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  1. - Top - End - #1
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    Default Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Come, friends, and listen! Listen, for I sing of the champions of Trondheim: valiant of heart, mighty of prowess, united in defiance of the forces of darkness to the ends of the earth itself. Against chaos and hardship the like of which had never been seen in their age, they stood as defenders of all the Människorna in honor and glory that shall live forever in memory. Listen, for I know the truth of their story, passed on from the skald Kaitlyn Finnsdottir herself, from their earliest beginnings to their greatest deeds of heroism. Listen!

    For the past several moons, Trondheim's folk have battled against the winter. This year's has been exceptionally hard; the snows hardly let up for weeks into spring, and many swear the winds of the heaviest storms were strong enough to lift a man bodily from the ground and carry him off into the yonder--though you never saw anything of the sort. Now, finally, the sky has calmed and the ice thawed, and just in time. Today is the Feast of New Light, the holiday of the spring equinox, when blessings are sung and offerings made to Minon, Vidur, and Nuala, in celebration of the lengthening days and new growth. The Feast is always a day of joy and rest from labor in Trondheim, and so far, today's celebration has been as welcome as any before.

    The village rose early, before dawn, nearly all making their way to the rudimentary cluster of stone stands and shelters Trondheim calls a temple. For hours, Lars led families in ceremonies and the making of offerings, giving thanks to the gods for the turning of the season and praying for bountiful growth from the coming year's crops. Now that the rituals are done, those families in good standing have gathered in the great feast chamber of Iver's Hall, and the more celebratory part of the holiday has been in full swing for some time. Casks are opened, cups filled, festive roasts and sweetmeats in supply enough to ensure no complaints. In the corner, Eirik regales a circle of children with a rousing tale of King Albrecht, an old favorite. Familiar drinking songs echo off the stone walls, to which couples and groups dance. Even Bjorn has managed to be in attendance, though he eats little and coughs too loudly and often for comfort, leaning heavily on his walking staff when he must leave his seat.

    Atop the low hill beyond the wooden village gates, Halvard is roused from his own thoughts by an unexpected sight. Off in the near distance, something large streaks across the sky towards the village; its shape is obscured by a thick cloud of dark smoke that trails in its wake, but through the screen, you can make out flashes of scales, horns, and huge, leathery wings.

    The festivities are interrupted suddenly as the heavy double doors of the hall burst open. Freya, old Anais' daughter, stumbles in through the entrance, panting for breath as she shakes her disheveled hair out of her face. The noise quickly dissipates as the echo of the doors reaches everyone's ears, and what little chatter is left is swiftly silenced as, eyes wide with terror, she shouts out one word.

    "DRAGON!"

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    If they ever did half as much for the people of Trondheim as Ori has done, I'll be a vharg's uncle! Try building walls, huts, and swords out of grain, and see how far that gets you! Edrich thought, musing in solitude outside the temple. As Freya ran past, he couldn't help but notice her frantic near-sprint. What's this all about, crone? he thought, as he rose to follow. From his place by the door, his jaw went slack and eyes widened at her exclamation. As the townsfolk erupted in sound, his voice joined the near-unfathomable din. WHAT!? A DRAGON?!? Gods, we're doomed! Without waiting to think, he turns on his heels and runs at a sprint to his hovel. Recovering his weapons, he hastily dons his scale before running back where he came., thinking: If there's a dragon to be fought, The all-father himself couldn't keep me from it!

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    Birkita assists in the ceremonies with her characteristic enthusiasm; only someone who knew her very well, if there was anyone who fit that description, could detect any difference in her attitude during any of the ceremony's she's participated in as an acolyte. Though she knows the story Eirik is telling by heart herself, she's pleased to see the children appreciate it.

    At Freya's cry, she turns and, her duties forgotten, runs toward the mysterious flying figure. A dragon? Here? Is it attacking?

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    Halvard awoke without much ceremony. Startled by something, he didn't quite know what, or what the foul taste was in his mouth. He wiped something sticky from the side of his face and experimentally tasted his hand. No, that isn't it. Overhead, all hell broke loose (as potentially literal as possible). Halvard wandered over casually to a small cluster of trees and made water. Halvard promised not to eat strange berries again as it burned. Back at his camp, he watched with a passive interest the flaming storm as it made headlong toward Trondheim... “Oh hells!” he finally exclaimed, and ran around his camp collecting pots and spare goods and tossing them into his pack. Since packing seemed to take too long, he ran off to the village. But then he figured he might not be able to find his way back, so he ran the fifteen feet back to camp and threw his remaining possesions in his bag. Then it might weigh him down and he wouldn't be able to run as fast....

    After a process of running back and forth several times. Eventually, Halvard ran down the woody trail with his pack clinkng. “Don’t worry! I’m a-coming!” He then stopped and seriously considered what he was doing. It took him another several minutes, but he came running towards Trondheim.

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    Uhtred grins like a wildman. His left hand bears a limewood shield, Ivar's wolf painted on its face with woad blue ink. His right hand grips his saix - a short sword smithed with rods of iron and steel, named Small Death. Like the days of his youth, avoiding Bjorn's boring history lessons to escape into the woods where he could butcher an endless horde of goblins, the now matured Uhtred swung his sword in wild patterns, beheading imagined foes and shield-checking jotgnar berserkers. Eirik offers gory detail to Uhtred's pantomimed slaughter, much to the delight of children and drunken villagers. He roars and curses, rolling and falling dramatically as the skald describes King Albrecht in peril. He lays on the ground, arms spread wide in near-defeat, much to the screaming delight of his young audience, and it is just as he is about to leap to his feet in sudden and eventual triumph that Freya interrupts the story.

    "Dragon!"

    Still laying down, Uhtred's head raises suddenly to stare at the girl incredulously. That wasn't right. She must be mad. And yet the terror in her voice and the heaving of her shoulders was in earnest exhaustion. Whatever the threat was, she believed she and the rest of the village was in danger.

    The young warrior leaps to his feat and moves to collect his weapons, gathered at the halls' front entrance. He calculated the possibilities as he moves. Perhaps she was drunk. Perhaps it was a vision from the gods; such occurrences were not unheard of. But a dragon..?

    He clears the confusion and outrage in the hall as clearly as he can with his booming voice, "Warriors of Trondheim! Take up your arms and stand with me; fight well, defend your families, please the gods! The women and the children, stay here in the hall and do not leave until we have secured the boundaries. DO. NOT. LEAVE."

    The stone walls of the hall would be the best protection available for the villagers. He did not know what lied outside, but be it gods, dragons or men, Uhtred would either save the Trondheim or die trying. He looks to catch Bjorn's old eyes before leaving; he hated to leave his master unattended, but the old man would understand. Would this be the last time he saw tall Bjorn? Would the sickly, dying man outlive him? Uhtred's blood pumped with anxiety and fear, but he knew it would not control him. He was an Ivarson: the blood of heroes ran in his veins and he was born to do battle.

    Before leaving, he also seeks to capture the attention of Kaitlyn; the girl was his shield-sister and to go into battle without her at his side would be a poor omen.

    All-Father. If I die tonight, grant me entrance to your hall; I know Ivar waits for me.

    Uhtred steels his resolve, grips Knutbane in his hand and takes his place next to the door, glancing outward for sign of the alleged dragon. Every one of his nerves screamed to charge out into the night and face whatever might be there, but Olfred's lessons were beaten into Uhtred's bones and he knew that to leap blindly was an assured death; bravery was easily confused for stupidity. Instead, his large, callused hand comes to grip Freya's shoulder tightly, attempting to gain both her attention and shake her of fear.

    "What did you see? Where was it?"
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-12-05 at 12:46 AM.

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    Kaitlyn leaned against one of the walls, arms crossed in front of her. A smile played across her face as she watched Uhtred's antics. It was funny how little some people changed over the years, and she was glad to see the wonder in the eyes of the children. A particularly emphatic swing made her chuckle, shaking her head in amusement. She glanced around the rest of the hall, the sound of the festivities washing over her. It was good to finally be able to just enjoy the festivities of the season. The hard winter had taken it out of everyone.

    It was with surprise that she turned to see who was bursting in, she'd thought that everyone had already arrived in the hall. The rest of the gathering seemed equally shocked to see the disheveled Freya. Kaitlyn's heart sank as the woman shouted out "DRAGON!"

    Time seemed to crystalise as panic and disbelief in equal measure rippled through the hall. It was Uhtred who cut through it, calling for an organised defense. Without waiting to see if the others would rally to his call, she turned to the children arrayed around Eirik.

    "Go, now! Find your family in the hall. We will keep you from harm!"

    Turning her attention back to the entrance-way, she saw Uhtred's questing gaze. Nodding in response to his unasked question, she jogged over to him. Her bow and shield had been left back at her homestead, the idea that she might need them here of all places unthinkable. Steeling herself, she drew her sword and cast worried glances to the skies.



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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    For a long few seconds, silence fills the air following Freya's cry; with Uhtred's call to his fellow warriors, the tension is broken. From his place at one of the high tables, Olfred rises and stands on his bench. "You all heard Uhtred! Ready yourselves and form up--if there's truly a dragon on the way, now's your chance to put your practice to use!"

    Families begin to cluster together, women shielding their young with their arms. Nervous conversation and children's cries buzz through the hall. "Why would a dragon come all the way down here?"
    "It can't be true...there's some madness on the girl, there has to be..."
    "Mama, what's going to happen to us?"


    Still struggling to catch her breath, Freya turns to Uhtred. "I-it was...I was outside the gates...this cloud of smoke and fire, it...it was so fast...it's coming straight towards us, please, you have to stop it!" Some of the gathered men swallow nervously or bow their heads in prayer; others simply shake their heads, smirking with certainty that Freya must have been seeing things. As Edricht returns from his homestead, weapons in hand, and Halvard comes clanking up the path to the hall, Olfred shoulders his way through the group, standing over Freya with a hard look in his eyes. "That's enough whimpering, girl. If something truly means harm to any of us, my men and I will make it rue the day it was born, you can rest assured of--" He is abruptly cut off as the air is filled with a colossal roar, like the sound of tearing metal magnified a hundred fold. Even within the few seconds it persists, you can hear its source swiftly draw closer. Silence falls once again, the eyes of the former disbelievers widening even further than Freya's. Children begin to cry in terror; in the background, Eirik and Bjorn move among the crowd, trying to soothe the panic.

    Olfred scans the assembled group of fighters, brow furrowed in thought. Gaze falling on Uhtred, he appears to come to a decision. "Uhtred, you come with me, I'll need you to help lead the defense. You lot, with us as well" he nods to four of the other warriors. He turns his eyes to Edricht, a look of disdain flashing across his face. "You stay here--someone has to keep these people from panicking senseless. The rest of you, likewise." He pays no heed at all to Kaitlyn or Birkita, and seems not even to notice that Halvard has arrived. Rolling his shoulders and gripping his axe, he sets off down the path to the rest of the village, motioning for the others to follow.

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    Halvard, for the first time in three years, returned to the hall he left behind. He looked around with crazed eyes and found that he could not recognize the faces that stared back at him. Had he run to the wrong village? No matter, he cried out a single word, just as the roar punctuated the atmosphere: “Dragon!” In the following seconds of silence, he added “Oh, I guess you know already know.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

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    Despite the terror-inducing roar, Kaitlyn doesn't hesitate when Olfred calls Uhtred to fight with him. She heads over to join the rallied warrior's, weapon at the ready. She hadn't been called upon to fight, but she'd be damned if she cowered in the hall and did nothing to protect the people she grew up with.

    "You're going to have to watch my back, Uhtred. Only have my sword with me."



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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Edricht waits until Olfred turns his attention away from him and spits into the ground. The hell I'm gonna sit around and let you all die for me! Without waiting for anyone else to say one way or another, he draws his bow and heads towards the gates mentioned. He keeps to the alleys and narrow passageways off the main road. Keeping one eye to the ground, and one eye to the sky, he half-runs/half-sneaks towards the gates. Where is that thing?!? Why is it here?!?

    Spoiler: perception
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    (1d20+6)[22]

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    Unaddressed, Birkita wordlessly joins the others heading toward the dragon. She offers no explanation without being specifically challenged for one.

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    The dragon’s roar marks Uhtred’s fear settling in his stomach like a ball of lead. He remembers the dragons of Bjorn’s stories and since the dragon-queen's betrayal of the All-Father, they were signals of death and destruction. Their scales, unassailable shield walls of steel-hard keratin. Their claws, raking, razor-tipped spears. Their breath… death. If this was a dragon true,neither all the bravery in the world, nor all the rigorous training of invincible Olfen would save him or his village. There would be no future for Trondheim; there would be no future for him.

    Kaitlyn’s request, in other circumstances, would have been another weight to bare on his shoulders. Of course, he would watch his shield-sister’s back: he always did. But he also considered the men under his command and, indeed, all the people of Trondheim his responsibility, and that was a weight he was still unused to bearing despite his willingness to do so. But knowing it was a dragon he faced meant that death was assured; he no longer had to fear its uncertainty and that would make fighting back much easier.

    Hár. Tonight I shall feast in your corpse-hall.

    There was no point in attempting to keep the villagers calm and so Uhtred did not protest as he watched his cousin very specifically disobey his uncle’s orders: the dragon would dash away the stone walls of Ivar’s Hall like a pile of autumn leaves.

    Uhtred does not immediately register Halvard’s presence, but when he does recognize the older man, joy fills his heart. Of course Halvard would come: despite his self-inflicted exile, the druid loved his home. He clasps the druid’s shoulder and squeezes in comraderic gratitude. They would all die, of course, but the druid was wise and powerful in the ways of magic; perhaps they could wound the dragon enough that it would think twice before attacking another human settlement at the very least.

    Uhtred greets the priestess with a smile. She was as annoying as she was clever, and her aid against the foe would be welcome. Perhaps her goddess might even protect them a little, if it amused her to do so.

    The warrior grips Knutbane tightly; there was a time in his life that he did not carry the heirloom weapon wherever he went, but Olfred beat that bad habit out of him even before he grew interested in girls. It was a beautiful weapon, its shaft carved from treated oak and its jagged blade forged of steel and iron. It has taken many lives, but it has yet to take the heart of the one it was made for.

    His resolve set, prepared to die in dragonfire, Uhtred comes to walk in stride with his weapon-master.

    “Die well, Olfred.”

    As they walked, Uhtred considered what they had that might at least harm the dragon. You could not form a shield wall against a dragon, no could you lure it into a kill pit. Arrows might work, if they were capable of piercing its hide, which he doubted even Edricht could do. The obvious answer was magic, but for as much faith and respect he had in Halvard, he was uncertain it was in his abilities to slay a dragon. Perhaps... it might be reasoned with. If there was reasoning with a dragon. If it wanted to destroy his village, there was little he could do to stop it; but perhaps if there was something it wanted more, something he could offer. What did dragons want? Virgins and gold, said the stories. Uhtred was neither a virgin nor a rich man.

    Still, there would be no harm in at least asking. Assuming he was not burned to a crisp before saying hello.
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-12-05 at 09:33 PM.

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    Halvard smiled absently when Uthred grasped his shoulder. It took him a moment to register who it was, which put a genuine shine to his eye. As for Uthred‘s hand, it surely would not come away clean again, but Halvard would not take oftense if Uthred wiped the grime away. Slowly, Halvard began to recognize the others; Kaitlyn first (he really must ask after Adíl), and Edricht and Birkita (though her only in a perfunctory sense, considering Halvard‘s, and consequently Uthred‘s, interpretations of the old stories were not quite eye to eye andthe strife of which had much to do with Halvard‘s aforementioned exile). He then came t notice that they were leaving the hall again, and he spoke frantically.

    “No, no! Have you not heard, not? There is a dragon on the way, way. Dragon. You are going the wrong way, way to be running away, way. Running. We should go the other way, go and hide under the cover of trees, cover.”

    He scratched his cheek with a hollow gaze. “Oh,” he commented to himself. “You mean to fight with it, fight. And to die and enter Hár‘s holiest, die. And to at least scare the beast away, way. Dragon.” He scratched himself again, still following behind since, well, he could not think of something more productive to do with his time except... to scratch... this damn itch! He might have fleas again, he thought to himseof, and mentally noted to have Edricht check later, and he briefly entertained the thought that there was something he had forgotten to do this morning....

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    Uhtred snaps a look of pure fury at Halvard. It is not out of distaste or true anger with the druid, that he offers the scathing look, but an attempt to communicate the deadly seriousness of the situation. His following words are spoken much more gently than the preceeding expression.

    "Stormcaller. Our people are not like you. There will be no life outside of this village for them; they cannot survive the woods and its beasts and cold. We must stand or the Människorna are forgotten forever."

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    Halvard did not meet Uthred‘s gaze. “Just as they, they would not survive the cold, cold, would not survive dragonsfire, survive.” Halvard rolled his gaze to Uthred and put a hand on his shoulder. “A fools death is not the same as a hero‘s,” he said with unusual clarity, a forlorn smile at his lips. “There is no shame in fighting with your wits in place of swords. Hár values wisdom as well as honor.”

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    Edricht catches bits of his cousin and the hermit's conversation as they all travel (him apart from the group) towards the gates. A strange gleam comes into his eye and he nods once, agreeing with the wisdom of this possibly-deranged man, but he says nothing, moving silently on his way.

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    For a moment, Olfred's eyes flash with fury at Edricht's disobedience--but he quickly masks the emotion, glancing about at the other assembled warriors. He gives a snort of disdain over his shoulder. "Hmph...fine, if you're so eager to throw your life away. Gregor, you have command of the defense instead." Gregor looks visibly relieved, though his face quickly returns to worry as he remembers that the dragon breaking through to the hall is still entirely likely. The rest of the warriors, hefting the meager weaponry and armor they were able to retrieve with haste, appear to share his sentiment.

    At Uhtred and Halvard's debate over running away and the destruction of the Människorna, Sigurd, the smith's son, looks ready to turn and run in a second. "F-forgotten forever? But...but there are dragon-slayers in the bigger villages, aren't there? The queen must have them, she has a whole army...we should leave, go to her for help, she'd be bound to send men against the dragon, wouldn't she?"

    "And what happens to the village in the meantime?" counters Sasha, the only woman besides Kaitlyn and Birkita to have followed the group. "Uhtred has the right of it, if we don't stop it here, everyone up in the Hall is food. Even if all of Trondheim ran for Thorskard, how many would outrun the dragon?"

    "You ought to listen to Sasha, bloodless" Olfred rebukes Sigurd. "Besides, none of you have any right to give this up as hopeless before we've even put up a fight--not even you, Uhtred. We will stop this thing, and I don't intend to die in the doing. So if you", he rounds on Halvard, "think your only chance is to run, I suggest you do it now. Otherwise, quit your bellyaching and find a weapon."

    With his ears pricked and his eyes cast towards the sky, the sound of whooshing wings quickly draws Edricht's sight to the dragon. Over the top of the line of sharpened logs Trondheim calls a wall, a great cloud of smoke rushes towards the central village, already drawing alarmingly close; flashes of orange fire briefly glint off rage-filled eyes and illuminate the huge, winged bulk of the beast. As it closes the distance, it becomes easier to judge its size--easily the length of five horse carts, with wings nearly twice that long across. How something so huge can move so fast, he cannot fathom, but at its current pace, it will be within arrow-range in only seconds.

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    Pondering his old friend's wise words in silence, Uhtred grimaces at the sight of smoke and flames. Fire was nearly equivalent to death for a town of thatch and wood. Homes would burn, treasured belongings with them. Entire life's works gone up in smoke and ash. He clutches Knutbane as though he were a child with a favored doll. Fear courses through his veins and he bids himself to kill it.

    His uncle's words hit home; Uhtred always thought of himself as a rational, not eager to accept hopelessness, but willing to know its presence. His instinct was to disagree with Barka's only living son, but the man was not only his kin: he was his tutor. He wondered Olfred truly believed such nonsense as their little militia offering pitched battle against a dragon. And then understanding dawns on Uhtred: it did not matter whether or not he believed it. He needed only his soldiers to believe it.

    Morale was a more powerful weapon than a hundred sharpened swords and a true commander must never be seen to give up hope, for it is what kept soldiers fighting long after they should have stopped. And so Uhtred took up his uncle's example and lifted up his atgeir to gain the attention of all who followed them.

    "Listen, sons and daughters of Trondheim! That over-sized, scaled chicken believes itself a god! It thinks it can burn our homes; but it does not know we can rebuild them. It thinks it can devour our children; but it does not know our beloved mothers and wives can bare more sons. In its hubris, it would seek to bury us, but little does it know that we are seeds!

    He gestures toward Kaitlyn, his shield-sister and best friend. "Spin us a song, spear-singer."
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-12-06 at 02:42 AM.

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    Kaitlyn nodded and began to sing. Eyes to the sky, she called to mind the heroic stories of old and let them inspire her, washing away her fears and doubts. As she did so, she reached out and changed the weave around her. A thick fog rolled out from around her, human shapes materialising within it. As it dissipated, the small band of defender's found themselves joined by visions of their heroes, each and every one of them readying their blades and bows.

    Though she knew them to be false, the images reassured Kaitlyn. These were the legends who had crafted the world as they knew it today. Even if it were only their echoes, she was glad to be able to fight alongside them.

    Spoiler: Mechanics
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    Kaitlyn will first use Inspire Courage, then cast Silent Image to make it appear as though there are another 40 warriors arrayed around the defender's. If there's not enough time to do both, she will start with Silent Image.
    Last edited by Comissar; 2014-12-06 at 03:16 AM.



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    From his position inside the gates, Edricht draws and sights down his bow. Show me your neck, fiend! he curses under his breath as he waits for- that! At the first sight of the creatures head and neck, Edricht looses his arrow, quickly nocking a second before looking up to see its flight.

    Spoiler: mechanics
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    (1d20+3)[10] initiative

    surprise round standard action:
    (1d20+4)[16] short bow attack (70-foot range increment: atk at -2 for every 70 feet beyond)
    (1d20+4)[20] (24, x3) short bow CC
    (1d6)[2] damage

    edit: above rolls do not include a potential +1 to atk and damage (from inspire confidence, if it's active in time).

    Unrelated, do we have anything resembling a map? I think I have a fairly good idea of what I'm looking at, but I'm generally a visual person :-P

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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Halvard turned to look at the ghostly warriors, and felt a certain pride as Kaitlyn began to sing. Of course he would not run, he never had to head to the village at all, but the looming ball of fire and smoke drew him there, and the love of his friends and family kept him there. He dropped his pack, it would be too heavy to carry into battle, and he brandished his wooden shield (overgrown with moss, water-warped and a little rotten) and his curved truncheon, which felt silly in the face of a fire-breathing dragon. He scratched the back of his neck with his club, a little agitated, and failed to recall what was bothering him so.

    Spoiler
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    Initiative: (1d20+1)[3]. (For whenever it comes around..)

  22. - Top - End - #22
    Colossus in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Birkita frowns at Edricht's immediate attack. So much for hoping it wasn't here to fight.

    Spoiler: Initiative
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    (1d20)[7]

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    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Spoiler: Initiative Check
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    Forgot to do this in the last post. (1d20+1)[7]

  24. - Top - End - #24
    Firbolg in the Playground
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    As Kaitlyn's song reaches the warriors' ears, nearly all of them seem immediately reassured--they grip their weapons tighter, stand taller, their faces fill with defiance as they regard the approaching cloud. When the illusory allies appear beside them, many jump or exclaim with surprise, but their resolve does not seem shaken; you can hear Sigurd muttering something about it being a sign from the gods, unaware that Kaitlyn is the source.

    Matching Edricht's movements, Sasha draws her own bow, loosing her arrow just a fraction of a second after Edricht fires. It's impossible to tell which, but it looks as though at least one of them have found their mark; from within the smoke cloud, another roar splits the air, nearly deafening you, and the best within it falters in its flight, though only for a moment. Gradually dropping lower, it approaches the palisade.

    "This is it, men!" Olfred calls out, raising his shield and banging the head of his axe against its front in a brazen challenge. "Let's show this monster why taking a bite at Trondheim was the worst mistake it'll ever make!"

    Instead of descending within weapon reach, though, the dragon levels out its flight several feet above the top of the wall. Now that it's closer, you can easily distinguish its shape through the cloud, which billows from its mouth and is pulled backward along its body by the air. Its scaly head, large as a grown man all on its own, is dominated by a huge, tooth-filled mouth, from which tongues of flame occasionally burst to reflect off its cruel orange eyes. It has only two legs, at the back of its body, with its gigantic wings taking the place of forelimbs; its tail is longer on its own than the rest of its body. Nearly its whole hide is covered in bony plates, the gaps between filled with finer scales that almost look like mail armor. Just as it approaches, you can see that its right wing has an arrow protruding from one of its membranes, though it hardly seems to notice the injury anymore. Before you have much of a chance to look, though, the flames within the beast's mouth quickly begin to glow brighter, and a low whooshing sound, like dry wood swiftly igniting, starts building in your ears.

    "It's going to breathe!" Olfred cries. "Take co--"

    Fire erupts from the dragon's jaws, abruptly cutting him off.

    Spoiler: OOC
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    All of you will need to make Reflex saves to get out of the breath weapon area.

  25. - Top - End - #25
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Edricht tries to dive behind a small stone hovel to take cover. He then peeks out from hiding to loose another arrow at the fearsome beast. Gods, that was close!

    Spoiler: rolls
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    (1d20+5)[17] reflex save

    (1d20+5)[15] short bow attack
    (1d20+5)[8] (25, x3) potential crit confirmation
    (1d6+1)[6] damage

    (attack and damage rolls include the bonus from inspire courage)

  26. - Top - End - #26
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Eye's widening, Kaitlyn dived to one side in an effort to evade the Dragon-fire. Nimbly, she landed with a roll, coming up on one knee, defiance in her eyes as she whipped her head around to try and spot where the Dragon had flown on to.

    Spoiler
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    Reflex Save - (1D20+4)[15]

    Initiative - (1D20+6)[16]

    Will edit further when I know the results
    Last edited by Comissar; 2014-12-07 at 03:19 PM.



    GLaDOS Avatar and Pokémon Sig. by me

    Spoiler: Alternate Avatars
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    Leah and Saura, Summer Rose, and Firebrand by me

  27. - Top - End - #27
    Colossus in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    "Gah!" Birkita attempts to dive clear of the dragon's breath.

    Spoiler
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    If she's still conscious when her initiative comes around, she'll cast Bless, giving every ally within 50 feet of her +1 to attack rolls and saving throws against fear for the next minute.
    Reflex save: (1d20)[2]

  28. - Top - End - #28
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Uhtred roars as he dives to the side. His initial instinct is to dive a top Kaitlyn, protecting her from dragonfire with his own strength, but she is already away

    Spoiler
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    reflex save: (1d20+1)[14]
    Last edited by Redshaw; 2014-12-07 at 04:56 PM.

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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    Halvard hardly even noticed the dragon overhead, or at least just how quickly the damn thing moved. At it's terrible screech and roaring overhead, he turned at the last possible second, catching a full blast of hellfire.

    Spoiler: Rolls.
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    Will edit in a response once I know the result. What's a successful save? I'm guessing that's not quick enough.
    Reflex save: (1d20+1)[7].
    Last edited by bryn0528; 2014-12-08 at 11:40 AM.

  30. - Top - End - #30
    Firbolg in the Playground
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    Default Re: Sagas of the Människorna (IC)

    The dragon lets out a piercing screech as the fire bursts forth, the light nearly blinding; the heat coming off the blast is unbelievable. As it carves a path along the ground towards you, all of you move to dive out of its way. Kaitlyn, Uhtred, and Edricht all escape largely unharmed, though each of you can feel your skin blistering as the fire passes close. Halvard's dodging is less skillful--though he avoids the center of the blast, several tongues of flame still scorch him as he dives for cover, leaving painful burns and incinerating parts of his clothing.

    Birkita, ironically, is least lucky. As the dragon swoops down, she finds herself momentarily frozen in shock, unable to move quickly enough. Just before the fire reaches her, she is knocked sideways by a sudden impact, which she dimly realizes is Sigurd, leaping out of the way in panic without checking that his path is clear. Crashing headlong into her, he throws her clear of the fire, but his own momentum is halted; as Birkita is knocked spinning, she can do nothing to stop him from being consumed by the flames. As they sweep past, he and two of the other warriors are caught in their path. Within seconds, their flesh blackens and shrivels from the intense heat, their armor covered with soot and ash. It's impossible to know whether their deaths are so quick they have no chance to scream, or whether they're simply being drowned out by the incredible noise.

    With a rushing of wings, the dragon stops the blast, wheeling around in the air with agility you wouldn't have thought possible. Where once was a broad pathway of packed dirt between the wood and stone houses of the inner village, now lies a huge, smoldering scorch-mark. Everything within the dragon's path that can catch fire has done so, and the flames are quickly spreading across the dry thatched roofs of the buildings. Along with all of you, Olfred and Sasha seem to have escaped the fire relatively unscathed, though Sasha quickly pats out a fire that has caught on her sleeve as she emerges from between the two houses on her side of the road.

    "Gods above..." she shakes her head, eyes wide with fear as they follow the dragon's path. "How...how are we supposed to do this?"

    Rising from the ground on the other side of the road, Olfred scarcely has time to give an encouraging answer--the dragon is already coming back around. "Just keep shooting it and stay ready to dodge! Everyone, I don't care if all you have is a stick, find a way to get in reach!"

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    Alright, Halvard and Birkita each take

    (1d6)[5]

    damage from the fire.

    Initiative has now begun. The dragon has taken its turn; the order will now proceed as PCs, then NPC allies, then the dragon again. Everyone, do what you're gonna do.

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