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  1. - Top - End - #631
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26
    PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    Birel had recoiled when Set began preparing the spell, and before she could consider any other reactions Vargath interrupted and Moira had come in.

    As soon as Moira finishes showing them around, Birel sets to magically mending the book back into the page. Hoping that Moira notices so she doesn't go to sleep thinking they're all some kind of savages.

    Unless approached, she doesn't speak to the others for the rest of the evening. (Though she does talk a bit to her birds, but still very little.) When she takes her bath, she keeps the book in sight to make sure Set's patron doesn't urge him to tamper with it again. She reads until she's sure Set has gone to sleep before beginning her trance for the evening.
    Last edited by Ramsus; 2021-03-04 at 09:13 PM.

  2. - Top - End - #632
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 17 HP: 34/34
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms)
    Concentration: --

    Shame and self-loathing in equal measure flood Set as the Mighty's words break him free from feeling numb. For just a moment Set tries to smile at Vargath's attempt to make light of the situation, but it comes out as a grimace instead. He casts his eyes down, unable to meet his North Star's gaze as he chews on the inside of his cheek. It's then that he hears Moira make her presence known.

    "Your... your baths are ready. If you will follow me..."

    Even in the ocean of shame Set feels for striking out at Birel, it seems there's still room to feel more. Set's heart sinks further, seemingly falling into an endless pit, and he only wishes he could do the same. Instead, he slowly follows after Birel and Moira, taking note of all the other things that had been despoiled in this home along the way. And now Set was here, an invited guest adding one more torn page to the ruins. One final insult to the home of a once-proud family. If only Sisi and Sythpen could see him now. Set feels the urge to vomit come and pass as Moira explains their situation for the night.

    "Good eve, my friends."

    Set opens his mouth and croaks on an apology, coughing into his shemagh. As she walks away, he can still see her face in his mind's eye, but in place of the smile he'd grown to identify her with, there was only the face touched with sadness as she asked them to follow her. Set stands there in silence for a few moments longer, watching the place where Moira had disappeared as he tries to figure out what he would say if he could. Before Set can think of anything, the sound of a door shutting greets him as his North Star disappears with both book and page. Frowning after her, Set feels more and more lost at the prospect of figuring out what to say to either of them. Turning back towards the Mighty and Evergreen, Set wishes them, "evening," before disappearing into his room.

    Set leans his spear against the wall and tries to purge his thoughts by examining his surroundings. Peeling his gloves off, Set runs his finger over the cracked and broken china, inspecting the craftsmanship that went into it. So much effort, broken in an instant. Like writing an entire book only to have the pages torn out. Like building trust between two people only to attack one of them.

    Despairing of moving his thoughts forward, Set presses his palms into his eyes and then gives up. He shrugs out of his clothing, piling it all on a chair scored with a few deep gouges and a leg that looked ready to collapse. Finally, Set steps into the bath, feeling the self-loathing even more clearly as the luxury of it fills his body with warmth. He starts scrubbing hard with the rough brush, feeling the need to cleanse even if a few spores were the least of his worries.

  3. - Top - End - #633
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Vargath Hubrecht
    Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter
    AC: 19 HP: 38/38
    PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10
    Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), Quirk (Fungophobia), -2 INT
    Concentrating: --

    He was not culpable for the pain writ on Moira's face, and yet Vargath can't help but feel a slight pang of guilt. They were being poor guests, to say how politely they'd been invited in. He at least tries to be polite to Moira, wishing her a "Good night and pleasant evening,". He doesn't comment further on Set's misstep, nor on whatever they had concocted in Sylvan without him. Perhaps the less he knew the better. He wasn't one to keep secrets or hide things, ever.

    The amenities are sparse but he's lived with less in the past, and will likely do so again in the future. It feels reminiscent of his old dormitory, albeit with fewer peels in the paint (somehow). Appropriate for a guest. The process of removing his gear isn't short. Fitted and tight, his armour often feels like a second skin, its weight barely noticeable when strapped to him, but it's hard to deny the relief he feels when he stands free of it. He stretches, arm muscles tight, and tries to ignore the pulsing numbness from his left arm. Tomorrow would decide his future in more ways than one. Free of dirty clothes and magically cleaned-but-not-polished armour, he steps without hesitation into the hot water, enjoying the scalding sensations run over himself as he sinks into it. Were it to stay warm all night he could sleep here, soaking happily in the warmth. Alas, the heat was temporary, and so he instead takes up the soap and brush and begins the cleansing. It's slow going, accounting for his size, and the soap is worn down to a fraction of its original size by the time he has finished ensuring that every inch has been properly dealt with, especially when he spent so long on the bite mark that just will not feel clean no matter how hard he tries. His cleansing can't stop there though, and with the water now thoroughly floral scented he sets about cleansing his clothes and armour. Perhaps it was excessive, after Birel had cleaned them, but he can't help it. There was a difference between being clean and feeling clean, and right now he felt the enormity of the gulf between those two things.

    It's not arduous work for a man of his strength, even with the hours of the day pressing on his eyelids, and after a point it becomes almost meditative. How long he spends on it he loses track of, and there was little way for him to keep time in a room such as this. Cleaning his pelt is the slowest part, requiring more delicate scrubbing to ensure no stains remain, but eventually he completes the work and hangs the clothes around to dry from whatever object is free to hold them - chairs, bedposts, over a mirror. The summer heat would get most of the work done, and he could endure a slight sogginess in the morning if it came to that.

    On a night like this he would normally be assured of a pleasant sleep - warm, clean, and tired were excellent combinations to grant peaceful swift dreams, but if the events of the past few days were anything they were certainly not normal, and nor are Vargath's nocturnal reveries. Instead he finds himself prowling the forests near Dam'ess, hunting for prey, feasting on flesh, drinking the blood. His visions are not of home, nor the university, and not even of the giants tonight, but of his future as a wild beast. What's most disconcerting to his mind isn't how unnatural, alien or abhorrent it feels.

    It's that it doesn't feel unnatural at all.
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  4. - Top - End - #634
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    In Bo'Tel Castle

    The hour creeps three in the morning before any of you get any rest. You are not checked on, and should anyone check outside your rooms you are not watched. The shutters on your rooms are all open to admit the night air, and with the scorching sun down it is moist, cool, and refreshing after a day of sweating buckets into your clothes. The beds are soft enough, mattresses stuffed with cotton and just enough blanket to ward off the damp, cool air.

    Spoiler: For the Two Elves of the Party
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    Very distantly, you can hear a tonal sound reverberating through the stones. There is no singing, and one could barely call it music, just a series of repeating tones that reverberate their way through the stone and into your ears. It is so quiet that it won't disturb your trance, but just noticeable enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, sending shivers down your spine in a primal manner that tingles your ears.


    Spoiler: In Vargath's Room
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    Your dreams of running wild through Dam'ess are long and detailed, but they take a decidedly strange turn just before they end. You've just killed a deer and bathed your muzzle in it's blood and innards when you hear a lone, strange howl. It isn't one long, drawn out note like you would expect from a wolf, but a series of tones and notes playing through your mind. Vargath, from his schooling at the university, recognizes a powerful psychic intrusion into his mind- an outside force literally smashing it's way into his consciousness and hijacking his dream with unmatchable force. The wolf in you recognizes several things from this howl. that it is an alpha, infinitely stronger and innumerably older than you. That it is a threat of unparalleled scope, something capable of destruction on levels you can't understand. And lastly, no matter how it impersonates a wolf's howl, it is not truly a wolf. Unable to resist it's call, you find yourself running towards the village.

    There is nothing as freeing or fast as inhabiting a wolf body through a forest at night. Though your eyes are dulled, your sense of scent guides you true through the undergrowth, running paths that wolves have been using for decades before you. You soon find yourself running in a pack. Brothers and sisters flit between trees and push past bushes to your left and to your right, also hearing the call. Soon you are a rolling tide of teeth, fur, and predatory intent. The howl never stopped, continuing to unnatural length through the night around you, far longer than any wolf could go without a breath. It drives you onward, both pulling you and pushing you physically and mentally towards the village you have been staying at these last few nights.

    It is nothing short of a slaughter. Wolves breaking down doors with savage furor and dragging humans out of their beds to tear them to pieces. Men, women, and children savaged with no intent to eat, just the intent to kill. Their cries fill the night, but no matter how loud they scream they cannot drown out the howl of the ancient alpha. The tones are louder here, reverberating through Vargath's skull as he personally kills Maus Moeller, tearing out the giant man's throat while he tried to rise from his bed, reaching for his cane. The tones grow even louder as all the wolves meet in the village center, dragging out their kills for the alpha to consume. The sky flashes a green acidic color and all the wolves raise their maws upwards and begin to howl in unison with the booming, echoing sound of the ancient alpha. As your canine throats attempt to sing the same notes as the alpha the unnatural sound tears at your throats with eldritch abandon, killing the wolves one by one and adding them to the offering to their new god. Vargath shifts back to his humanoid form, but it doesn't stop the sound from tearing his body apart, with blood leaking from every orifice. The sky flashes green again, and a distant shape appears like a mountain, looming over Dam'ess. It is higher than the clouds, obscuring it's top while the trees block out it's base, but it looks like a pyramid or ziggurat with green light shining from geometric lines and shapes through it's surface like a great otherworldly light lies within. Vargath falls to his knees as the tones grow so loud they begin to liquidate his flesh from his bones, living just long enough to witness the ziggurat open up, allowing the green light to spill out of it's center. It washes over the village, disintegrating everything to ash instantaneously. The last thing Vargath remembers from his dream is a single word, spoken by a single giant voice. He recognizes it as a frequent grumbler from his day to day haunting. It simply whispers The End. in a flat, hopeless voice. Then there is nothing but silence and blackness.


    Spoiler: In Birel's Room
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    The shield begins to act odd. It seems to reverberate and increase the volume of the tones that have been annoying you since you arrived. Without uttering the command word it begins to float, and the tones grow even louder. Birel has enough training in psychic spells to recognize that this "sound" is not actually audible, but it heard within one's mind. The flat black of the shield begins to glow an acidic green, as though geometric patterns have been etched into it's surface, revealing a bright substance within. The shield turns to her, and in a very mild, flat voice (again, heard entirely within her mind)it speaks, this time in elvish. "Find me, and I will show you what you seek." The geometric patterns squiggle and wiggle until it shows the familiar script from her obelisks, both the real and the dreamed. Superimposed over each other they form entirely new words, phrases, and magics. "Free me, and I will show you so much more." Another layer of sigils overlays itself, and then another, and then even more, each time adding new language and symbols that Birel struggles to keep up with. "Use me, and you will know all." The shield is so full of script that it is pure green light, and the tones in her head are so loud now they hamper any rational thought. And then, just as the half-broken waterclock on the mantle of the fireplace chimes four, it all ceases. The shield slowly lowers to the ground with a faint clang, and the room is dead silent.


    Spoiler: In Selissa's Room
    Show
    It's quiet, other than those annoying tonal noises reverberating through the stones. A clock on the wall chimes three before a loud metallic clunk ceases it's motion entirely. Selissa happens to look out the window, and in the dark of the night she can make out something odd. A dull green glow, somewhere between spring grass and vials of acid she has seen. Poking her head out the window, she can see it emanating from a window on the third floor. Every time one of those annoying, chilling tones rings out the green light flashes, then fades as the sound recedes. It is obvious that something up there is causing this infernal sub-sonic noise, and that it is emanating the acidic light. Perhaps it would be best to go against the wishes of your host and investigate...


    Spoiler: In Set's Room, Earlier in the Morning
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    Set had just begun to scrub up when he heard a quiet noise. Nothing of note, and it barely checked in his mind. Probably just the trees outside blowing in the wind. He was using the brush on his back, when small, soft, gentle fingers wrapped around his own, taking control of the brush from him with grace rather than force. Turning around he sees Moira, kneeling beside the tub. She is wearing a thin night dress that, while it covers her core, leaves large areas of skin unveiled on her arms and legs, as well as a suggestive amount of cleavage exposed. I apologize for surprising you, but we have an ancient tradition in Aelindor." Her words are quiet, hushed in a way that softens the confidence of her earlier boasting into a womanly tone just above a whisper. It is customary for the presiding noble lady of a house to bathe one of her guests on the night they arrive. If you do not wish to indulge this quaint tradition with me, I will leave you be immediately. However, I think you are someone who recognizes the value of the old ways of doing things. Her eyes meet yours, her cheeks flushed red, steadily keeping her eyes above the waterline of the tub. So... what say you? I promise to keep things as proper as can be managed, and I'd like to have a conversation with you without the others overhearing. May I preform the ceremonial rite? And may we talk?


    Spoiler: OOC
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    EDIT- Sorry, I forgot to add the cherry on top of Vargath's scene. I need a DC 13 Madness Save.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-03-05 at 05:50 PM.
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  5. - Top - End - #635
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26
    PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    After the curious incident, Birel tries to write down as much of it as she can remember to study later.

  6. - Top - End - #636
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 17 HP: 34/34
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms)
    Concentration: --

    The anxiety that had just begun to fade redoubles as a strange pair of hands and a voice he'd only just begun to recognize makes itself known behind him. Spinning around quickly and rising halfway out of the tub to defend himself, Set is accutely aware of Moira's state of dress as he struggles to catch up with the unexpected turn of events. For his part, Set is neither bashful nor embarrassed to be confronted in this state. There is much to be ashamed of in the world, but his appearance is not among those things, though for propriety's sake he's still half underwater. But Set is still a man, and given Moira's attire he's unable to keep his eyes from roaming, propriety be-damned. Her night shirt exposes much while drawing the eye to what's hidden, yet Set's eyes also linger on the scars that line her hands and wrists, as well as the ring of scar tissue around her neck. The evidence of her death is both abundant and brutal.

    Yet here is a woman, so full of life it hurts the head and the heart to think about. Here she is in flesh and blood where before Set had only known her as a memory in charcoal. The same beauty he'd fallen prey to while searching Maus' home retakes him, the same eyes capturing his, only now he cannot turn away from her. Set's confusion is evident as he's too distracted to hide the warring thoughts dancing across his face.

    "Traditions are important," Set finally allows, searching her face to try to better understand what's happening right now. "They bind us to the things in our past worth continuing."

    He hadn't meant to choose the word 'bind', yet there it was. There are none more accursed than the soul binders, and yet here was one who was also soulbound. Without meaning to, Set blurts out, "why?" before shaking his head and holding up his hand to forestall her. So many questions, but they would all have to wait. He doesn't understand what's happening, who she really is, or what she really wants, but he understands his own failings clearly enough and they take precedence over hers.

    The words that failed him in the hallway earlier start to flow as the floodgates finally open. "We may talk," Set begins, dropping his hands to the edge of the tub and holding on tight, "but a rite performed under false pretenses is no rite at all. I've already broken the pact between guest and host, Lady." Set chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment as he watches her intently. "I tore a page from Eldagrun's 'Ethical Necromancy' and I would have taken it if Birel hadn't stopped me." Set shakes his head, trying not to dwell on the pervasive desire he'd felt to keep it or the one who'd urged him on. "That book," Set begins, faltering. "That page...there is much I would ask you, if you'll permit me, but first there is a tradition in Abydos that I would uphold. When a guest betrays their host, the host may ask a service of their guest in order to reinstate guest-rite."

    In truth, many Abydosians treated the tradition almost flippantly, begging to make amends for a faux pas at the dinner table and passing the water pitcher to their host as their service. Even so, the tradition has strong roots and Set invokes it as it was meant to be. If there is a way to make his disservice to Moira right, he genuinely seeks to find it.

    "Please accept my deepest apologies and ask what you will of me," Set says, staring down into those eyes that had captured him so easily. "I would cleanse my betrayal and be your guest once more. Then we can talk of other things, if you wish."

  7. - Top - End - #637
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Vargath Hubrecht
    Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter
    AC: 19 HP: 38/38
    PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10
    Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), Quirk (Fungophobia), -2 INT
    Concentrating: --

    The End. Like something out of a bard's tale. Finality. It might be a comforting thought, not having to concern yourself with the future, if it hadn't involved his skin being flayed and his utter annihilation, so it wasn't really comforting at all, just a philosophical comfort. If it was a vision of the future, it wasn't one he was rushing to meet. Were the giants sending him a warning? His newly acquired wolf-instinct telling him to stay away? To leave? Or was it meant to keep him here? Questions upon questions, and he couldn't begin to find answers to any of them. Whatever the green light was though, he didn't trust it. Not a whit. And it looked disturbingly familiar to the light of Birel's new shield, the same shield that had caused the beast alpha to mutate. It was unlikely to be a coincidence. How much he should share is another matter. People weren't usually one to trust in dreams at the best of times, but he felt safe in the assumption that the shield was now the tool of an enemy. He'd have to watch it closely, and Birel too, for that matter, for signs of madness.

    He plays the events over and over again in his mind in the dawn's light, making sure the images are seared into is brain, unforgotten. Just for good measure, once he emerges from rest, he takes a moment to sketch out the pyramid or ziggurat in his book. He wasn't a professional artist but experience with magic circles helps to ensure it's recognisable and the proportions are mostly correct. This morning was the moment of truth for him. Either Moira could help him or...

    The alternative didn't bear thinking about. All he could do was focus on being productive, to keep moving forward.
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  8. - Top - End - #638
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    In Bo'Tel Castle, Set's Room, Earlier that Night

    When Set's eyes roam Moira's body, particularly lingering on her scars, she crosses her arms and tucks her head down in a failed attempt to conceal the marks of violent death upon her body. Her face flushes red as she turns away, unable to hold Set's stare. "Yes, tradition is important..." As Set goes on to describe his crime, Moira waves her hand, dismissing the event. "I... care a great deal for that book. I've devoted my life to it's concepts and philosophies. But it is just a book. It can be mended. I will simply need to ask Dr. Fixer for one of his patches, and the page will be restored. It was more of a emotional slight than a physical one." She breathed a sigh and turned her face to meet Set's again, this time with a fire in her eyes- a fighting spirit that will not be surmounted by her shame, her hesitation, or her fear. "There was no offense. It just... reminded me. Of last time. Of the last time I tried to seek help in my duty. Of the day Maus betrayed me. The day my home was ransacked. The day I died..."

    She then listens to Set's explanation of the Abydos tradition of restoring guest rite, and the smallest hint of a smile graces her lips. "Though the slight is easily forgiven, I would not hold you to the traditions of my people while denying you the absolution of yours. I do request that we wait just a few moments for me to ask you your service. Until after we have shared a few words. I understand that there will be more... after... but I'd know more about you before I give you your task. Besides, I invoked my tradition first. The smile grows, but the red flush doesn't leave her cheeks. She smells of the same lavender as the soap, and Set realizes that the bar she provided probably came from her own supply. Her breath carries a hint of wine... perhaps some liquid courage for the task she now finds herself doing? She begins to brush Set, and while her motions are gentle they are firm, and the brush is quite rough. She works in circles around Set's body, and when she passes before him it seems she has given up propriety as well, her gaze travelling Set's muscular body with more freedom. While she scrubs, she begins asking questions.

    While behind his back, running the brush up and down, she posits"Are you of noble birth, Set? I ask because of your bearing. You walk, talk, even fight with an authority that is not easily learned without proper instruction. You don't fight like a soldier, drilled in mass combat, but as a one-on-one fighter, potentially trained by a tutor. While I don't subscribe to the self-righteousness of titles, it is important to the... task... I have in mind for you. She moves from his back to his arms, kneeling beside him, her demure gaze meeting his. There is a flicker of excitement in her eyes. She then asks- "Your skin is a most interesting color. Like burnt bronze. It must be very sunny in your homeland. Do all your people have such tan features, or is it something that will fade away so far from the unforgiving sun of your homeland?" Then she is in front of him, working the brush up and down his legs. She is careful not to move it anywhere improper, but her eyes widen slightly as she gets a better look at Set through the bathwater, propriety be damned. "Do you... are you... promised... to anyone back home? I understand that some times nobility comes with certain matrimonious obligations, and I would never seek to upset the traditions and procedures of your people." She accidentally pushes the brush somewhere more personal, and when Set flinches she drops it in the water, looking shocked. Then she begins to laugh. It is a melodious sound as the brush floats back up to the top of the tub.

    She removes the brush, then moves to kneel beside set again, this time with one arm draped along his on the side of the tub, with her pinky finger resting on Set's thumb. "When you die... you find yourself without your body. But you still feel the urges and needs, perhaps even more acutely. It... makes your long for things even more strongly than you did in life. But there is no way to satiate them. No hope." Her arms cross her body again, almost as though she is trying to ward off the chill of the grave that comes with her memories of her time beyond the veil. When she continues, she does so slowly and methodically, as though she has thought on her words very carefully. "To restore your guest rite... I would demand one thing, but once that is done I would then ask you for something that you are in no way obligated to fulfill. I will not have your decision tainted by thoughts of honor or hospitality in this second matter. First- I would have you promise me something. I... have been hurt. Very badly, Set. In ways it is best not to describe in polite company. Hurt by Maus. Hurt by those I had thought were friends. Hurt by... men I had thought to hire. Promise me you and your friends will not hurt me like they did. I don't require you to promise loyalty or aid to my cause yet, as I haven't explained it, but promise me you and your companions won't... hurt me like they did. Or at the very least that you will do your best to prevent it." Her hand slides up the changeling's arm, coming to rest on the other side in a more intimate position than before. Her fingers seek to intertwine with his. "And then, with no obligation, I'd ask that you go to bed with me tonight. I haven't... since Maus... and those men... and certainly not with Dr. Fixer... and as I said, there are thirsts that cannot be slaked when you are dead. It adds... perspective to one's path in life. I've been given a second chance... and I would prefer to enjoy the time I have left on this plane... please?" Her eyes meet yours, and the excitement has metamorphosed into a hunger and desire that is thick and tangible in the air between you, like electrical current binding you in this place and time. You see her as you did in Dam'ess, a vivacious smile filled with hope and intimacy for Maus, but in flesh and blood the effect of it is amplified a thousand fold, even if it is just a glimmer of the great feeling that the drawing portrayed. Without removing any of her clothing she has laid herself bare to you, denying any shame and inviting the very hurt she struggled so much with.
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  9. - Top - End - #639
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 17 HP: 34/34
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms)
    Concentration: --

    Set's relief at Moira's dismissal of his actions is short-lived as she explains how it reminds her of the 'last time.' The time she had been betrayed by those closest to her. The time she'd died. Even in the warm water, Set has to suppress a shiver as the woman before him speaks of her death even as her eyes and her smile speak only of life.

    "Besides, I invoked my tradition first." Set can't help sharing her smile then, his normally serious face splitting into a grin as she retakes the initiative. He simply nods, giving her permission and holding himself still as she weaves a silent spell over him. There is a magic born neither from the arcane nor the divine, but it's source is ancient and powerful all the same. As Moira slowly bathes him, Set feels his resistance crumbling under her power. His own natural paranoia and Selissa's warnings fade deep into the background as she attends to him.

    "Are you of noble birth, Set?"

    In another frame of mind, her question might have put Set on-guard. He'd known before he ever left Abydos that he could never return, not if he wished to keep Sisi and Sythpen safe from Him. But the way in which he'd left eliminated all doubt. In many homes, both noble and common alike, Set's name was poison. Although the circumstances around his disappearance were mysterious, many whispered of the fratricide. Many whispered of the Marked one, the brother-slayer who'd committed regicide and robbed them of their king.

    Yet even this far from his homeland, she knew he was noble-born. There was an intelligence behind those eyes that seemed to miss nothing, her gaze piercing his origins as well as any lie he might tell.

    "I claim no title, Lady. Whatever the task, if it requires a noble, your search should begin anew," Set says, the smell of lavender and wine filling his nostrils, "but my family is first among my people. My family," Set emphasizes, trying to ensure she understands, "not me. I stand apart, split from my father's line," he continues, the words tumbling out. "The name is the only thing left that I carry. Set Al-Sayyid of Abydos." Set reclaims his lost smile as she comments on his skin. "The name and my skin, I suppose. Yes, we are all sun-touched, but our skin does not fade in the shadows," he says, reaching out to graze her skin with the back of his fingers. "It was years before I knew that people came in different colors, and even then, I've never known one so pale as you."

    It was true. Set could change his skin as easily as others changed their clothes, yet even when he'd experimented in the privacy of his rooms growing up, it never occurred to him to change his color. It wasn't until set's father held court with the Nefriti that he'd first encountered a light-skin.

    "Do you... are you... promised... to anyone back home?"

    In another setting, he might've laughed. Those with the Mark of a Changeling were not promised, if they were acknowledged at all. Set's father had done much to prevent the wholesale slaughter of those born with the Mark after Set was born, but the old preconceptions continued regardless. Before Set can answer, however, his thoughts are broken by a brush. Flinching, Set stands frozen for a moment until her laughter beckons for his. He can't help himself. Set's mind, normally a cacaphony of swirling thoughts, is silent in her presence as he strains to savor that laugh, committing it to memory.

    When their laughter subsides, he informs her, "as I said, Lady, I stand apart. As such, I was never promised to another."

    Set's head tilts to the side as he listens to Moira's explanation, taking note of the way she speaks about the men who hurt her. There is already a thought gnawing at the back of his mind when Moira all but confirms it.

    "And then, with no obligation, I'd ask that you go to bed with me tonight. I haven't... since Maus... and those men..."

    Despite the invitation, Set's focus is pulled away. Those men. The same men who'd hurt her. The thought ties a noose around his heart, his chest constricting as Set struggles to maintain his composure. Growing up with sisters, Set had always known with certainty what he would do if they were hurt or mistreated. Set's father and his brother held the power of a kingdom in their hands, but Set was the only one of them with true freedom. If anyone dishonored his sisters, noble-born or commoner, it would be Set's wrath that fell fastest. The Mark made it all but certain. It was not a thought he relished, but a near-incident in Sisi's youth taught him all he needed to know about the world of men.

    The last vestiges of Set's paranoia rear their ugly head for the barest fraction of a second, urging him to stop and think. This is too much. But those eyes threaten to undo a lifetime of knowing that when something seems too good to be true, it is. As she stares up at him, full of life, inner strength, and desire, Set gives in completely. She is not lying. This is not a trick, or a game. She is just a woman trying to find her way in the world.

    "Lady...Moira, I..." Set pauses, watching her in silence a moment longer before he says, "I promise." Sliding his fingers between hers, he grips her smaller hand in his, beckoning her closer. "I'll not harm you. The Three...you can trust them. We..." Set's breath catches in his throat as he stares down at her. Standing up to his full height, he braces against the edge of the tub and lifts her, pulling Moira in with him and hugging her to his chest.

    "We are not those men. You have my word Moira. <Uqsim hayati.>"

    The thin shirt clings to her skin until Set finally pulls it over her head.

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    Selissa Betula
    Wood Elf Scout Rogue
    AC: 16 HP: 31/31
    PP: 16
    Conditions: None
    Concentrating: --

    Selissa hesitated in her room for a while before she decided to take a bath, as the others no doubt had done.

    She bolted the shutters for caution, first of all. She didn't care too much about being seen, but she had no wish for an enterprising surpise visit while she was in the tub.

    Unsheathing her sword, she laid it against the rim of the bath, before undressing and sinking into the warm water. She scrubbed herself with her hands, ignoring the soap; the smell of lavender would be too much of a giveaway. The warm water was, admittedly, pleasant, and she soaked for longer than she needed, just her nose and eyes above the water and haloed by her vast amounts of unruly green hair.

    When nothing sprang out, she dried herself as best she could, dressed and returned her sword to its sheath. Cracking open the windows again, she saw the rhymic green pulsing.

    There was sorcery afoot. She sighed quietly to herself, and debated fetching the others - but no. They were not interested in caution, nor were they typically as stealthy. The human couldn't even see in the dark.

    She would have had absolutely no compunction sneaking about, even if she had been a welcome guest amongst the properly living: that is was forbidden here merely meant there was danger to be wary of.

    Hair still damp, she breathed in, and with the air she breathed in the shadows to cling stickily to her bones, her meat, silencing and concealing.

    It was a good thing, too, as as she crept out into the corridor she found herself inexpert at sneaking around dwellings. There was none of the greenery that she had an innate connection with, even before her maiming, just bare stone and desecrated decorations.

    It didn't help that she was nervous. It was bizarre, and slightly childish, she felt, to be afraid of what might lurk in the dark corners, but this was a house of the dead, and in a very real sense she could not be certain of her allies here. The eerie tones just on the edge of hearing certainly didn't help, like a ghost whispering unease along her spine.

    She paused briefly outside of Set's room, and frowned at the noises coming from within, before swiftly moving on. She was heading up, towards the lab, green eyes narrowed as they watched for traps and passerbys that might catch her.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

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    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Third Floor- The Arcane Laboratory

    Selissa, swift and muted as a shadow on a moonless night, makes her way up the stairs to the third floor, completely alone. The singed tapestries and tarnished paintings on the wall are her only company. She reaches the third floor landing, which curves about to reach the roof of the castle, and there she does find a trap, though it is a pitifully simple one. Still, others would miss it. The doorway to the third floor has a string across the floor bearing bells, but it is put together with the same shoddy craftsmanship as most of the repairs around the castle. Selissa easily steps over it.

    More cunning is the bird. When Selissa looks immediately up upon entering the door she spots a bird's nest over the door with a single occupant in it. A simple raven, half the size of a cat, sits sleeping with a wing over it's face. Black on shadow, THAT would be difficult for anyone to spot, but Selissa's night eyes are trained and luck was with her this evening. As long as she stays silent she should not wake the bird.

    The lab itself makes the entryway to the castle look tidy and organized by comparison. For one, EVERY bit of furniture here looks as though it were attacked by an axe, rendered to pieces, and then cobbled back together with little skill. For two, each bit of furniture here is either covered in books, buried in arcane doodads, or bearing some sort of delicate equipment made of glass or bronze. Moreoever, seventy five percent of these oddities are broken- ripped books, shattered glass (though the pieces have been picked up and assembled nearby), twisted metal, and singed spell components. In one prominent pile there are dozens of Dr. Fixer's fixit patches, no doubt waiting to be used on all the shoddy items surrounding it. The room looks like it barely survived a particularly violent battle, ending with the winners grabbing everything they could and smashing everything they couldn't. Still, Moira must be getting some use out of it, as there are magical glows coming from some of the beakers, bubbling liquids and gasses trapped in flasks and tubes, and a potion vial slowly filling drip by drip from something that looks like a combination of keg and boiler.

    But the thing that catches Selissa's eye is the prize on a pedestal. In the center of the room, set into a spiral geometric design that looks like it is meant to seamlessly sink and rise out of the floor, there is a miniature stone spiral that leads up to a pedestal that is perhaps eight feet off the floor. The pedestal bears a metal cage that looks like it, unlike everything else in the room, withstood some vandal's assault. The metal is chipped, dented, and tarnished, but it still holds, held closed by a lock the size of a grapefruit. Inside the cage is a glass bell jar that seems to be constantly vibrating due to the tones in the room, which have grown exponentially louder in Selissa's ears upon entering the room. Inside the bell jar is a jet black stone in the shape of an ankh, and the tones as well as the pulsating green light seem to be emanating from the round head of the curio.

    The acidic green light is bright enough hear that Selissa's dark vision is thwarted, but her regular sight works just fine. Each time a tone plays the light brightens before slowly fading away, waiting for the next tone. When Selissa comes within fifteen feet or so of the pedestal one of the tones sounds particularly loud in her head and she feels a sudden, sharp pain in the center of her mind. It grows more intense, and for a second Selissa is blinded by pain. When her vision returns, the tones are much quieter and the green light has subsided to light only the area immediately surrounding the pedestal. Standing before Selissa is an ancient wood elf, worn by age that is unimaginable for humans. Back bowed, hair long and thin, he bears the green robes of a druid priest of the green faith, with charms and sigils hanging from his neck, wrists, and ankles that mark him as an archdruid of his people. Chains made of green, glowing light bind his ankles, running up the pedestal and through the cage and glass ethereally to attach to the ebon ankh.

    "Hello, child of spring." The druid preforms the elven ceremony of greeting, but it is done in the way of Selissa's people, as though a elder was speaking to a wood elf in their formative years. "I hope that the necromancer has not bound you to this place too. Her foul magics have trapped my soul, bound it to this item. She uses us, you know. The souls of Ailindor of old are trapped in that black stone. It's what she uses to power her foul magics. Please, daughter of the forests, find a way to free the stone from this cage. If you can take it to the crucible of it's creation, it can be destroyed and we can be freed to rejoin the cycle!" If Selissa takes the time to look back the raven still sleeps, seemingly unaware of the dim light or the talking elf.

    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Second Floor- Set's Room

    When it is all said and done, Moira and Set lay on the damaged bed, her body close to his, their breathing as in sync as their bodies were some time ago. With a wave of her hand the candles next to the bed ignite, gentle light radiating in the dark room. She take's Set's arm, which rests underneath her, and lifts his hand to her mouth, planting a series of small kisses across his palm. "Thank you, Set. That is precisely what I was looking for." She sighs happily and scoots closer to him, her nightshirt back on to ward against the chill of the lake air. She tucks his arm under her own and enjoys his warmth. "I need to trance if I am going to be in any shape to host tomorrow, but I believe before things got exciting you said you had some questions? About my book?"

    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Second Floor- Vargath's Room, During a Sunlit Morning

    Vargath's hand is practiced in sketching, but he loses himself in the details of the pyramid structure. He spends extensive amounts of time etching the geometric, glowing designs in exquisite detail. When he finally rests his hand he realizes he has been sketching for over an hour without any time seeming to have passed at all. The drawing is easily the most detailed and accurate he has ever done, as though he were drawing it from a model instead of his memory. The more he thinks about it the more he realizes that these dreams may never fade from his memory- while most dreams are dulled or even completely forgotten in minutes of wakefulness, the details of his wolf dream turned apocalyptic vision are as fresh as they were while he was experiencing them. There is something cathartic in the academic sketching, however, and Vargath finds his mind eerily at ease despite the horrors of the night. Perhaps the assault of horror and madness he finds himself embroiled in lately is beginning to make his mind stronger, more resilient. Or perhaps this is the calm before the storm. Either way, the sketch he produces is a near perfect recreation of his nightmare that he can show to others. For himself it is unnecessary, as it seems he will remember it until the day he dies.

    Spoiler: Arcana Check DC 15
    Show
    The sharp pain that Selissa felt was a psychic intrusion of some sort. Something is actively accessing her mind. There is a bit of blood coming from the wood elf's nose from the violence of the assault on her psyche.


    Spoiler: OOC
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    Selissa needs to make a DC 13 Wisdom Save or be charmed by this "wood elf druid" for an hour. In addition, I did roll a save for Selissa against the psychic intrusion, but she failed. Unless she makes the Arcana check, she doesn't realize that she failed anything, though. If Selissa fails the Charm DC but makes the Arcana DC she doesn't associate the druid with the psychic invasion.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-03-07 at 10:27 PM.
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    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 17 HP: 34/34
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms)
    Concentration: --

    Set stares ahead warily, the exhaustion of an incredibly long day finally catching up with him now that the last of his energy is spent. At this point Set is used to waking up somewhere new almost every day, but it had been a long time since he'd shared a bed with anything other than his spear. Perhaps that explained how he'd gotten here.

    Set was not a monk. As a young man he'd certainly never believed in chastity, having instead indulged in the pleasures of the flesh somewhat regularly. Where Sirus had a duty to never disgrace the crown he would one day wear, Set was given but one rule: stay away from the noble-born. The irony wasn't particularly amusing, but Set couldn't help noticing it anyway. He'd had to leave the palace and travel the world with just a few coins in his purse to sleep with a Lady.

    Set closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nostrils, letting the air drift back out slowly as he tries to ward off a darker brand of thoughts. He was so stupid. Reckless. What if he'd been wrong about her? What if he still was? What if she was just trying to divert his attention while her people attacked the Three one-by-one in the night? Set couldn't hear anything, but perhaps her people had the almakira, the cunning of the windwalkers, like Evergreen. Perhaps they'd already made their move. Set had been...distracted. He'd given himself over to the act like he gave himself over to battle. Thoughts finally silent, he just did. But at what cost? Were the Three alright? Were Moira's assassins even now just waiting for the signal to come in and kill him next?

    Set's heart skips a beat as Moira suddenly waves her hand, light springing from darkness as the candles come to life. Even the gentlest of lights sends the shadows fleeing, and Set's heart rate slows as he remembers. His North Star had judged Moira already. They were safe here, at least for the night, without taking any serious precautions. Subconsciously, Set's arm pulls Moira closer. He'd forgotten the comfort of a warm presence next to him.

    "Tomorrow," Set promises without acknowledging her further. Her words had seemed to come from far away rather than right next to him, but they were still trying to worm their way into his brain. He pushes the thoughts from his mind. The shadows had only just fled; he didn't wish to invite another one in. Without another word, Set reaches over with his free hand to grab hers, bringing it to his mouth to return her gesture. He hesitates a moment as he catches sight of the myriad scars written across her hand and wrist like so many words, each describing their own wound. He frowns into the kiss, brow furrowed as the implications push his mind back on that track. Returning her hand, Set allows the silence to stretch out a little longer before he breaks it.

    "Where I am from," Set begins quietly, "there are many forms of combat that are taught, but always boys are taught to use the spear first. There are many, many reasons for this, but above all this is because the spear is a defensive weapon. We learn to defend ourselves, our homes, and our people," Set says, his eyes drawn to a trail of wax dripping from a cracked candlestick. "A group of warriors can hold off an army. Alone, one can still hold off many attackers at once." Set hesitates for a long moment before looking at Moira. "I could show you, if you'd like. Mastery takes time, but you would be surprised what you can learn quickly."

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    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Second Floor- Set's Room

    Moira giggles when Set kisses her palms, mirroring her affection with his own. She seems satisfied that any questions will be answered tomorrow when the daylight comes, and she cuddles up to Set when the room goes silent, waving her hand and dismissing the light of the candles, assuming the time for rest has come. When Set speaks again, her soft and gentle hand, entwined with his, clutches suddenly and painfully for a moment before she realizes and releases her grip. "I will not allow myself to be hurt again. I will do whatever I must to ensure that." Her voice is hard and cold as stone, speaking with authority and surety. Set feels her body tense, and then slowly relax. "But if it means spending more time with you, then I would be amenable to learning some martial skill from you. If we have the time that is." She sighs and squeezes his hand again, this time affectionately. "There is so much to do, Set, and so little time to do it. I'll elaborate tomorrow, but we may not have as much time together as I would like." Her head tilts and her eyes meet yours, and there is a profound sadness that can just be made out in the dim moonlight filtering in through the window. "But what time we do have, I hope to thoroughly enjoy. Getting to know you. Learning more of your land and people. Other... activities..." She leans upward and kisses him on the lips, a slow and luscious maneuver that hints that the evening may not be over yet. But then she rests her head on the pillow and sighs. "Now I must trance and you must sleep. We have much to do tomorrow, all of us. Goodnight, Set. Without another word she closes her eyes, but careful observation would reveal that they are twitching slightly under their lids.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-03-10 at 01:19 PM.
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    Selissa Betula
    Wood Elf Scout Rogue
    AC: 16 HP: 31/31
    PP: 16
    Conditions: None
    Concentrating: --

    The pain in the tones spiked higher and higher until it seemed to burn through her very vision. A second later, it was gone, leaving the elf hunched over, teeth bared in a grimace. Something hot and wet touched Selissa's lip, and even as the ghost of the druid appeared, she reached up her flesh hand to wipe at it. In the greenish light, it was an iron-scented oil slick on her fingers.

    Something was in her head. It pushed against her thoughts, trying to twist them. She could feel it, alien and blundering through the undergrowth of her brain, but it wasn't able to dig down to the roots and topple her will. She looked back up, and one hand leapt to the knife at the small of the back-

    There was some kind of spirit. Wearing the robes of an old forest shepard, gnarled as the oak by a myriad years, he was luminous green. he spoke the words, the ritual greeting-gestures were correct - but even so...

    Selissa fixed the spectral presence with her emerald eyes. She was not magically educated - indeed, the opposite - but she could put two and two together. Stepping close to it - and then something buries into her mind like a maggot? If this thing had come as a friend, it would not have tried to ensnare her mind.

    A glance back at the bird above the door showed it still sleeping. Rather than speak, she prowled around the room, eyes peroidically fixed on the spectre, but she did not come close to the relic again. She made a small gesture with her head, as if to say 'go on', looking for anything else that seemed important.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

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    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Third Floor- The Arcane Laboratory

    The specter acts as if nothing was wrong, staying within fifteen feet of the cage, seemingly as far as it can stretch it's chains. "Please, daughter of spring! Free us! Let us rejoin the cycle before she uses up the last of our souls for her foul magic!" Selissa still feels the alien mind touching hers, investigating her, gleaning information from her, but it seems unable to bend her will as of yet. As she begins to wander the lab, she realizes that her lack of magical training is also a detriment in finding anything of significance. However, spending time around Birel has taught Selissa a thing or two.

    On one table Selissa finds a thick book. The thing that distinguishes it from the other tomes around it is it's condition- new and unadorned. It's resting on top of a stack of older books, and there is a fresh pot of ink next to it. The ink glimmers slightly, just like the ink in the large room downstairs. When Selissa opens the book, it is nothing she can understand- sigils and illustrations, numbers and fomular, but she knows what it represents. This is a wizard's spellbook. Judging by the freshness of the paper and ink, one that was created very recently. Birel may be able to glean some information about your host's spell craft by reading it, it could be worth a tidy sum of money, or destroying or hiding it may hamper Moira from refreshing her spells.

    On another table Selissa spots a smaller book wrapped in leather with the words "Moira's Journey" burned into the cover. It is sealed with a small lock, and appears to be a journal of some sort. Resting beside it is something more grim- carved bones. Selissa can tell they are from a humanoid, but can't make out what type. Each one has sigils and runes carved into it, and they surround a small bowl with partially burned incense. This may have been used in some sort of necromantic ritual, and presumably not long ago.

    There is also a silver hand mirror, if she is looking for valuables. It may be the one undamaged treasure you have seen in your time here.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    I rolled an arcana check for you, Awful. You got an 18, which is enough to know the spellbook but not enough for the weird bones.
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    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 17 HP: 34/34
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms)
    Concentration: --

    Set nods to himself, satisfied the strength he'd felt in her was no mirage. This woman did not wallow in self-pity, nor did she seek the pity of others. She could take care of herself, but he would teach her how to use a spear all the same. Magic had its uses, but there was no substitute for learning the martial arts to defend yourself.

    As she leans up to meet him, Set grabs the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her short, dark hair and returns the kiss, allowing himself a moment to just enjoy her before thoughts of what lay ahead return.

    "Goodnight Moira."

    Set had no way to know what she'd planned for tomorrow, but she hadn't beckoned them here for entertainment or out of loneliness. Inviting the four of them into her home had taken courage. What did she really know about them, other than that they were dangerous? Even if she'd heard about and was able to cure the Mighty of his lycanthropy, she couldn't have known what they would do once they got here. She needed dangerous people to help her, whatever her plans were. As long as that was true, the danger could turn around and find its way back into her home.

    Set's frown deepens, thoughts swirling as he settles in to rest. Despite his fatigue, it takes a few minutes before he finally succumbs to exhaustion.

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    Selissa Betula
    Wood Elf Scout Rogue
    AC: 16 HP: 31/31
    PP: 16
    Conditions: None
    Concentrating: --

    Selissa fought back the urge to call the spectre stupid at its unhelpful pleas. She squatted down and traced on the ground the text for were origine, assuming the ghost would be able to put two and two together. She paused and then added beneath get out my hed and a very rude word in elven, brushing away the text afterwards if it left any trace in the dust.

    She rose again and further considered what to do. On one hand, taking or despoiling the materials here would likely put an end to any working with the witch. On the other, she wasn't sure she could trust the others to side with her against the corpsetwister; it wasn't beyond belief they might work with her instead and, while Selissa was confident she'd be able to skirmish any one of them, all of them at once was a lot more of a dodgy proposition, especially on constructed terrain she didn't know and the corpsewitch did.

    Destroying the spellbook might not even help: she remembered that the witch had had another at her hip when they'd met. Birel might know more about them, but Selissa had no knowledge of the arcane.

    If she had time, and she couldn't find any traps or tricks, she carefully retrieved the dice and the book to bring to Birel, slipping down to her room and presenting them, but only if she had enough time to return them in place before the shadow's grasp on her loosened.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

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    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Third Floor- The Arcane Laboratory

    The "Ghost" of the elven druid doesn't seem to recognize Selissa's sigils, or doesn't respond to them if it does. Selissa finds herself with plenty of time to bring the book and the bones down to Birel before sunrise, and before the specter's mind influencing effect passes. As soon as she leaves the laboratory the pain in her mind recedes and she finds herself alone again, blessedly alone. There is no light from the lab, and no sound of tones. She arrives at Birel's room unharassed, with the only risk being that Birel may be trancing by this hour.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-03-14 at 09:18 PM.
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    Selissa Betula
    Wood Elf Scout Rogue
    AC: 16 HP: 31/31
    PP: 16
    Conditions: None
    Concentrating: --

    No response to her letters - perhaps the thing in the ankh was blind, merely sensing her mind and making mental shapes to try to lure her in. Either way, the elf wasn't risking speaking. She slipped the book and the dice within her pouches and disappeared back down the stairs after making a note of their precise position.

    Back at their assigned quarters, Selissa showed absolutely no compunction in silently opening the door to Birel's room and ghosting inside. Knocking would be a fool's game.

    She entered to find Birel at the desk, and approached closer behind the other elf before she spoke. Her voice was low, barely a murmur, and was husky with the shadows clinging to her bones.
    "Far-cousin."
    Last edited by Awful; 2021-03-15 at 07:27 PM.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

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    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26
    PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    Birel looks up from her book, a little surprised. She had no idea why Selissa was whispering and asks, "How can I help you cousin?" Knowing Selissa had to want something of her, as the reclusive youngling so far had shown no inclination to talk for the sake of talking or even getting to know each other for more practical reasons.

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

    Selissa Betula
    Wood Elf Scout Rogue
    AC: 16 HP: 31/31
    PP: 16
    Conditions: None
    Concentrating: --

    She retrieved the books and the carved dice, and held them out for the other elf.
    "Looked around the lab, " she said shortly. "Found these. Spellbook and journal. You know magic. Look. I'll return them after."
    She paused for a moment, then added, "Saw an ankh too. Like your shield. Had a spirit in it or something. Said to return it to crucible of its creation. Didn't speak to it."
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

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

    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26
    PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    Internally, Birel groaned. "Of course she was wandering around poking her nose where it doesn't belong when her ignorance is the most dangerous thing in such places. She basically so feral she doesn't have any trust in others or respect for rules of hospitality. Or what's safe or important for the rest of us. How did I get stuck herding this mob of cats? This is why I prefer being left alone to study." she thought.

    She takes the objects and then with a sigh asks, "I see. Is that all that happened? You didn't set off any traps or alarms? No dark powers tried to tempt you? You didn't decide to also go raid the kitchens and steal the silverware?" her annoyance at her group's poor behavior as guests slipping through a bit.

    Spoiler
    Show

    Insight on Selissa (to see if she lies or any other insight Birel can glean from her): (1d20+1)[16]


  23. - Top - End - #653
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Second Floor- Birel's Room


    Birel takes the books and bones, a motely pile of arcane, divine, and personal belongings.

    Spoiler: OOC
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    Spoiler: DC 15 Arcana
    Show
    The spellbook is definitely a back up, put together quite recently. With dedicated time Birel could probably decode all the spells in it, but that would take hours. She does, however, notice that all the spells she found in the books downstairs are present, if in Moira's hand instead of the author's. The book doesn't appear to be finished, but if it is organized in the standard fashion than Moira knows A LOT of lower power spells and hasn't taken the time to fill in her more powerful magics.


    Spoiler: Religion DC 15
    Show
    These bones are marked with sigils of summoning and divination. They smell lightly of incense, and are probably used in some sort of ritual to commune with the spirits of the dead.


    Spoiler: Journal
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    There is a cheap, unsophisticated lock on the book held by a leather strap. Either the lock could be dealt with or the leather strap could be cut to gain access.
    The Bear is Back.

  24. - Top - End - #654
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Selissa Betula
    Wood Elf Scout Rogue
    AC: 16 HP: 31/31
    PP: 16
    Conditions: None
    Concentrating: --

    Selissa, picking up on the irritation in Birel's tone, quirked her mouth into a hard line. The bold green of her eyes were emerald embers in the shadowed lines of her pale face.
    "Yes. No. Yes if ankh counts. No."
    The last 'no' was icy enough to freeze an evergreen to the corewood. The forest elf crossed her arms, stubbornly unrepentant.
    "Not sneaking around this stupid evil place for fun or cutlery. Information important. Corpsewitch will show, say what she wants us to hear. Not more. Didn't see books and think 'oh, new hearts-love'. Don't trust her."
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  25. - Top - End - #655
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26
    PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    Birel gives Selissa back a look that makes it clear she straight up doesn't care about Selissa's cold anger.

    After a moment she says, "Yes, your trust issues are plenty evident given you didn't trust us enough to consult with us before putting us all at risk. What if you'd run into some magical trap? Or a magical alarm? You could have gotten us all killed in our beds with a stunt like that."

    There's another pause and she adds, "Well if you insist on snooping, can you pick this lock?" she holds out the journal.

    Assuming Selissa does so, Birel ritual casts Detect Magic, since she doesn't want to look through either book and get a face full of exploding runes or something.

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

    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Second Floor- Birel's Room

    The lock is so ineffective that it will be harder for Selissa not to break it than it is to simply unlock it.

    Spoiler: Thieve's Tools + Dex DC 12
    Show
    The inside cover of the journal is burned with an arcane sigil that Birel recognizes as Moira's personal mage mark. Birel's magical sight reveals the journal to have a moderately powerful aura of conjuration, but no other auras.

    Spoiler: DC 17 Arcana Check
    Show
    This is a Life Journal, a fabled wonderous item from elvish days of yore. With paper bartered from a living tree, bound with the discarded horns of a spring buck, and covered with leather harvested from the same buck during winter, this journal is bound to the life force of the being who creates it, and produces a single page every day of their life, from beginning to end. It can magically contain hundreds of thousands of pages without increasing in size. Some consider these to be a mythical item associated with the elves of Aelindor so that they may remember each day of their long, long lives.


    More details will be given for the spellbook or the journal should anyone take the time to read them before they are returned. If Selissa fails the lock DC then the lock breaks and must be repaired by mending before it can be opened.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-03-17 at 12:46 PM.
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Selissa Betula
    Wood Elf Scout Rogue
    AC: 16 HP: 31/31
    PP: 16
    Conditions: None
    Concentrating: --

    The wood elf rolled her eyes at the other elf's recriminations and rampant hypocrisy. For someone entirely planning to reap the fruits of her labour, Birel certainly was ungrateful.
    "Tch. Natter. No point asking. Was careful. Didn't run into a trap. Or alarm. So not issue."

    When the high elf held out the journal again, Selissa gave her a flat look before taking it back. She retrieved the slender bone picks from their secret hiding place, stuck two in, twisted them a couple of times, and then flicked the lock hard with a wooden finger to have it click open. Time-wise, it had taken less than twenty seconds.
    "Bad lock," she said flatly. "Read quick. Time's short. Look for useful things."
    She stood back, folded her arms, and waited for Birel to be useful rather than just whiny.
    Last edited by Awful; 2021-03-17 at 07:55 PM.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  28. - Top - End - #658
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26
    PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    Seeing that Selissa probably won't leave so Birel can just do something else and just pretend she violated their hosts' privacy, she instead opts to just scan the journal for anything obviously problematic without actually reading much of anything. She looks at the first page just to see how far back in Moira's life it goes. Then as she flips through the pages she mostly just is paying attention to the format to see if there's any clear signs of madness or other signs of something wrong or of note, like a day which has a sudden abundance of pages. She only actually truly reads the last few pages that would coincide with the last week.

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

    In Bo'Tel Castle, The Second Floor- Birel's Room

    As Birel opens to page one she sees that the first entry is dated three hundred and six years ago, written in a child's hand. The entire book is written in elvish, which neither Birel or Selissa have any trouble deciphering.

    Spoiler: Highlights from the Journal...
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    Spoiler: The first page
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    Mama and Papa said oldest sister is a master eboker. Middle sister is a master transmutie. Papa says now that I'm magically active, I can begin my studies to be a master nekromuncer. I don't know what that means yet, but I don't have to be the Lady of the Lake when I grow up since oldest sister is next in line, so I get to be a magical princess forever!

    Spoiler: Age 17, ten years after the creation of the book
    Show
    I don't want it! Any of it! They can take the magic back, give it away, or let it rot for all I care! I refuse to specialize in corpses while my older sisters get to blow **** up and turn lead into gold! This is so unfair! To the nine hells with family traditions! It's dirty and filthy and foul! "A cycle going back over three hundred generations" can kiss my butt! I WILL NEVER BE A NECROMANCER!

    Spoiler: Age 27
    Show
    Father and mother are fighting. My sisters have been away fighting in the field for more than a fortnight now, and we haven't had any word back. They say the kings gone mad. That he's going to kill all the nonhumans in the Vale or die trying. I can see fires across the lake. It looks like the whole town is on fire. There are less and less guards around every day. Tomorrow, I'm going to start securing supplies in case we need to run for it. No castle, no kingdom is worth dying for. I may despise my magic, but I can protect myself and my family with it. I just need to convince them to go with me.

    Spoiler: Age 57
    Show
    Why do I return? I spent my entire childhood hating the Lake, hating the castle, and hating who I was, but for some reason I am compelled to return. Maybe it's been living on the run for all these years, trying to stay ahead of the dead king's assassins. Maybe it is all the death and losses I've seen among the dwarves, orcs, halflings and gnomes. Maybe I'm curious to see how my people suffered as well. I've done nothing but run away from my responsibilities since the night the castle fell. and I thought myself free of them once none of my family were around to berate me about them. But I need to see it for myself. I knew Aelindor as a place of light and enlightenment, of stability that had outlasted some of the oldest trees. A place where everyone lived in peace. I guess I just want to see the aftermath of thirty percent of the population being exterminated. Maybe this will be the thing that finally convinces me to leave this godsforsaken valley. Maybe... it's something else.

    Spoiler: Age 99
    Show
    One hundred years tomorrow. A human lifetime where I went from Third Daughter of Aelindor to groveling in the mud for my own survival, hiding in barns and preying upon the pity of strangers just to see another day of life. And now I return to the ashes. Aelindor is a land butchered and defaced of all it's former glory. I went to Rootstown, where the forest elves gathered every summer, turning a glade into a pop up city overnight. Burned down, with Harumites living on top of my cousin's bones. I went to the Mountain of Smoke, where the cunning dwarves created wonders that awed the whole world. Now they are practically slaves, treated like chattel by human overseers, forced to mine iron that was rightfully theirs and hand it over so it could be turned into cut rate horseshoes for clumsy human farmers. I spent a winter in the Varenk Hills among the tribes of small folk and their orcish neighbors, a once peaceful land now given over to banditry and bloodshed with less than half the tribes I once knew still surviving. It doesn't have to be like this. It used to be better. Can it ever be what it was again? Can I make it better?

    Spoiler: Age 181
    Show
    I have the proof I need. The Daravonts, going all the way back to Alarick the Mad, hell for all I know it could go back to King Harum the First, have been under the sway of vampires. Chief Councilor Thoughstead, or should I call you High Arbiter Moores? Or are you calling yourself the Duke of Harum's Lake now? The passing time affects even my elven body to some degree, but you, a "pure human", simply change positions every half decade or so. And the people are so stupid or complicit that you don't even need to change your face. Well, mister undead abomination, we'll see how you fair against a Master Necromancer of the Bo'Tel line. I just need time to prepare and grow more powerful. Fortunately, as an elf, I have all the time I need.

    Spoiler: Age 272
    Show
    It's all ready. I've got my proof about the Daravonts, I've got the village of Dam'ess on my side, and Bo'Tel castle is up and running as a base of operations again. Maus says he loves me, then surely he will follow me into this darkness. I'll tell him tomorrow, then take him with me to the meeting at the castle with the mercenary captains. If coin will buy their loyalty, then the vaults we've unearthed underneath the castle should buy them to our side. The elven families like the Aiyelles have been a godsend during this entire campaign of subterfuge and secrecy. Their loyalty will be rewarded with Aelindor restored and the Vale set to right. Today is the first step of the journey. Breath deep and breath free one last time, Moira. It's time to be nobility again.

    Spoiler: A break in the binding...
    Show
    There is a long period of no pages, not as though the pages have been ripped out, but as though the book was improperly manufactured. A lengthy gap that, if the rest of the book is used to measure, lasts for about fifty years time. When the pages resume again, the first year or so is a combination of blank pages, madman's ramblings such as "they took my hands they took my honor they took my life", and "Chaos without limit" written thousands of times. Then come drawings in exquisite detail. There are dozens of sketches of a severe, almost monstrous orc man with one eye missing or one massive cyclopean eye, all featuring negative expressions and emotions, with captions like "What kind of god leaves the scars?" and "He wants blood. He wants fire. He'll do worse than kill me if I don't burn the Vale to the ground.". There are also hundreds of sketches ranging from small footnotes to entire pages devoted to impossible geometry and otherworldly vistas of floating mountains and swirling clouds. When normal journaling returns, all the dates are punctuated by the abbreviation PM.

    Spoiler: Age 322, One Week Ago
    Show
    The time has come again. From what the Aiyelles tell me, Dam'ess has gone downhill since they betrayed me. Monsters are on the hunt, Pale Night's servants hide in the shadows, and the king's agents are asking about the Ebon Key. I personally killed one of the bastards sneaking about my lab. If the damn thing had been awake, he surely would have found it. Either way, if I am going to restore Aelindor and save the Vale (And make that one eyed sonnuvabitch happy) THIS TIME than I have to start smaller. Not with armies, but with individual souls who can be shown the reason and the proof. I'll watch with my birds, and if I find candidates worth trusting I'll try again. Gods help me, if it doesn't work this time then I'll do it alone. I ordered Dr. Fixer to pound copper nails into the Grandfather Oak in the graveyard as a back up plan- spirits forgive me, but if I can't trust the humans of Dam'ess I will utilize their dead for my needs. Now I will wait. With my luck any "heroes" who show up will be the same greedy, amoral monsters who killed me. If that happens... I've half a mind to let them do it all again. What is the point of persevering through the horrors of this life and the next for people who aren't willing to risk themselves for the greater good? No, Moira. This time it will work. This time the rebellion will work. I will restore Aelindor, I will tear down the Daravonts one vampire and thrall at a time, and I will save this valley, for humans and non-humans alike. You have to have faith. Especially when it is the only thing you've got on your side. Sprits, bless your child, for she approaches the fire one last time hoping to be warmed instead of burned.

    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-03-18 at 12:36 AM.
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  30. - Top - End - #660
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26
    PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    Birel frowns for a moment. Feeling like she wound up prying more than she had meant to or really should have. But at this point she needed to know a bit more. So she more closely reads the pages before the break, hoping to find out what Maus' role in things actually was. As it was no good to choose to trust Moira or not if she didn't know whether they should also be trusting in Maus as they had so far.

    After that she also skims the after death section to see if there's any more detail on this being that apparently wants Moira to burn the Vale to the ground.

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