, instantly impregnating draconic pineal glands, the thrones of their cerebral penumbrae. Half a dozen succumbed to the mage’s Orphic hymns of Sleep, mystical intoxication prompting immediate slumber and torpor amid the nemeses. A curious pair of the remaining Dionysian eight began to tred and investigate the origin of the Thracian languor of their partners.
"Whenever... our time is short to attack."
Borne from primal instinct, Brannor’s reflexive predisposition already knocked an arrow, shelling the metallic head into the smoke, with a stringent pluck from his longbow. In concert with a distant human’s pain-ridden screech, the paladin, in short order, unsheathed his blade, equipped to engage the throng.
“Fret not, las.” Embracing his staff and shield, the pirate beckoned the large fanged root within his clenching fist to simmer with anger. The ground trembling beneath the soles of his plagiarized soul, as if the very earth was ‘bout to shift in aggregate before him.
The tethered tongue-ring licked Xaron's pale, vermillion borders, seething in the dusky moonlight, peppered by intermittent shadows cast by the floating raven, high above.
“Nightmares will surface. Wounds will reopen. These specters will know their graves within this hill.”
After Mr. Lake offered insight to the reach of his arcane arsenal, the cleric aptly provided roles and tactics to encapsulate the troupe guarding the sanctuary’s rear. Quickly, sand saturated the atmosphere, carried thriftly towards the opposing campfire, swirling tendrils of silt, instantly impregnating draconic pineal glands, the thrones of their cerebral penumbrae. Half a dozen succumbed to the mage’s Orphic hymns of Sleep, mystical intoxication prompting immediate slumber and torpor amid the nemeses. A curious pair of the remaining Dionysian eight began to tred and investigate the origin of the Thracian languor of their partners.
"Whenever... our time is short to attack."
Borne from primal instinct, Brannor’s reflexive predisposition already knocked an arrow, shelling the metallic head into the smoke, with a stringent pluck from his longbow. In concert with a distant human’s pain-ridden screech, the paladin, in short order, unsheathed his blade, equipped to engage the throng.
“Fret not, las.” Embracing his staff and shield, the pirate beckoned the large fanged root within his clenching fist to simmer with anger. The ground trembling beneath the soles of his plagiarized soul, as if the very earth was ‘bout to shift in aggregate before him.
The tethered tongue-ring licked Xaron's pale, vermillion borders, seething in the dusky moonlight, peppered by intermittent shadows cast by the floating raven, high above.
“Nightmares will surface. Wounds will reopen. These specters will know their graves within this hill.”
Post should be up shortly, as soon I get home. Just trying to get to a PC. Cellular devices can be tough to type prolifically upon.
EDIT: Post is live! Ended up using the phone anyway.
EDIT: Post is live! Ended up using the phone anyway.
Wow! I'm late to the party. Will post tomorrow. Sorry for Torus' delay.
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