Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Tiny sprinkles of near-frozen precipitation reflected the fire like thousands of tumbling pinpricks of light, visible through the omnipresent fog, disappearing long before they reach the ground. The air seems milder here, however. The warmth of exertion and unchecked fire might play a role in this, however. There is barely any wind now, as if the Township itself holds a nervous breath in, unsure if it is safe to exhale.

Time: Nighttime. The night was yet young when this fight began so it couldn't have progressed very far, but it feels much later.

Ambience: The white noise of crackling fire played as the dominant sound of the battleground. Blood was still hot under one's skin from the battle, hammering in the ears of the combatants as the only competition to the fire's constant murmuring. If there was any saving grace to the environment, it was that there was plenty of warmth and light about - at least among the cobblestones. Blood, breath, and fire took the majority of one's perception, and adrenaline hadn't yet calmed enough for the wounded to feel the full brunt of their injuries.

*****

Blood poured from Cavendish's throat. He seemed more surprised about it than anything else. This turned quickly to shock as he lost strength in his legs and collapsed to the ground. The net still covered him, damaged though it was, but most of the undead rats which had covered him had already succumbed to other attacks from the group, collateral damage soaked by disposable puppets. With the life draining from the creature who had once been a respected enforcer of Law, those remaining ceased their actions.

There was still life, in the most temporary of meanings, left in the Constable. His hands grasped impotently at the chiefest of wounds which had downed him, as if futilely attempting to keep the blood within his neck; the impulsive actions of a man who did not wish to leave the living world just yet. Cavendish could not maintain his hybrid rat form any longer. He was too close to his own demise. This offered him a last look upon the world with human eyes, which teared up in a swirl of emotions. Maybe regret was one of them. None but he could say, and he wasn't speaking.

Not that Cavendish wasn't trying to speak. He most assuredly was, but only the most gruesome of wet consonants could bubble through the blood which seeped from his lips and down the sides of his face.

"Yes. We did have a deal," spoke a deep, resonant voice in the Common tongue. It did not originate from any one place, seeming to echo within the minds of those present as much as from any tangible location. "I have honored our deal. You will honor it, too." An encompassing darkness fell over the town square, blotting out the firelight but keeping precious, clear illumination over the unfolding scene. Time might as well have stopped, except for the grotesque and inevitable passing of the Constable. "You have accomplished most of my latest task. I grant that you did try. You paid with your life for the attempt. I might not be cross about this, except that your death was caused as much by your arrogance as your task."

Cavendish weakly held one hand up, motioning as if to complete a somatic component for a spell. Or maybe a wordless supplication for help. The disembodied voice responded, "We still have an agreement, yes. You have paid your portion of service with your life. Now..." A sense of wrongness permeated the rapidly thickening air around the Constable, "You will continue to repay your debt with your soul." It was not menacing of tone, nor retributive, nor even with a hint of sarcasm. The voice was calm. Respectful. Blunt, businesslike, but not particularly cruel. "I would have given you more earthly tasks to perform. In time, I still might. For now, I claim what is mine."

Tendrils of inky, necrotic blackness rose from the ground. What rats remained in the area scattered, leaving only the dead in their wake. The undead ones ceased to function, dropping to their sides or simply collapsing under the weight of their overly damaged bodies, now that animation left them. The liquid-black wisps were confined to the immediate area of Cavendish's mortal form, undulating briefly as they attained their full height of approximately three feet, before straightening, and lashing down the fallen Warlock. They pulled his wrists and ankles out as far as they would go and bound his torso immovably, like a man being staked out to die, but did not stop there. Every place that one of them touched him began to decay. It was rapid. A few seconds at most. Cavendish regained his ability to vocalize now, and he did, screaming with tortuous wails of putrefying agony. As his flesh melted away and muscles turned to maggot-ridden sludge, he kept screaming. When the fleshy parts of him fully disintegrated and he was left as a sticky skeleton, he kept screaming. It wasn't until his bones became pulverized matter that the noise faded, and even then, psychic echos continued for a moment more. All that was left of the Constable was a pile of clothes, equipment, dust, and a few scraps of bone. Some phalanges and a moderate amount of his skull were still recognizable as such.

The darkness lifted a little. One could tell a distinct, lightening gradient, but only up to a point. Then the voice came again. "Your minds and souls are fresh. Even a little naive, except for one of you. Perhaps two. Potentially quite capable, if mentored properly. I would entertain an arrangement." It paused, allowing whatever emotions to process among the group before continuing, "I have peered into you all, far enough to know that such an arrangement would be better for you than opposition. Even indirect opposition."

"Priestess, who struck the final blow - you have older loyalties that would appreciate being reacquainted; entities with whom I might communicate. The sizeable warrior fled responsibility of clan and community for the illusion of safety, leaving nefarious things to fill the vacuum left behind. Those once friendly turned opportunist and you became a liability to them. If only they knew where you've been, now deprived of your protector. Devil-spawn, you draw your power from a creature you call family, but who manipulated you away from your home for its own purposes. It can be easily erased from this world if I so chose. Sylvan-blooded, do you think these people would tolerate you if they knew what you were, or why you are trying to amass power for yourself? And the crippled Dragonfolk - I know what resides in your nightmares. It hasn't forgotten about you. It never will." The voice, as it went from speaking about one person to the next, was still heard by all present.

"It took you long enough, but you have tasted victory this night. You will be hailed as heroes, for now. I shall give you time to consider an arrangement. You would receive answers you need and fix problems you face. And yes, there is power to be taken. It would be preferable to accept this offer before the World Born Dead takes notice. For now, enjoy the rest of your festival." The voice faded away at its last sentence. The prevailing light of the area was restored, and the great pause that overtook the area lifted. The fog was less oppressive, thinning to something more reasonable for the temperature and season. A previously unnoticed weight was cast from the Township. Even the flaming tree was a little cheerier to behold.

The burning carcasses of the Wererat Abominations, however, could not be helped. The stench of their smoldering husks was remarkable.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Guard 1

Location: ??

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Crickets. In the distance, crickets could be heard chirping. Granted, nowhere near the ongoing fight; there was simply too much in the way of crackling fire and shouts from most of the parties involved, but the crickets which were not so close to the battle were singing their song to the foggy, full-mooned night. Most importantly, wherever Guard 1 is and whatever he's up to, the crickets don't seem to care very much.

<chirp chirp>

<chirp chirp>

<chirp chirp>


@Dragoknighte Marita is up. Good luck.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Big, roaring flames continued with their same intensity from its sticky, aromatic positions within barrels or spilled haphazardly across the cobblestones of the Township's center. Lighting conditions remained the same from recent moments; light bright enough to pick out detail around the cobblestones, with contrasting darkness as one enters the trees surrounding them. Past the sudden rustle of leaves upon the ground a few seconds prior, the area seemed quiet.

This quiet, such as it was, stood relative to the dull roar of flames and sounds of both physical and magical combat occurring in the best illuminated portion of the battleground, as well as the labored breathing, occasional jeers, and issuances of pain from the people fighting thereabouts. In short, while nothing could be casually heard from the darkness of the foliage, there were reasons why this perception could be inaccurate.

Cavendish was not having a great night. He maintained his wererat form, but he was damaged in several places physically, not to mention the psychic damage foisted upon him throughout their fight. Undead rats still clung to him, maintaining attacks upon his form that were pointless to cause actual damage but did what they might to distract. He was on his feet, if wobbly and covered by a partially damaged net. One hand still clung to a broad hunting dagger, though his main maintained his shortsword. He might yet be able to cut free with one good slash. The fight wasn't over.

It wasn't even over when a cloud of radiant fire settled around him. How he was able to maneuver himself out of the way of the descending plumes of OUCH was beyond his capability to fully understand, but maneuver he did. Unfortunately, this meant that no radiant flamey stuff affected his hempen bindings, either. He was pissed. In addition to this, he was starting to look worried.

Daisy, Lea, and two other townsfolk filed out of the cage, with lots of assistance among themselves. Daisy didn't quite know what to think of the last exchange she had with their potential saviors, but that part of it was done and she was getting getting the other non-combatants away from the fight with help from her coworker, Lea. The path they had chosen was the same one as Cecily, Beppo, and the Fisherman, even though it brought them clear across the square. It might have been notable that Daisy retained possession of Baronfjord's sword. She was not advertising this fact.

At this point, all of the prisoners had vacated their cages and were either moving to exit the area or were long gone.

New Round

@Arty Fox Baronfjørd - Time to kick the round off.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Cavendish

Location: A12

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A net? Honestly, who throws a net anymore? And then shoving him to the ground. Did this woman stop her combat training at playground rules? Then again, he just stood there and had it shoved down his throat while he was powerless to do a thing about it - hook, line, and stinker. A more objective or introspective person might have noticed that, as it was effective, he wasn't in a position to openly criticize. As he was neither of these two things, a seething resentment simmered and burbled in his heart.

Aside from the unfortunate parts of being knocked to the ground and covered by a net, Cavendish did not fail to notice the horrid little rats in various stages of disrepair nor the martial attentions of the Dragonborn and his odd, glowing arms. Even this gaggle of reprobates would get the better of him if he stayed on the ground and allowed the travesty of their presence to continue. Oh, the horrors he would inflict just as soon as he got footing and his crossbowmen responded. Cavendish was positive that they were just delayed, or moving for a clearer shot. Yes, the Wererats could still pull this fight out.

His first instinct was to Misty Step as far as possible, like he had used that day to evade them in front of the Silversmith's, but prone as he was and mostly surrounded by angry peasants, a clear line of sight could not be established. The one direction he knew he could move was not one that he wanted to for his own reasons, so all he might accomplish that moment was to attempt to attain a better vantage. If he could hold on until his men could open fire, the chaos of the moment would give him the advantage he required.

His particularly vicious looking shortsword was still in his hand, which he utilized as best he could to get a swipe at the net restraining him. It was a decent enough slash, despite the weapon's greater efficiency as a stabbing implement; he was able to shear through a few of the cords binding him - just not enough. His backswipe, awkward as it was within the grasp of the hempy restraining device, caught with the flat of the blade and was ineffective. Next, he made the attempt to stand. Regardless of his predicament, being on the ground would make him an easier target. It also gave him the ability to project his voice farther and insist that his Guards follow trough with the plan. "NOW! OPEN FIRE NOW!" he bellowed, though a bit of his chutzpah was spent now that he was bleeding, swarming with undead rats, and restrained by netted rope.

In the meantime, Cavendish made an attempt to grab for a knife at his belt, in hopes of finishing off the net so he might get a better lay of the land and move about less fettered. While he was able to wriggle it out of its sheath, a successful slash with this weapon was not forthcoming.


-

- Areas to the north that are aflame or containing rats are still considered Difficult Terrain, with appropriate movement penalties. The flames have additional, quite painful penalties for being walked through.

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Guard 2

Location: ?

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A rustling could be barely made out in the general area of the northeastern copse of trees. It did not sound like it was growing nearer. Wherever the sound of boots upon leaves was headed, it was doing so quickly and without regard to sneakiness. Most importantly in this, perhaps, is that no crossbow strings twanged and no blackened shafts flew from the darkness to back up the Constable. Is he betrayed, or is this a play at a larger plan?



@rivaan Kosara, do your thing, tag me for the Top O' Round.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 10 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: E13 -> C11 Action: Class Feature (Note of Undeath) Bonus Action: Rats (Help Action) Reaction: N/A

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Victoria's ribs hurt. Her arm hurt. The side of her face felt like it might be swelling up. She was having problems breathing. Hells, she felt like she got run over by a mule. Luckily, her jacket seemed like it was none the worse for wear (she really liked that jacket). Unfortunately, the battering ram of an Eldritch Blast that Cavendish Others have moved to the forefront. This was good. Positive involvement that hopefully got the situation handled with no more time than was necessary. Quite frankly, Victoria was one classically cast piece of magic away from her well being completely dry, and she was not the most powerful martial spellcaster in the group. Not by a long shot. But it seemed like, in order to keep the ball rolling in their favor and maintain pressure on the Constable, she had to push herself to arcane exhaustion. Buy some time. Hope her party could continue where she could not.

The strings of the Weave showed themselves to Victoria. They were hers to play, if only for one more song before she needed to refresh - which would not be a quick affair. But if she must, she must. Tentatively, she reached her spirit out to pluck that first note...

...and was immediately distracted by Marita running out of the flames to her left. The incredulous look upon Victoria's face might have been a truly comical thing to show others, were a talented and superhumanly fast artist to commit it to canvas. OKAY! New plan! Save her last spell of the day for a potential Healing Word, as one of her associates might just need to pick themselves up off of the cobblestones sooner rather than later. She had to admire the commitment necessary to pull that one off, even if she couldn't see herself committing to running through painful, sticky fire.

With a shrug, Victoria changed tactics. There were still rodent corpses on the ground - almost as many dead as living - but few near enough to her to make a difference. The Bard advanced to stand between Baronfjord and the singed Marita, drawing upon the same ability which she used to animate her favorite porcine companion, except divided among several tiny corpses about them and in the fire. Charred and broken rodent bodies popped back together into a horrid mockery of life and swarmed from around the feet of the combatants and surged toward Cavendish. As before, they were incapable of causing him real damage, but would make for an interesting distraction, hopefully dividing his interest and giving her teammates a better opening. Charred, crushed, slashed apart, or just dead from a heart attack thanks to cheese overconsumption, they massed up his legs and began to nip, tug, and place their bodies in the way of his footfalls. It wasn't the grandest, most heroic thing to do, but it was something to support the hitters among them.


@Remipa Awesome Kathryn's turn.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Guard 1

Location: ??

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While the Wererat Guard struggled to decide where he wanted to take his faraway vacation, many harsh and painful things were going on nearby. But none of those mattered.

You see, he had been to a lovely archipelago not too far off the western coast of the Great Central Sea, controlled by a trad¹¹1e consortium, many years ago and longed to return one day. Or maybe that amazing spot in the Dwarven territories in the Noraljak Mountains where the women weren't quite as bearded as the men, were stout of hip, and you betcha could they yodel. Perhaps instead he would travel not quite so far north as all that, and spend some silver at Khimn City, where that straightlaced circle of Paladins ran things but they also sponsored a grand Arena, with all the crowd-drawing festivities which accompanied it. While he was at it, if he hit paydirt with some side wagers, he'd travel all the way to The Lake, and take a ferry to Argentum. Oh, a savvy man could get lost in a walled city larger than some kingdoms, and there were a plethora of opportunities to start his life over, there.

But the thought that really struck home for him was, despite the fact that when this fight started, the opposing side could clearly see himself and one other colleague, in addition to the Constable - with this in mind, it didn't look like anyone from their group stopped to ask who (or what) it was that toppled over that first barrel, which cut off the eastern thoroughfare.

Yes, while he was already mentally vacationing far away, that was his nagging, intrusive thought.

@Dragoknighte Marita's turn.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Miraculously, the fire had chosen not to spread any further in the interim moments. It still crackled and roared with hot, white noise as only a blaze of its size might, scented with the acrid aromatics of concentrated evergreen sap. It might even be considered pleasant, were it not in such overwhelming amounts.

The area within the trees holds its mysteries, and any visitors, shrouded in its shadows after more than a handful of feet within. There was at minimum one occupant, evidenced by a spent crossbow bolt from somewhere within the relative dark of the area, though it remained to be seen whether said occupant was still around; there was evidence of either circumstance being accurate.

The Constable, still in his hybrid rat form, was hissing and cursing at himself for an overall uninspired series of attacks against Kathryn. There was a more personal stake against this woman that went beyond the simple need of hurting his enemies in his field of vision. She had his hammer, and she was going to suffer for it. Rage induced adrenaline kept him upright and attacking, despite his building injuries. Even in his frustrated state, Cavendish was an experienced, professional soldier, once upon a time. He knew how to scrap with heavily armored opponents and place the point of his weapon where it would cause maximum damage. His smile, once arrogant and demeaning to those who viewed it, now carried with it a sense of determined weariness.

Daisy wielded her own shortsword, though without the same level of proficiency as the creature which held had held them all at its mercy. And it was borrowed, so to say that it was "her own" is a hair misleading. Regardless, she had one and no matter what else was going on, she was going to keep trying to free her friends. Daisy was tired, showing something near to exhaustion. This was no reason for her to stop trying to open the hastily constructed cage, and try she did. There was a mote of confusion just before when the Tiefling lady appeared from around the side of the enclosure and ran directly into the same space as she was occupying, only to ignore her, whack the cage once, and run back around another corner. But adventurers were a strange lot, if this group was any indicator. All she could do was keep swinging. Luck was finally with her as the Halfling cook hit her blade right in the last groove cut at just the right angle to finally split the wooden bar asunder. It was attached by nails to the top and bottom of the cage but was easily pushed to the side.

Lea, the tavern girl at Neil & Bob's, was the first to move the broken bar and set an unsteady foot outside of the cage. With her first taste of free air, she reached out to support the next person even as Daisy put steadying hands upon her.

The leftmost cage stood empty. The nearby fire had made it potentially more hazardous, but their luck held well enough that it did not spread that far. The former prisoners had exited the immediate area with the exception of the fisherman, who was bringing up the rear - fishing pole at the ready. He paused just long enough to see that no one who had line of sight with him was looking in his direction, silently wished them luck, and departed. It was quite possible that his internal well-wishing involved something about an early time of day, an appropriate outdoorsy activity due to favorable conditions, and a well-meaning chuckle.

New Round

@Arty Fox Baronfjørd - Do what you've gotta do. Bear in mind that a swarm of rats occupies the same area as yourself

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Cavendish

Location: A12

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That damned, psychic damage casting halfbreed bitch. If Cavendish had a regret that very instant, it was that the second of his Eldritch Blasts didn't connect and turn her into a fleshy pile on the cobblestones of his township. Oh, she would get hers as soon a the rest of them were stabbed within an inch or two of becoming soup. And now the mystery was solved as to what hurt his brain and made him wander out of the silversmith's place. Of course. She would get hers.

Almost as annoying as the Half-Elf was the disfigured Dragonborn. Pitiful as his attempt might have been to hurt him (and it was, to his opinion), the dull demihuman was trying new things to hurt him. And true to form, as the shard of wood was simply not up to the task of giving him more than annoyance, the bit of burning pitch on the end seared into his fur and skin handily enough. He hissed, but did not let it go any further. Like hell he would give that creature the satisfaction.

Further, the painfully inexpert attacks launched by that Cleric gave Cavendish a mote of nuanced amusement. Oh, that threat was present and the magical, floating dagger could potentially end him - but putting that into practice appeared more in the realm of the academic than the applied. So he picked and poured over the most appropriate target for his attentions as only a veteran soldier might, which right now wasn't Marita.

But Kathryn. She ticked off all the boxes on the checklist of people he wanted to outright murder, the tall strumpet in crappy armor who carried off his hammer - his hammer - during what amounted to a due application of maintaining public order. And perhaps the greatest crime of all in this horrible set of circumstances is that she couldn't even use it with anything resembling experience. This was fantastic. Cavendish could vent a serious amount of frustration gutting this armored ash tree, while simultaneously getting his favorite hammer back. This was going to be a satisfying event after all. "I'm going to pry you open," he promised, turning his particularly vicious-looking shortsword toward Kathryn like a deranged surgeon.

A spry move forward found the Constable's sword channeling Kathryn's shield out of place. It was not a full and broad opening, but enough to exploit a spot where the interlocked chain links did not cover; slipping underneath a layer of metal and padding - coming out bloody. It was not his best work, to be sure, but it was an excellent start. His follow-up attack did not fare quite as well, probing again for the soft flesh of Kathryn's torso but not getting any more then a scratch.

The Constable, in his desire to end this woman's life as succinctly as possible in a horror of broad, ragged-edged puncture wounds, suddenly felt an uncanny Surge of Action. Bright, bloodthirsty eyes gleamed as he leapt, bringing his weapon down in a forceful stabbing motion with all of the power of his weight behind it. A great, hissing, "GRRRRAAAAAAAAH!" came forth from the Wererat Constable as his blade struck true on Kathryn's skull - or it would have, except that he landed an off-angled blow upon her helmet, twisting the blade off to the side, harmlessly. His feet connected with the ground, amid the swarming rats, and the proud fighter known to mere mortals as Cavendish faltered his last attempt at an attack with an ungraceful stumble, clanging impotently against the less experienced warrior's shield. The frustrated look upon his face was priceless.

Obviously, this was NOT his finest moment.

Well, he was getting one final thing out of the way. One swarm of the rats under his thrall, upon his mental command, moved to swarm over Baronfjord to give him something to deal with, that he may continue his assault against Kathryn unabated. Another negative expression, this one of annoyance, crossed his rodenty features as the swarm couldn't quite latch their dozens of collective paws upon the Monk. They too did not have the best of luck in their endeavors.

Cavendish could at least content himself in the fact that he did spill blood. Just not as much as he might have liked.





- Kathryn has taken 6 points of Piercing damage.

- Areas to the north that are aflame or containing rats are still considered Difficult Terrain, with appropriate movement penalties. The flames have additional, quite painful penalties for being walked through.

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Guard 2

Location: ?

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The yell sounded across the battlefield, but not from the obscured Guard. From his master, Cavendish: "NOW!" followed by a noteworthy amount of silence from the trees. "ALL THREE OF YOU, FIRE AT WILL!" Yes, his little endgame trap was being sprung. But strangely, it ...really hadn't happened just yet.

Maybe they were going for coffee? Oh! They were just lining up perfect shots, that was all. Right?



@rivaan Kosara is up. Per usual, tag me for the Top Of Round, please.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 10 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: F12 -> E13 Action: Casting Spell (Dissonant Whispers) Bonus Action: Bardic Inspiration (Marita) Reaction: N/A

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OUCH. This amount of concentrated pain was new to Victoria. She had suffered greater collective hurts prior to this day, but the single blast of black, eldritch energy took a lot out of her. The fact that she was still more-or-less on her feet was amazing to her. She had to have broken a couple of ribs, thanks to the sudden difficulty in inflating her lungs without a sharp report answering her attempt. The damage otherwise felt intense, but at present not life-threatening. Granted, her actions practically begged for a martial response even if she thought it necessary. Too many people were ignoring the crazed wererat Warlock with the best long game out of anyone on the field. This concept fully in mind, Victoria was relieved that she was able to evade the second blast, positive that it would have resulted in her both expressing her mortality in a practical manner, and settling her internal query as to which deity of death or the dead would open their ethereal doors to her.

Maybe it would happen this night. Victoria was prepared for it, even if it would mean that she could not complete her ongoing and long-term personal goals. The idea that this might go unfinished prior to her sudden lack of vitality filled her with questions about the nature of herself and what might happen to her, but even this was academic. If it happened, it happened. There was strong preference to continue pulling air into her body (even if it hurt just now) and sample fine wines, make music, experience life in manners both studious and hedonistic, etc., but a higher priority called in that moment. The others seemed more galvanized in their need to stop the Constable, and she was about to spend the last of her abilities to assist in that very task.

First, the purple-clad Bard looked to Marita, the one who was trying from the start. Curious that she would voluntarily lean her support toward a Law Cleric, but here they were. Perhaps part of it made sense; one of her preferred sources of knowledge was the Jasidan's White Book and other such sources, all of them rather profound in their adherence to Order, if of their own making. But even this thought was immaterial in this crucial time. Drawing upon the last of her reserves, her "force of personalty", one might say, Victoria addressed the Cleric in a voice brimming with infectious confidence. "Almost got him, Marita. Just one more. One more good one and we have him dead to rights!" Her voice faltered a little toward the middle, an effect of her damaged physicality, but the resolve with which she continued shone through.

Far be it for Victoria to limit herself to merely hyping up her teammates, she moved to her right to get a better vantage on their visible opponent, as Kathryn and Baronfjord moved to take forward positions. Once a good line of sight had been established and she confirmed that she was not too far away for her dwindling spellwork to be effective, Victoria began to whisper and chant quietly, seemingly to herself though her eyes never left Cavendish. Whispered words floated across the battlefield, quiet but striking only to their intended recipient, which echoed within his mind as scattered phrases of the dead and dying; those he knew and many he did not, whispering promises of the hereafter and what horrors her would face upon his fast approaching demise. It reverberated, noises clashing upon themselves and turning into a cacophony within his psyche, driving him further and further to senselessness.

Unfortunately, he had been subjected to this very attack earlier, and was able to put up a rudimentary defense this time. The spell did not have its fullest effect, but did gently take him to a headache which felt to truly be splitting, as psychic damage caused noticeable trails of crimson to seep from his nose, mouth, and ears. Were he not in a furred, myanthropic form, one would note a blanching, pale complexion. Cavendish did look distracted as his eyes glazed and fixed in one direction, head weaving uncertainly back and forth for a moment.

Victoria could feel her abilities coming to exhaustion, sooner rather than later. At least she could retain some usefulness as a proficient wielder of a fine, silvered sword. Though she still had one trick left.



Marita has another Bardic Inspiration (1d6).

@Remipa Awesome Kathryn is up. Go be a hitter.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Guard 1

Location: ??

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Yeah, still nowhere to be seen overtly, covertly, or otherwise. Maybe it's good news. Maybe it isn't. Maybe he's stuck in a huge cage with a great, horned, alien beast bent on doing unspeakable things to him while a child nonchalantly offers him a lollipop. Who can say? Only time will tell, and whatnot. Unless it doesn't. Time doesn't owe any of us shit, let alone a polite conversation.

@Dragoknighte Marita's turn.