The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

[Awful]

Selissa stalked around the clearing, eyes glancing back and forth from the bird to the tree hollow to the wilderness surrounding them. Fey were always hard to trust, and these woods weren't safe; it would be foolish for everyone to take all their attention off the forest around them.
"Thorns on the branch. See?" She hissed quietly to Vargath, Jemriagh and Fanlomen when her path took her past them.

Casting a glance towards Set, she was confused to see him sit down in the clearing. With measured, silent steps, she stalked up behind him - and grabbed his ear beneath his headwrap with two wooden fingers and yanked on it painfully. She crouched next to him as she let go, so she was eye level with him.
"What are you doing, human?" She whispered sharply to him, eyes narrowed. "Not safe to play around. Get up."

[Amnestic]

"Thorns on the branches?" Vargath puzzles at her, questioning her words even as she moves on and scrutinising the branches from his position on the trail. "Do you mean metaphorically or...oh, no, yes, I see them." He wouldn't have, had they not been pointed out to him. Fast growing thorns and a talking bird certainly would lead to the conclusion the tree's magic was connected to the disappearing house. His axe ached on the belt to do the talking for him. Let it sing. Let it howl. "ᛚᚨ ᛞᛖᛏ ᛊᛁᛜᛖ. ᛚᚨ ᛞᛖᛏ ᚺᛁᛚᛖ." They echo back at him his own thoughts. He bites the urge back though, at least for now. Birel had this in hand.

Hopefully.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 25/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- ...but don't forget what you are. You are cursed. You are alo- "Ow ow OW, f*ck!" Set nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise and pain, falling back onto his elbows and scrambling away from green eyes peircing him like a pair of arrows. Half on his back and only a pace away, Set is an easy target. Insolent b*tch! Had it been one of the others, Set might have been too distracted to hear their approach, but detecting Selissa was next to impossible. She had the almakira, the cunning of the windwalkers that hunted in the deep desert. Even the Shadowkeeper hadn't noticed her, intent as he was on molding Set into a proper tool. You clearly announced that you are in MY service, and this one DARES lay a hand on you. She had been invisible. Now both Set and the Shadowkeeper could see nothing else. That arm is forfeit. When you are strong enough you will burn those wooden fingers first, then the rest. Mouth twitching, Set bites the inside of his cheek to steady himself as he stares up at Selissa quietly. The rage he'd shared with the Shadowkeeper had gone up in smoke, disappearing as fast as the sharp jolt of pain had. Only after her flesh is crackling and drifting to the sky will you offer her the mercy of endless darkness and sleep rather than forcing her to continue facing the light and the heat. Do you understand? Nodding, ostensibly to Selissa, Set slowly rises and picks up his spear as the Shadowkeeper acknowledges his own victory. Good. "Thank you," Set says with conviction, biting his cheek harder as he avoids further eye contact. "You're right, of course. I'll stay alert." A brief pause follows before Set asks, "will you teach me to move like you do when there is more time?" Gooood.

[Awful]

Selissa held his gaze for a moment longer, before cocking her head in thought.
"Can try," she said at last. "Probably can't. You're loud, slow."
She tapped a tree-made finger against his scale armour and robes.
"Can't wear this. Clank clank. Too heavy, too bright."

In a smooth movement, she stood and returned to the edge of the clearing.
"Talk about it after."

[purepolarpanzer]

At the Site of Chevvile's Cabin

Chix considers Birel's words for a few moments, tilting it's small head back and forth a few times as it listened. Then, with a rapid beating of wings, it flies back into the hollow of the tree, where it hides for nearly a minute, before flitting back out to the same branch. "My Lord is no thief. He will meet with you to discuss the ownership of said properties, but fears you might find his castle a bit... uncomfortable... in your current forms. So he has graciously decided to make his home more comfortable for you. Stand aside, please." Without waiting for any of you to move, the tree begins to change.

It grows wider, roots creeping and crawling through the earth to secure a firmer hold in the earth. It does not breach the area where Chevvile's cabin should be, but it rapidly fills one corner of the grove with a massive tree larger than even the Grandfather Oak in the center of the cemetery, more like the base of a tower than a simple tree.. The bole in the tree increases in size until it forms a massive archway, starting an inch from the ground and rising almost to the top of the tree. Strangely enough, the tree grows no taller, still sitting at a squat fifteen feet or so, but inside the archway there is still a roomy, wide set of stairs heading upward in a spiral that seems to be impossible. This process takes roughly thirty seconds and makes a sound that none of you have really heard before- wood swelling and growing at impossible speeds.

Chix, seemingly unperturbed by the explosive growth, flutters down to rest on a lower branch. "The Lord of Size will see you all now." Then it flutters into the archway and up the stairs, leaving you all to find your own way up.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel gives a deep sigh. This really isn't the direction she wanted this to go, even though it felt inevitable. As she heads to go inside she says to the others, "Do not eat anything and don't accept anything that could even in the most unreasonable way be considered a gift without negotiating its price. And in general be wary for trickery, both in words and appearances."

[Amnestic]

"Going to need a bigger axe." Vargath mutters to himself as the tree expands in front of him. Should've taken the opportunity to lop it down when it was still tiny, but nothing he could do now. He gives a short nod to Birel, acknowledging her advice - she was more of an expert on these matters than he was - and follows her inside, taking care to double check the grip on his shield was tight. His free hand does what it often does when he's unsure or trying to hide his nerves, that being lightly picking at his fur cloak for comfort. At least they had an invitation, that was a good start at least.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 25/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set reaches up to feel his scale mail where Selissa had reached out with wooden fingers to touch it herself, frowning after her as she walks away. A moment of silence follows as Set listens, but there's no sound other than the breeze rustling leaves. A glance over at his shadow reveals nothing but his own silouhette, no darker than it should be. The Shadowkeeper's words echo through his mind, but thankfully their owner no longer seemed to be present. When you are strong enough you will burn those wooden fingers first, then the rest. At least his master recognized he wasn't capable of such a thing. Set tries to imagine fighting Selissa, but can't picture himself getting within 10 feet before she'd nail him to the ground. She'd already made it painfully clear he'd never be able to sneak up on her even if she agreed to teach him. That just left deception, and Set's stomach churns as the weight of lies already told and the lies yet to come squeeze him from all sides. For a moment, against every instinct Set pictures Selissa dead on the ground with his Favorite impaled through her. He gags, spitting up bile, wet coughs spewing towards the ground before he spits out the rest. Shaking slightly, he follows her towards the edge of the clearing where the others were still gathered around the bird that shouldn't have been able to talk. Taking up a spot where he can avoid Vargath for at least a moment longer, Set is altoghether too distracted with his own troubles to comment on the tree's explosive change. Nevertheless he finds a few words in response to Birel. "I've no plans to eat," he says, the taste of bile still fresh in his mouth, "but in general I'll follow your lead." Birel's words ring true to him as he stares into the impossible opening before focusing on her like a climber afraid to look down lest he fall. One step after another, Set follows his guide into the tree.

[Awful]

Selissa quirked her mouth in a frown as she regarded the newly-formed doorway. Instinct told her not to go, but equally, they'd already been invited, and to refuse could also be seen as an insult.

Just as importantly, leaving would also get them no closer to their goal.

Her hand hovered over her quiver as she slowly stepped in through the portal.

[purepolarpanzer]

In Castle Crabapple

The stairway spirals upwards for several stories, the wooden walls and steps becoming darker, richer, and well varnished. There are no doors or archways to mark the ascension, but when the stairwell does end the party finds itself on a landing before a great wooden gate door that lies open. Beyond the door is a grand hall, where a party or festival is in full swing. Music plays, the sound of dancing feet fills the room, and food and drink festoon long tables. Beyond the setting, the unsettling thing about this party are the guests- they are all animals. Small animals, actually, though they are all as tall or taller than any of you, wearing the clothing of noble lords and ladies. Mice and rats in frocks and kilts, frogs and toads in coats and breeches, squirrels with capes as long as their tails, and stoats wearing servant's garb bringing around trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. All of them are anthropomorphized just enough to suit their clothing, but remains very true to their base animal forms.

Two toads wearing armor and bearing swords stand to either side of the inside of the gate, and one of them opens his mouth, bellowing out "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE REALMS OF MEN AND WOMEN, MY LIEGE!" with a voice that carries over the din of the party. The band, a murder of crows playing instruments, goes silent, and the crowd in the center of the room parts in half, leaving a path of rich, red carpet leading to a platform. On the platform rests a throne that appears to have been formed from an acidic green toadstool with purple spots. Sitting languidly on the throne, with his legs hanging over one of it's arms, rests a pale skinned, slimly built humanoid, wearing black leather pants, no shoes, and naked from the waist up. Around his shoulders he wears a cloak of bird feathers, in a riotous assortment of colors representing many different species. His ears are pointed, and in the right light he could be mistaken for an elf, except for the midnight blue skin of his upper face and arms, along with the wicked, curved claws on the ends of his fingers. He looks out across the room at you all, and even from a distance of forty feet you can make out a wicked grin on his lips. His words are quiet, but they resonate across the room like quiet thunder on a dark night, with a lyrical quality that tantalizes the ears. "Approach, mortals. We have business, I suspect."

Spoiler: Insight DC 12

Show

The room is quiet, but it is not out of reverence, awe, or respect. It is out of fear.

Spoiler: Insight DC 16

Show

The anthropomorphized animals, though they appear to be in a celebratory mood on the surface, are all in great pain. With their legs, backs, and arms twisted into unnatural angles, each movement brings them discomfort at best and agony at worst. Though they were drinking, laughing, and making merry, their eyes are all terrified, pained, and panicked. It is impossible to tell if they are true animals bent to unnatural humanoid forms, or humanoids that have been twisted into animal shapes, but their partying and joy is as unnatural as their forms, and every moment of it is cruel, sadistic torture to them.

[Amnestic]

Fear was the weakest way to exert control. Inherently unstable and prone to toppling itself once the negatives outweighed even the fear. Nations rose and fell once fear failed to keep people in line, and Vargath fully expects the same to happen here. Perhaps today, perhaps not. Regardless, now felt like not a time to show deference but strength. To show that they could not be cowed like his subjects. He steps forward with forceful strides, boots echoing through the quieted hall, his armour clanking loudly, his fur cloak wafting gently behind him. He stops at the bottom of the platform. He does not bow, instead matching the languid lord's gaze with his own. When he speaks it's not boisterous, but nor is he talking down to the fey. He's approaching the 'man' as an equal. There's no quiver in his words or hesitation. He does place his shield arm loosely against his lower chest, but not out of deference, but rather to show his symbol, haphazard though it may be, while his right hand lies loose, near his axe but not actually touching it.

"You are clearly busy, so I shall cut straight to the point. A building outside this tree is concealed from sight and touch. Inside is an armoury of silver weapons that we require to fight the werewolves infesting the land. Remove the concealment and we shall be on our way."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 25/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Higher and higher they ascend as Set keeps his eyes firmly planted on Birel's back. Everything was going to be fine. Even if the Shadowkeeper was right and he couldn't count on any of them, Birel knew about these things. She might just be a tool, but Set couldn't deny she was a useful one. He just had to keep his eyes on her, and she would guide them through this. No eating. No gifts. Just keep climbing and don't look down. As they reach the landing at the top of the steps and enter the hall, Set finally tears his eyes away from Birel to look around. A pervading sense of vertigo instantly siezes him. Everywhere he looks a creature both vaguely familiar and completely alien stares back, their presence as haunting as their eyes appear haunted. Set is rooted in place, watching with increasing anxiety as Vargath steps forward, heavy footfalls echoing through the Liar's hall. The half-orc's words ring out over the hushed crowd despite the fact that he'd not so much as raised his voice. There was no ceremony. No introductions or flowery language. Not a single wasted word. Vargath simply spoke and the world stopped to listen. For half a moment, Set is brought back to the first time he'd heard Vargath speak. He hadn't raised his voice then either. He hadn't used a single word that wasn't needed to make himself clear. How could he address this Lord and the owner of the Oaken Larder as if they were one and the same? Did he not know the difference? Or was he finally tired of the voices in his own head and ready to make them stop once and for all? Perhaps that's why he rushed into battle so readily. He sought his own end. A thought, unlooked for and unwanted detonates in Set's brain. This is no death wish. The Mighty bows to no man, nor does he need to. Set flinches as if struck, clasping his hands together and wringing them painfully as he clenches his eyes shut, forcing the thought away. Tools. They're tools, and this one was going to get him killed. Set opens his eyes, glancing around at the other tools around him and voices his thoughts in an urgent whisper. "What do we do?" he asks openly, eyes settling on Birel.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel looks around the room and makes a conscious effort not to frown or glower at this Liar, an apt title indeed. At Set's question she replies in a whisper, "If you mean about the transformed prisoners he's surrounded himself with, I am unsure if there's anything we can do for them. As for achieving our goal, I suggest we wait for him to respond to our friend since he elected to speak first. Better the wrong tone than a vacillating one."

[Awful]

Selissa looked around the room, seeing the transfigured, tortured creatures within, and deeply regretted ever coming through the doorway in the tree.
Her wooden arm creaked as she flexed her fingers, both flesh and not, and she wondered if the smug fey sitting on the throne in front of them would be able to get off a curse before Selissa put an arrow through his throat.

Standing here was the worst situation for her; with the enemy having her clean in sight, and she had no illusions that the Lord of Size was any sort of ally to them. The elf's eyes snapped about, looking for any place she could conceal herself, gaps in the thronging animals she could dart through if need be. As Vargath strode through and spoke so boldly to the Fey, her eyes narrowed in anticipation of conflict, and her fingers drifted towards her quiver.

[purepolarpanzer]

In Castle Crabapple

The Fey Lord's languid expression changes to a wicked grin as Vargath speaks to him. "So vital. So vivacious. Muscular and well spoken. You are an absolute delight." He lifts his hand and the claw on his index finger grows several inches longer, stretching out towards the half-orc, but not coming close enough to touch him. The Liar's lips form a full pout at that, and the claw recedes back to it's original size. "Fine, fine, to business, if you so insist. We can always play later." In a flash of movement, the Lord of the Changing Seasons rotates on him throne so he is sitting upright and facing you all, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his palms, and his eyes alight with mischief.

"You seek the hunter's cabin. And with noble purpose. But I fear I can't release the impounded goods for free. The hunter resided on my lands and failed to pay the proper respect and tribute to my magnificence. So I took him, his home, and his lovely silver armory into custody. If you wish it returned, you'll have to earn his freedom. For this, I am willing to be both forgiving and beneficent. I offer you two paths to achieve your goal and pay the fines and duties owed to my kingdom. You may elect either MY pleasure..." The Fey's eyes roam Vargath up and down as he says this, punctuated by biting his lip. "Or the hunter's pain. One will get you home, weapons, and captive, while the other will leave the poor hunter a shadow of his former self, but leave you with were-killing arms and a fine piece of real estate. I wish to know more about you scions of might and magic, and I find the best way to get to know someone is to make them make a choice. So, first things first, I'll have your names, as it is boorish and rude to ask a favor of your host without even introducing yourselves. Then you may discuss among yourselves my offer. I may even indulge a question or two about the outcomes of each choice, though I'll warn you I'm known to speak in riddles. One of my few flaws, I'm afraid. Then we get on to the important part. My favorite part. THE CHOOSING. Will you go with this? Or will you go with that? Will you choose to shoulder the burden and suffer my indulgences? Or will you take the easy way out, and leave the prisoner to my tender graces?" He shudders in anticipation, closing his eyes like a satisfied cat and dragging his claws across the arms of his throne. "I can't bear to wait. But you know what they say- the waiting just makes the final outcome more PLEASURABLE."

[Amnestic]

It took some effort for Vargath not to roll his eyes. That sort of aggressive flirtation had never worked for him. It just came across as needy and desperate. And perhaps that was the core of the fey in front of him. A man (or a facsimile of one) in a futile search for fulfillment. Flexing his power and garnering nought but fear while never really satisfying himself either and just chasing the tail of whatever caught his fancy hoping it would fill the hole. Pitiable, were he not actively in their way. Then again, maybe he was reading far too much into it.

"I am Vargath." He omits his last name and clan, but does provide his real name at least, giving no comment otherwise. He waves the rest of the group forward to perform their own introductions. Once the names have been given, truthful or otherwise, he pulls the party into a small huddle, lowering his voice. "While I sympathise with the captive we are still on a clock burning daylight, we may not have time to entertain the fey's..." he trails off, not quite sure on the right word. He opts to leave it blank and let them fill in the gap themselves. "I suggest we simply take the silver and move on." It didn't feel right, but it did feel correct.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Before Vargath can speak, Birel senses the danger in the fey's wording and says sharply, "You may not have our names, they belong to us. But we can tell you what they are. I am Birel." After Vargath speaks she asks, "How long and what form would your pleasure take?" not so keen to casually cripple a man for life if the other cost is letting the orc get molested for a hour or so.

[Awful]

"Won't give you my name," she said cautiously to the smirking Fey. "But you may call me Greenhair."
She had no wish for a fey such as this to even know her name, never mind the trick it might have already tried to pull. She fought back a shudder of disgust at the actions of the loathsome lord.

"How do we know you will keep your word?" She spoke up, eyes glancing back and forth for an escape even as her words drew its attention.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 25/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- The Liar's words seemed to curl clawed-fingers around Set, clutching at him like an impatient lover. The words fairly dripped with honey, but the taste was foul regardless. The fey Lord's manner was all his own, but there were similarities to the Shadowkeeper that Set couldn't ignore. Here was a master surrounded by his slaves, an owner studying the tools that had just walked into his domain. As the others answer, Set stands mute at first, listening carefully. Following in Birel's footsteps and ever-grateful for her wise presence, he finally answers simply, "I am Set, Lord." He was a Lord. Of that there was no doubt. The hall seemed to vibrate with hidden power, the tension between master and slave so thick Set doubted his Favorite could pierce it. And yet. This was not Set's master. The Shadowkeeper had given Set a choice once, and now He alone held sway. This particular Liar held power, but he could not make Set choose to condemn or save another. Not if Set could help it. Keeping his silence and allowing the others to ask questions and have them answered, Set listens intently, hoping to learn whatever he can about the conditions of any deal that might be struck. Once the questions and their answers die away, but just before Vargath can pull them aside, Set coughs and raises his voice. "Forgive me Lord," Set starts to say, stomach churning. "I have been all but speechless in the presence of your magnificence, but one thing still vexes me. With my humblest apologies, I don't believe you fear anything. Certainly so great and powerful a Lord such as you," Set says, waving his arms grandly at their surroundings, "could release the impounded goods for free, couldn't you? Is it not in your power to do so, Lord?" Set asks with audible concern, allowing the barest hint of disappointment to creep into his voice at the Lord's obvious shortcomings. As Vargath pulls them into a small huddle, Set finds himself nodding numbly at the half-orc's words. Guilt tugged at him, but it was hardly their fault that Milo had fallen prey to the Liar. Why should any of them suffer for this man? They didn't know him. Even if they did save him, Set thinks, looking around at the animals flanking them, just what sort of condition would he be in after having lived under the Liar's roof? Birel had said these creatures were transformed prisoners. Was Milo among the animals standing nearby? "One last question, if I may Lord. If the hunter is released to us, what condition will he be in?"

[purepolarpanzer]

In Castle Crabapple

The Liar answers each of your questions in turn. In response to Birel, his grin grows wide, showing off teeth not unlike those of a shark. "How long? Time is an illusion, but if you insist on being linear I'd say you all could entertain me a great deal in a brief time. As delectable as your Vargath may be, I am in the mood for different sport. A bit of combat to the death should satiate my blood lust nicely. So it would last only as long as all of you draw breath, or until my champion perishes." He seems to grow bored at Greenhair's question, seemingly cleaning his claws as he responds. "In brief, you do not know I will keep my word. I can give you only my promise that I always abide by my agreements, as do all Fey. If you would continue to doubt my honor, you may find me DEEPLY offended." He punctuates that sentence by raking his claws against each other, which causes a shower of sparks and a high pitched shrieking sound. Then he turns to Set and frowns, his eyes going dark and his features going sour. "Of course I could give you your prize. But that is not my inclination, nor my nature. You have neither impressed nor enchanted me enough to warrant a gift, and any economist would tell you that to give something of great value for free is to squander one's resources. As for the condition of the hunter, if you play my game it will be as though he has woken up from a long sleep. He will be hearty and hale and dare I say better rested than he has ever been in his life. If you decline my challenge of combat, all you need for your fight against the weres will be yours, but the hunter will find himself irrevocably scarred. Instead of waking rested he will find himself in an eternal nightmare, as punishment for slighting me. Either way, assuming you don't all disappoint me and die, you'll get what you came seeking. Tell no one that I am not a generous Lord." The cat like grin returns, and for a few seconds the fey's eyes bear the slits of a tom cat before he blinks and they return to normal.

[Amnestic]

Vargath's opinion hasn't changed - whether it's spending time in the bedchamber or on the battlefield, it was resources or time they could ill afford to spend on entertaining a fey. "We have werewolves and a witch left to deal with today," he keeps his voice low, eyes darting at the mercurial master of the tree to and doing his best to have his words go unheard and his lips go unread. "I'll follow the majority but I can't see the sense in putting ourselves, and the village at large, at greater risk for this. We die now, the village is done for, but we accept the deal, the hunter will live on - and we can always return another day when we have less pressing business, to bargain or fight, if needs be."

He wasn't heartless. It wasn't pleasant, arguing for a man to be tortured, but the cost outweighed the benefits. Every cut, every spell, every sweated ounce of energy spent here was one they couldn't bring to bear in the fight to come.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- "And who would your champion be? It seems only fair to know who we'd be volunteering to fight before choosing." Birel asks. She then gives a look over the assembled companions and winds up looking at Vargath, thinking out of all of them he's the most likely suited for such a challenge. And of course thinking she's the least.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 25/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set nods, eyes downcast as he listens to the Liar dance around the subject of what he could do versus what he is inclined to do. With his offer of single combat, Set looks around at the others before his eyes settle on Vargath. The half-orc's words are measured and thoughtful. He clearly took no joy in the decision they had to make, but such was his character that he didn't shy away from making one. The mark of a leader is plain as day to those who would follow. Sirus had never shied away from a tough decision either. Set couldn't help dwelling for a few moments on the 'endless nightmare' promised for Milo should they refuse the fey Lord's offer. Some things are worse than death. But how could he seriously entertain the Liar's choice when his own blood might still be out there, threatened by Pale Night? Who was Milo compared to his sisters? If Set fell to the Liar's champion, who would be left to fight for them? Besides, Set wasn't overly keen on raising his spear against someone Vargath would prefer not to fight. As he's about to speak in support of Vargath, Birel's voice rings out, challenging the Liar for more information. Set watches her closely, his anxiety ramping up ever higher as he realizes she's seriously considering the fey Lord's challenge. Why? What is he to you, Birel? Set's stomach churns, hands wringing together as he looks back and forth between Vargath and Birel. He couldn't let Birel face the Liar's champion alone. Paralyzed in silence, Set opens his mouth as if to speak, first to Birel, then Vargath. Clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut, Set takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. Slowly he reaches into his pouch, feeling that familiar, comforting piece of round metal between his fingers.

[Awful]

"... We should fight," said Selissa quietly, finally. Her tone was measured, but there was the hard undercurrent of certainty underneath a layer of worry. "Hunter resource on his own. Experience in fighting were beasts. Useful.

... Besides. Right thing to do." She grimaced briefly. "Bad place for me to fight, though. Will do what I can."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 25/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- "...Besides. Right thing to do." F*ck. Set could feel the scales tipping against Vargath as first one elf, then another speaks up. Birel's question betrays her desire to fight for the hunter, and her not-sister was in lockstep. There wasn't much time. He had to speak now, or the door to escape unscathed would be closed. The Shadowkeeper's words echo in Set's mind. They're just tools. ...Besides. Right thing to do. Just tools, and Milo wasn't even that. They could leave right now and the silver would be theirs. ...Besides. Right thing to do. A memory claws at Set, reminding him of his youngest sister even as he tries to think of his companions as objects. Her safety was the only thing that mattered, wasn't it? But as her words and her ideals come pouring out of the elf, Set grips the coin painfully tight in his pouch before releasing it. What would they think of him? If they were watching, what would they say if he turned his back on not just Milo, but anyone else who stayed behind to do the right thing? Clenching his jaw, Set steps around the others, quietly approaching Vargath while they await the Liar's answer. His stomach finally settles with the decision, mouth no longer twitching for the moment. "I uh, I know this isn't the time, but I just want to say sorry about earlier. I didn't think the bird was that sort of bird," Set says lamely, glancing around them before forcing himself to look Vargath in the eye. "I'm not the smartest, or the best at understanding other people. I certainly can't say I know why they're so concerned for the hunter's fate," he says, motioning towards Birel and Selissa. "My brother Sirus, the one I told you about, he would've called it a waste. From what you told me, I doubt Shura would think differently," Set continues, remembering their conversation from what seemed like ages ago. "But my sisters weren't--aren't like that. Sisi never met a fight she didn't want to take, and Sythpen," Set says, thinking back with a glance at Evergreen, "she always was quick to point out what was right and what was wrong." The image of a pair of sisters bullying their father into letting them train beside their brothers flashed to mind, a brief smile accompanying the thought before it disappears. "If they were here..." Set says, trailing off. The right words escape him for a moment, and in that time Set realizes he's talking more for his own benefit than for Vargath's. The half-orc was a man of few words, and fewer words would serve better than many. Thinking for a moment longer, Set finally cuts to the heart of it. "I'm going to fight," Set says simply, abandoning all the arguments and pleas that come to mind for a simple statement of fact. There's a brief pause as Set's stomach flips, wondering what Vargath will say next. He knows the half-orc won't abandon them, but he doesn't know. For a moment it looks like he's about to say something else, but instead Set stops, holding his tongue and waiting.

[Amnestic]

Vargath sighs, though he can't say he's too upset by being outvoted. At least right now. He might thoroughly regret it later, when he's half-eaten by a werewolf or turned into a frog by the witch, but maybe it'd all work out. Maybe if this hunter was all that they'd be able to rope him into hunting with them, an extra sword or bow arm. "You're not wrong. This really isn't the time." Vargath is still glad for it, if nothing else. Best there be no bad blood between them for the fights to come. "Apology accepted." He felt that words resolving the issue seemed insufficient, perhaps there was still some lingering resentment on Set's part, it seemed all too quick for a complete reversal, but at least it'd be lessened, and they had little time to spend on spats.

"Alright then, decision made." He turns back to the fey lord, the group behind him. "We have a come to an agreement - we shall fight your champion for the hunter's freedom," the half-orc cracks his knuckles, shaking any sleep that remained in them. If he was forced into a fight, he may as well enjoy it. His blood was already heating up in anticipation. Gently he slips the axe from its hook on his belt, before flipping it up out of his hand, letting it spin and slice the air, then catching it. A display of skill, a boast all of its own. "Lets hope they're more than just a warmup."

[purepolarpanzer]

In Castle Crabapple

"It seems your companions have chosen to face my champion without knowing who it is. Better this way, anyway. I do love a good surprise." The Fey Lord looks over the assembled group and frowns. "Though it's a shame that you've brought so many combatants to my challenge. I do think I will make the match a bit more fair before we start." Waving his clawed hand, he points two fingers at Fanlomen and Jemriah, uttering a curse under his breath. Immediately, the two adventurers begin to shrink, rapidly scaling down until they are stone figurines about three inches tall. "They'll resume their normal size... eventually. Until then, I'm sure you all will do just fine without them, being so well equipped and vivacious as you all are." He grins a wicked grin and gives you all a few moments to stow the figurines away, but not long enough to lodge much protest. Waving his hand again, he summons his champion.

A tiny black scorpion appears in the Fey's palm, not much bigger than a mouse. It clicks it's claws and arches it's tail, but when the Fey Lord leans in and whispers to it it immediately begins to crawl down his body and skitter across the floor. Just as rapidly as your companions shrunk, with an uttered word the scorpion begins to grow, surging to the size of a mule in a breath's time. "Let the contest begin. For the arms, the home, and the well being of the hunter!" The Lord of Change raises his hands and chops it down in a severing motion, and the scorpion rushes forward, claws clicking and tail dripping a clear venom. The battlefield is particularly small, with only a forty foot ring around the Fey's throne to do battle with. Animal servants crowd in close and begin to chitter, whine, and whistle as the battle begins, leaving little room to escape, hide, or gain advantage in the fight.

Spoiler: OOC

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The initiative order is the full party, then the scorpion, then back to the party. Feel free to act in whatever order you wish. It's time for a DEATH BATTLE!

[Amnestic]

With shield on his arm and axe in his hand, Vargath breaks into a run, seeking to clash together with the scorpion and intercept it before it can attack any of the less armoured individuals. A minor thought flits through his head that showing his size change abilities in front of the Lord of Size may just make him more interesting Vargath, but smashing the champion came first. Runes foretelling the combat to come shine in his eyes, spreading out across his body weaving a tapestry of song - of battles of yore and wars to come in the runic language of giants. They shimmer atop and beneath his armour, engulfing him in their magic that sees him grow larger and larger with each step to meet the scorpion beyond its own level. As the magic reaches its apex and begins to dissipate a howl to herald battle emerges from his lips matched only by the whistling tune of his axe and he bears down on the scorpion, the black chitinous creature now dwarfed in the face of his enlarged form. He aims to crush its skull in a single blow, if possible, though if it were that easy it wouldn't suit any sort of champion at all. He didn't want to risk its stinger and its deadly being brought to bear. A swift defeat was the only option.

Spoiler: Actions

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Bonus Action: Giant's Might - Large Size, advantage on strength checks/saves, +1d6 damage on weapon attacks, for 1 minute.
Move: Into melee with the scorpion, shifting slightly to one side to turn it away from the ranged attackers and to give them an opening.
Attack: (1d20+5)[18] Damage: (1d8+5)[8]+(1d6)[2]

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor, Dragon's Breath Concentration: Dragon's Breath (lightning, 0/10) "A black scorpion? Those aren't even native to these lands. Vargath avoid the stinger, it's venom can cause blindness and paralysis." she comments. Then, hesitating for just a moment, she reaches up to her hat while mumbling an incantation and seems to pluck one of the stars from it and....eat it? She moves to where she's close but not too close and tries to avoid getting in the way of the others as she exhales what looks like a shimmering nebula at the scorpion. As it spreads out nothing seems to happen for a moment and then suddenly an electric crackle is heard as maybe hundreds of tiny arcs of lightning jump wildly back and forth through the little nebula before it dissipates. Spoiler Show Move to within 15 feet of the scorpion. Preferably at an angle where I won't hit anyone else and it would provoke an attack by Vargath if it moved any close to me. Bonus action to cast Dragon's Breath (lightning) on self. Dragon's Breath action. 15 foot cone of (3d6)[6] lightning damage. DC 13 Dex save for half.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 25/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: Wrathful Smite Set watches in horror as Fanlomen and Jemriah are transformed, scooping them up in his hands before the Liar can finish speaking. Where their faces had once tortured him with paranoid thoughts of betrayal, now they sang only the silent song of the betrayed. Set stares at them a moment longer, heart pounding in his chest as he wonders, why them? But before Set can freefall into the depths of his own mind, the chittering roar of the crowd brings him back. A scorpion. A night scorpion. Paranoia washes over him for a moment, but there's just no time to think about what it could mean. Set quickly stuffs Fanlomen and Jemriah into his pouch, knuckles brushing against the coin before he pulls his Favorite from his back. The click-clack of the scorpion's great claws mutes all other sounds in Set's mind as he watches the venom drip from its tail. For a moment he's back in the desert, the wind hurling sand in his face as a brood-mother much like this very scorpion faces him. He's smaller and less capable, but Sirus is by his side. "Mind the tail," the ghost mutters urgently before charging the horrible thing with a scream. And in the cold north-lands, another scorpion. Only this time, he's alone. A roar explodes over the din, runes trailing after the Mighty as he charges, axe falling from the heavens like a meteor before crashing into the scorpion. His North Star swallows one of her own making before breathing out the universe, stars twinkling in their majesty before their shockingly swift exit. Not alone. Not alone at all. <"Wrath."> Set's pulse quickens as his shadow turns darker than the starless sky, climbing hand over hand up his body into his Favorite, the weapon growing cold in his hands. Without another word Set rushes forward, mind finally, blissfully empty as he runs headlong into battle, following the other's example. Spoiler: OOC Show Pick-up our companions and stow them away for free Bonus Action: Cast Wrathful Smite Move: Rush the scorpion Action: Spear attack (2H): (1d20+5)[19] Damage: (1d8+3)[6] piercing + [/roll]1d6[roll] 5 (from Discord) psychic Spoiler: Polearm Master Show Spear (Favorite): 5ft reach, +5 attack, 1d8+3 dmg (includes 1 sanity dmg to Cha). While you are wielding a spear, other creatures provoke an opportunity attack from you when they enter your reach. When you take the attack action with a spear you can use a bonus action to make a melee attack with the other end of the weapon. The damage die is a d4 (add attribute modifiers as normal) and deals bludgeoning damage. Otherwise, this attack functions just as if you attacked with the weapon in question. Spoiler: Wrathful Smite Show DC 13 Wis or frightened The next time you hit with a melee weapon attack during this spell’s duration, your attack deals an extra 1d6 psychic damage. Additionally, if the target is a creature, it must make a Wisdom saving throw or be frightened of you until the spell ends. As an action, the creature can make a Wisdom check against your spell save DC to steel its resolve and end this spell.