The Harbinger of Ferocity

The Hand of Fate

There came a subtle rumble from the leviathan creature's jaws as it appeared to look over the three, aware that there was more to this than it appeared and that the youth was doing her best to detract from it; her body spoke volumes in its demeanor, a language one could not easily hide without great care in doing so and even then only for a time. All mortals had means to tell their tales, but more than anything the scent of their unease or often outright fear betrayed them. But for all of this the grand animal form did not worry itself too much about the girl before it and her expertly crafted earthen guardian; in fact, its beguiling stare drew away for a moment, allowing its blind companion to continue speaking - its body as relaxed as before.

It at last decided to intervene, its celestial voice - deep and reverberating - moving the aura of distrust away as best it could manage.

"You need not be afraid, small one." The wild paragon began, looking to the blind Sabriye first while addressing Ein, "Fate would seem to have it that you met us in our pursuit of the shadow."

The dimly lit golden eyes washed over the youth as it stood before her, head pulled slightly at an angle and its splendid fangs of pearly ivory revealed even fuller until it finished its words. Whatever voice the girl of Ein truly heard it in, the outsider knew well that she would quickly realize, if she had not already, what the beast actually was; some thing of another world and time altogether - ancient and primal beyond reason. It was not angelic, not a being of the great heavens, but something vaguely similar in its otherworldly quality; the words themselves rang almost mentally as it was.

"There will be time for inquiries, but for now, where do you foresee yourself off to?" It said, knowing she was hasty before.

"You seem troubled, fatigued and stained by your travels."

@Ojo chan 42@Mr Rage

Waeldeshore: The Wars Beyond [DISCONTINUED]

You will be missed @ArenaSnow, know you have always been a welcome and capable inclusion wherever we have met. I do hope that whatever troubles you disperses and that you might have the fortune, means, time and desire to return to us and the Guild abroad. As far as I am concerned, you and your characters have had a great impact upon Waeldeshore. While I am no official party, I doubt anyone else would ever decline your return.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

Ashkar Brannor (Concept Sketch)

Champion of the Ferine

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

That is what I meant - that the reaction will be used to make an opportunity attack of the kobold attempts to leave, @Hekazu. I did not recall the disadvantage component until just now having read the section on page 195. I am mostly expecting it to break and run after what is going on.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

If the kobold does try to move away, Brannor will use his reaction on the opportunity attack, @Hekazu.

Edited for clarity.

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

Brannor grit his jaw, having seen his enemy so quick to loose an arrow, but was more surprised and enraged it struck him. The shot was undoubtedly more astronomical luck than skill, but that did little to quench the burn of the strike and the fire it lit in the wanderer's soul. For while the impact itself did not dig as deep or travel as far as the hooded figure could only have hoped and dreamt, as in fact it seemed ever more like a glancing shot, it still stung and tore at the flesh. But the paladin, provoked by the audacity evil had to even strike him so, snarled and clenched the wooden shaft of the limp arrow as it trickled with fresh blood; the calm air saturated with smoke and silence beyond the sounds of this skirmish, buckled with this low, fearsome rumble.

He tore it free, lip still quivering in pain and fury, and sundered the piece with a firm torque of his hand. It broke as a twig and its pieces fell to the earth as limp and lifeless as the attacker likely thought him to be, but Brannor was not only alive, but quite well - alive with his own blood to drive him on divine rage; Greenest was not his home, it never would be, but he was called to this place and for reasons he believe he knew only now.

Taking his free hand, that of which did not bear the greatsword and was so soaked crimson, he started forward whilst speaking loudly and laying a hand upon his chest; "Your attacks are weak and meaningless."

Effect

Brannor uses his ability to Lay on Hands upon himself and restore 2 hit points.

The man's voice was still snarling, almost frothing with tangible wrath in a tone eerie just as the ghostly shroud of green-white washed over him and mended his injuries. His advance during this had him setting eyes down upon the kobold just past Trear, who he hoped witnessed the entire ordeal of a man tearing an arrow free of his throat, crushing it, then restoring his own wounds as though nothing had happened at all; it was not just see it either, but feel the fear the darkness had of the light setting in upon it like the tireless, unstoppable force it was.

Injuries visibly rejuvenated, nothing but faint scarification remaining, he stood menacingly before the kobold, great blade at the ready and stared like a hungering predator...

@Hekazu@Lucius Cypher@VKAllen@Ryonara

D&D 5e - Hoard of the Dragon Queen

What are the lower case t's?

@Ryonara

Those appear to be slain enemies.

The Hand of Fate

You can expect a post from myself.

Waeldeshore: The Wars Beyond [DISCONTINUED]

Sakaala fostered a soft nod to dwarf as her reply, paying him enough regard in her gesture that she needn't add anything else to it at the moment. The hot water was for more than just something to drink, rather it had other practical uses beyond tea, but those would come to the awareness of the others in due time. It did yet spur her to respond, being certain to be specific about the matter.

"In part, yes." Her fearsome jaws replied, her head turning to note Hills who looked upon her.

The worn-torn huntress certainly didn't smile at the brief exchange, but she was far from frowning. The expression she wore was more that she noted the observing halfling and not so much as to knowing why. There was no telling as to what the small woman was thinking, her mind seemed a flighty place, focused here in one moment and away in another the next. Anything and everything could be said or not spoken at all about it, but the half beast wasn't of the mind or sort to truly care.

People stared, a lot; between the fact she was the same thing people oft hid in their homes from with the coming night and the maiming she endured, there was ample attention she received - almost none of it friendly.

Looking back to Jarkson, the inn's owner as he busied himself with the morning's work, the mercenary let her mind drift away and to memory. She wondered what had become of Lady Genevieve if the paled woman had become any more sane by being deprived of her cursed relic and beaten senseless by the other mage - of whom never followed as the arcanist had hoped. It seemed they had a common enemy, this demon and whatever forces he had managed to scrounge together in preparation for capturing these stones for himself and worse, but the fact this also meant they took someone titled as an "assassin" made her question as to just who was, short of the knights, in this for the right reason.

@ArenaSnow@Belwicket@IcePezz@Jon Y@The Fated Fallen@vietmyke@Zero Hex

Waeldeshore: The Wars Beyond [DISCONTINUED]

There was deep truth in what Tarden witnessed as the leonine figure was what could only be described as disfigured and hideous; obvious tales of battle that hadn't set well. It was remarkable to imagine just what could do such a thing to a monstrous being as her, but any veteran of strife would not need even dwell on the telltale scarification. They were distinctly the old wounds of blades past, men's blades at that, as they had not the keening of an elven sword or the crudeness of orc steel. Fitting was it however, seeing that monsters were often a thing to be vanquished. Whatever case the beastly mercenary's was, she wore it on her sleeve.

And wear it she did as she kept her eyes upon the bound man as he departed for a few moments, turning her attention now to the barkeep, her looming figure neared the wooden counter and tapped a deathly claw upon its surface. She knew she had his awareness before, but the mithral armored woman wished to inform him she had need of something. For now, she feigned disinterest in the exchange between the three at the table of their former enemy, instead looking in the time she waited to the knight who conducted himself with all the dignity he had before. In his own way, Hepburnberg impressed her as he sat, buttering another side of his bread while remaining quiet and to himself - just as he had been earlier on this day.

She watched this for but a moment, before acknowledging the dwarven man as he was undoubtedly aware of her presence now.

"Do you have boiling water, tavernkeep?" Sakaala said, her mighty tone far softer and less forceful than the night before.

The powerful upper half of her relaxed as she exhaled, muzzle flaring ever so subtly when she finished her words. She strove, in part now because the environment was less tense, to avoid making herself any more a menace than she already was. She did not need to emphasize the point she was as seasoned and as serious as she looked - their imagination would do the rest, surely after the brief and silent exchange she had with the cloth-bound man who returned from the upstairs. His hand wrapped about the worn metal of a flagon of mead, but he never ceased moving, proving to pass her by on the way to the door.

@ArenaSnow@Belwicket@IcePezz@Jon Y@The Fated Fallen@vietmyke@Zero Hex