Village of Barovia
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Sanity is not statistical.
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Reserved for the newly departed...
The chastising bard finally descended with the foreign duo.
Though, the wardens of light were, in fact, sojourners themselves, aliens to not only the maturing darkness but the very world that housed this very reliquary, in which the remnant now sought repose from within its hallowed walls. The monk, in particular, sat in full meditation, flinching and murmuring, by a likely engrossed vision.
"An abjuration? Odd... but... it looks like someone entered? Or did they leave? Or was it both?"
Such an eavesdropped danger, invoked by the gnome, local to the majority of the troupe still provided reassurance that inactivity was mandated by the Hall. An obedience to relaxation developed sluggishly only as a distant luxury to the reincarnated Aasimar, routinely dedicated to battle, exchanging individuality for purpose.
Pen for sickle. Papyrus for shield. Longevity for brevity.
Her former existence quite frequently delved into tomes and volumes, sucking the indigenous ichor from the very ink that plagued and paged such capacious digests, in the libraries she individually once called home. Now a redundant contradiction as she silently pulled the spellbook, walking, reading and yearning for a swift arcane recovery before the sealed door beneath soon loosed its disturbing croak, releasing behind its frame, the extraneous unknown, which many aimlessly searched for, in the hereafter.
Her legs tired, forcing her to plop in a dusty corner, benefiting most from the sickle’s overcast radiance.
Footsteps and then a furry arm caught her wandering eye, from above. They combined palms, allowing Katia to physically elevate the cleric from her thoughts, oblivious to the emotional torment the Tabaxi just stirred from.
“Joining this sacred militia took centuries of scholarship and conformity. From me. Now, Cesar desires to sever that connection with the snap of his briny fingers." The diviner sighed. "A pity. Companionship robs only those who are wealthy of its awareness.”
Though, the wardens of light were, in fact, sojourners themselves, aliens to not only the maturing darkness but the very world that housed this very reliquary, in which the remnant now sought repose from within its hallowed walls. The monk, in particular, sat in full meditation, flinching and murmuring, by a likely engrossed vision.
"An abjuration? Odd... but... it looks like someone entered? Or did they leave? Or was it both?"
Such an eavesdropped danger, invoked by the gnome, local to the majority of the troupe still provided reassurance that inactivity was mandated by the Hall. An obedience to relaxation developed sluggishly only as a distant luxury to the reincarnated Aasimar, routinely dedicated to battle, exchanging individuality for purpose.
Pen for sickle. Papyrus for shield. Longevity for brevity.
Her former existence quite frequently delved into tomes and volumes, sucking the indigenous ichor from the very ink that plagued and paged such capacious digests, in the libraries she individually once called home. Now a redundant contradiction as she silently pulled the spellbook, walking, reading and yearning for a swift arcane recovery before the sealed door beneath soon loosed its disturbing croak, releasing behind its frame, the extraneous unknown, which many aimlessly searched for, in the hereafter.
Her legs tired, forcing her to plop in a dusty corner, benefiting most from the sickle’s overcast radiance.
Footsteps and then a furry arm caught her wandering eye, from above. They combined palms, allowing Katia to physically elevate the cleric from her thoughts, oblivious to the emotional torment the Tabaxi just stirred from.
“Joining this sacred militia took centuries of scholarship and conformity. From me. Now, Cesar desires to sever that connection with the snap of his briny fingers." The diviner sighed. "A pity. Companionship robs only those who are wealthy of its awareness.”
Fleeing Alek's Shop
>Collaboration done with: @The Large Dumbo and @Cu Chulainn
"So, friend, should we make our way to an inn and get our bearings?" The paladin motioned to the adjacent warlock.
>(Ms. Ravenwinter says in OOC: Friend is some strong language for an evil pairing)
"Word will spread quickly, I believe," Uregaunt mumbled, stroking his chin. "I believe if the guards don't arrest those two, they'll also be searching for an inn as well. Perhaps it is best if we leave now, while we can do so without detection."
Halflight replied, "Perhaps... if it comes to any guards running into us, however, just let me do all the talking. I may have lied about... a few things, but I'm still an ordained Knight of Lurue. That status, alone, may give us leeway for any future encounters."
>(Cu replies in OOC: You’ve never said “Friend” in an evil accent.)
"Lurue, is it?" Uregaunt said, pausing for a bit. "Very well. If it does not, however, I take it you're willing to clear our path of any obstacles?" He made a fist and raised it, clenching it slightly as he spoke.
"So long as it doesn't ruin my image." Halflight replied, flicking his hair back with his hand, with a small smile.
Uregaunt chuckled. "Good, good. There's much I need to consider about that situation we found ourselves in earlier. Once we're out of town, I'll be glad to share some of this information with you. Specifically, I'm wondering most about this..." He lifted the arm with the gem on it and gived it a few ginger taps with his finger.
Halflight chuckled back, mostly from the usage of the word 'pickle.' "Ah, these old things? I've already had a few thoughts on it, myself. Notice how the spark in that one pale man's gem lit up when we healed him?"
Uregaunt nodded quietly. "That pale man is a mysterious one," he remarked, crossing his arms. "I believe we should have killed him when we had the chance... Of course, we had no way of knowing..." He paused, clearing his throat and letting his arms drop as casually as possible. "It matters not. That albino is a rather remarkable figure, to say the least. I'll explain once we're out."
"Of course, I had only assumed. He did have control of that woman, after all... Say, does she ever talk, by the way? And why is she helping us?"
"She's helping us with the grace of Kelemvor, of course," he sarcastically said, a smug smirk on his face as he tried - and failed - not to chuckle at his own cleverness. "I know little of her origins, but I know that she follows whatever commands are issued. 'Kelemvor' was kind enough to grant me this miracle, and to that end, she will aid me in my quest. At some point, though, I believe we should... well." Uregaunt hesitated before continuing. "We should get to know her better. I admit I know very little about her.”
"Ah, so she's the religious type... Perhaps we should bring her to a temple?" Halflight inquired.
"Perhaps. I doubt it, however." Uregaunt looked around, frowning. "Perhaps I've given too much information loosely. I wouldn't want anybody to hear this information who needs not. Let's just say that 'Kelemvor' is likely closer than you may think..." He placed heavy stress on the word 'Kelemvor'.
Halflight glared at Uregaunt. At first, he had interpreted such emphasis as something of a death threat... until he looked at Uregaunt's expression, as well as his gem-inlaid arm. Halflight cackled to himself at the realization. "I see... we are more kindred spirits than these gems have thought us out to be." Halflight grinned, before looking at the Servant, clearing his throat. "Can you speak? Tell us your name."
"Midnight." The unseen servant soon closed her maw, awaiting the next command.
The warlock inquired further, "Do you remember anything that happened before you woke up and encountered the rest of us? Try to remember as much as you can."
"Yes." She stood invisibly silent before the duo, but again lingered for another impending query.
"Just keep recalling while we make our ways out of town. You could tell us everything once we're in a less open area." Halflight egged her to continue.
"Yes," Uregaunt stated in agreement. "We should make haste, lest we stumble upon some unwelcome company."
Ysalain asked, "So what were you doing before you had woken up, friend?"
The invisible voice replied, "Dying."
The paladin awkwardly hesitated, "... Okay." Halflight was still very surprised at her response. She appeared to be more concise than curt, despite the lack of visible body language. He probably should look at Uregaunt next time when asking him questions, specifically. This does, however, open a new can of worms.
"Dying? Were the dastardly changelings responsible?"
"Yes." A pause. "No."
"Who was the man with the gem in his chest? Was there a reason why our attackers took his shape?" Ysalain requested more.
"I know of him." The unseen girl bicated her replies. "No."
"Tell me," Uregaunt said, crossing his arms. "What is your relationship with the gem-chested Albino?"
"He bears the gem of Azuth's staff." She finally added some insight. "It's no longer a sapphire but a diamond."
Uregaunt nodded, placing a hand on his chin to think about the facts he has acquired thus far from Midnight and his observations.
The paladin tested, yet again. "So you did not protect him for his life, but for what he has in his chest?"
The incognito reply was brisk. "Yes."
"Then why help us?" The paladin probed deeper.
The female wind whispered, “For I am your servant and guardian."
"Ours, or our gems?" Halflight raised his forearm.
“Gems.” She stated simply.
The paladin was ever curious. "What is so important about our gems?"
"Together, they can imprison a god." Midnight replied.
“Why have we been chosen to bear these gems?" Uregaunt piped in, a concerned scowl on his face.
The guardian answered simply once more. "To prevent my death."
"And if we all die, so will you?" The prince of Lurue questioned.
"Yes." Again, was the theme.
"And if the man with the gem in his chest dies, will you also die? Or will we die?”
"Yes." A pause again."Yes."
"... Shit." The pair paused in return. "I believe we will have to take a shorter rest than anticipated, friends. We have to find that half-orc." Ysalain suggested. "Do you have any means of tracking anyone down?"
"No." She replied.
"Do our gems?" Ysalain solicited.
"Yes." She answered.
The paladin solicited further. "What else can they do?"
Her reply was more extravagant, but remained curt. "Provide magic to its keepers. Grant strength with their communion. Deliver exhaustion with their separation."
The long-haired knight requested more intel. “Explain the last bit more..."
"Three gems cannot be farther than 500 feet from one another more than a day, lest the keepers suffer loss (Exhaustion Level and/or Loss of HP). When all are amassed together, the gems provide the ability to learn and store magic (spells) without preparation or reserve." She continued, "If one dies, the others inherit the loss vigor."
Spelunking into the subterranean depths appeared initially to the goliath as martyrological, especially since the rogue had just recuperated, barely healed, in time, of her lethal wounds, by the wondrous, malleable bard. The ambush intentionally predicated upon Kiki and Bar’s prior anonymous but calamitous assembly. What were they doing? And why? Considerations of stone and clay torrentially riddled his gaze as the sorcerer’s pair of eyes vantaged the faint creek along the edge of the green canopy. He subconsciously traced the narrow stream that ebbed away from the maw of a potential cenote. It was naturally shielded by the coppices and groves that the forest provided in camouflaged concealment.
Was this their trek’s apparent terminus, the barbarian had premeditated for their journey?
Alongside the brook, their feet bubbled upon a parched trail leading to the mouth of a Platonic cave. With gallantry, diabetic thoughts plagued the giantkin’s superstitious concentration as he allowed others to slowly venture before him. Perhaps, inside, the company would possibly discover seven more goblins, all unconscious, snoozing and oblivious to the previous harrowing encounter their recently departed brethren paid with blood, now buried beneath the earth of Phandelver. Would these proverbial sleepers of Ephesus meet the impending persecution the troupe prefigured, by the mesmerizing shadows cast by the heroes’ ambling bodies? Puppeteered by the clashed strings of fate and destiny? Or escape, emerging into another eon, proclaimed as an Edessan homily as a warning? Sirens urging unsuspectingly these landlocked sailors of purpose and fortune to seal their ears with wax, deafening their minds to the screams of innocent enemies?
Brim hoisted his sternum, as the rearguard, in anticipation of the swelling danger, like an Odysseus chained to a ship’s mast, brushing upon the waves of grass and thicket. He only hoped this organized formation would lend itself to stealth and strategic investigation as they pressed further onward, into the belly of the Faerunian fissure.
@JBRam2002
Was this their trek’s apparent terminus, the barbarian had premeditated for their journey?
Alongside the brook, their feet bubbled upon a parched trail leading to the mouth of a Platonic cave. With gallantry, diabetic thoughts plagued the giantkin’s superstitious concentration as he allowed others to slowly venture before him. Perhaps, inside, the company would possibly discover seven more goblins, all unconscious, snoozing and oblivious to the previous harrowing encounter their recently departed brethren paid with blood, now buried beneath the earth of Phandelver. Would these proverbial sleepers of Ephesus meet the impending persecution the troupe prefigured, by the mesmerizing shadows cast by the heroes’ ambling bodies? Puppeteered by the clashed strings of fate and destiny? Or escape, emerging into another eon, proclaimed as an Edessan homily as a warning? Sirens urging unsuspectingly these landlocked sailors of purpose and fortune to seal their ears with wax, deafening their minds to the screams of innocent enemies?
Brim hoisted his sternum, as the rearguard, in anticipation of the swelling danger, like an Odysseus chained to a ship’s mast, brushing upon the waves of grass and thicket. He only hoped this organized formation would lend itself to stealth and strategic investigation as they pressed further onward, into the belly of the Faerunian fissure.
@JBRam2002
@Irredeemable, Bienvenue!
Silence was a renowned virtue of the old man.
His furry hide crouched further, low to the ground, as a symbol of understanding and as a humble mount for the half-blood, who now bore the weapons of the imprisoned Brannor. The shouldered raven, crowed smugly, a two worded accommodation to Orchid, suggesting the relevance of such a gesture.
"Ride well."
The juxtaposition of green atop brown not only provided a further semblance of camouflage, but the image of a Ranger with its animal companion, providing visible audacity and veracity to the hunt of the Ferine paladin. The beast of burden, as he was, lugging still the hamartia and catharsis of the crazed Xaron and her vile deeds, hummed gratitude between his clenched jaws. She would have usurped such an enterprise with hubris and unpredictability. Alas, the demon that possessed a portion of his unforgivable soul had vanished into the whispers of his hibernating mind. His peripeteia, at the hands of Kyra's master, was a gracious serendipity bestowed by Chauntea. The anagnorisis was phenomenally vivid as the bear lay prostate, worshipping the ground in which free-will and imposed obedience had warred and survived.
Standing and hoisting the barbarian aloft, the druid allowed the verdant warrior to command his trek, to cement the guise of this elaborate ruse.
@Ryonara@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Lucius Cypher
His furry hide crouched further, low to the ground, as a symbol of understanding and as a humble mount for the half-blood, who now bore the weapons of the imprisoned Brannor. The shouldered raven, crowed smugly, a two worded accommodation to Orchid, suggesting the relevance of such a gesture.
"Ride well."
The juxtaposition of green atop brown not only provided a further semblance of camouflage, but the image of a Ranger with its animal companion, providing visible audacity and veracity to the hunt of the Ferine paladin. The beast of burden, as he was, lugging still the hamartia and catharsis of the crazed Xaron and her vile deeds, hummed gratitude between his clenched jaws. She would have usurped such an enterprise with hubris and unpredictability. Alas, the demon that possessed a portion of his unforgivable soul had vanished into the whispers of his hibernating mind. His peripeteia, at the hands of Kyra's master, was a gracious serendipity bestowed by Chauntea. The anagnorisis was phenomenally vivid as the bear lay prostate, worshipping the ground in which free-will and imposed obedience had warred and survived.
Standing and hoisting the barbarian aloft, the druid allowed the verdant warrior to command his trek, to cement the guise of this elaborate ruse.
@Ryonara@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Lucius Cypher
The cleric’s mind beckoned her white avian to tour, once more, the overcast heavens, ringing a Nietzschian spiral, in order to copiously appropriate all what the town’s labyrinthine rues and alleys had to offer. Eagles benefited from a keen sight, abundantly flattered by nature to survey a horizon to procure the positions of easy prey and wandering predators. Gliding on the circular pockets of zephyrs, the diviner’s bird soon dived into disappearance, into the safety of a pocket dimension, protected from the pangs and tribulations of which this unknown world continued to harass its new guests.
All straddled, now plump with the spoils of victory in a sanctuary which encompassed an apparent crypt, dedicated to the fallen saviors of Ysgard. Would this shrine bear an Angurvadel, of the famed Frithjof, the sword that historically blazed in war but gleamed dimly in peace? Or Sigmund’s Gram? Or even Lug’s Fragarach?
A celestial hand gently caressed her patron’s scythe, stroking and petting its hilt in efforts to quell its thirst for a grim harvest. The grip tightened as the blade unsheathed from Wick’s flank scabbard demonstrating its illustrious curved metal vane. Radiance glistened, as the warlock, mouthed words of silence and respect, waving the weapon in a simple flourish, finally skewering its brilliant shiny pointed pinnacle through the loaf’s remnant dissecting its bready corpus and piercing the center wooden table, an altar dedicated to brimming mead and crumbling food. The light, flashing from the sickle, shimmered brightly, attempting to aid any further derision as the helmeted holder of Hela turned his attention onward.
A song of Roland was morbidly absent as the heroes witnessed Valmjr wade further into the Hall, in pursuit of catacombs below. It seemed a fool’s errand without the proverbial sabres, Gramimond, Hauteclaire, Marmoire, Murgley, and Sautuerdu, gilded by his side. Her twinkled gaze no longer chased after the mighty ax wielder, knowing that numbers and rest held strength at its helm, despite the monster slayer issuing a charge as some scurried forth.
She yearned for such a respite, now, since dawn’s pandemonium of frays and skirmishes. Her attention turned to their new refuge, hoping to glean any useful strands of succor. Any additional bolstering threads that could be gathered and sewn into the tapestry of their arsenal would encourage the plight of their almost endless riots against the darkness.
The ancient librarian audibly sighed. Not with disdain but with slight apprehension for those who rushed ahead.
A deep breath was necessitated before the plunge below, lest each drowned in brooding pools of blood, given freely due to lack of preparation.
@Hekazu@Rig@The Harbinger of Ferocity
All straddled, now plump with the spoils of victory in a sanctuary which encompassed an apparent crypt, dedicated to the fallen saviors of Ysgard. Would this shrine bear an Angurvadel, of the famed Frithjof, the sword that historically blazed in war but gleamed dimly in peace? Or Sigmund’s Gram? Or even Lug’s Fragarach?
A celestial hand gently caressed her patron’s scythe, stroking and petting its hilt in efforts to quell its thirst for a grim harvest. The grip tightened as the blade unsheathed from Wick’s flank scabbard demonstrating its illustrious curved metal vane. Radiance glistened, as the warlock, mouthed words of silence and respect, waving the weapon in a simple flourish, finally skewering its brilliant shiny pointed pinnacle through the loaf’s remnant dissecting its bready corpus and piercing the center wooden table, an altar dedicated to brimming mead and crumbling food. The light, flashing from the sickle, shimmered brightly, attempting to aid any further derision as the helmeted holder of Hela turned his attention onward.
A song of Roland was morbidly absent as the heroes witnessed Valmjr wade further into the Hall, in pursuit of catacombs below. It seemed a fool’s errand without the proverbial sabres, Gramimond, Hauteclaire, Marmoire, Murgley, and Sautuerdu, gilded by his side. Her twinkled gaze no longer chased after the mighty ax wielder, knowing that numbers and rest held strength at its helm, despite the monster slayer issuing a charge as some scurried forth.
She yearned for such a respite, now, since dawn’s pandemonium of frays and skirmishes. Her attention turned to their new refuge, hoping to glean any useful strands of succor. Any additional bolstering threads that could be gathered and sewn into the tapestry of their arsenal would encourage the plight of their almost endless riots against the darkness.
The ancient librarian audibly sighed. Not with disdain but with slight apprehension for those who rushed ahead.
A deep breath was necessitated before the plunge below, lest each drowned in brooding pools of blood, given freely due to lack of preparation.
@Hekazu@Rig@The Harbinger of Ferocity
@Lucius Cypher, how much would Orchid enjoy riding the bear to seem even more intimidating?
@Hekazu, is it adequate to assume that the trek of an 1 hour is equivalent to a short rest? Reason I inquire is that Torus can use up another one of his Wildshapes before replenishing both before entering the likely encounter ahead.
@Hekazu, is it adequate to assume that the trek of an 1 hour is equivalent to a short rest? Reason I inquire is that Torus can use up another one of his Wildshapes before replenishing both before entering the likely encounter ahead.
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