Iron Crisis (IC)

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 24/24 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 9|14 PIv: 14|10 PIs: 10|13 Conditions: -- | -- "Gorion didn't think Candlekeep could keep us safe," Sam comments, his worries not particularly alleviated. He follows Mel's look up to Grepha, where the raven turns to meet the wizard's eyes. "Did you think I went to every half-dragon child's window making wagers for their souls?" she asks, in the same matter of fact tone as Melian. "But my reasons are far too valuable to simply give away for free." The imp leans forwards, sensing another opportunity. "Samuel won this little tidbit through a wager. Wager, deal... it matters not to me. What would you be willing to put on the table, for this information?" Sam's lower jaw juts forward thoughtfully, looking to Melian to see what she thinks about it. "Obviously nobody is wagering their soul again. What else would an imp even want?"

[cigaw]

Melian Galanodel Eladrin Bladesinger AC: 13 (16) HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 15 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor? (8h) Concentrating: -- - Sam and Grepha- "You’re right," Melian says when Sam mentions Gorion. "He didn’t. It might be that she’s safe while eyes are now searching for us, or she might be targeted separately. She might not even be known to our adversary." She shrugs. "Too many unknowns. We might try sending out a message to her as a warning? Tough if it were intercepted it might create trouble for her where none existed." As Grepha speaks, Melian listens carefully. "Interesting. So Sam was targeted specifically either by you or by a higher power commanding you. Sam is important to you, or at least his parentage is," she states reading between the lines of what was said. "I am sure I will be able to provide you with some of that ice cream you craved earlier. No bets, just a simple exchange."

[Amnestic]

"Right now, I think I want some of these dice." Grepha digs into Sam's bag and emerges a moment later clutching three of the purchased dice in her beak. For a moment they glow with red light before vanishing into nothingness. "You'll get them back soon. Probably. And you've still got plenty to play with in the meantime."

The innkeep seems to make up a figure for stabling a horse - five silver, quite coincidental - but since it's paid so readily there's little time to With your watch order for the man roughly made up, it seems like you might be able to get some rest. The 'loss' of Aintas, the Blades of the Way, and now this. The quiet days of chores and lessons at Candlekeep weren't half as busy as this, even with long stretches of travelling in between.

Alas, despite the watch-person's best efforts - and the elves' trance - they find themselves forced into a slumber and a dream all the same.

Spoiler: Sam

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Smoke assails your nostrils. Dragonsmoke, with its familiar edge that sets your nose aflame in all the best ways. It had been a long road to get here. Strings of victories and defeats, games won and lost, all to bring you to this dragon's lair nestled in the Foreversmoke mountain. It wasn't occupied by just the one wyrm though. No, instead you were faced with a full flight of dragons metallic and chromatic both. They were here with you. They were here for you.

The cavernous hall has the decorations of an ornate palace or temple, great statues of dragons long dead, murals of victories won years ago, all wrought in stone and blood. In the centre of the room is a great vessel of perfectly smooth obsidian, currently empty. The dragons lined the walls of the cavern, each in a designated spot. Their 'rank' in the game. Xorvintaal. The greatest game for dragonkind, manipulating people, organisations, even nations from behind the scenes, plucking at puppet strings to lead them in the direction of your choosing. The direction of your power.

At the far end, all the way across the room, was an empty place. That of the winner. It had taken years of your life to earn a place in the game, and years more to play it. It was the first time a half-dragon had played, but they couldn't deny your success. With wit, guile and schemes abound you'd outplayed every opponent. Light, almost giddy feet, carry you across the coldstone floor under the watchful eye of dozens of wyrms whose combined age dwarfs yours by thousands upon thousands of years. Perhaps some consider kill you even now, but are held back. The anticipation on the air is deafening, with only the heavy breathing of the attendants and the soft patting of your feet breaking the silence.

Enormous stairs made for ancient dragons lead up to the final throne, but scaled wings spring from your back to carry you up without climbing. The throne itself is enormous, more a bed than an actual chair, and you seem almost minuscule when stood upon it but your presence is far larger than your form might indicate. All hold their breath as you turn to speak. Your voice echoes far and wide, easily carrying to every ear.
"First, may I congratulate you on a game well played, one and all. It has certainly been an educational journey.” You pause to allow a soft tapping of claw on stone by way of applause, before holding up a hand for silence. "Many have wondered the path that I would take as victor in the Game and I would not leave you guessing. Disparate, apart, we have all suffered from the mortal hunters. Those who hate and fear our kind. No longer. Under my banner we unite, as one. Through our combined resources we represent the largest accumulation of wealth and manpower in all the realms. We shall turn that towards creating a new empire, guided not by mortals but by eternal dragons.” There's mixed reactions among the gathered – some knew of this, of course, but most are confused. "At my side, you will prosper beyond your previous limitations, and the time of dragons will not only return, it will be surpassed.” You extend a scaly claw forwards, beckoning them forwards. "Join me.” One by one, the dragons step forward and launch flame into the central vessel – their vote of accordance.

Minutes pass, and there is unanimity of the hall. All will follow you to your new future. Bright, and glorious for all under your wings – dragon and mortal alike. All you'd had to do was embrace the power inside you.

The images fade into a warm sense of accomplishment, almost overpoweringly so, until you finally awake with the dawn.

Spoiler: Senna

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It. Was. Glorious. The Grand Cathedral of Deneir, newly completed but already resplendent in its design. Enormous arches of ivory and marble, inset with flowing patterns of gold and silver in runes that spell out the history of the realms. A library beyond peer in all the planes, protected by devoted priests and paladins, along with being from outside the mortal realm. The underground complex stretches for miles in all directions, containing books and tomes and art pieces that cover every subject imaginable, all locked up for safe keeping from the world at large.

The conquest had been slow, but finally you have brought order, stability and knowledge to this corner of the Forgotten Realms. The Sword Coast would never again suffer war or tyranny while you were its master and guide. The old city states and nations had been brought into the fold by word or by sword, their leadership either pledging fealty to you or being replaced by those who would.

There you sit, on a raised throne above all others in the main hall – Deneir's Chosen, venerated above all. You're a few years older than now, but still easily recognisable. Dressed in flowing robes emblazoned with Denier's iconography. At your side your consort, all handsome face and rippling muscles, trimmed to perfection and always eager to please. Further down are the Cardinals of the order, then the clerics, all silent in rapt attention for your words. At the foot of your throne's stairs, 50 steps down, are the Accused. Those who fought against your ordering, who conspired against your designs, or even those who merely spoke out. Though their figures are few, as you look down on them you see their faces and forms shifting before your eyes. Some familiar, some not. All traitors, whatever their form.

You consider for a moment before standing, dispelling any quiet murmurings that may have been spoken. ”To stand against the Church is to stand against His Chosen, and to stand against His Chosen is to stand against Deneir, for which there is no greater crime.” Your pronouncement is loud, echoing the full length of the hall – none mishear the Chosen in her hall. ”Yet the First Scribe is not without mercy. The Accused shall be taken as workers for the rest of their days, toiling in Deneir's name, in atonement for their crimes.” A subdued round of applause (for a raucous one would not befit a place of worship) spreads out across the hall. Workers. A pleasant euphemism. Their minds would be taken, their knowledge recorded and their husks would be put to work as so many others had been to expand your domain. Or rather, Deneir's domain. Your consort steps up behind you and slips a hand into yours.
”You are wise as ever, Your Holiness. Now that you've accepted your true power, none will ever stand against you again. All you will have is the love and worship of the people. Your people.” Your hand squeezes his as you return his loving gaze. He was right. You stood uncontested, above all, save the ones you chose to elevate to stand near you. It was a shame that none of your family had understood your grand vision, but it didn't matter any more. History would record you as being correct, right and just. As it should be. All you'd had to do was embrace the power inside you.

The images fade into a warm feeling of love and acceptance, almost overpoweringly so, until you finally awake with the dawn.

Spoiler: Caelyn

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You're in the woods again, as before. Green leaves, greener grass and all shades of brown trees surround the clearing you find yourself in. While before you faced the stump, you now find yourself sat upon it. In the distance you hear birdsong and animal calls, the sounds of a forest alive. A gentle breeze blows through the trees, picking at your hair and clothes. Refreshing and cool. It soothes your old, aching bones. You look down at your hands, withered and cracked with age and work. Fingers trace the wrinkles that now map the years on your face. How long has it been since you first set off on the path? Too long. All you knew are gone now. You're the last.

No voice signals a change in the air this time. Instead you see the sky steadily darken – not to night, but to a perverse, sickening colour of mold, a yellow-green that sets your teeth on edge just looking at it. Then it starts to rain, burning droplets that sizzle and singe your skin fall from the sky. Immediately the bright, vibrant forest begins to droop and wilt. The leaves fall from their branches, the birdsong and animal calls turn to cries of pain and suffering.

Standing up and planting your feed hard on the stump, you reach your arms out wide, fingers splayed to the forest before you that's quickly decaying into rot and death. A bright light begins to glow at your chest, flickering its orange-yellow light as lines of flame begin to dance their way across your skin, criss-crossing into a web that covers you head to toe. Once they reach your fingers they keep going, streaming out and piercing into the ground. The flame burns brighter and hotter, racing from the clearing into the forest proper. You can feel nature's hurt as the acid rain burns the life away, but all of that stops once the flames reach it. They spread far and wide from you, even as the flames grow and grow inside you. Then you're not 'there', at all, you are become fire itself, your mind expanding to encompass the entire forest. Miles and miles of inferno, all moving at your whim. Power and scope beyond imagination.

As the forest burns, so too do you. Memories long forgotten are consumed. Your ageing skin and bones crack into the fire and eventually your body fully disappears, becoming one with the Fire.
You watch as the forest is fully turned to ash by your heat. Its death far swifter than would have come from the rot. Days pass. Months. Years. The blackened trees crumble to dust. And then, ever so slowly at first, a sprout of green appears from beneath the blackened land. Then another. And another. More years pass in the blink of an eye. Hundreds of them. The forest returns, free from the rot that beset it. Birds chirp gaily, foxes howl and laugh, and in the centre of the clearing atop a small treestump lies a newborn elf babe. Though it had taken much – decades of time and your entire Self – you are reborn. A saviour of the land. All you'd had to do was embrace the power inside you.

The images fade into a warm feeling of contentment, almost overpoweringly so, until you finally awake with the dawn.

Spoiler: Melian

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The bright blue sky is masked by the enormous canopy of trees, tinting the area with a pleasant warm green light as the sun bled through the leaves. Massive tree trunks, wider than some houses and taller than castles, rose up all around you as you follow your escort. A long road, literally and figuratively, to get here. The elven warrior, fair headed and olive skinned, hops up onto a fallen tree, easily dozens of metres tall, before turning and offering you his hand to pull you up, which you take. The path continues directly up the tree trunk, steadily inclining. Quite arbitrarily, the escort slows into a stop. He removes a small ornate elven latern from his cloak and holds it aloft. It sheds no light for a moment, until he utters a command word and it ignites with a soft skyblue glow. The woods around you shimmer and shift, until slowly they change form. Ahead of you where the was none is now a sterling silvery gate, flanked my two soldiers dressed similarly to your escort. Beyond the gate, through the gaps in the bars you can see a city amongst the trees held aloft by branches that curve and bend around the buildings which have been built in their boughs.

“Welcome, Mistress Melian,” your escort says, signalling at the guards to open the gate, “to Suldanessellar .” The enormous wrought doors open to allow you entrance. It was still hard to believe. Entrance to the famed city was rarely granted to outsiders, much less at direct invitation. And yet you were here, standing on the threshold of so much elven lore and history that it almost weighs down upon your shoulders.

After giving you a moment to take in the city, your escort gently leads you along its winding paths.
“It is truly an honour to have you here, Mistress. We have long wished to count one of your skill amongst us.” He idly chats, waving or saluting at those you pass while they all stare in awe. Your reputation precedes you. Finally you reach a temple to Rillifane, the Leaflord. The escort knocks twice before pushing open the door to reveal an austere open room dominated by a central tree trunk that the building has been constructed around. Small pots and tubs are filled with all manner of plants, and an assembly of elves. At the far end, standing alone and clearly in command, is an older elf woman, dressed in flowing forest greens. Platinum hair tumbles about her shoulders, adorned with a gold-wood headdress.

“My Queen.” The escort takes a long bow, and you match his motion. “Mistress Melian, Master Bladesinger.”
”Thank you, Pius.” The Queen speaks softly, enchantingly. Her voice is warm and welcoming. Calming. Almost as if you can't imagine wanting to ever fight in her presence. She turns to you, and with a gentle gesture bids you to stand straight. ”No doubt you are wondering why you were called here so abruptly. Tales of your skill, grace, and good nature have reached our ears on many an occasion. After much discussion amongst our leaders, we have agreed to extend an invitation to you to live and teach here, that a new generation may follow in the footsteps you have made, and to help lead our people for the many years to come.” Pride, giddiness and joy swell in your chest. It's all you ever wanted. Everything you strove for, every battle and hurt and kill, leading to this moment of true reward.

You drop to one knee before the Queen, bowing your head. "It would be my honour, and my pleasure.” You reply simply, almost stumbling over your words through the sheer delight that you feel. All you'd had to do was embrace the power inside you.

The images fade into a warm sense of satisfaction, almost overpoweringly so, until you finally awake with the dawn.

Spoiler: Vyvian

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The dark of night clings to you like a swaddling cloth, wrapping you in an umbral sheet that shields you from sight. The sky was covered in clouds – no moon, no stars. No light, save for that below you across the cityscape below. Taverns and homes of the late sleepers still bright, lanterns of the guards patrolling the streets. None would see you from your perch atop a building though. You leap from rooftop to rooftop with practiced ease, no more difficult for you than breathing.

From building to building you hop across the city towards your target. A large manorhouse on the northern edge, home to a notorious crimelord with half the city guard and leadership in his pockets. Untouchable. Until you. As you approach the mansion, you're not surprised to see it alive and active. His public face had parties every night, where wine and women flowed freely for those invited.
From your overlook, you glare down at this palace of criminals, a monument to the city's deep seated corruption. You reach out one arm, extending it fully before clicking your fingers. The black of night seems to fall even harsher upon the palace in response, lights dimming until entirely black. The entire building is cut off from any light, torches and lanterns and magic all dying in the face of your darkness.

Such shadow is nothing before you though, and you dive into it without reserve. Inside people are screaming and panicked at the sudden loss of light, but one after another their screams and yells are silenced by your blade. Again and again and again as you go from room to room, executing without mercy those who would harm the city and its people. Dozens of lives are snuffed out with the same easy you snuffed out the lights.

None are spared, for none are innocent, and none can escape you. When you do execute the crime lord who held the city by its throat, you don't even know it's him. He might have begged for mercy, if he'd known what was coming. Though you wouldn't have listened. Here and now he was just another body among many. Again and again your blades cut through the darkness, drenching you in their blood, bathing you in their sins.
And then you're done and the unnatural darkness fades. Lanterns and fires reignite to to show clearly the bloodbath that you have left in your wake, though only you are there to see it.

The city wakes to a new day safer for all those who walk in the light, even if you have to cloak yourself in shadow to have that become reality. No longer will the good and innocent be disappeared. Your siblings may not have understood, but here and now you're making the difference you'd always truly wanted to. All you'd had to do was embrace the power inside you.

The images fade into a warm sense of fulfillment, almost overpoweringly so, until you finally awake with the dawn.

You all wake with the dawn's new light to a new day. Any hope of rotating the watch order seems lost in this induced sleep. Still, it seems a slightly better omen in that you're not waking up to attackers outside your door. Indeed the inn seems to still be fast asleep with the exception of the party. The drunk is still there at the table you saw him last, still asleep.

Thankfully even without overnight tending the man seems to be recovering fine. His breathing has steadied and he looks like he's sleeping peacefully and without pain, as if he might wake at any moment totally naturally.

Spoiler: OOC

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The official time for Level Up has come. Welcome to 4th. Also, long rest completed.

In addition, a new power manifests in your bodies. Once per long rest, you can cast the following spells without a material component:
Sam – Colour Spray
Senna – Command
Caelyn – Absorb Elements
Melian – False Life
Vyvian – Disguise Self

They use the same spellcasting stat that you'd usually use (Vyvian uses Charisma) and are cast at their lowest level. You don't add these to your Spells Known list and can't prepare them/cast them in any other way.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 24/24 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 9|14 PIv: 14|10 PIs: 10|13 Conditions: -- | -- ~With Melian~ "Maybe if we can get one of those um, 'Sending' spells?" Sam suggests. "I don't think those can be intercepted like a letter can." He doesn't really object to Grepha taking his dice. Cards are more his game of choice. "See, I knew you liked gambling too," he kids at her. "You know how to make ice cream?" Grepha asks in skeptical disbelief. "I'll believe it when I see it... but if you do manage to do it, I will answer you one question." She pauses and then adds, "And I don't mean one of those peasant 'snowcones'... but that might be worth a little hint." ~That Morning~ Waking up feeling refreshed and stronger than ever, Sam feels a warmth throughout his body. Holding up a claw, he sees momentarily the flickering of iridescent colors, as though refracted from the multifarious surface of a pearl. "Huh." The memory of the dream lingers. Sitting on a throne, presiding over dragonkind... Sounds like too much work, to be honest. With a yawn, Sam stretches and grabs his bag from next to his bed. He kept it close this time - in case of emergencies. Having to share a room with some of his sisters is a little awkward, and he uses the bed's blankets to cover up while he changes back into his dayclothes. The sleeping raven perched on the foot of the bed stirs awake and snidely comments, "You never seemed to care when I was in the room." "I had years to get used to having you around. Besides, we both know who you preferred watching." Grepha rolls her eyes and looks away in response to his quip.

[Ramsus]

Vyvian Just Half-Elf Rogue AC: 16 HP: 32/32 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: -- ~Before Sleep with Melian~ After walking most of the way back to the inn, Vyvian looks around for Fëanáro and signals them over and tells them to tell Melian to meet her outside. When Melian arrives she says, "Well, as expected I didn't have any luck. Until a seriously weird gnome showed up in a puff of smoke. Guy mistook me for someone else and said a lot of weird words I'm not entirely sure are words. He claimed he wasn't an information broker per say, but he could still get the information you want in exchange for doing a job for him. Apparently someone had two fist-sized emeralds!" she says those words in a whisper, "stolen from them and he supposedly wants to return them and the thief is around the mines somewhere. I'm not really sure what to do with that. On the one hand it's stolen property, on the other hand I don't know anything about who they were stolen from other than someone who could somehow own two gems worth a fortune. All I can really say is that even one of those would be way overpaying for the information and it seems weird to me the gnome couldn't just go get them himself. So... I'm thinking if we happen to find them we think about what to do with them. But this seems too fishy to go out of our way to wind up finding ourselves in a situation that could be a lot more dangerous than the information I was told makes it sound." ~Morning~ Vyvian wakes up and once she regains even a shred of consciousness to process the dream with, but still has the lingering feeling it left her with, she violently rejects it. So much so that from Sam and Melian's perspectives it looks like she just suddenly sat bolt upright and started violently shaking. As soon as the shaking stops, she lets out a few deep breaths and wipes a bit of sweat from her brow. "What in the hells was that?" she says aloud to herself with a note of fierceness to it, as while she hasn't mentally processed it yet, on some level she already understands and is angry about some outside influence messing with her and trying to tell her what she wants is to be a monster.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 16 HP: 27/27 PP: 16 PIv: 12 PIs: 16 Conditions: - Concentration: - Senna woke up from her dreams, feeling the power in her voice still. This was weird, normally she felt little connection to the Weave once her granted magic was expended. Her orisons were different, they were more formulated short prayers that pierced the Weave and accessed the divine portfolio of Deneir directly, like reciting a poem one had memorized perfectly. But this power, was familiar. Like the divine order she issued on Silke, she knew how to put all her willpower into a single word. This would come in handy, even if it meant humiliating someone else. She would not abuse this power. Immediately, she thought of Garrick, and of this muscular newcomer. All could be at her feet. She shook the thought out of her head. Being the first to rise, she could easily study her daily spells and write another paragraph or two in her diary, something she had kept safe from the others until now. Glyphscribes would pray for their spells in writing, hiding their intent in between the lines of the text, implying the spells they needed today. She wrote about the injured man, about Vyvian's new disgusting scabbards drenched in poison. She wrote about the Blades of the Way, about Aintas' departure and about the weird town of Nashkel. She added a footnote about the horrible guard of Beregost. Then she went over to the tattooed mountain of a guy. He was still sleeping, but snoring quite a bit now. Incanting the hope in new beginnings, in life and in protection rather than aggression, she touches his shoulder. Valeo, venevum!

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 25/25 PP: 15 PIv: 10 PIs: 15 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Caelyn finds herself waking with a smile on her face. Then her eyes shoot open when she realizes she is waking. Again. She fell fully asleep. Again. Dreams. Again. Shaking herself, she thinks about her dream, and her smile comes back again. With power like that... could she truly save a forest? Save countless lives? Even live forever? She knew that flames were the essence of life as well as destruction. Perhaps the power she felt flooding through her body when she cast her spells could grow that strong someday. If it did... she would welcome it. The good she could do outweighed the danger. She got dressed, whistling an upbeat tune as she did, before nearly dropping her pants as she realized she slept through her shift! Yanking them up and fumbling with her belt, she all but dashed into the next room to check on her charge. Entering the room, she saw Senna casting her spell over the man. How is he doing? Will he recover? Is he better? The words came tumbling from her lips at a rapid pace as she crossed the room and leaned over the muscular man with eyes filled with concern. When she realized her looked so much better, the worry melted from her features and her smile returned. We've done a good deed this day, Senna.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 16 HP: 27/27 PP: 16 PIv: 12 PIs: 16 Conditions: - Concentration: - Senna turned to her sister, a smile on her lips. Relax, give him time. The poison should be gone now, thanks to Deneir's grace. Now it is just between him and his body. Say, Caelyn, do you know Rashemen? He looks native. Senna approaches her elven sibling, locks her eyes with the druid. Her personality is almost unhinged. Do you forgive me for the harsh words yesterday? I should not doubt the divine gifts we both receive so much. We should make the best use of them, though. You can show me where to look for herbs, and we can ensure our family's safety together. I do enjoy the safety of Deneir's gifts and your natural powers. But we should have a few potions, antidotes and bandages prepared for if our magic is strained thin. With a clear expression and a slight inviting smile, Senna awaits her sister's response.

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 25/25 PP: 15 PIv: 10 PIs: 15 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Rashemen? No, I know nothing of that place or it's people. Geography wasn't exactly the focus of my studies. When Senna levels an intense stare at her, Caelee has to force herself not to look away. There's nothing to forgive, Sen. You had a good point. We shouldn't always rely on magic. But we also shouldn't forget that we are gifted with it. We simply need to strike a balance. When we travel again you can walk off the road with me and I can point out the plants that will be useful to our efforts. I'll warn you though- if those plants were common everyone would be mixing potions from them. We may travel for days and days and not find enough for a single dose. Herbalism is about patience as much as knowledge. But enough of that. Lets break our fast, and gather some extra for our new friend here for when he wakes up.

[cigaw]

Melian Galanodel Eladrin Bladesinger AC: 13 (16) HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 15 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor? (8h) Concentrating: -- - Sam and Grepha - "I have what we would call in academia a 'sufficiently-researched theoretical understanding of the task at hand'," Melian says with a smile. "Read about it once back home. If we can find fresh cow's cream and a few more ingredients I can provide the hard part - the cold. I'll check with the cook tomorrow morning." - Vyvian - Melian feels her familiar through their shared link and exits the Inn before Fëanáro and Vyvian arrive. She listens, nodding occasionally. "You were right, it was a long shot in this hamlet. Still, this emerald business may bear further investigation. Maybe not as much as the mines now, but if someone was wronged and we're in a position to help, well... Maybe we should." Melian shrugs noncommittally, Gorion had talked at length about helping others. "This gnome said nothing of who took the emeralds or when or from whom? Doesn't strike me as a good information broker," she says with a smirk. - Morning - Melian spends part of the evening studying her spellbook and putting the finishing touches on new formulas she'd developed. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she puts her spellbook away and takes out her forster father's, running her hands down its cover. She spends a long time in deep concentration, analyzing its aura and arcane signatures, trying to unravel it as Firebead had. Her focus is such she doesn't feel herself falling asleep. The wizard awakes with a start, memories of her dream starting to fade. She had been asleep again. Melian quickly fetches some parchment and begins writing down names and descriptions, adding rough sketches of what and who she saw, now convinced that the dreams are more than they seem. Once done, she turns around, facing Sam and Vyvian. "It happened again." Rubbing her sore neck from sleeping while seated, she looks obviously worried. "I was asleep and had another dream. This one pleasant and fulfilling and hinting at what could be based on power that lies within." She shivers. Spoiler: OOC Show Spending Long Rest focusing on Gorion's Spellbook. Unless the dream business makes this one not count.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 32/32 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 9|14 PIv: 14|10 PIs: 10|13 Conditions: -- | -- "Mornin' Vyv, Mel," Sam greets them each as they wake up, slipping out of bed now that he's dressed. He's about to step outside and give them their privacy to change when Mel brings up having strange dreams again. "You too, huh?" He turns, leaning back against the door he was about to go through. "Right, right, I remember something was mentioned about you and Caelyn having a dream before, and how elves aren't supposed to. That other time was on the same night I had a strange dream too." "I've been having odd dreams myself," Grepha mentions. "Then again, in the Nine Hells we do not sleep, let alone dream. I may just be out of practice. Much like our need for food and water, we obtain energy from the torment of damned souls." "Mine was about this hall of dragons, playing this game. 'Xorvintaal' or something. Apparently I was winning. What were yours' about?" "Personal," Grepha answers evasively, flapping over to the windowsill and unlatching it to let herself out. "I will scout ahead, seek for those friends of your father. I still recommend against working with the 'clown' and 'murder dwarf'. Not out of principle, just- well, you're the kind of people their kind of people uses and then disposes. And I'm stuck with you." With her advise given, she takes flight out the window to seek after Jaheira and Khalid. Spoiler: Rolls Show Sam: Knowledge History (1d20+4)[20] for Xorvintaal (1d20+4)[12] for Foreversmoke mountains Grepha: Add most appropriate modifier (Investigation, Perception, Survival?) to search for signs of the half-elves. (1d20)[15]

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 16 HP: 27/27 PP: 16 PIv: 12 PIs: 16 Conditions: - Concentration: - Breakfast sounds nice, but I do not want him to wake up confused and alone. Hopefully Glyph will suffice. she summons the spectral cat. It jumps on the strange man's back, and rolls itself into a ball, to sleep on his back.

[Amnestic]

Breakfast is an extremely modest affair. You might find more impressive food in a run down monastery dedicated to poverty of body. It's free, at least, but the watery soup made from what could be weeds and rock hard bread on offer are distinctly unsatisfactory as far as meals go.

Grepha takes off into clear skies to scout Nashkel and its surrounding areas. While she gets a decent look at the dying, untended fields and abandoned homes, there's no sign of Jaheira or Khalid to be found. The town is as dead in the morning as it was in the evening. If they are in town, they're not out in the open, but if they were headed in the opposite direction when they left Friendly Arm they may have yet to arrive.

Spoiler: Sam History

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Recalling an obscure text in Candlekeep, you remember that Xorvintaal, the 'Great Game', is a way for dragons to compete without open warfare with each other. It's similar to chess, in a way, except the pieces of agents, organisations and nations rather the small carved pieces of wood or stone. With hundreds of rules, it's unlikely most - dragons or otherwise - are capable of mastery, but it's still an attractive to many power hungry dragons who don't wish to kill each other directly. The intricacies of the rules keenly appeal to dragon though and in the past many have found themselves addicted to it. The objective, of course, is the death or domination of your opponents, with points being rewarded for various scales of victory to help determine the 'pecking order' among those in agreement.

Though once considered little more than myth even among dragons it began emerging once more in the semi-recent past, though documentation is scarce and dragons usually aren't willing to share any information about it for obvious reasons. Many participants of the game often have ulterior motives or ambitions beyond simply winning, and for that reason they often keep the specifics to themselves, lest an opponent wrest an advantage. Its creation during the Time of Dragons is credited with maintaining their dominance for centuries, until the religious civil war spelled their downfall.

Foreversmoke Mountain is a volcanic location situated in the icy north. The name is as self-descriptive as you might expect, the uncapped volcano giving off a steady stream of smoke day-in and day-out. Given its remote location and potential danger there aren't any recorded settlements in the area and it's essentially wild territory.

Spoiler: Melian Book

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Progress on the spellbook is slow going but you feel like you've unlocked, or at least gained some understanding, of one of the layers of security. It's keyed to a single word rather than phrase, though what that word is remains unclear. It wouldn't necessarily have to be a word spoken previously by you either. Gorion could pick the word himself, while you (or your siblings...or Imoen?) could give it voice and that would work all the same. Regrettably, that does mean that it's harder to pin down what exactly the keyword is, but it must be one that you'll say at some point.

[cigaw]

Melian Galanodel Eladrin Bladesinger AC: 13 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 16 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- "Mine was about me finding a place among Tel-quessir. A place of honor and renown..." Melian shakes her head and shivers involuntarily, reliving the dream. As she looks to the side she sees Vyvian's gaunt figure. Standing, she crosses the small distance to her sister's bed and gently lays a hand over the rogue's hand. "Deep breath, Vyvian. The dream is over now. I guess your dream wasn't as pleasant as mine." She smiles tenderly, assuming the role of big sister. "What can I get you to make you feel better?" Spoiler: OOC Show Couple of rolls aiming at more information regarding the dream, such as Suldanessellar, the people involved and any main features such as the city itself or any noticeable things/artifacts. Also, any chance Melian can get a better understanding of the dreams, having lived through it twice? At least whether this is coming from without (such as spells or outside interference) or within (like... from the ~soul~, man..., or weird prophetic visions) • Arcana: (1d20+6)[18] • History: (1d20+6)[24] • Unmodified d20 for something else?: (1d20)[14]

[Amnestic]

Spoiler: Melian Knowledge

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Though you've, obviously, never been to Suldanessellar you have seen sketches in the books of Candlekeep along with some first-or-second hand descriptions. From what you can tell it was an accurate portrayal of what you read - the polished whitestone, the great trees, the temple, the serene atmosphere of peace that permeated the air. The Queen wasn't written about in any detail (elves do love their secrecy, after all), but that it had a Queen at all matches what you've read. Then again, if it was born out of your own references, of course it would be.

It doesn't feel like the dreams (visions, nightmares, however you wish to describe them) are from an external force. There's no tingle of magic, no lingering prickle of the skin or weariness of the mind. It's you. It's always been you.

[Ramsus]

Vyvian Just Half-Elf Rogue AC: 16 HP: 32/32 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: -- "Oh it was pleasant allright. If you call some outside force interfering in your dreams and forcing you to feel good about the idea of becoming someone awful as 'pleasant'." Vyvian replies, clearly a bit angry at this point. "What you can do to make me feel better is to spear not to become the monsters these dreams want to tempt us to be." she answers.

[Amnestic]

While you're discussing the details of your dreams (or keeping them to yourself) and 'enjoying' breakfast, perhaps stirred by the noise around him the injured man wakes. With flittering eyelids he slowly regains consciousness, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed seemingly automatically rather than any conscious choice. He squints at his surroundings for a moment, glancing at those who remained with him confused. Then, as his brain seems to engage his face is stricken by panic. He begins patting down his naked chest, seemingly looking for a pocket that's no longer there. "Boo? Boo!?" He calls out worried as he tosses the covers off his bed and begins running his hands every which way searching for something. His cries for help receive a response however. A quiet 'squeak!' from his trousers. He twists his torso as a tiny orange-white hamster clambers out from beneath the waistline of his pantaloons, claws clutching against the taut, tanned skin of his back. Just how it escaped being crushed at any point since he literally ran into Senna is a question all of its own. One that neither man nor hamster seem eager to answer as he gently cradles his furred friend.

"Boo, you are alright! And..." He hesitates, a moment of confusion as his brain catches up. "Minsc is alright?" He moves one hand down to where the poisoned speartip had been lodged in his guts, finding the wound and the object gone. "But how can this be?" He lifts the tiny hamster to his ear where it chitters away for a moment. "What's that? They saved us?" The hamster squeaks again, seemingly in agreement as the man - Minsc - and moves to each of you in turn, wrapping his tree-trunk arms around you in powerful shirtless hugs one by one without exception or reservation, an enormous beaming grin on his face. There's a kind warmth to the embrace - forceful, yes, but also a gentleness that stops them from hurting. It goes well with the hearty laugh that resonates from his chest. "Then we are among friends!"

As perhaps surmised from has tattoo his accent is indeed Rashemi. After he manages to embrace everyone - including the innkeep, who seems rather happy for it - he turns to you with Boo sat on his shoulder. Still shirtless, of course. "But I am forgetting myself. I am Minsc, and this is my faithful animal companion Boo."

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 16 HP: 27/27 PP: 16 PIv: 12 PIs: 16 Conditions: - Concentration: - Had one of these too, guys. I feel it was rather disturbing. Like it tried to lure us into being more reckless. Whatever it is, its influence is selfish and vile. Senna glares at Grepha. I mean it all started roughly when Grepha appeared...no offense, Sam. She looks at the small imp, investigating its reaction when she was surprise hugged from behind by a large man. She could supress a shriek, but tried to elbow him in the stomach. Her weak blow bounced off his armor of muscles. He turned her around and thanked her. Senna tried to get a word in how bed rest is advisable. But the large man overpowered her in body and voice. Are you hu...rghh The passionate embrace was all it took to convince Senna the man was fine. Well, physically at least. His mind must've taken a bit of a hit. Adorable pet you have there, Minsc. These are Caelyn, Melian, Vyvian, Samuel and I am Senna. I am glad you are well. But you were gravely injured, and unarmed. Who did this to you? You do not seem like the type of person to go somewhere without a weapon. And, are you Rashemi by any chance?

[RandomWombat]

[QUOTE=RandomWombat;24590412]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 32/32 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 9|14 PIv: 14|10 PIs: 10|13 Conditions: -- | -- Accompanying Vyvian and Mel downstairs for some... 'welcome' breakfast, Sam looks at the stone-hard bread with sharp teeth marks in it where he'd gnawed at it unsuccessfully. He decides to set it in the watery soup and just let it soak to an edible point. "C'mon Vyv, you should know I never cared about power or success. Being the least successful of my siblings is my defining trait," he jests, when when the strange man comes to and begins hugging everyone. Sam awkwardly returns the hug, patting him on the back. "Hello there." At some point during breakfast, Grepha returns, flying through a window to land on Sam's shoulder. She looks across the table at Minsc and Boo. Sam motions up to her and introduces, "Nice to meet you, Minsc and Boo. This is Grepha, my companion." "Yes, hello," she humors Sam, greeting Minsc. Then reports, "I did a sweep of town. Far as I can tell, your contacts have not yet arrived." At Senna's accusation she chuckles and brushes at her face with a wing. "It's flattering you think I have the power to give you funny dreams. That is decidedly outside of my repertoire."

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 25/25 PP: 15 PIv: 10 PIs: 15 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: I'm not sure if our dreams are coming from the same source. Mine was... pleasant. Caelee leaves it at that, not wishing to go into extensive detail as to the nature of her dream, though she still had a smile on her face as a side effect of it's passing. When the great bald man starts wrapping people up in hugs, Caelyn at first looks back and forth, a little panicked. She lets out a loud and short cry as she is wrapped up, afraid the man will break her in two. But once the invasive hug is settled into place, she finds it is quite nice. Running one hand down Minsc's bicept, she flushes a bit. Quite nice indeed. It's good to meet you, Minsc and Boo. Caelee raises one hand and waves enthusiastically. I'm glad we were able to save you. You were pretty far gone when Senna and I found you. Thankfully we are both trained, skilled medics, with magic as well. She sits back in her chair and does her best not to ogle the man while she waits for him to respond to Senna's questions.

[cigaw]

Melian Galanodel Eladrin Bladesinger AC: 13 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 16 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Melian considers Vyvian's words. "If my dream had some vile aspect to it, it was as well-hidden as a snake in the grass. But I have no intention of becoming a monster," she says giving Vyvian's hand a squeeze. Melian falls silent as she gathers her belongings and joins the group for breakfast, obviously concerned. As the group assembles, she speaks to everyone. "What concerns me about this is that I cannot find any indication of an outside source or interference. And it doesn't seem to be a group hallucination or phenomenon, given how unconnected the dreams are. I'm quite confident that these dreams or nightmares or whatever they may be are coming from within." She shivers slightly despite the warmth in the room. "There's something within each of us causing it and I have no idea what or for what purpose." As the muscle-bound man makes his hug-filled introduction, Melian suppresses her discomfort at being hugged by the stranger and politely introduces herself. "Well met, Minsc and Boo. I'm glad you are well now. How did you come to be so injured to far from home?" Fëanáro pokes its head out from Melian's cloak and eyes the hamster suspiciously.

[Ramsus]

Vyvian Just Half-Elf Rogue AC: 16 HP: 32/32 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: -- "Oh!" Vyvian exclaims in surprise at the sudden hug while she was about to respond to Melian. "Well hello there big guy. Nice to meet you." she says to Minsc warmly. Not in Caelyn's or Senna's teenager will probably blush and think dirty thought about any physical contact with a good looking male kind of warm, but just normal appreciating someone else's friendliness and returning it kind. Once she's released she looks back to her siblings and shakes her head, "If it's something inside me, it still certainly wasn't me. I.... wow I really hate to have to say this. I don't want to be taking the serious person role here, but I guess I have to. Thanks for that. But all of you kind of get..... carried away with yourselves sometimes. Especially lately. Maybe your dreams weren't as offensive as mine. Or maybe the feelings that were forced on you clouded your judgement. Don't just off-hand tell me I don't have anything to worry about. Just...." Vyvian sighs, it's clear she not enjoying this. Which is because she doesn't want to be saying this because she wants to be the "fun" Vyvian and she basically hasn't be allowed to be this whole journey so far and is rather aggrieved she's being forced to be the person to take this issue seriously as she clearly feels that role belongs more to everyone else... except maybe Sam. "Just actually think about those dreams you had and what they were suggesting you should want and the consequences of doing those things and not how it tricked you into feeling about them." And before anyone can reply to her to argue or object or jump to a hasty conclusion or think she means she expects them to report their conclusions to her, she turns to Grepha and says, "Did anyone get you those clothes we promised you? No clearly not as you're still suffering your nudity. Let's go see if they have anything your size huh?" at which point she just grabs Grepha by a foot and goes over to the store. More as an excuse to be able to leave the room than any real hope of accomplishing the task.

[Amnestic]

Minsc holds Boo out to greet Grepha, but the small hamster takes a single sniff of the avian infernal and retreats back into his meaty hands with a resolute squeak of defiance. He gets a better reaction with Fëanáro, and gives it a little chitter of greeting. The rest of the party (including Sam) garner a similar reaction. It seems Boo only distrusts Grepha. "Boo is an excellent judge of character. He may not like your bird but he likes the rest of you just fine. And with good reason it seems!" He pats the now healed wound again with a laugh, flesh already showing signs of scarring - another to add to his collection, it seems.

"Ah, the tale of Minsc and Boo is a long one, and it will grow longer still! I am on a dajemma with my witch Dynaheir. It is a long way from my home. She lead us west for reasons I do not understand myself..." He pauses thoughtfully. "But she knows a lot of things that Minsc does not. We were with a small caravan when we were attacked by gnolls! Great hyena-headed monsters that came out of the bushes. In a flash many of us were cut down, as evil does. Minsc fought back but Dynaheir told me to run for help as she was taken captive. So Boo and I ran and ran and ran...and now...I have met you!" His thoughtful, concerned look gives way once more to the warm happiness. "And I am back in town to speak to the soldiers and guard about getting help. Justice will prevail, just as Dynaheir knew it would." He smiles earnestly.

He still hasn't put a shirt on.

The store is as empty as it was yesterday. In fact if anything's been sold since you left you can't tell - it looks identical to how you left it yesterday evening. 'Busy' does not seem to be in Nashkel's vocabulary. The youth from before is there, but he seems to be dozing at the counter, his chair leaning back with a hat pulled over his face. He doesn't seem to notice Vyvian coming in.

Spoiler: History DC for Dajemma

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Spoiler: DC5

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I think that's a type of curry? Minsc may be a chef.

Spoiler: DC10

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A dajemma is a ritual rite of passage to adulthood still practiced in Rashemen. Its specifics vary greatly depending on the individual and their desired ambitions and skills. A dajemma for a cook/chef may be totally different to that for a berserker, which likewise would be different to that for a witch.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 32/32 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 9|14 PIv: 14|10 PIs: 10|13 Conditions: -- | -- "Bah, the dreams can tell me to do whatever they want to. Doesn't meant I have to listen," Sam waves off the problem, plucking off a piece of the soaking bread, now soft enough to heat. "Just do the right thing and everything else will fall into place." Grabbed by the leg, the bird caws in surprise as she's stolen away by the thief. Almost immediately after getting outside, Vyvian feels her grip on the bird vanish, and the prickling sensation of a spider crawling up along her sleeve. Then Grepha reappears as a bird again, perched on her shoulder. "I am perfectly capable of transporting myself, thank you," she says, irately. When they arrive at the general store... what there is left of it... she speaks more quietly so as not to be overheard by the lazy shopkeep, "Trying anything on in the open would be unwise. I was not joking yesterday about lynch mobs... here in this backwater, they are less understanding about associating with dark powers than in Amn."

[Ramsus]

Vyvian Just Half-Elf Rogue AC: 16 HP: 32/32 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: -- Senna We cannot act on hunches alone, and we lack Candlekeep's tomes to research the issue. But Vyvian is right, we should not underestimate the issue. But we have another problem. If Minsc's friend was captured by gnolls, we should hurry to save her. I feel if gnolls get hungry, they could very well eat her. She turns to Minsc. I feel you will have little luck with the town's guards. They are on edge already, dealing with the problems in town, and the tensions with Amn. I am sure my siblings will help but I feel Vyvian needs your hearty uh... enthusiasm to be convinced. You see, she thinks doing good is too risky for us. She is a good person, but she lack faith. Pulling Minsc outside, shirt or not, Senna follows her sister into the shop. She sees Vyvian bickering with Grepha in the shop. Senna drags a half-naked man into the shop, waving at Vyvian. Uhm, sorry Vyv. I wanted to ask you something, we wanted to ask you something. Minsc needs help finding his friend, we would formally ask you for help. I know you are concerned for us and yourself about the dreams we had. But without proper research materials, or at the very least a bit of divine or arcane guidance, we cannot find out what this was. We should manage to do the best with it. Honestly, I am at a loss with that one. You are the crafty one, coping with little resources. I'm kinda lost without my tomes. So, would you defy death to save a woman we don't even know? Senna's smile tells you that he really hopes you say yes. Vyvian, not even having a moment to respond to Grepha's complaint turns around to see Senna follow on her heels. "Gods Senna! You can go stomping off in a fury every other day but can't respect when someone gracefully leaves a room because they want you to actually take the time to think about something other than religious philosophy and ancient scrolls? Your holier than though nonsense is getting very tiring. Yes, obviously we should prioritize rescuing someone from a bunch of monsters over investigating a mine that will still be here when we come back. You don't need to be so dramatic about it. It's insulting that you think you're the only member of the family with a heart." At which point Vyvian storms out of the shop, leaving Grepha unanswered and goes back to her room to get her things, turning around just once to glare at Senna if she's still following her.

[cigaw]

Melian Galanodel Eladrin Bladesinger AC: 13 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 16 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Melian frowns at Vyvian's amonishment but her reply is cut short as she storms off the Inn. Of course she was worried about these dreams. Elves aren't even supposed to dream. Shaking her head, the wizard turns to Minsc, listening to his story. "A Rashemi dajemma accompanying a witch? We will help at..." her words trail to nothing as Minsc is dragged outside by Senna. Melian sighs, looking at Sam and Caelyn, and takes a bite of hard day-old bread, offering a small piece to Fëanáro and to another to the small rodent on the table. "Well Boo, I suppose you shall have to do for polite conversation. Please tell me about yourself and your trouble. Caelyn will translate." She winks at her siblings still at the table, scratching the rodent under the chin.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 16 HP: 27/27 PP: 16 PIv: 12 PIs: 16 Conditions: - Concentration: - Senna follows Vyvian outside and shouts after her. Maybe you can leave a conversation, but you cannot leave your thoughts behind. Coem back if you want to talk. Senna lurches back to the inn, into her room, Minsc in tow like a gigantic dog. Where, she tries to bury her crying face into a pillow.

[Amnestic]

Boo twists its head at Melian but chitters a bit as Minsc is pulled out and then subsequently back in to the inn. He lets it happen, seemingly trusting that it's for a good cause, but when Senna disappears in tears the strong man looks confused rubbing the back of his head gently. "Is it something that Minsc said?" He looks to the remaining three of the party, genuinely concerned he may have done something wrong. An encouraging 'squeak!' from Boo in between bites of the hard bread seems to encourage him though.

"You would offer help to Minsc and Boo? It will be dangerous! But if you are sure then I will not turn away the righteous. A strong arm and a stronger heart. That is what makes justice prevail." He claps a warm hand on Melian's shoulder, the heavy impact shaking the elf slightly. "But I cannot fight without sword or armour! Boo, do you know where they are?" The hamster squeaks for a good thirty seconds as Minsc looks thoughtful at the erratic ball of fur, apparently understanding everything said. "Boo says that Minsc dropped our weapon and bag so we could run faster! It is fine though, we will be able to follow my tracks back and find them. Or we can improvise!"

"Boo also says that we ran for two days." He pauses as the hamster continues. "Without stopping." In a mark of perhaps surprising awareness he looks to both the door of the rooms Senna and Vyvian retreated to. "Maybe you should speak to everyone before we go forth? We are glad to fight with friends, but we do not want to see you fight with friends."

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 32/32 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 9|14 PIv: 14|10 PIs: 10|13 Conditions: -- | -- Sighing at the drama, and the people stomping away to their rooms, Sam rubs his face. "Is it just me, or do those two seem more on edge by the day?" he asks Melian rhetorically, looking at the closed doors. "It seems like the only time they're not fighting is when we're fighting someone else." He looks between Melian and Caelyn, at Minsc's suggestion. "I guess one of us should try to talk to each of them. Who'd be best for who?" Left at the store following the outburst between the two hormonal teens, Grepha stands on a shelf looking at the slammed door of the shop. She turns to face the lazy shopkeeper boy. "Would you mind opening the door or a window for me?"

[Amnestic]

It's clear to Grepha that the boy was awake - and had been for at least a few moments. Perhaps he was awoken by the yelling, perhaps he'd always been awake and merely pretending to sleep. When addressed directly though, it seems he can't maintain his facade any longer and pulls the hat to one side while maintaining his posture and locking an eye on the bird that has disrupted his morning. "Seems like you've got it tough too." Sympathy? Empathy, perhaps? Still, the lazy youth shifts to stand and indeed goes to open a window letting the dusty air of the outside mingle with the dusty air of the inside. "Go, be free. Probably leave while you can, if you can."