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Sanity is not statistical.

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@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen

Does anyone want to discuss tactics before Hekazu commits the encounter in the IC? It seems odd they are throwing torches inside the mill as if they intend to just burn the structures without reservation, which if already set in motion we would be unlikely to prevent. In other words, is the mill salvageable, even if it isn't a trap? Should we focus on kidnapping instead?
Oops! Made a mistake! Warlocks only have 1 Spell Slot at Level 1. Will correct in the previous posts. Wick now still has 2 spell slots free as she utilized Globe of Light as a Limit.
The forest was numb.

Insensible to the noxious catastrophe nearby, birds conducted song and courtship without mind. Rabbits rummaged caches hidden a winter prior, relishing their rewards amongst their relatives. Deer frolicked together alongside the whispering heroes, while fish twirled playfully in the adjacent stream. Their scales glimmered from the prancing shadows thrown from nigh house fires.

The pirate knew that Nature was too resourceful to be bothered by this invasion. Programmed to adapt, species always subsisted into overpopulation, checked only by a disaster or predators to regulate their census. Numbers would fall, but the fittest would enjoy the spoils of evolution, acclimating to the circumstances to thrive into throngs with the next generation. Their wrinkled populace, modified phenotypically by hazardous selection pressures, became their strongest visage, while seemingly anesthetized to a comatose civilization. However, the people of Greenest were now awakened by nightmares of unbridled terror, loosed upon them without rhyme or reason.

The druid sensed the paladin harbored this instinctual stratification, ever hungry for the hunt, irrespective of society’s desire for control or refinement. It seemed to Torus that Brannor fed on theses knots of pure wilderness, prized by Nature and her minions. This promised expanse of enterprise, if social order was unwilling to tame its own. These thoughts eddied within the elder’s liberated conscious as vengeance and death no longer regaled as priorities. The raven returned onto his shoulder, chirping its reaped intel, meager samples of a few raiders launching torch at the mill.

Tossing the fowl into the night, once more, the tongue ring spindled again, “Only a handful appear present, lads. Moonlight is fickle. I suggest we approach. Now. Rather than linger.”



@Hekazu Gotcha. Thanks!

Will post in the next 24 hours. Sorry 'bout the delay.
@Hekazu Does the raven spot anything with its Perception? I'll include it in the post.
And.... We are in the woods. Nice post, @Norschtalen!

Will post soon after the raven returns with intel. Do you want all of us to roll stealth, @Hekazu?
@The Harbinger of Ferocity

The young warlock’s staff, which snaked around a muted gem with its archaic lumber, flashed with slithering sparks of a thousand imploding luminaries. Twisted semblance of a glint of dying stars inaugurated from its arcane ember, a keepsake of Shujaat’s curious disappearance; its aura chuckled in radiance, favoring the new depths of an antiquated wood over its prior rightful place, as prehistorically merged with its seemingly lost mirrored half. Warmth encompassed Wick, as the rudimentary glow suddenly belched an Eldritch Blast, wounding the hexed Leviathan.

Screams flew, blending with a shattering city, drifting upward.

Raptured agony from the injured abomination was the finest vintage to accompany the visual feast of Wick’s Celestial sight. Their arsenal were consuming its numerous shadows, dissipating their ghastly presence in a contortion of splayed ether and wisps of smoke. Parallax soon entertained a field of faith, cast by her fellow Aasimar, Thea, over the briny bard. The musician offered, in turn, a crescendo of courage to Katia, while Cesar launched a mechanical missile at a nearby shade.

Alacrity and velocity departed a lion of its wake, as the feline monk sprung with haste. There was no shelter from her storm, as she rained fist, axe kick and bo in one hurricane of movement. As easily as the cleric could exhale her exasperation, the Tabaxi inundated her veinless foes with thunderous crunches of bloodlust, torturing them with speed and elated pain.

However, their enemy retaliated without remorse.

The abjurer was soon swallowed by an inky swarm, slashing and shredding against his ward. Distracted briefly by the frenzy consuming Haemar, the cleric erected her shield, just in time, ricocheting the darkness launched at her, to only splinter into meteors of sadness and melancholy, blistering the souls of a cat and two wingless angels with a furnace of sin. Wick’s concentration remained impenetrable, a penitentiary girded with tactical deliberation focused upon the dark giant at hand.

“I shall have these.” She was reminded by a wizard's words, that he remained ever ready with traps for those not weary.

Heeding the gesture, the librarian belted away from her friends, conjuring a boiling orb, glimmering with incinerating glory.

“Spread out, everyone!”

Slightly apprehensive that the monstrosity and its cunning would engulf those around her in blight and ruin, Wick dashed twenty feet farther ahead, allowing only the paladin still within her vicinity. Spinning in place thrice, she halted and lobbed the tiny discus of light against the howling beast; the momentum so harsh she was forced flat onto the stairs, while pitched daylight ascended to the madness before her. The promised scar would cut deeper than any blade. Her sight combed for the hurled globe amongst the floating cobble, the discarded enigmas of this world, seeking which would prevail in this spiritual brawl.

No harm. No foul. I thought it was amusing since Torag is a God in Pathfinder. :)

So. Are we waiting to know what the raven sees first? Or are we in the woods alongside already?
Family reunion. Yay!!!

On a side note, any particular reason why Torus is labeled as Torag? I find it tremendously hilarious. :)
The EB will be described in Wick's next post.
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