Through the Faerie Ring: Beneath Foreign Stars

[DoctorGlock]

A full moon hangs in the darkening skies above; the silver orb girt by stars like diamonds studding the red and blues of sunset. A winding path has been trampled through the wheat fields and long grass . It snakes past the farms on the periphery of the backwater township where you have spent the past few days. There it meets the wooded foothills of the vale's mountain girdle. Throughout the day the path has been trampled into the soft dirt and mud-- a gift of fall's first rainfall-- by hundreds of feet as townspeople make their way into the hills.

As night falls, the pilgrimage has slowed from a constant trickle to nothing. People must wake early to get the crops in, and no fireside dance will change that, even if it does make the crops come in better. Besides, who wants to be nursing that hangover without a good nights sleep. Besides, who knows what comes out at night?

But not for you are the superstitions of simple folk. Durance Crossing is a small and quiet town in the middle of a chaotic country; a good central place to meet and nothing more. But gods above! The drink they brew here! Whatever the local moonshine is, it is stronger than anything you have ever tasted. They said it's made with apples. Well, mostly apples, anyway. And what is the harm in participating in the ritual a bit? At the minimum you will blend in better and have some time to catch up in private...

And the path gives way to old cobbles, sparse and worn smooth by centuries of ritual; a beaten path into the woods. When you reach the clearing the sky has darkened to deep midnight shades and the moon shines bright above. The bonfire that roared through the day is smoldering embers now, and the clearing is strewn with empty bottles.

And rising above the ashen pyre are the dolmens. A circle of old stone pillars, roughly hewn and coated with ages-old moss and lichens. Some stand like gates, one slab perched above two more. The long grass has been beaten down by dancing feet around the old stones, but none have crossed the threshold.

The people of Durance Crossing speak in hushed whispers of the dolmens, though none seem to know why. Some say they are the grave of old kings. Others say sleeping giants rest beneath the hill. Still others say it is where they fey steal through at night to snatch children back to their winter realms, and they quickly touch iron afterward.

But not for you are the superstitions of simple folk. And it seems like a good place to sit and enjoy the drink.

It does taste a bit of apples now, doesn't it? Well, mostly apples...

And now one of you has started another bonfire, though the bright moonlight seems to have washed the colors out. It's too pale. But the drink is flowing strong one someone started singing. You never would have guessed he had such a singing voice. Which of them is that now? Your head is spinning.

Oh well, there were more bottles. Nothing another nip won't fix.

And now you are dancing, because someone was singing, and because it's tradition and seemed like a good idea at the time. And above the stars are wheeling, unless that's just your pounding head, and as you dance about the landscape seen through the dolmen gates seems to dance and shift with you. And someone is singing again but there seem to be too many voices and the laughing sounds off and everything is spinning and fading.

Fading to black...


'What are they?'

The voice comes filtering through a throbbing hangover induced haze. The world is black, though you suspect that's because you are afraid to open your eyes. Whatever was in the local drink, it packs a punch worthy of epic tales.

'The clearly aren't the Seven, the Silent Watchers, emissaries of the Cold Queen or the Witches of the Sunken City, ciridun, and thus outside your duties.'

The voices are wrong. Musical in a lilting and inhuman way. They have a cadence to them that strikes the ears in ways that mere words shouldn't.

'They smell like iron. Whatever they are, they don't belong here. Their presence stains the soil. It taints the wind and darkens the moon. Why shouldn't I dispatch them now and let their breath fly the winds and their blood renew the soil?'

'Because you will be no closer to your answers. Because the whatever they are might have seen something. Because I'll happily tell the Daonine about it. And because that one is waking up and they outnumber you six to one.' The last is accompanied by a snort a whinny and a stomp.

Damon suspects they are talking about him. He does have the severe misfortune of being awake. The throbbing in his skull is testament to that. Still, they are taking about you, you suspect, and this time is is unlikely that you have woken in a ditch with a lampshade on your head, so peeling your eyes open can't reveal anything too horrible, right?

Right.

As you blearily open your eyes the first thing to strike you is the stars. there are so many of them in the purple and lavender skies above, far more than you can remember, more and more than in the skies at the distant corners of the world where men have not brought so much light. The second is that you didn't know there was supposed to be a brilliant Aurora burning in the skies in flaring hues of green and orange and pale blue. The moon hangs the dark of the new moon, a black void in the sky above where it had been full when you were carousing earlier...

Oh, and the stars are entirely wrong. Wherefore is the Hunter, the constelations of his bow and the Serpent, his prey?

And the fields? No wheat grew in those purple and golds, glinting in the eerie and alien lights from above. Untamed and wild brush and long grasses surround the stones...

Where are the dolmen stones, at that, with their crude and ugly doors? Here are nothing more than dark and stubby stones, a crude circle that ill matches the mysterious henge of Durance Crossing.

Ah, and the figure sitting on one of those stones in a semi crouch with two blades drawn, curved and sickle-like things that seems to gleam with their own pale and inner light, reflecting in silvery mail glinting with irridescent hues like moonstone. That figure is not human. Or elf, though he seems to bear some similarities. But his face is wrong, too pinched, too predatory and inhuman, sleek and steamlined, though you'd be hard pressed to say how... as if his bone structure reflected the will within. Long black hair hangs down, bound behind long and pointed ears with a band of leather from something green and scaly. Slit pupilled yellow eyes regard you with intense focus. Behind him is a silver horse with three pale blue eyes, one smack in the middle of it's forehead. It seems to regard everyone at once.

The horse speaks. 'See, now we can make introductions and ask politely.'

Behind Damon, the others begin to stir.

No, you get the feeling you aren't in Durance Crossing anymore.

[Jeff the Green]

Damon looks at the two creatures with a thoroughly bemused look on his face while clutching his pounding head. "What did you slip into my drink, Alaunira'a?" he asks of his now waking drinking companion. "I think I'm seeing faeries. And the sky is this lovely shade of purple. It's actually quite nice, but might make hunting today a bit difficult."

[whoiam]

"Some of mine, I think," came a rather drowsy reply from somewhere behind him.

Drow Post-Party Startup Procedure:
1) Check limbs. Left arm reports the left leg is still present. Ditto with both rights.
2) Check darkvision.
Incatiously, Alauniira'a opened her eyes. Then the light from the Aurora hit them.

"SHU!" The sudden screech probably didn't need to be translated. With her eyes quickly screwed closed again, Alauniira'a started groping around for her scarf. Turns out it wasn't too far from her - wrapped around her dog, as a matter of fact. Who'd fallen asleep with it on. Huh. Well, it wasn't tied or anything, so she just lifted it off and quickly tied it around her face. Eyes covered again, she opened them a second time.

Much better.

3) Check clothing.

And her dress was... being slept on by her dog. Well, she'd earned a treat for recovering it from... wherever Alauniira'a had decided to discard it. So long as it wasn't ripped, or covered in dog fluids. Carefully, she rolled her dog off the dress, and took a moment to examine it. The silk all seemed to be intact. Good. She pulled it on over her head.

4) Check witnesses.

As she let her dress settle back into place, Alauniira'a finally took a chance to look around. She knew some of those people. Damon and Drake and Manny were familiar. Ms But'laeb was present, and dreaming something that made her legs twitch. Damon's other two friends were around, whatever their names were. And there was some animal-elf-hybrid thing and a three eyed horse. All perfectly normal. She started looking around for one of her silver bracelets.

Finally, her mind caught up with what her eyes had been reporting. Her mouth slowly dropped open as she turned back to face the two Fae.

"...We had a mushroom eating contest last night, didn't we?" From the sounds of it, she didn't believe that as an explanation... but she really, really wished she could...

[esorscher]

Anthony stirs, more difficult than he'd become accustomed to. Sleeping light had been a skill of his developed over years of anxious rest, yet the previous nights activity had subdued that well-honed skill. He sits up quickly, then gets to his feet, assuming a defensive posture as he looks around for the source of the voices. It couldn't have been the horse, but then, who was having the conversation?

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke opened his eyes and stretched his back, slowly rising to his feet. Upon seeing the three-eyed horse and the elvish-looking creature, Zeeke stared for a moment, did a double take and then slid back while still crouched, rolling and standing up quickly. "woah, was that.... horse just talking? what kind of wizardry created such a creature!?" Zeeke spoke in a hushed surprised tone as kept his eyes on the two.

[senrath]

Drake, for his part, groaned and rubbed his head as he woke up. The splitting headache wasn't anything new to him, as this wasn't the first time he'd gotten blackout drunk at a festival. That was the point of them, after all. Waking up in a completely new location also wasn't new, although this particular location was like no other place he'd been. As per usual he made a quick check to make sure no one had robbed him while he was asleep. Satisfied that everything was where it was supposed to be, he turned his attention to the strange creatures that had apparently been talking.

"This was definitely not what I expected when I started drinking last night."

[EnglishLanguage]

Manny jumped a bit on awaking, panicking and looking around.

"Gah! Manny looked around in a panic...calming down once he spotted where his book dropped and picked it up. "Oh good, I don't know what I'd do if I lost this... He tilted his head at the two fae, as if only just now noticing them, looking down at his book and back up at the fae once again, then over to the others. "So...uh...am I the only ones seeing these weird things again?" He studied them for a moment....realizing he has absolutely no idea what these things are at all.

[Jeff the Green]

"Well, on the one hand," Damon says, squinting at the bright light of the aurora, "we probably didn't eat any weird mushrooms last night. I don't know of any that create shared hallucinations. On the other hand, we were incredibly stupid last night in drinking among the dolmens. Rather novel experience for me, actually."

He rises to his feet, rather wobbly, but manages a truly graceful bow to the horse. "Good morrow to you, gentles both." At least, he hopes they are gentles. "Forgive me for my ignorance, but am I correct in believing that you are of the fair folk? And is this indeed Faerie?"

Despite his urbane manner, Damon is subtly making preparations for combat. As part of his bow, he loosens his revolver and pepperbox in their holsters and checks that the former is indeed still loaded. Not wearing his mail, of course, but hopefully that won't matter.

Xanthus, Laelaps, and Kirke nearby, but still asleep. (Lazy bums, not like they have hangovers.) Unlikely they'd be a help in a fight anyway. And five thoroughly dangerous companions. Been in worse situations, like the drinking contest with those werewolves. But then, better too.

[whoiam]

Damon's suggestion kick-started several alcohol-dampened wheels in Alauniira'a's brain. Quickly, she brushes her hair back from her ears. She didn't know how far back the drow lineage really went - if she had black-skinned ancestors back in the time that the fae lands were still reachable, or if the best she could hope for is being thought of as an odd-colored elf. But she did have a strong feeling that she didn't want to leave anyone here in any doubt that she wasn't actually a small human.

Alauniira'a attempted to adopt a suitably gracious manner for her approach to the two possible fae. Sadly, she'd forgotten where her dog was... and tripped over Ms But'laeb with all the grace of the recently drunk.

Quietly, she mutters (in Undercommon): "Maybe if I just go to sleep again, I'll wake up back home?"

Cautiously she pulls herself back to her feet. Glancing back, she notices her dog doing the same with a rather put-apon expression on her face. Well, she's apologize later. Instead, she once again attempted to approach the two... fae... And since she'd run out of dogs to trip over, she actually managed it this time!

Undercommon: "Well-Met." Pause. No, that wasn't right. Which language had she heard strange voices in as she woke? .... Oh, surfacer common! Huh, odd, that. Ah, well.

Common: "Well-Met." She offers the pair a well-practiced curtsey, then clasps her hands behind her back. "My name is Alauniira'a, may I know yours?"

Behind her back, her fingers spring back to life, signing to whoever is behind her (the entire party at this point, unless anyone went forwards with her):
Drow Sign Language: "Interrupt me if you spot any others."

[DoctorGlock]

At Alauniira'a's first shout, the startled fae's blades came arcing up and around into a defensive position. Moments later, with an expression that could be sheepishness on that alien face, he lowered them again as the situation become obvious. Behind the Daonine, the horse snickered.

'Fair folk? I am Daonine.' he replies to Damon. 'Where else would you be?,' he asked. 'Whatever drink flowed at your circle must have been strong indeed, for there is no where else be, no dolmen gates to other places have opened since the market days, before the world of manlings was lost to us...' he trails off, as if looking at you for the first time, before muttering singsong

'They came with gifts of gold and lead
sharpened iron, songs in their head
works not wrought by faerie hand
and in their stead they would demand
But lesser miracles and dreams
trifling wonders, it would seem'

His eyes flicker down to the various weapons the group is studded with. Iron. Steel. No fey can bear its touch, as ubiquitous a part of the tales as any...

'Oooooooh,' the horse lets out a low whistle. How he does that through his horse lips is a mystery, though far from the biggest one that surrounds you. 'I thought she was just an elf that had crossed the wrong puck and gotten herself emboggled. A Gate Ciridun, a Gate! There to your answers!'

Slit-pupiled amber eyes regard you with a level gaze. In fact, the Fey's whole stance seems to have shifted into something less predatory, but no less eager. 'Very well, answers for answers then? I am called Gwylith, Ciridun of the Daonine.'

'Can it be that you are... mortals?'

Surfacer common. Funny that indeed, though as dialects go it is a fairly archaic one-- it is a language that has evolved down the ages.

[whoiam]

"Some more than others, " Alauniira'a admitted. "I bear the blood of elves, albeit a long-outcast clan. He " waving vaguely in the direction of Damon, "bears the blood of Angels, or so his father used to boast. Certainly he lives longer than any human should. I met him when the other four could have been little more than babes. The rest are humans, except for this one, " She paused a moment, as Lauske came up alongside her and cautiously sniffed towards the fey, "who is a dog."

Turning back to her companions, Alauniira'a told them "Answers for Answers should be just what it seems: If we want an answer to a question, we must provide one in turn. I answered the question of mortality, so we, I think, may ask another. I would ask them to confirm this, but were they anything like my kin, such a query would cost us our turn regardless of answer! Still, I took the first question when I asked for their names. One of you, I think, should ask the next."

[Jeff the Green]

"And over there are another dog, a horse, and a falcon," Damon adds. "They're not as smart as Alauniira'a's pup, but they're more useful.

"I'll take the next question, I suppose. You say that there haven't been doors to our world since the market days. How long ago was that?"

[DoctorGlock]

Gwylith looks uneasy at that question. 'In measure? I do not know. Before I drew my first breath, three hundred and eighty-four dinue ago. Ones far older than I yet remember those days. How then did you cross the Dolmen Gates from the manling world?'

[whoiam]

"In truth, I do not think any of us knows. We spent most of yesterday drinking strong alcohol. Then we woke up here. Whatever we did in the gap between those two times is little more than a drunken blur. I can recall... was there dancing? It seems to be so. But I can tell you little else."

Of course there had been dancing - she was a great dancer! Moreso wihle sober, true. But on the plus side, the others had probably been too drunk to notice if she'd missed a beat or two.

Once again, Alauniira'a faced her own companions. "Third question, then..." and she waits for another to chime in...

[Jeff the Green]

"Oh, yes, you certainly danced," Damon tells Alauniira'a. "It was absolutely enthralling, I can tell you that. Particularly after you lost your dress," he adds with a leer.

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a did dance a few more steps in acknowledgement of the compliment... ([roll0]) although she also added a rather mocking "You sound like you'd never seen a naked maid before. And I know that's not true, you've been to too many parties with my sisters before. I thought your father would have a heart attack at the first one..."

[EnglishLanguage]

Finally getting the hint the everyone else can see the odd things too for once, Manny sighed a bit, trying tonot get flustered at the dancing conversation.

"Yes! How we got here! We had much to drink and many stories to listen to. And then...then..uh...I might have drank too much. Definitely much stronger than the stuff we had back home." He smiled a bit "Though fear not gallant creatures, we mean you no harm, and in truth, we have absolutely no idea where we are!" He said, almost a little too proud of that statement.

[Nightraiderx]

"A question for a question.... then I can only think if we are stuck here how do we get back? As to answer your question Anthony and I unfortunately got mixed up with this group when Anthony bumped into their table and messed up their food, so I cooked a new plate for them and we sat down to chat. hmmm wait this...." Zeeke digs into his satchel retrieving some food. "This is jerky, it's a tough meat but it lasts long so it's great for rations and traveling far. here try it." he breaks the ration in two and offers a piece to both of the creatures.

[senrath]

Drake kept quiet during all of this, watching and listening to what was going on. He was fairly reserved even when he was just with people he knew (notwithstanding drunken antics), let alone with a pair of creatures that were considered more myth than real.

[Jeff the Green]

"It's not like maids have become any less attractive over the last thirty years," Damon tells Alauniira'a with a shrug. "And up on the surface it's normally so much more work to get their dress around their ankles."

[DoctorGlock]

The horse lets out another neighing laugh 'That much was obvious!' it exclaims in response to Manny's statement. 'The first Gate in an age and it is no sage but a pack of drunkards!' It strikes you that you really don't trust the grin on its face. It strikes you as altogether too lecherous. 'Accept food? From a mortal? I've heard enough manling tales to know how that ends,' the horse laughs as Zeeke steps forward. The Daonine looks uneasily at the rations himself, as is uncertain of either their provenance or trustworthiness.

'I'll take heed of my somewhat brusque fellow, but answer thrice nonetheless. There is no way out of faerie worth mentioning, no gate that has opened in many an age save one-- the Path of Shadows, and no living thing can pass that way.'

His long ears twitch as he mulls over his next words. 'What will you do next?'

[whoiam]

Even Alauniira'a could spot the two fae didn't want to eat the Jerky. Sadly, they would be every bit as capable of hearing her stomach rumble as Zeeke produced food. One quick step sideways and Alauniira'a has grabbed one of the outstretched jerky pieces.

"After generations stuck in a cave living off lichen, fungus, and supplies stolen from the Dwarves, we were more than willing to try human cooking. They're surprisingly inventive with it, actually."

Alauniira'a bites into her piece of jerky.

Through a half-full mouth: "Sadly, Jerky isn't their finest moment. It's more emergency food than something you'd really want to eat. It's safe enough, though. Just not especially pleasant."

Chew

Chew


Swallow.


"Anyway! I don't think we'd gotten as far as considering what we'd do next. We really weren't expecting to be here, after all. Personally, I think I'd go looking for one of those people you mentioned as being old enough to remember when the gates were properly open. Figuring out how we got here - and how to get back - is easier if you speak to someone who knows what they're doing, and what magic remains on the mortal world isn't nearly powerful enough to operate something like that. I should know, after all - by mortal standards, I'm a skilled and powerful wizard. And I do wish 'by mortal standards' didn't make that damning myself with faint praise..."

Once more, having answered, Alauniira'a pauses to allow one of the others their turn at asking the next question.

[DoctorGlock]

The sight of three deep blue eyes rolling in unison is slightly disconcerting, but you suspect disconcerting will only be the start of your time. 'By the Queens!' the horse exclaims. 'Its blatantly obvious that the lot of you are just as confused as each other and rather than playing stupid seelie games you might as well be open about this. At least it would be if you had half the sense of a horse. What color is the sky? What direction is the sun? Who's voice echoes through the unnamings? Where does the moon go when it is not in the sky? Why can mortals bear the touch of iron? There, there are questions enough to play with, so ask already!' His three eyes fix in a baleful glower at the Ciridun, who has the good grace to appear at least a little contrite.

'Forgive me. Killian is right,' Gwylith says, stroking his horse's mane. 'I do not have the answers you seek, but my elders may. If not, perchance they may know those even elder than they. If there is one constant of Faerie, it is that there is always an elder, always a greater power. Older things than the Queens yet sleep silent amongst the bones of the earth.'

'Yet I cannot return just yet. I have duties here that must first be discharged. And I suspect they may be related,' he says, gesturing about the circle stones. What you first took for a dirt clearing becomes more obvious as your heads clear. The long grasses within the circle are dead and blackened, as if withered from a harsh winter or a great heat. You note that as a breeze lashes through the field, bending gold and royal purple stalks before it, you feel and hear none of it within the stones. Only a still and sullen silence. Those who get up to look note that previously hidden behind one of the larger dolmen-lumps is a winding path of similar desolation leading away. Gwlith raises a hand and points along the path towards the horizon. There a great and gnarled forest of arcing roots and thorns and primordial trees rises before the foothills of mountains reflecting the eerie purple twilight. As the forests edge is an ancient looking tower of pale white stone, it's architecture reminiscent of the flowing arches of ancient elven make. Just looking at it fills you with unease and foreboding.

'Myr Tarniel,' Gwylith says. 'Once a home of the Pale Knights, then of the cruel hobgoblins, and then of crueler Winter. Last night it burned with blue flame and now rings with silence. When I have my answers, I will lead you to my people.'

[whoiam]

Killian's interruption was just what Alauniira'a needed. The moment of distraction was more than enough to allow her to drop the remainder of the piece of jerky she'd taken in front of Lauske. Dogs could be relied upon to cover many sins, especially if those sins were meat-based...

Which her hands now free, they went back behind her back to sign to the others, "Finally!" Then she turned to look at the trail, as they suggested...

"Blue flame and a path of devastation leading to - or from - the gate that brought us here. It does seem suspicious, doesn't it?" Which direction the path had been forged in was an... interesting... question. But not quite so interesting she wanted to just up and start walking that way.

"How much of a hurry are you in to follow that trail? We are, I'm afraid, still recovering from the circumstances that brought us here. And I at least would need to make some preparations before going anywhere likely to be dangerous." Mostly studying her spellbook. Thankfully, now she had had a chance to look around the clearing properly, she could see her pack lying on the floor a few meters away. "Probably also some breakfast, if we want to achieve something today beyond finding danger and vomiting all over it. I know" Well, she hadn't known this morning, but she did now! "you have reservations about accepting food from mortals, so I'll understand if you'd rather not join us for this..."

[DoctorGlock]

'Nay, not that much of a hurry. I doubt the tower will be leaving any time soon, it has stood for as long as any in faerie can remember, after all.' Gwylith replies as he sheathes his blades in an intricate fur harness at his black and slides down crosslegged to the ground. He rummages about a finely woven grey silk-like sack and withdraws a deep cyan fruit. 'And I admit, much as its presence sets mine teeth on edge, the presence of iron may bring some small solace ahead. You are warriors?' he asks the group.

'My reluctance before may possibly be misplaced, as it is based on manling tales we tell young children. They say mortal can entrap a faerie at a feast, drawing them between two worlds and doomed to die, the curse of the dwarves so long ago,' he says, slicing into the fruit with a thin bronze knife. 'But they also say humans are as tall as towers and can split mountains with a single word. So many tales... do men tell tales of fae as well?'

[Nightraiderx]

"Fair enough, it's not really my best cooking but something I fix up quick for long journeys, human food has alot of different spices as well." Zeeke notices Alaunirra drop the ration, I know it's not great meat but that's a bit disrespectful. he mumbles under his breath. "I am but a simple cook of various delicacies, although I do know some ways of the sword." Zeeke makes a quick gesture and flick of the wrist as a blade comes out under his wrist and with the same motion flicks it back under it. "Breakfast sounds like a good start at least," looking around at the forest plants and and fruits. "Some wood and some fire and I could scrounge something up."

[DoctorGlock]

Survival: You go ranging for foodstuffs, and are the first of your companions to step outside the dolmen circle for the first time. The subtle wrongness, or at least alien nature of the land hits you in full force-- the latent stillness gone outside the circle, you can hear whispering on the wind, as if endless faint echoes, though you cannot make out the words. All around is a sense of presence-- not quite of being watched, but as if in a room with another, as if the very land was alive and waiting with bated breath.

You find: A six legged pale blue rabbit. A bush with what appears to be red walnuts. A nearby stunted tree bears golden fruit, though the ones borne on the side closest to the trail of devastation are rotten, black and swarming with maggots. The gold and purple fields do seem o be some sort of grain though. Combined you could probably make some sort of stew, or if you wanted to take a long time, bread and a marinated, glazed rabbit roast...

Sense motive: You are ok at reading people, but these aren't people. The facial cues share only remote similarities, the body language is profoundly different. If they are being disingenuous, you have no way to know.

Knowledge: Typical faerie tales. Look up something irish or celtic and it will fit. Common themes involve snatching children to raise as their own, eating faerie food entrapping the eater in faerie land, fey being compelled to speak truth if asked thrice (but also immensely offended and willing to be quite murderous in said offense) and making deals and bargains like genies.

[EnglishLanguage]

'But they also say humans are as tall as towers and can split mountains with a single word. So many tales... do men tell tales of fae as well?'

Manny got a gleam in his eye at the mention of stories.

"Oh do they!" He said, rifling through a number of books in his bag. "So many stories of many wonderful things, fae among them of course. Although I always thought they were make believe. To think such beings actually existed somewhere...ah, it's so...interesting!" Manny said, a bit in awe, the realization of them ending up in what he seems to believe like a fairy tale land finally settling in.

[whoiam]

Lauske seemed to enjoy the jerky more than Alauniira'a had... so there's that, at least...

With Manny taking up the discussion on the subject of stories, it saved the drow from the uncomfortable moment of having to admit that her mother had tried teaching her about the fey... and she'd basically just daydreamed through the stories and forgotten all the details in her pursuit of more worldly knowledge.

Now didn't she feel like an idiot...

Still, with Zeeke off to start the foraging, it was time she started her preparations. Retrieving her back, she extracts her spellbook from it and just sits cross-legged on the floor, spellbook open on her lap, and begins to prepare her magic.

Breakfast should be ready by the time I'm finished...

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke just looks at the blue rabbit... "hm... ah alright." Zeeke will cut up the rabbit so be similar to pieces of ham. Zeeke will also grind up the grain into a fine powder and wraps the blue rabbit slices in them. He then gets a pan on the fire to cook the covered meat up. Cutting both the fruit and walnuts,Zeeke waited for the rabbit pieces to cook well before adding both in to spice it up. Zeeke lets it roast alittle longer before making a serving for everyone. "And there it is, my first making of food from another world, hope you guys like it!"

[DoctorGlock]

In a short time everyone is fed-- not quite a breakfast, but fried rabbit(?) is on the menu, and Zeeke's cooking is certainly up to snuff. It tastes sweeter than rabbit, with a faint spicy aftertaste like cinnamon and red wine. Still, it is food, and facing a hangover and whatever terror left those signs in its wake, a full belly comes as a welcome change. The Faen ranger sits and exchanges stories with your storytelling friend for a while.

'In truth I had thought 'humans' were a tale told by the elders to make children behave,' you overhear. 'They would come in the night and take you away to dark towers with iron knives if you did not behave and respect your elders. But some spoke of you as if you were real and remembered...'

As Alauniira'a finishes her spell preparations Gwylith gets to his feet and gracefully mounts his horse. 'Now then, have you steeled yourselves for what comes ahead?' The last words hang ominous in the air, heavy with portent, as if a thought cut off, left to sink back beneath cold depths.

[Jeff the Green]

"Er, no offense, Zeeke," says Damon to the chef du jour, "but until I see how the faerie food affects the rest of you, I'll stick to what I have on hand." He wakes up his dappled gelding and begins rummaging through his packs until he finds a bottle of wine and crock of honey. He eats a spoon's-worth of the latter with a finger and then takes a few swigs of the former.



"Well, we are the ones wearing it," Damon points out to the Daonine. He whistles, waking up his still drowsing falcon and hound, and mounts Xanthus. With Laelaps panting at his side and Kirke perched on his saddlehorn, Damon looks every bit the spoiled nobleman's son he is.

[whoiam]

Lauske can't add much to the conversation, but she's more than willing to eat anything thrown her way while Alauniira'a was studying.

When the drow finally rises from her book, the (presumably well-fed) dog nudges her towards the food that Damon had refused to eat. With everyone else preparing to go, Alauniira'a puts what she can into a pocket of her haversack to eat along the way. Next time, she'd have to do her spell preparations early - her stomach was angry enough at her for working through this breakfast, it would probably revolt if she missed another one!

"Well, some of us are, anyway..." she points out, gesturing at her spider silk dress. Changing into her travelling clothes was another thing she would have done if not preparing spells. Maybe she'd get a chance if they stopped for lunch...

Finally prepared, she steps outside the standing stones for the first time.

[EnglishLanguage]

Manny laughed a bit. "If even half the tales I've heard of Fae longevity is, I could imagine some knowing humans. In truth, we humans have a few stories much the same way. Behave and eat your vegetables or they'll take you away, my parents would tell me." He laughed a bit, also giving some thought to how his parents have been doing, as he's been gone from home for quite a long time.

[Jeff the Green]

"On the other hand," Damon adds, "there's supposed to be some magic to trap a fae, though obviously it hasn't been used in a long time if it indeed existed. Circles of cold iron, horse shoes, that sort of thing, though it was supposedly used more in defense, keeping fae out of houses or imprisoning them until they return the abducted children."

[DoctorGlock]

Engaging a little disjoint time to reply a little to the others for possible things to branch into later. Everything past this should be after he says 'are you ready?'

'In our tales the circles were to extort wishes, or simply servitude if they could not take a wonder,' Gwylith answers Damon. 'In truth I have no idea what to do with a mortal child. Or perhapsthe tales are just to explain why dwarves must die, in a land where few things age-- for they partook of mortal food at Iax's table and were trapped between two worlds.'

The food seems safe, though Damon's words bring up disquieting memories of tales of dysentery or diarrhea from the westward expansion of Elselund a scant hundred years prior. Settlers in a new land, not knowing what was safe to eat... Your meal does not taste off, if it does taste a little strange.

****

Damon gets the sense that something was left unsaid in the fey's words, a line of questioning cut off and stifled before it spilt past his narrow lips.

As you step outside the stones the subtle wrongness, or at least alien nature of the land hits you in full force-- the latent stillness gone outside the circle, you can hear whispering on the wind, as if endless faint echoes, though you cannot make out the words. All around is a sense of presence-- not quite of being watched, but as if in a room with another, as if the very land was alive and waiting with bated breath.

Killian eyes the group levelly, his gaze lingering on Drake and Anthony in particular. 'Quiet,' the horse(?) says softly. 'A lot to take in, finding yourselves stranded in another world. Everything you knew reversed, and all familiarity enough displaced to lend no comfort, only dark suspicions.' The horse's voice seems distant and knowing as he speaks, and it is enough to make even his rider look askance, though the steed does not elaborate.

[senrath]

"While true, I am often quiet even in situations I understand. It is far easier to not say something than to un-say it." Drake said, acknowledging what the horse(?) said, before stepping from the circle himself.

[esorscher]

Anthony nods.

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke finishes up breakfast. "Hm, that was quite an interesting meal... since we are stuck here for the time being I'll have to record what's edible though can't be eating anything poisonous." He'll stand up looking around at the solemn faces. "Well, nothing more to do but to keep going am I right?" he'll look at the group and then at the wave of destruction.

[DoctorGlock]

XVI: The Tower

Even as the Ciridun seems about to ask his horse to elaborate, Killian snorts and rears back, speaking a single word that echoes about and seems to fill your ears even though you cannot understand its meaning, it spirals out on the whispering wind, which is suddenly as your backs as the horse sprints along the trail of devastation. As you follow, your steps seem weightless and you make the journey, which seems to be about a league, in a matter of minutes, seemingly borne on the gusting whispers.


The horse just uttered a true name.

DC 30.

That horse knows the name of the wind, one of the harder ones if old tales are to be believed.

The breeze dies down and you suddenly feel your weight return like a sack of rocks, never before noticed until it was gone. Around you the syllables of that word refract of the swaying long grasses, shattering and tinkling like glass chimes. Before you is a squat and rounded tower of some pale stone, like a granite in hues of white and blue, marbled with gold and etched with elaborate paterns. There is a dead and sullen silence in the air and shadows seem longer. A dull chill hangs in the air. Cold, where it is obvious fire blazed hot the night before. Disturbed by the passage of the horse's wind, cold grey ash drifts like snow from the parapets above.

A fire big enough to burn this place would still smolder, the stones and air should still be warm.

Before you a vast bronze double door hangs open like the slack mouth of a corpse, covered with a thick layer of green tarnish. You can barely make out the impression of figures carved into the door, twin humanoids with outstretched hands in a warding gesture. Some foul black ooze dribbles down the tarnish. Inside the shadows seems to lie thicker, seeming to layer over on themselves, moving like some alive and consuming thing.


'Ciridun, seven signs for seven watchers, I see six yet,' the horse's words sound flat and harsh in comparison to the jovial face he presented before.

'And ye shall know them by their signs,' Gwylith whispers, aloud, though if it is meant for you or for him you cannot tell. It is almost singsong, obviously something recited many times and commit to memory.

Fire burns blue against the night,
And life withers to black
They bear the chill touch of shadow

Maggots writhe in what once flourished,
And wrought works dull and tarnish
They bear the biting touch of ice and iron.

Cursed. Nameless. Despised.
They that do not die,
But above all, they bear silence,
and in thier wake leave only more.'

His hands tighten on his blade, knuckles white. 'One last then, Killian,' he says, spurring the beast. Reluctantly it seems, dragging his feet, they approach the threshold.

[whoiam]

Well, that was an interesting trick. More than my magic could have done, certainly. Though there's no need to point that out to them...

"I can but guess from your verse that you know more about the likely cause of this damage than we do. I don't suppose you care to tell us what danger we're likely on the trail of?"

As she speaks, Alauniira'a gestures Lauske to her side, and then draws her revolver. She's not a terribly good shot, but her magic didn't tend to be powerful enough to vanquish all foes in a single shot either, so having the weapon out and loaded couldn't hurt...

[Jeff the Green]

"Something unnatural," Damon says through gritted teeth. His rather jovial and bantering disposition seems to have melted away, replaced with an air of wary unease. "If that fire burned last night, it should still be hot. The shadows aren't anything like our magic—I'm sure you picked up on that—and based on how our new friends are reacting, they're not like the fae's either."

He nudges Xanthus forward, a few dozen yards behind the fae warriors. He draws a pistol of his own construction, a relatively new design with rotating chambers, covered in filigree and his family's crest. Then, for good measure, he draws his double-barreled hunting musket. "Well?" he asks the fae. "Care to enlighten these strangers in a strange land?"

[senrath]

Drake cast his eyes about, taking in the scene in front of him as he readied his guisarme. There was a certain wrongness about all of this, even considering the general circumstances they were under. He wasn't at all sure what to expect, be he knew he wasn't going to like it.

[DoctorGlock]

'Know? No. Suspect, beyond all doubt, beyond all misfortune,' the horse mutters. 'Seven signs. Seven watchers. Seven shades of silence. They are your duty Ciridun, mayhaps you should tell them.'

The Daonine glowers at his companion before answering in a low whisper laced with anger. 'Ciridun means vengeance in our old tongue. We are an order of Daonine that do not walk the market paths or the circle dance. We exist but to hunt those that have done great ill to the Daonine over the ages. The witches of the sunken city, Merwythenien who prolonged their youth with our blood. The agents of the winter queen, Mab, who tricked us of our birthright. And greatest of all, the Seven Silent Watchers who's sins eclipse all others. Who burned our library, shattered our power and consigned us to wander in exile in times dimly remembered.'

'None know what the Seven are. None know where they come from, or where they live, if they live. None have seen them. They strike from the blue as lightning from a clear sky, and none know why, save that they leave no witnesses to tell the tale. All the leave are the signs of their passage. And you shall know them by their signs...

He looks beyond you to the shadows within the tower through narrowed eyes filled with hate. 'It is the duty, purpose and dream of every Ciridun to hunt our enemies, and none more so than the Seven. But it has been over a hundred dinue since one has even been seen, and none in living memory has survived an encounter with them.'

[EnglishLanguage]

Manny jotted some of the story down, paying attention to it and making sure he gets it down.
Not my mechanical note taking effect, just flavor purposes.

My, what a fascinating tale. I wish I had the time to learn more about these Seven......would I not likely be killed doing so, if your tale rings true.

[senrath]

"From the sound of things you might get to study one up close at some point, if our coming here and their returning are as related as Gwylith suspects." Drake remarked as he continued to cast his eyes about over the smoldering ruins. He really hoped whatever had done this was long gone, as fighting something that even the fae feared was not high on his list of priorities.

[EnglishLanguage]

"Very true. I'll have to make a note of it when we do eventually run into them then. Manny clapped his hands together briefly, partly excited about the new potential experiences, partly nervous that his life is at stake if what they said was true.

[Jeff the Green]

Damon rolls his eyes. He had nothing against books, to be sure, but this enthusiast was being ridiculous. Taking notes when he should be alert for danger? The quill might be mightier than the sword, but only metaphorically.

Besides, no self-respecting polymath should need to write things down. He concentrates for a second and stores the rhyme in his cerebral library. Granted, knowing it seems unlikely to be essential, but it's not like he'd run out of shelf space.

That's Autohypnosis, taking 10.

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke nodded to the others, slowly moving towards the tower quietly to the best of his ability.
"I'll try scouting ahead a bit." he told the others, he wasn't particularly interested in the story and was more
worried about what monsters awaited them in the tower.

Swift action going into body of the night stance. (+ranks heal in stealth)

Perception
[roll0]

Stealth roll
[roll1]

[DoctorGlock]

'Some wishes are best left ungranted,' the horse mutters. 'Either way, you know how it is getting a horse up a flight of stairs. As bad as donkeys really. I'll shamelessly wait for you lot out here.' His rider scowls pointedly at the beast as he leaps off its back, drawing those gleaming sickles once again. He gazes into the darkness beyond the ajar door. 'It's your duty, not mine,' Killian continues. 'I have not lived as long as I have be getting involved any more than the terms of our compact.'

'So be it. If six of seven signs are present than the last must lie within. My duty. My charge,' he says as he creeps forward, one of his hands flickering through a series of dizzying motions as he mutters a singsong chant, and he seems to fade into the shadows of the tower as he crosses the threshold.

____

The Tower.

Zeeke creeps silently through the darkness, into a grand entry hall, partially illuminated by the piercing sliver of light knifing through the open door. The light does not pierce far or wide though, as the shadows swirl like frigid mists within, heavy and tangible on your face. Beyond the sliver of twilight and aurora fire the hall is pitched black save for the guttering of blue embers scattered about, casting a dime and greasy light mere feet about. The light from outside describes a line maybe ten paces in length (about thirty feet), casting shadowy illumination maybe three paces beyond it's immediate self.

Within that eerie lighting you can see long tables set with a feast, bloated and rotten with writhing worms and maggots. You can also see within that light a figure hunched over the table, tall and inhumanly pale, even in death. Long pointed ears poke from beneath a helm of some silvery and iridescent metal and pale blue slit-pupilled eyes are wide in shock, preserved on his unfeeling face. From his back juts a black arrow that has pierced a suit of mail made of the same iridescent metal which has rusted and blackened around the cursed bolt.

You can see guttering blue embers at varying places throughout the darkness, some a good thirty paces back from the entrance.

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke held his breath as he slumped through the door, he knew how to contort his body to make it even harder to detect, but
his limited sight made this more difficult for the things not seen. Zeeke tries to get a read on the long, gaunt figure sitting at the table, before heading back to the entrance and telling the parties of the events that unfolded- the blue flame lights, the table, the lack of lack and the rotting food with the creature hunched over.

Sense Motive
[roll0]

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a, with tread far heavier than her slight frame should have made possible, had wisely (or cowardly, depending on your perspective) remained outside as Zeke and the Fey had gone exploring. As Zeke brought back his report, she had to note to herself that she was glad she'd done so.

Undercommon: "How delightful. This entire trip's going to be filled with such imagery, isn't it?"

Common: "Which means either the occupant was killed far in advance, or they died last night and the decay has been induced." A quick glance back along the trail of destruction suggested one of those answers was more likely than the other. "I'm thinking induced.

Is there anything else for you to explore, or is the corpse-hall it?"

[Nightraiderx]

"I'd go farther in, but due to my limited knowledge of magic and seeing in the dark... I'm a bit unnerved to go in farther."
Zeeke looked paranoid over his shoulder a bit.

[whoiam]

Deep in her heart, Alauniira'a knew what she should do at this point. She knew plenty about magic, and saw better in the dark than she did in the daylight. She should volunteer to go inside.

But to her, Zeeke was a stranger, barely better known than the fey. Not high on the list of people she wanted to explore a potentially dangerous place with. So instead, she kept quiet, hoping someone else would volunteer to go so she'd have an excuse to tag along with the group.

[Jeff the Green]

"I'll go," Damon says, dismounting with a flourish. "If our new long-eared friend would like to come too I'd appreciate it, but I'm almost as quiet as Zeeke and nearly as versed in magic as Alauniira'a."

[Nightraiderx]

"It would certainly be better than going in alone, I can search for physical traps and you can handle the potential magic ones."
Zeeke turned to the door feeling better about his chances, motioning to Damon.

Stealth
[roll0]

Perception
[roll1]

[whoiam]

Well, this changed everything. Now that Damon was going, Alauniira'a was more than happy to invite herself along. She wouldn't have trusted him to help her fight temptation... But she found it far easier to believe that he would stand with her against danger.

Or they'd bravely run away from it, but either way, they would at least do it together...


"Is it dark enough inside I can get by without the cloth?" she asks, joining the pair by the door.

[DoctorGlock]

Gwylith creeps out of the tower looking more than a little sheepish as he walks over toward Killian. 'Let me guess, sign of shadow actually means something?' The horse asks with a cocked brow (fascinating expression on a horse, by the way, especially one with extra eyes). 'It's in the blue pack, front pouch,' Killian continues, gesturing towards the saddlebags with his eyes.

'I was hasty,' the fey says to you, drawing out what looks like a shriveled black hand with a melted candle of red tallow. 'And in doing so confirmed more suspicions. No normal darkness, and no seeming or glamourie besides. The shadow of the Seven can only be dispelled by pure starlight or by the passage of three moons.' He draws out of the bag a small vial of scintillating light which he pours a few drips of onto the wick, which lights with a cold and unwavering light light that of a distant star. 'The hand of glory, hand of thieves, by which we may see and not be seen in turn. And a vial of starlight to dispel the dark. Should we see by it, we will know it was the Seven themselves.'

[Jeff the Green]

"I'd guess you'll be fine, Niira," Damon says dryly. "Shall we, then?" With a certain swagger he strides off toward the bronze doors.

Inside he moves quietly, keeping to the dimmer parts of the illuminated atrium. He goes straight away to the body slumped over the table. Hunching over the arrow, hands clasped behind his back, he studies it and the wound it created.

Stealth: [roll0]
And since I'm not likely to actively use Perception again today, I'm going to use an inspiration point on it: [roll1]
Dunno what Knowledge is appropriate. [roll2] +14 for nature; +10 for nobility, religion, local, and arcana; +9 for the rest.

And an additional Knowledge to ID the dead thing. [roll3] (same mods; with the +5 bonus for Collector of Stories)

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke looks at the bodies strewn about, "Seems they put up quite a fight..." pointing out the layout of the room to both Niira and Damon. Upon seeing the twisted toothy bodies, "what in the world is that monster?" Zeeke exclaims with a hushed whisper.

Niira and Damon are relayed the information from my perception roll so Jeff and whoiam are free to look at the Ooc

[whoiam]

Once inside, Alauniira'a removed her thin blindfold. It was the first time in a long time she'd had her eyes unbound... And her red eyes were almost glowing. She couldn't help it. Strange as this land was, there was still enough fae in her blood that something deep within her just felt... at home.

Sadly, it wasn't her mind. And the difference between what her mind and her body thought about the situation was beginning to annoy her. So the next comment...

"Being ambushed at dinner in your own home is not a good fight, it's a criminal failure to post effective sentries." ...wasn't as charitable as it could have been. Her years out of the underdark hadn't stopped Alauniira'a showing a few flashes of her family's ancestral paranoia. Normally, she kept it under control, but hit by the combination of wrongness, rightness, and danger, she couldn't help herself but let some of it slip out...


I don't think any of Alauniira'a's knowledges are high enough to beat Damon's rolls. Unless these things need to be IDd by Knowledge (Arcana), and I'm very lucky... [roll0] - Just in case.

[DoctorGlock]

'A failure Winter's minions do not oft commit; they tend to have perfected the arts of paranoia,' Gwylith answers as he squats to examine one of the eyeless things. 'I have never seen the like,' he says, though whether he refers to the seeming lack of sentries or the creatures or both you cannot say.

Damon and Alauniira

Damon: while you have never encountered anything like them, you recall a snippet gleaned from a dusty tome of dwarven folklore. A song to be precise. A song Alauniira has heard first hand at one point in the underdark. It has a slow and dirgelike quality, a traditional dwarven chant of archaic meter. They tend not to rhyme.

'They've no eyes and yet they see,
Malice aforethought

'They've no voice and yet they speak
Words unheard by ear

'They've hands that cannot make
But take and unravel

'They lurk in the dark of places deep
They cannot bear the touch of sky

'Their ears are keen
They will ill dreams
evil lurking behind a face of holes'

The 'Lurk' are a sort of dwarven boogeyman

[Jeff the Green]

"Winterfae and lurks—are you sure the Seven are your enemies, Gwylith?" he asks, only half-joking. "Granted, the fae have been gone from the mortal world for centuries upon centuries, but none of what we recall of Mab's people is good."

[DoctorGlock]

'Then your recollections are entirely accurate,' Gwylith says. 'But as in all things Winter, the enemy of mine enemy is simply my enemy's enemy. We forget at out own peril. And the Seven are enemies to all that live.'

He raises the starlight lantern higher to peer about the beshadowed room. 'I have only heard of Lurk through winding words from dwarf-tales... I thought them legend. Your world has such things?' he asks as he picks up a weapon from the floor. It is jagged and crude with a saw-like edge. 'Poisoned. It would have to be strong to work on cold and heartless things such as these,' he says gesturing at the dead clad in shimmering mail.

[Jeff the Green]

"Nah, they're a dwarf legend at home, too," Damon replies. "I've only heard of them in a poem from a dusty old book. It was a bugger to read, it was so archaic, and the meter's awkward, but it matches pretty well. 'No eyes and yet they see', 'evil behind a face of holes', 'lurking in the dark', and all that."

[Nightraiderx]

"poisoned you say?" Zeeke takes interest in the blades, picking another one up that looked poisonous inspecting it.
"wonder what kind of properties this poison has? could be of use to us against the seven..."


not sure if I can identify it this way but I'm gonna roll all the rolls!
knowledge nature
[roll0]
craft:poisonmaking
[roll1]
survival
[roll2]

[DoctorGlock]

'If any earthly poison worked against them I doubt they would inspire such terror,' the fey answers Zeeke. 'The better question is what Lurk are doing here-- bad enough that they are real, few things give the dwarves pause after all, but here and not in the bowels of their cavern kingdoms? And did the Seven ride with them or against them, if the Seven were here at all.'

He once more kneels down to inspect a body, another penetrated by a black shaft. He reaches out to touch it before jerking his hands back as if stung, an expression of revulsion on his face. 'Iron. They were killed with iron. No fey can bear its touch.' His wary eyes fall on the group, thoughts flickering behind guarded eyes.

He glances at he throne on the dais. 'The pale castellan would have sat there, and his body is not among the fallen. His duties would have been to warn others. The belltower should have sounded. Perhaps answers lie upwards.' he says, pacing up the stairs that flank the dais, heading towards the staircase heading into the gloom above.


Ok, so the poison isn't from anything in the mortal world, so it should be impossible to ID. But I hate wasting a 20, so you'll get something.

The poison is clearly organic, rather than synthetic or alchemical. It clots a bit too, implying it is animal in origin rather than plant. It reminds you somewhat of spider or centipede venoms though, a quick acting enzyme that corrodes and necrotizes living flesh

Upstairs

The stairs lead up a short distance to a circular room that resembles a barracks of sorts, but if a barracks were run by a decadent princeling. Narrow bunks arrayed with fine silks of questionable materials in varying states of disarray. In the center is another staircase of crude stone slabs etched with ancient looking writing, the spiral encased in it's own circular tower of sorts. At the far end of the room is another doorway. More bodies are scattered about, but all in a state of fighting. None here seem to have been taken by surprise. But the sidhe in residence seem to have died terribly. Great seared wounds pock their flesh, and the armor's edges around them seems have have been shattered as if by great frost. Rubble is blocking the staircase up just shortly past the first bend.

[whoiam]

"It's not that bad, " Alauniira'a points out, touching the iron of her revolver. "Does kinda tingle if you get your hands on a pure enough piece, though. A couple of my sisters had some theories on why that might be. Kinda wish I'd paid attention to them now..."

Alauniira'a's instinct is to follow their 'guide' up to the belltower, but it was fighting her instinct for self-preservation and its' edict 'Wait for Damon'. So she paused by the door, and looked back to see what her friend was doing.

[Nightraiderx]

"one can never be too careful, the worse that happens that the poison doesn't work, besides there can be other uses." Zeeke attempts to collect the poison, thinking that maybe someone would identify it for him in another town, and at worse could be a last ditch poison should his reserves run out. Zeeke watches the fey ascend the staircase, considering how the floor looked he felts uneasy going down towards the source as liquid usually pools at the bottom. He walks by niira peeking through the door, opening it slightly.

Perception roll
[roll0]

Stealth roll
[roll1]

[DoctorGlock]

The faint and muffled sounds of combat filter down through the gaping doorway, the ring of metal on metal, but sounding as if impossibly far away.

[whoiam]

"Are you feeling brave, Zeeke?" Alauniira'a asks, the sounds of battle making it to her ears as well. I'm not! "Because I don't think we're getting any answers without heading towards that sound..."

[senrath]

Drake shifted a bit as he waited at the entrance to the ruined building. It hadn't been that long that the others had gone in, yet, and he hadn't heard anything that would indicate things had gone wrong with the scouting. He'd wait a little while longer before doing anything.

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke tentatively nods, "I'm not sure about brave, but it's got to be done, you in with us Damon?" Zeeke fiddles with something on his arm as a small dagger is produced from the sleeve of his clothes.

[Jeff the Green]

Damon gives Zeeke a boyish grin. "Of course," he replies. He readies his weaponry, whirling his revolver about his finger and pulling his hunting musket from its sling on his back. With the springing stride of a trained acrobat, he heads toward the open door.

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a falls in behind Zeeke and Damon as they get moving. "I'll never understand how you can charge into probable danger so casually..." She mutters behind them, more to herself than to them. Won't stop her following, though.

[DoctorGlock]

The Tower

You round ascend the spiraling staircase into deeper darkness, and the sounds seeming draw no closer, still muted as though from the bottom of a deep and covered well, ascending into a short hallway lit by a pale flickering spectral glow cast by a fallen lantern. Gwylith's lantern to be precise, casting it's imitation starlight about the gloom. The wick is almost out and whatever oils it uses are pooled about it on the floor.

You 'guide' is backed against a wall where four of the mishapen creatures are bearing down on him in silence with weighty brutal cleavers. He is defending in an arcing blaze of gleaming sickles, a shouted war cry falling nearly mute in the dark gloom. A fifth is clutching it's belly, seemingly holding in its guts. They reek of rot and brine. As you round the top of the the stairs, three of the creatures turn towards you in impossibly uncanny unison before one opens its mouth in a guttural yell that seems impossibly far away...

Roll initiative, perception

Outside:

Outside the tower the air seems to be oppressive. It is not the simple chill, or the unease. The way that words seem to fall flat and hang empty on the air itches at the back of the mind in troubling ways.

'Tell me then,' the horse speaks to Drake. 'Thinkest me a coward?'

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a, the world's least attentive observer, rolls her mighty -3 perception check!

[roll0]
[roll1]

...And gets a natural 20, while completely flubbing her Initiative roll. *giggles*

[senrath]

"Cowardice had not crossed my mind. Without knowing any more about you than I do, I would deem you prudent. After all, prudence is why I am out here as well. If stealth and scouting are the goal I would merely be in their way." Drake said, staring through the doorway as though he was trying see what was happening inside of it, a stark difference to his normal inattentiveness.

[DoctorGlock]

Outside

'And should your friends run into trouble inside, what would you do?' the horse replies.

[senrath]

"Then I will go to their aid as swiftly as I can."

[Jeff the Green]

Inside

"Practice," Damon replies to Alauniira'a as they reach the top of the staircase. He grimaces at the sight of the Lurks and raises his pistol. "Sometime I'll take you boar hunting." Two shots ring out in staccato bursts of thunder. "You stand in a game trail with a big spear with cross bars on the blade, and have a hound or mounted companion drive them to you. Then you get in the beast's way, set your spear, and let them impale themselves on it." Keeping an eye on the brutes, he takes a cautious step toward the lantern.

Full-round action: Rapid shot, inspiration point for damage on the first.

[roll0] touch, [roll1]
[roll2] touch, [roll3]


5-foot step: Toward the lantern.

I think that's about all I can say in a round, so I'll ask Gwylith about the lantern next round.

[Nightraiderx]

"sigh, not pleasant at all." Zeeke nervously looks around at the situation seeing Damon take the shots, Zeeke follows up hoping to thin their numbers in the first round. With the flick of his wrist a dagger pops out of his sleeve as he drives it into the horrible creature.

Iron Fang manuever ignores DR
[roll0]

[roll1]
[roll2]

[DoctorGlock]

Outside

'And how would you know? You can hear how words distort even out here. Tir'Nasu, the Namer's bane. Silence. Inside it would be even worse.' The horse looks sideways at Drake, third eye glinting all too knowingly. 'If it is prudence when you do not know your quarry, what is it when you are cripplingly aware of what waits ahead? Tell me, warrior, what are you when stripped of words?'

The Tower

Twin shots sound, a low and muffled thump rather than the familiar crack of thunder you are used to, and one of the Lurks reels, lips peeling back from needle-teeth in a silent hiss. The others seem to parrot the reaction simultaneously. A glinting dagger hurtles rapidly in the bullets' wake, but find no targets. Gripping hideous cleavers in pale and sinuous fists, the lurks charge as one.

Each Lurk initiates rage and charges. All are now at -4 AC from total.

Damon. This is the injured one.
[roll0]
If hit
[roll1]

Zeeke
[roll2]
[roll3]

Nira. This charge brings it past both Zeeke and Damon, provoking twin AoOs. Please take it down before it kills Nira.
[roll4]
[roll5]

Everyone hit please make a DC 11 Fort save

[senrath]

"You know something I don't." Drake said as he looked the horse over once more. Then, without waiting for a response he rushed into the tower to seek out his comrades. The horse's words gave him the incredible sense that they were in danger already, not that he just wouldn't know if they were if it happened.

[whoiam]

Bufffing! That's what I'd forgotten to do...

[roll0]


Luckily it took more than (fairly severe) injury to stop a Drow's self-preservation instincts. In this case, a quick step back out of immediate danger, a deft dip into her spell component pouch, and the fastest circle of powdered silver you ever did see. True, it was rough and spotty, but thankfully that was all she needed to protect herself.


Alauniira'a adds Protection from Evil to herself for the next 4 minutes.


Then she drew her rapier (more for show than anything... she wasn't any good with it), and tried not to anticipate the next assault...

[DoctorGlock]

Inside: First floor.

Without the lantern's starlight, the atrium of the crumbling fortress is nearly pitch black, lit only by a scattering of pale and ghostly blue embers and the knife of outside's twilight forcing it's way through the open doorway. And a flicker of ghostly light from a doorway opposite. Very faint sounds can be heard from it, like gunfire miles away.

Second floor.

The lantern's light begins to fade as the wick starts to burn out, a trail of pale smoldering smoke rising from it with a scent like burnt maple. The Lurks' shadows seem to grow longer, their aspects seeming more distorted and monstrous as the light fades.

[Jeff the Green]

Upstairs
"I don't think we want that to go out," Damon calls to Gwylith, indicating the lantern. "How do I get it burning again?

[DoctorGlock]

Your words barely seem to leave your mouth, consumed by the growing darkness as silence reigns. If your guide even managed to hear you, you cannot hear whatever it is he is shouting into the night.

With that said, you did see the perception check in the OOC. Should be obvious.

[Jeff the Green]

"Damn it," Damon mutters, though even he can't hear himself now. Looking speculatively at the butcher in front of him, he takes a quick step back, then does a somersault past it, under its cleaver. He comes to his feet almost already in a sprint and at the other end of the hall slides to a crouch next to the lantern and the vial of starlight.

Double move. Tumble [roll0]. He should need to tumble through 10 ft., meaning he can get 50 ft. down the hall.

[Nightraiderx]

"Damn not good, not good." Zeeke takes a step back and tries again, as the blade glistens and distorts trying to down one of the mad cleavers that he swiped at before.

Dimensional Strike to make them FF
swift action Weakening venom prana Fort DC 15 for 1d4 str damage

[roll0]

Damage:
[roll1]
Stance + Deadly Strike damage to FF
[roll2]

Str damage:
[roll3]

[DoctorGlock]

Zeeke's bladke flicks out, glittering, plunging into the belly of the Lurk Damon had shot, and with a silenced grunt it curls up on the floor. Meanwhile, Damon crouches over the fallen lantern and its fuel as Gwylith finishes disemboweling a second Lurk, before wiping too-pale blood from a split lip.

Meanwhile, enlarged and monstrous, the remaining two Lurks close in on Zeeke and Niira, brutal cleavers swinging.

Zeeke: Enlarged and Pissed off power attack.

[roll0] to hit
[roll1] damage
DC 11 fort or [roll2] con damage

As the second Lurk hops into the gap left by Damon, cleaver poised for a killing blow, the muffled rattle of armor can be heard from the doorway and Drake appears, weapon flashing!

Drake goes before captain ugly, simply because i don't wan't to bog combat down too much and I likely will not be able to post till saturday night. Niira goes right after drake, or whoever posts in whichever order, and assuming ugly still stands/can manage the attack he attempts to finish Niira with the following. Should drake block the way this will be aimed at him.

[roll3] to hit
[roll4] damage
DC 11 fort or [roll5] con damage

[senrath]

Drake quickly rushed to position himself between Alauniira'a and the thing trying to gut her, experiencing a small moment of déjà vu as he did. Shifting his weight forwards he brought his guisarme down in a savage chop, leaving himself open to counterattack as he did so.

Swift action to enter Punishing Stance. Attack using Mountain Hammer and taking a -4 penalty on Power Attack.

[roll0]
Forgot that dice tags don't like mixing dice types. Damage roll in OOC.

If he survives that, I'll be hit, so have a fort:
[roll1]

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a isn't going to look her sudden salvation in the mouth, and takes this as a grand opportunity to back away from the fighting.

She then casts caltrops across the path behind her (hoping the darkness will keep the foe from noticing her mining the direct approach), and starts fumbling with her revolver holster...


Alauniira'a's backing as far away as her move action will allow her to go (without losing sight of the others), then dropping the caltrops 10' away from herself (she gets 2 squares at L4, so one on the direct line she retreated down and one just off to one side).

[Jeff the Green]

Damon's musket clatters to the ground—or would clatter, if the sound weren't muffled by the strange aura permeating the hall—and he snatches up the vial of liquid starlight. Flipping the stopper off with his thumb, he pours a few drops into the lantern.

Free action: Drop musket.
Move action: Pick up vial.
Move action: Light lantern.

[Nightraiderx]

"Tch!" Zeeke yelled out as the axe cut into him, he went in for another stab, aiming carefully for the creature's vitals.
His dagger twisted as if emulating a serpents head biting into it's foe.

Serpent hunting blow
Heal Check vs AC Success means FF
[roll0]

Attack roll +4 if i passed heal check -2 if i fail it
[roll1]

Dagger Damage
[roll2]

FF Damage (1d6 deadly strike, 1d6 from stance, 1d6 from serpent hunting blow)
[roll3]

[DoctorGlock]

The lantern sputters and ignites with a vengeance, flames jumping up and kissing the lip of the bottle, dancing merrily along the rim. The lantern erupts in pure and cold light, a brilliant actinic flare like a distant star but in the palm of Damon's hand, wreathed in cool st. elmo's flame, filling the corridor with cold and clear visibility... and sound.

As the darkness recedes sounds leeches back into the world the sounds of combat rush back. Blade on blade, snarl and grunt and curse and the chanting of mage tongue. And more besides, a faint susurrus of the sounds of battle of ringing bells and shouts in languages your have never heard from many throats, flowing together with your own. And the monsters before you are revealed as simply that, monsters. Ugly, sure, but not unlike those you have fought before. They can bleed.

And Zeeke shows it once more, deft blades darting swiftly, spilling more of the creatures' black blood across the flagstones. And now you can actually hear them hiss, and an eerie ululating cry mixed in. The two remaining lurks continue their attack though, the injured one counterattacking Zeeke as the other attempts to finish off the newest threat.


[roll0] attack vs zeeke
[roll1] damage

[roll2] attack vs drake
[roll3] damage

With poison saves again, DC 11 fort vs 1d4 con damage

[Jeff the Green]

As the lantern blazes to life once more, Damon gathers all the eloquence he can muster and squawks "Yipe!" as he hops a few steps back. Then, careful to neither drop nor tip the vial and spill its remaining contents, he raises his gun and fires off two shots at the wounded creature.

Five-foot step: Toward allies.
Full-round action: Full attack injured lurk.

[roll0] touch, [roll1]
[roll2] touch, [roll3]

If the first kills it, the second one is redirected to the uninjured one with an inspiration point spent on damage.

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke strikes once more, hoping to end the miserable creature's existence. "And now for you to die by your cursed fate."


Cursed Fate Strike
[roll0]

Dagger
[roll1]
Extra damage
[roll2]

Will save of 15 or -4 to d20 rolls till my next turn

[DoctorGlock]

Damon's gunshots ring out, proper thunderclaps once more, and one of the Lurk's heads explodes in a shower of black blood and spongy grey matter, spraying Drake and Niira with foul ichor. A second shot cracks into the remaining foe's back, and it recoils in pain, though seemingly more from the noise than the shot. Its odd ululating cry fills the corridor as it clutches its free hand to its own head rather than its wounds.

Zeeke's blades clamor for the brute's attention though, flickering out of the darkness once more, hamstringing the blind and ugly thing.

[roll0] will vs Zeeke's ability. Yeah, that's gonna happen.

A second ululation answers the Lurk's, coming from the archway at the end of the passage, a much deeper basso to it's hissed pitch, and deafeningly load. You can feel it in your chests and the very floor seems to resonate and rumble with it.

Ah yes, there was the last initiative count :smallamused:

[senrath]

Drake really didn't want to know what was causing such a sound in a place with none, but he knew that he should deal with the problem in front of him first. This time he went for a more measured strike now that he wasn't in such a rush to get between the creature and his friend.

5' back, then attacking normally, no power attack.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

[whoiam]

With little better to do in the situation, Alauniira'a draws her revolver and attempts to help Drake out.

[roll0]
[roll1]

...Considering how bad her aim is, the emphasis is very firmly on 'attempts'...

Well, at least this saves me a bullet!

With the last of the nearby foes falling, Alauniira'a does what she should have done at the base of the tower, and uses her Mage Armor on herself.

She also takes care to position herself on the far side of her caltrop patch from that...other...noise...

[DoctorGlock]

The last of the Lurks falls to the ground, guttural keening shriveling into a death rattle. Gwylith takes a moment to catch his breath before asking 'what was tha-' before the floor shakes and something massive shatters its way through the archway opposite howling in rage and slavering.

It resembles one of the lurks, eyeless, with the multiple sensory pits in its face, but that is where everything starts to diverge. Ten feet tall with pebbly grey hide it hunches to fit through the ruined doorway. It's maw glistens with ring after ring of translucent needle teeth like some demonic lamprey and four large batlike ears twitch on the sdies of it's hideous domed head. In one hand it easily swings a glistening curved greatsword of fine moonsilver engraved with faen runes, frost riming the blade. It's body is covered with crude chitinous armor.

'Deep troll!' the doanine manages to shout before the beast charges.

Round two!

This guy had an initiative of 9, putting him dead last. I'll need to stat Gwylith up as a Magus 4 to contribute something other than non-helpful observations for this fight.

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke moves impulsively forward gathering his energy as a slight blue tint covers over him.
"Over here you, monster!"

Regaining his manuevers, moving 30 ft closer and gaining +4 insight bonus to AC.
that puts me at 25 AC for the round.

[Jeff the Green]

Despite the rather... spectacular effects of his last salvo, Damon decides that slinging a wand here might be more effective than a gun. He swiftly transfers the vial to his gun hand and draws a slim ash wand from his waist. He whips it at the pseudotroll and mutters the command to activate it, causing a sickly purple ray to spring from its tip toward the hulking beast.

"Keep it in the light, everyone," Damon calls, managing to keep all but the barest hint of hysteria from his voice. "It will regenerate anything we throw at it, otherwise."

Pretty sure it's a free action to transfer between hands, since you can put a hand on a two-handed weapon or take it off as a free action. I won't be able to shoot, holding both in one hand, but I can at least keep from spilling.

Move action: Draw wand of ray of clumsiness.
Standard action: UMD wand, with inspiration point. [roll0]
[roll1], [roll2] penalty to Dex

[DoctorGlock]

The light flickers for a brief moment as the Ciridun sings a sing song chant in an old and lilting tongue, his hands seeming to grab and stretch rays of light from the lantern into a criss-crossing web of faintly glowing wiry strands in the troll's path even as the glinting spark of Damon's spell washes over it.

The troll bellows as it charges into the glimmering gossamer trap, shattering strands and plowing right through to grab your guide in one massive hand and throw him at Damon, who manages to duck out of the way. The fae lands in a jumbled pile of limbs with an unpleasant crunching sound and woozily gets to his feet.

vs DC 15. Possibly less if depending on if Damon beats SR.

If it passes, attempt to grapple and throw Gwylith.

opposed by [roll2]. If passed, power throw as an improvised weapon at Damon for 1d20+6. On impact both take [roll3] damage, reflex DC 10 to avoid prone.

If it fails save vs web and others, uses it's standard to [Iron Heart Surge] and tear it's way out of the web, moving into combat range with Gwylith to do the above.

[senrath]

Drake was in no shape to move into combat with a brute like that and he knew it. So instead he moved back to protect Alauniira'a better, and channeled the power of his belt into himself.

Spending a single charge from my belt. [roll0]

[Nightraiderx]

Noticing the others draw back a bit, instead stepping forward, pulling out the vial of poison he had extracted from the monster's downstairs. "Well, lets see how you like this!" In a flash the vial was empty, the black poison glistening on his blade as he grabbed the knife into the monster, hoping the combination would weaken it.


Cursed Fate manuever:

Attack
[roll0]

Damage
[roll1]
[roll2]

Will Save 15 for -4 for all d20s
Fort Save ? For unknown fey monster poison.

[Jeff the Green]

Damon rolls his eyes at Zeeke. "I doubt he likes it much at all. Very few things enjoy being hurt. Though there was this one elf girl I met in seminary..." Despite his banter, Damon raises his pistol in a fairly professional stance and fires twice, hoping that, just maybe, he might manage to duplicate his feat with the Lurk.

Full-round action: Full attack.

[roll0] (touch), [roll1]
[roll2] (touch), [roll3]5-foot step: Away from the scary troll, behind Zeeke.

[whoiam]

"Well, despite the tastes of my surface 'cousins', I'm more than done getting hurt today. I'll see you outside!" The last part of that statement was called back over her shoulder as Alauniira'a turned and headed back down the stairs. Quickly. Before the troll could throw someone at her...

[DoctorGlock]

Sharp cracks ring out as bullets penetrate the troll's carapace armor and it bellows in pain as Zeeke rushes forward to get his poisoned blades through a crack in the armor plates. Gwylith darts forward, but not too forward, chanting his singsong magic as ice rimes the flagstones even as as the behemoth rushes towards Zeeke, sword raised above its head to strike. As its foot comes down on the fresh ice its legs go out from under it and its blow goes wide, cleaving into the stones and shattering ice a few feet to Zeeke's left.

Gwylith: Ice Slick, DC 15 reflex/Acrobatics DC 10

Troll, saves will be modified based on what happens:

Will vs Cursed Fate [roll0], if failed, apply -4 on all other rolls in block [fail]
Fort vs Poison [roll1] vs [roll2] con damage vs DC 11 [pass]

Then [roll3] reflex or fall prone. [fail]

Swift stance shift: punishing stance
Standard: Mountain Hammer, target: Zeeke. Better hope he has some penalties. If he needs to do it from prone at -4 he still will. [total at -8. Mega fail. Not a very scary troll]

[roll4] attack for [roll5] [mega fail]

'Now, burn it!' the Ciridun shouts.

[Jeff the Green]

Damon's kept track of his shots and isn't particularly lucky, so he drops his pistol to the floor and steps forward a bit, drawing a somewhat more old-fashioned model with six barrels as he steps up closer to the fallen troll. Now at point-blank range, he fires off one quick shot.

"Burning doesn't help," he tells Gwylith calmly. "Only light does. Sunlight's best, but the other stuff will do."

Free-action: Drop the revolver.
Move action: Move to 20 ft. from the troll, drawing pepperbox.
Standard action: Attack. [roll0] (touch), [roll1] forgot KD, so +4 for 10

[senrath]

Well, Drake didn't exactly have easy access to sunlight, or even fire. He had oil and a way to light it, but he wasn't about to pull that out before the thing stopped moving. Steeling himself, Drake charged.

Charging the troll. Power attacking for -4.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[DoctorGlock]

The troll managed to get its arms and feet under it, hauling its enormous bulk off the ground when Drake's spear took it in the center of its eyeless forehead. The beast reared back, jerking the weapon with in, thrashing and bellowing in agony, one massive paw toppling a pillar in a crumbling crash before it lands on its back, twitching before it goes still.

Panting, Gwylith staggers up to the body and holds out a hand for the lantern.

'Now we can burn it. That's light enough'

well, if i used the xp calculator right that's 750 xp each and loot. In this particular room there is notably a magic two handed sword, far lighter than it looks, that did not serve either of its last two wielders well

[Nightraiderx]

"phew, close call." Zeeke wiped his brow as he flicked his wrist and the dagger retracted into his sleeve. "Probably not wise to separate for now, this place is quite the danger."

[Jeff the Green]

"Are you sure?" Damon asks Gwylith with a raised eyebrow. "We have them too, and it takes three days of illumination to kill them unless it's true daylight."

[whoiam]

"Doesn't matter. We just need to keep it down long enough to finish searching and leave. If it rises again three days from now, not our problem." The troll had fallen fast enough that Alauniira'a was still in the stairwell. And with the troll down, they'd immediately become a safer destination than trying to exit through the magical gloom solo. So she'd turned back and gone back towards the 'safety' represented by the lamp...


...Much as it felt wrong to her to consider the light safer than the darkness...

[senrath]

"Well, that could've gone better. Or worse." Drake said, wiping the sweat from his brow. Glancing around at what he could see, he focused on the sword that was here. "Anyone know anything about that sword? It might be useful."

Spend one more charge on my belt to heal myself.

[roll0]

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a fires up one of her prepared Detect Magics, and glances over at the sword...


Don't know how many spellcraft checks this'll trigger, but it shouldn't be that many.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]

[DoctorGlock]

The Ciridun jerks a thumb towards Alauniira. 'So long as it burns long enough to finish searching the place, it's close enough for my reckoning,' he says as he begins to sketch a circling knot around the troll in liquid starlight. 'Stand back for this part,' he cautions as he dips the wick on the edge of the circle. The entire thing ignites with a roar of spectral flame, pale blue and heatless, expanding far beyond the bounds of the oily liquid. He grimaces at the bottle, only half is left. 'It will help dispel the shadows here, but it costs dearly.'

Behind you, Alauniira chants and casts her eyes across the blade. The writing that adorns it resembles the artistry of old elvish, but the script is illegible to you. The magics on the blade less so, though the style is archaic, and reeks of Names and glamours rather than the material sciences of modern magic. And winter, the enchantments are steeped in it. The blade is still rimed with chilling frost and honed to a razor's edge.

'A Winter Castellan's blade,' your guide pipes up. 'A mark of prestige among the Unseelie courts, granted personally by the hand of the Winter Queen, curse her black heart. Assuming she has has one. I can guess the fate of its bearer. It will see no more moon dancing or ice duels.'

+1 icy great elven curve blade, it can be wielded in two hands and still finessed. Otherwise treat it as a bastard sword. I'll only require exotic proficiency of the one handing and the bonus vs sunder/disarm (that never comes up anyway)

[Jeff the Green]

"Pretty," Damon remarks laconically. "Not really my sort of thing. Do we sell it when we reach civilization and split the proceeds? Or do one of you want it and I'll keep a ledger of what you owe the rest of us?"

[senrath]

"I could use it for now, although I generally prefer to keep a little bit of range on my foes." Drake said as he used the last of his belt's magic for the day on the injured wizard.

Healing Alauniira'a.
[roll0]

[Nightraiderx]

"always good to have a back up in case range isn't an option, I'd take it but I already have my weapon of choice." Zeeke looks around the room trying to soak it all in.

Perception
[roll0]

[DoctorGlock]

Gwylith shrugs in a surprisingly human way. 'Your kill, your keep. It is a mark of status to be granted such a blade, or to best its bearer. This was a garrison force though, there will be weapons aplenty here, either scavenged from corpses or wherever the armory stands. Though none of bitter iron, and none like those,' he says gesturing towards Damon's guns. 'What manner of mortal artifice are they?' he asks as he catches his breath from the fight.

In the wake of the wave of starlight, sound seem to have returned to the tower. It is still flat and warped, but you can hear each other fine, and the echoes of lost sounds reverberate like a faint whisper in the air at the edge of perception.

'Dispelled by starlight,' the Fae says with a grimace. 'Enough proof for me. Seven signs and Seven Watchers. But why? And why the stones? And why a Gate and how? And why the Lurks? More questions than answers here. But the tower and the gate are linked, Myr Tarniel was built in ages past to keep watch over it, after all. My elders must know something, they are wise.'

He pauses to decapitate one of the fallen Lurks, one with an intact head that is. Wrapping it in a skein of black cloth he places into a small bag which he connects to his belt. 'They will want to see this. Such has not been seen in these places before. Come, if no more answers present themselves to us then perhaps the spoils of this place will.'

Ok, lets see what I can come up with here. The second floor is a hall measuring 20x60, with two doors on each long side and one at each end. One is the way down, the other appears to be a stairway up. Not the most efficient architecture, true.

You can hear the faint echoing ringing of a great bell and sounds of combat, periodically broken the consuming silence that rings in your ears like an oily thunderclap

[Jeff the Green]

"They're called 'guns'," Damon replies to Gwylith. "This one is a 'pepperbox' and is a bit older and less reliable. The small one on the ground is a 'revolver'' the large one is a 'musket', which is also an older model; and the one on my back is a 'rifle'. They fire balls of lead,"—he holds up a handful of bullets he's pulled from his pack—"or I suppose iron, which I ought to look into making. The balls are propelled by gunpowder, which explodes in the barrel." He continues reloading and holstering each weapon and then circles around each of his wounded comrades, tapping them each with a wand of cherrywood that slowly begins knitting together torn flesh and cracked bones.

[senrath]

"So, what did you all find? I'll be honest, I didn't exactly stop to take in the sights as I came up here." Drake said, panting a bit as he cleaned off of his weapon.

[Nightraiderx]

"I can hear more signs of battle somewhere, not sure how far but it sounded like a loud thunderclap." Zeeke, ruffles his arm looking off in the distance of it.

[DoctorGlock]

'Your kind always forged wonders, much like the dwarves of old before their great fall,' he says looking over the guns, but not touching their burning steel. 'I oft wonder who taught whom.'

Gwylith nods to Zeeke. 'They banish the sound, not destroy it. Purge the dark and the banished memories return. You hear the past, all that passed last moon. They struck under the cover of their own shadow, and banished the sentries calls for aid. No sound rang from the belltower but now it echoes. I'd not be surprised that it was rang hard enough to crack. Blue flame. Decay. Clinging Dark. This bears their mark, chill and worms and tarnish. And above all Silence. Seven of seven. Not all these wounds we done by lurks,' he said, kicking at a body. A great wound rends its torso, silvery plate cracked and tarnished as maggots fester in the reeking meat. 'Few things can tarnish moonsilver. Come, let us salvage what we may from here, then leave it to its curses.'

He picks up his swords and exits towards the upwards stair.

[senrath]

"That's certainly not something I expected." Drake said, remarking about the idea of delayed sounds. Strapping his guisarme to his back, Drake hefted the elven curve blade and followed their guide.

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a definitely isn't wanting to be left alone with the troll 'corpse'. No telling just how long it'd be down for, after all. And she was even more snack-sized than the rest of the party...

"And it's not an approach elf mages would normally consider, either. It's usually a brute force 'kill the noise' approach with us. Delaying it to happen later... I'm not sure if it never occurred to us, or we just don't have the power to do it anymore."

[DoctorGlock]

2nd floor:

The tower is fairly small and stubby all things considered, and the hallway you are in has six exits, the entry, the stairs on the far end, and four side doors.

room 1: Is a small room, a bottlery by the looks of it, or maybe an alchemists lab? Dozens of shelves covered in bottles of every shape and description in a dizzying array of colors line the shelves, mostly in pieces now, and the sharp tang of wine and sickly sweet nostrums fills the air. Glass crunches underfoot and the floor is sticky, you realize the fluids have mixed with blood and worse as you see swarms of maggots writhing around the elvish-looking dead. They crunch underfoot.

You loot five intact bottles with the stoppers still in.

room 2:

You have found the garrison barracks, perhaps two score of palettes line the floors and hammocks hang from the ceiling joists, with a staggering amount of fine silk in attendance. Not many bodies in here though, they may have been caught unaware, but not asleep. A wardrobe contains very fine clothes of uncertain make, all in shades of pale blues and lavenders.

room 3:

Across the hall from the barracks is an armory, very clearly ransacked by the invaders. A large but archaic force and furnace take up half the room, thankfully ventilated as the stink of death would be otherwise overpowering. Racks of pale wood stand shattered about the room, the floor scattered with blades and bows of the same fine metal you saw on the armor of the fallen. Clearly it didn't help them much. Still, should you chose to loot the place you find some very light and very fine sets of chain mail and chain shirts.

room 4: A privy. Mystery answered-- faeries do ****, and it does stink.

Up the stairs the surge of lantern light seems to have no penetrated as far. Your footsteps fade and you can make things out by dim outline in the wan not-light cast by glowing blue embers. The pale light of the star lantern moves in the shadow of an archway and you hear a muffled curse. Running into the archway you find yourself in a dimly lit library of sorts. The destruction here is far more total than the other rooms in the tower. There it seems to have been smashing of opportunity, but here you can see books and scrolls piled in heaps before bare shelves, all burned. Given the sheer number of shelves, it must have taken many hours, a large investment for a quick night raid.

You are greeted by Gwylith's rueful voice. 'Behold the great archive of Myr Tarniel, rivaled by few in the world. And there are few like it, and one fewer now. Many of the works from our great library were taken here. I had hoped to one day see them. Wish granted.'

DC 25 search

The piled still smolder with chill flame, freezing and burning at the same time, but searching find you two intact works, a large bound scroll at the bottom of a heap the flames did not entirely reach, and a volume bound in scintillating scales that somehow resisted the blaze. It also nets whoever does the searching two points of vile damage.

[senrath]

Drake found himself sighing frequently as he sorted through the various bits of debris and scattered corpses, looking for anything that might still be useful that was left in this place. He had never seen such senseless destruction and loss of life. Admittedly he wasn't the most experienced individual with such matters, having spent most of his adult life away from other people, but that just made it all the more shocking.

The destruction of the library hit him even harder, though. He would have loved to be able to sit down and read such a trove of knowledge, most (if not all) of which hadn't been known to humans for centuries, if ever.

Drake's bad at searching, so he'll be assisting instead of attempting the roll himself.
[roll0]
Edit: He does not assist.

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke looked over the vials with interest, "I wonder if there's any poison in them."He takes note to observe the liquid for a moment before the party picks them up. The other rooms however don't seem to spark his interest as much, the library was alright though. Zeeke wondered if there was any books left on herbology and poisons, it would really help to know what the plants of this new world could do so he could utilize them.


Knowledge nature on the vials:
[roll]1d20+6[roll]

Craft Poison-making check to maybe identify what's in the vials:
[roll0]

Perception roll when we enter the library's remains to maybe find a book on herbology/poison/cooking any one of those.
[roll1]

Assisting in the search check b/c no ranks-
[roll2]

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a also cannot make a DC25 search check, however well I roll.

"We've been doing it to each other for centuries, " Alauniira'a tells Gwylith, sadly. "Short-sighted fools destroying the knowledge the next generation would need for the sake of hurting someone today. It's a true pity you've just had to experience the same thing."

[Jeff the Green]

Damon looks askance at Zeeke as the assassin examines the glass jars. "Creepy" he mouths exaggeratedly to Alauniira'a, pointing at Zeeke.



Stair-climbing is not one of Damon's favorite forms of exercise, but still, years of hunting have counteracted the years of wining and wenching, so he is breathing easily when they reach the library despite having taken the stairs two at a time.

"It's good to know," he drawls, "that the fae can be as short-sightedly petty as we can, eh?"

[Nightraiderx]

"Well good news is that I've managed to find two good pieces to the libra-shht" Zeeke pulled his hand back as the vile energy seared his hands. "-as I was saying, two good pieces of literature."

Zeeke shows the party a large bound scroll, and a volume bound in scintillating scales.

[senrath]

"That's certainly more than I found. Which was nothing, in case it wasn't clear." Drake said as he wiped his hands off on his pants.

[Jeff the Green]

Damon's turns a curious eye toward the tomes. "Did one of those hurt you when you grabbed it? A latent spell, or maybe a trap..." He examines them both carefully for a few moments.

Taking 20 on Perception for 23. I've got trapfinding.

[Nightraiderx]

"Well, it wasn't a paper cut," Zeeke hands both of the items to Damon to scan over.

[Jeff the Green]

"Er," Damon demurs, "if it's all the same to you, I'll let you hold them while I take a look."

[whoiam]

Alauniira'a fires up a second detect magic, and takes a look at the book and scroll.

"Just put them down for now. Unless there's anything ... strange... on them, it should be safe enough to wrap them up in something and carry the bundle away to someone who'll know what to do with them."

[DoctorGlock]

"We've been doing it to each other for centuries, " Alauniira'a tells Gwylith, sadly. "Short-sighted fools destroying the knowledge the next generation would need for the sake of hurting someone today. It's a true pity you've just had to experience the same thing."

'Perhaps less shortsighted than we can hope-- the seven appear at random throughout history to destroy knowledge it seems, particularly any about themselves as nothing of them is known. For them it seems to be working.' He turns around as Zeeke comes back from his rummaging. 'What have you found there-- Caleth Arnor! Is that dragonskin!?' A very human grin splits over his inhuman features. 'And perhaps they missed something then. Dragonskin cannot burn, and someone must have gone through a great deal of trouble to make sure that volume was bound in it.'

Under a detect magic it seems unremarkable. Remarkably unremarkable. 'It absorbs magic,' the Fae says. 'As close to indestructible as you can make a book. Perhaps we may have something from this after all.'

The scroll itself is troubling. It doesn't hum with magic, it whispers. You can hear them like the fringes of disquieting dreams licking at your ears as you open your third sight to the book and even Gwylith jerks a hand back as he reaches out to it. 'Arnor Lis! Such a thing was here and none knew? Nasu Irlen-- a Namer's Scroll. No wonder it survived the destruction, even if only in part-- they are almost alive, and rare beyond measure. Is is good to know that even the Seven can make mistakes.'

[whoiam]

"I would have called the entire raid one. If you truly want to fade from memory, destroying fortresses and leaving your marks on your handiwork are terrible ways to do so. But then, that might not have been their aim...


...Either way, the book and the scroll can be examined outside, where the shadows feel fairer. Is there anywhere left to search, or can we leave this murk behind now?"

[Nightraiderx]

"fancy book, shame I have no real use for it. And what is a namer's scroll anyways?"

[senrath]

Drake shrugged as he looked more closely at the discovered items. "This is all new to me. Books are not my forte, but I do agree we should leave as soon as we can."

[Jeff the Green]

"Let me take them, then," Damon says with a shrug. "Alauniira'a and I can pour over them when we're somewhere a bit more comfortable and a bit less here." He takes the books off Zeeke's hands and stuffs them in his satchel.

[DoctorGlock]

'I suppose we know the who if not the why, which may be all the answers we can safely learn here,' Gwylith accedes, glancing towards the shadowed stairway upwards before looking mournfully at his lantern. Half its fuel is gone. 'We will depart from this place.'

As you leave, he explains what he does know about the scroll. 'I am no Namer, so you may have to ask Killian supposing he has not run off, but such a scroll contains a great deal of a Namer's essence and known Names. Names however are ever changing and living things, so pinning them to paper would render any notes worthless, so they are bound with voice and spirit. You can hear it whisper, yes? Most of them were lost very long ago though, after the great Namers vanished. As to the other book? I do not know, and I suspect the Seven did not either.'

As you cross the darkened threshold once more, the pale twilight of the alien skies seems like searing daylight. And that strikes you as odd as well. The position of the moon above has changed but the light and stars are the same, unmoving and seemingly fixed in position though you could swear you were gone for hours.

Outside maybe 400 yards from the gates Killian is waiting, third eye gleaming in the fell twilight. 'You found your seven?' he asks

[whoiam]

"I finally found a darkness I didn't like," Alauniira'a mutters to herself, in response to the question that didn't seem to be directed at her. Instead, she takes another look around - rather pointlessly, as she doesn't know where she is so it's not like she could have picked out a landmark - before addressing the two fey. "So, where can we go to find somewhere that's not, you know, recently burned or covered in magical shadows?"

[DoctorGlock]

'Found something, with no help from you,' Gwylith scowls at the horse as it trots over. 'A namer could have been an asset in there,' he says, as he withdraws a scroll case from a saddlebag. The horse manages an impressive sneer in response for someone with a horse's face.

'A silenced namer, Ciridun? How many deaths thinkst you I have left to give? Our bargain never extended that far. Your mortals seemed resourceful enough and you have returned. That should be enough for now. I followed their trail 'till their signs vanished, fallwards through the fens. Likely towards Ruhan's Gap. Tell me Ciridun, are you that eager to follow?' Killian asks, eyes gleaming unpleasantly. 'During an empty moon?'

'Should I order it,' the ranger snaps back as the horse snorts. Ignoring the beast, he unrolls the withdrawn scroll on a rock and gestures you over. The scroll proves to be a map, written in ancient elvish, though the map itself does not seem particularly old.

http://uploadpie.com/ixxF3

'You have questions I do not have the answers to,' the Fae says, 'loathe though I be to admit it. But those elder than myself may be able to aid you. And my elder should know, for a gate to open now is a most portentous event. Though ominous by its harbingers.' He points to a mark on the map. Here, just a day's journey sunbound, in Arwyl's old halls.'

[senrath]

"So a day's travel from here and we can meet with some elders who might know more about our situation? Will you be coming with us, or will we have to make our own introductions?" Drake asked as he studied the map, trying to memorize its layout even if he could barely read the words. He wondered how much meaning in the place names was lost on him not understanding that old script and instead relying on his understanding of the more modern tongue.

[Jeff the Green]

Damon beetles his brow as he studies the map, trying to commit every detail to memory—such as they are. "Of course the fey couldn't be buggered to put in a scale," he mutters, "or a key, or elevation, or climate, or political boundaries, or any of the other things that makes a map useful."

That would be taking 20 on Autohypnosis. Presumably a map counts as a diagram or is sufficiently similar as to make no difference.

[Nightraiderx]

"A silenced namer? So you say the person who held the scroll before no longer lives I take it? Hm, I may have to get a look at the scroll would be useful to know how to identify creatures in such a way so I know if my poison can work on them at all..." Zeeke walks over checking out the map- "It would probably be for the best to see your elder, knowing more about this world and our predicament would be quite helpful."

[Jeff the Green]

"He's talking about himself, Zeeke," Damon says in roughly the same tone one would use explaining something to a particularly slow child. "Killian's a namer, and being able to speak truenames isn't much use when one can't talk."

[DoctorGlock]

'I will accompany you,' the ranger answers. 'It would not be best for strangers to walk unbidden into our camp, methinks. And if my elders do not know the answers you seek, they will know who does. This is Faerie, there is always something elder with the right answers, provided you can pay its cost.'

Meanwhile, the horse shares an incredulous but surreptitious look with Damon behind the assassin's back. 'Such aspects of cartography are far less useful when subject to change without warning,' he says dryly. 'And this Namer can her that thing shouting from over here, a most fortunate find. Who found it? I will happily trade knowledge for its contents. Perhaps one of you may even have a mite of the talent for it.'

You set off after your guide, leaving the shadow of the cursed tower behind you as you make your way through the tall gold and violet grasses. Above, the dark shadow of the new moon makes its way across the sky, setting in a distant horizon as the flare of the aurora brightens to obscure the scattering of stars above. Your guide points out marks on the alien landscape as you pass them. An old crumbling ruin of obsidian arches he calls eyeless watch, where in a past age a great Namer lead a goblin horde against the Winter Queen. You pass the outskirts of a forest he calls the weeping wood, and you can hear the creak of motion behind the treeline, and you are not sure if it was a trick of the eerie light or if the trees are moving just beyond the periphery of the wood. And all the while there are whispers in a tongue you do not know, just at the edge of perception. You noticed them from the moment you set foot outside the ring. Near the forest edge they compound, mixing in with strange voices in the creaking of the trees. And deep inside you could swear you saw vast things moving.

Your path leads through this dread boundary. Your guide says do not stop until you have traveled ten thousand steps from the edge of the wood, and above all else, stay on the path. As you pass under the canopy of the trees all light vanishes, throwing a heavy darkness, albeit a normal one over the group. Your way is lit by Gwylith's lamp once more, hanging from a gnarled black branch he bears. All about the circle of candlelight you can see glinting lights in the dark, pale and wavering like wispfire, and the occasional burst of laughter flits through the trees.

When your guide speaks, it is with a solemn and muted voice. 'I would have preferred to have taken another path, but the way through Ruhan's Pass is ill advised during a dark moon, when the Unmakings scour the plain. And all others trails must go deeper into the Weeping Wood. Stay close, and do not be separated.'

Yes, autohypnosis works for the map. Also start making survival checks and hope your guide knows the way. Or that it hasn't changed too much.

[roll0] survival

[Jeff the Green]

"The Namer's Scroll? Zeeke found it," Damon tells the mildly creepy horse. "It and a book bound in dragonhide were the only items that survived the library fire. I'd be happy to look them over with you when we stop for the night." He stops and thinks for a moment. "Do you even have nights here?"

[Nightraiderx]

"I'm also curious about the scroll..." Zeeke looks around at the landscape as it changed.
It really wasn't like anything they've seen before. Zeeke keeps his hand taught, ready to pull out his dagger at any moment
of monsters.

[DoctorGlock]

'There is day. There is night. They are directions. Travel far enough in either and you reach a point where you can go no more,' the horse answered. 'They do not move in cycles here. The only true constant is the moon. It always rises and sets on the correct side of the sky, but none know whither is goes when it is not in the sky...' it says, trailing off as his eyes scan the path before him. 'The path has changed, Ciridun,' he says with a hiss as you come to a fork in the path.

The ranger looks uneasy as he replies. 'I could have sworn this was the path we came by... the hornweir should be sleeping at this time.' His voice doesn't sound particularly certain about that though as he looks back and forth between the two. Along the left hand path faintly glowing trinkets hand from branches and it takes little imagination to see their light reflecting in glittering eyes just out of sight, ready to pounce on baited prey...

An ominous creaking becomes louder from the treelines about you, and there is a palpable air of menace in the rustle of falling leaves while the wind whispers mockingly through the branches.


Perception checks y'all, -4 if you don't have darkvision

Drake, Zeeke, Gwylith: Survival passed: Perhaps more uneasy than the others, or perhaps better accustomed to open trails, you attempt to retrace your path back a little. And realize the path has vanished behind you, trees closing it off. As you gain distance from the lantern hanging from the saddle the cloying presence of the trees seems to grow heavier and more malicious.

Drake: The presence of the lures bothers you greatly, until an examination of the unlit path near the periphery of your circle of light reveals freshly disturbed earth, two sets of four parallel lines gouged into the ground. Like the tracks of something swiftly snatched and grabbed off the path, fingers grasping hopelessly at the ground for purchase.

[senrath]

"So, uh, what do you know of creatures that lurk in treetops to grab away unsuspecting travelers? Because someone was grabbed from the path here and there's definitely something in the treetops." Drake said, gesturing towards the tracks he found before drawing his weapon and looking up to the treetops, trying to see what was there.

[roll0]
Since I don't have Darkvision I'm rolling at a penalty, which means I'm highly unlikely to notice anything.

[DoctorGlock]

'I could name any of a dozen things like that, and there are dozens more that I could not,' he answers, stooping to examine the tracks with blades drawn. 'I think all things equal I'd avoid the darkened path then and hope that those are only hob-lights,' he says gesturing to the faintly glowing things strung along the other path.

A raucous mocking laughter cuts through the trees again.

'But likely not.'

[Nightraiderx]

"I really don't like the sound of that." Zeeke drew his blade scanning the trees.

Perception:
[roll0]

(I believe it's +8 but I could be wrong going off on memory alone.)

[whoiam]

"How about this: We take the darker path. If it's normal darkness we grab or make whatever light sources we can, and we'll know very quickly if we hit the magical stuff. If it's a magical shadow again, we reverse path and take the lighted route."

Like most Drow, Alauniira'a trusted her darkvision far more than she trusted someone else's lights...

[Nightraiderx]

"I suppose that would work, not like there's much difference to the path until we traverse it.
so let us take the path less traveled."

[DoctorGlock]

You wind your way down the shadowed path, the darkness seeming to deepen at every step. But it is true darkness, and dark elven eyes pierce it with reassuring familiarity. But your sense of unease deepens as the path winds on, falling leaves scattering across the path and blending in with the rotting copse and clinging mosses. And beneath you the path seems to fade even as you follow. But behind you the trees have closed in, devouring the path you came by. And all about the fell whispering preys at the edges of your mind as the creaking of the trees-- with no wind-- breaks concentration and an occasional cackle splits the false night.

'We're being led,' Gwylith spits, even as the laughter bursts out once more. The trees shudder and a rain of leaves begins to fall all about the group.

Perception and Reflex rolls all 'yall

[DoctorGlock]

The cascading leaves leave razor welt as they strike flesh, and you can see the edges glinting copper in the pale lamplight. Some burst of foresight or foreboding causes both Damon and Alauniira to leap aside from the cutting rain. The trees rattle and shake as a lout wooden groan fills the forest, punctuated by a great rattling as the cascade redoubles.

'Run!?' the horse suggests as he bolts, startled rider barely managing to hold on.

As you rush down the path ahead of the slashing rain the path seems to shift ahead of you and beneath you, even as you watch. But your eyes would be better cast elsewhere, as gnarled branches swing like claws and clubs at you, though Zeke, singularly minded, was ready for danger.

slashing to all who failed reflex

Initiative count guys. Zeeke, roll above a 10 to act before treeman.

Zeeke may act in the surprise round. Treeman swings at Drake. If Zeeke engages in melee first, this is directed at him instead.

[roll1] for [2d6+7

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke patiently waited instead of running, his quick reflexes managing to save himself from massive damage. As the trees began to move, Zeeke targets one, his blade was already at the ready, carving into his attacker's bark with a flick of his wrist.
His attacking arm weaving towards the Treeman in a wild and waving pattern.

Hunting Serpent Blow manuever:
Heal check vs AC:
[roll0]

Attack vs. FF AC at +4 or Attack vs. AC at -2 penalty:
[roll1]
Crit Confirm:
[roll2]

Dagger Damage:
[roll3]

Flat Footed Damage:
[roll4]

[Jeff the Green]

"You're out of spells, right?" Damon asks Alauniira'a. He reaches to his belt and pulls out a wand, which he flicks to the drow before drawing his revolver. "Ray of clumsiness. I trust you're familiar with it."

Move: Draw wand.
Free: Drop wand into Alauniira'a's hand.
Move: Draw revolver.

Knowledge (nature) to identify: [roll0]
Knowledge (nature) for KD: [roll1] so +3/+3

[whoiam]

Undercommon: "Honestly, if you want us to be somewhere else, why not just let us walk the path until we're no longer your problem?"

Edit:
She didn't expect the tree to understand her. She was just annoyed by the assault.

And her poor equipment for fighting it. She should have prepared more combat spells...

So she takes stock of her current condition (i.e. heavily injured), and casts Invisibility on herself, before walking carefully to the far side of the path. Hopefully out of range of the unfolding melee.

[whoiam]

Common: "No, never heard of it. That suspiciously similar spell in my spellbook is there entirely by accident, I assure you."

That said, Alauniira'a didn't have any trouble backing off to the far side of the trail, levelling the wand at the tree... thing... and blasting a ray of green light at it.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[senrath]

While he was caught off guard by the appearance of the tree creature, Drake quickly recovered and lashed out with a punishing attack of his own.

Swift action to enter Punishing Stance, then strike back at the tree with Emerald Razor and a full 4 points of Power Attack

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[Nightraiderx]

"Ugh, damn tree." Zeeke wiped his chin as he plunged his knife into the tree again.


Cursed Fate Manuever:

Attack
[roll0]

Crit Chance
[roll1]

Dagger Damage:
[roll2]

Bonus Damage
[roll3]

Will Save DC 15 Or -4 for all d20's for a round.

Bonus damage if critted:
[roll4]
[roll5]

[DoctorGlock]

As the lurching tree lumbers out of the undergrowth it is illuminated by the flash of spell light that washes over it and you note that it is half consumed by blight and worms writhing in the wood, but you do not take note for long, because it swings madly at you once more with terrifying strength even as a knothole splits open with a unholy creak, revealing row upon row of sap-drenched splinters and the stink of rot and decay. You can see faintly glowing lights like lures in its mouth before it is washed in another burst of flickering spellfire from Gwylith and the thick biting sound of weapons in wood fills the glade while the cascade of razor leaves washes over you.

[roll0] attack at Drake because it doesn't like you very much
[roll1] damage

Reflex vs DC 15, falied take [roll2] followed by perception
Alaunira [roll3] then [roll4]
Drake [roll5] then [roll6]
Zeeke [roll7] then [roll8]
The lights are corpses. Every last one of them. Tiny faintly glowing winged corpses, impaled on jagged splinters the length of your fingers and swarming with worms. Also you can hear singing. It's quite peaceful and serene, and seems to beckon you further, just past the spooky death tree...
Damon [roll9] then [roll10]

[Jeff the Green]

Damon nearly vomits at the tree's stench, but nonetheless he recovers enough to leap out of the way of the whirling leaves. "Do any of you have a torch, lamp-oil, or anything?" he asks, firing off his retort at the tree. "I'm fairly sure that my bullets are having somewhat minimal impact on its bark. Burning would be much more useful."

Full-round: Full attack, rapid shot. [roll0] (touch) [roll1]; [roll2] (touch) [roll3]

I'll use an inspiration point for damage on the first one that hits, for an additional +5.

[Nightraiderx]

"oh, that-that's messed up!" Zeeke, having seen what was truly being thrown at him, panics and moves swiftly out of the way of the "splinters". Zeeke's dagger oozing a poison while slashing at the tree and then moving back towards Damon. "Yea I have a torch on me, just set that thing on fire please!"


Iron Fang Manuever (Ignores all forms of Damage reduction)
[roll0]
Crit confirmation:
[roll1]

Dagger Damage
[roll2]

Iron Fang Damage
[roll3]

If crit:
Dagger Damage
[roll4]
deadly strike
[roll5]

Weakening Venom Prana DC Fort Half 17

Str Damage
[roll6]

Mobility granting +4 dodge AC against AoO

[senrath]

"If a torch proves insufficient I have some lamp oil in my pack!" Drake called back as he shifted his grip, thrusting the bladed tip of his guisarme into the tree creature, using it more like a pick than anything else.

Using Mountain Hammer and no power attack. This attack ignores hardness and DR.


[roll1]
[roll2]
[rolll=Stance]1d6 2, see OOC

So that's 24 total.

[DoctorGlock]

As the bullets hit the witchwood with dull wooden thunks, the tree's basso roar fills the path and a sputtering reeking wind flecked with droplets of fetid sap and maggots rains down on you all. The cry is answered by more dull moaning from all about and you can see motion in the twinkling lights strung about the woods, as if gathering and convergind about you.

You are all aware of it now then, scraping at the edges of your mind like claws on slate is a song, wordless and eerie, a drawing pull past the furious trees into the shadows, as next to the path with a tortured and pained creaking the trees a new path opens, thorns and bracken and branch distorting and cracking to form a circular gate that beckons off the beaten trail.

Gwylith quickly singsongs an eerie chant, sword moving through a complex series of motions as a pale and spectral flame blossoms like a will o wisp, showing a very human stark panic on his inhuman features. As the flickering light rolls towards the tree, the tinder dry dead leaves on the path ignite under it, beginning to encircle you in a ring of fire as the orb arcs like it has a will of his own.

'I have little more to give,' he gasps, exertion clear on his face. 'Once the thing is down we have to make a run for it! The flames should panic the wood long enough to--'

Behind you with a bellowing crash a great and gnarled elm steps out, claws curled with tiny, faintly glowing bodies impaled on them and charges through a gap in the flames, and the creaking in the dark only promises more.

Arcanists will recognize that is being pretty similar to an orb of fire spell, even if the spellcraft is entirely different
[roll0] fire with DC 16 reflex to avoid [roll1], multiply damage by 1.5

If the tree is still alive, it's going to take a (probably last) swing at Drake again [roll2] for [roll3]

EDIT: Still alive, but not very effective

Party acts before evil tree number two. These things need a better name. Angry Trees? Witchwood? Birchfiend?

[Nightraiderx]

Zeeke begins to take out a torch and uses a tindertwig to light it. "Anyway we can buy more time and burn the trees sounds as good as a chance as anything!" Zeeke takes the fire to the edge where they were standing hoping to set as much fire to the forest as a distraction to run away.