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  1. - Top - End - #121
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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: 16 HP: 27
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    Initially Set hadn't been sure what to make of the odd-sounding moan from behind the door, but at Fanlomen's words, he thought he understood.

    "I see," Set says, his voice betraying mixed feelings. He was relieved to find that not only was everyone uninjured, but the source of their terror may well be something relatively ordinary. On the other hand, there wasn't anything to celebrate if they continued to come up empty-handed. The absence of evidence would only make it harder, but there was no question in Set's mind that he would find the cultists of Pale Night one way or another.

    Nodding at Birel, Set steps in front and readies his spear for whatever might lie behind the door. There was no need to proceed without caution until they could be sure.

  2. - Top - End - #122
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    Birel, Set, and Fanlomen

    Fanlomen opens the door while Birel, Set, and the Chief's helpers stand ready. The door slides to the left on a hidden hinge, and immediately all of you are confronted with the smell of manure, burnt flesh, and blood. By torchlight, you can all make out what was making the pounding inside. A young bull is chained to the wall inside, and the poor animal has been brutalized. It is branded with strange, jagged symbols on over a dozen points across it's body. There are a also more than a dozen ragged cuts criss crossed around it's flesh, all deep and openly weeping blood. The cuts also form geometric designs, and unlike the brands they have begun to fester and rot, seeping as much pus as blood at this point. The walls inside the kill shed have been splashed with this blood, and more symbols and designs have been painted across the wooden boards by hand. Most horrific of all are the beast's eyes, or lack thereof. The poor bovine's eyes and ears have been removed, and with no surgeon's precision to speak of. The room crawls with horrible black flies, and maggots can be seen in several of the bull's wounds, crawling and eating the creature's suffering. One of the Chief's assistants immediately turns and vomits on the floor of the barn, while the other two step back and make signs of protection from the Green Faith in front of their faces and over their hearts. There is no chance that these symbols are of the Green Faith- this desecration is exactly the evidence you've been looking for of a cult of Pale Night in Dam'ess.
    The Bear is Back.

  3. - Top - End - #123
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    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20
    PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    "Ah, unquestionable evidence. Lovely." Birel comments after stepping inside the shed to see. At which point she immediately steps back out with, "Excuse me a moment." and casually walks around to some bushes and empties the contents of her stomach on the ground.

  4. - Top - End - #124
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    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 16 HP: 27
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    Set puts a gloved forearm over his shemagh, thankful for what little protection they offered from the awful stench. He feels his own gorge rise and swallows the bile in his throat, closing his eyes for just a moment's respite before forcing himself to look again. He forces himself to stare.

    A sense of urgency finally overcomes all else as he leans his Favorite against the wall and steps forward into the filth, blood and puss pooling around his boots. Pulling his hatchet free from his belt, Set chokes up on the neck of the handaxe, holding it like a dagger as he leans over the desperate creature, soiling his white robes in blood and maggots.

    "Shh, rest now," Set whispers. The emaciated bull's jugular is not difficult to locate. Set puts the blade of his axe against it, opening the vein in one swift motion on one side of the bull's throat and then quickly finding the other to do the same. Set slowly rises back to his full height, fresh blood dripping down his gloves, a coat of flies crawling over his robes. He has to crush a strong urge to bolt for the door, body convulsing visibly as he stands his ground, surrounded by corruption. Almost as sickening is an imaginary chuckle from within, a twisted echo of the Shadowkeeper's laughter heard like some Pavlovian response to evil. This one's pain, at least, is at an end, he thinks. He watches what remains of the bull's blood seep out onto the floor.

    Steeling himself, Set kneels back down, taking a few moments to try to look for something beyond the seemingly indiscriminate torture that plagued this beast. He chokes out a few words, describing the symbols and designs he can see through the haze of flies and camouflage of maggots. But it's not long at all before he can take no more. Set rises again, completely ignoring the symbols painted in blood on the wooden walls.

    He steps out of the enclosure and moves wordlessly past Fanlomen, not even bothering to look for his reaction to the carnage as Set makes his way towards the door. Exiting out into fresh air, Set breathes deep like a man drinking from the well after walking many miles through the desert. His eyes are lost to the night, staring a thousand yards distant.

  5. - Top - End - #125
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    Jemriah Cleater
    Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10

    The howl is startling, but after the initial awe and concern, Jemriah grows more curious than fearful. "I had a dream about a wolf man the other night..." he comments,audibly justifying his invisible intrigue. Removing a torch from his bag he lights it using one of the townsfolk's lapping flames, doubling the brightness and further revealing the terror in the man's eyes. He takes the man's arm and looks him in the eye reassuringly. "This won't take long. In and out and back to the safety of town, yeah?"

    He quickens his pace to join Vargath, a short blade in one hand and torch in the other, mirroring the half orc's. "Have you dealt with werewolves before?" he asks with a mixture of excitement and caution in his voice.

  6. - Top - End - #126
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    He was suddenly unsure how to phrase his response to Jemriah's question. A simple one, but with depth and context that could leave it misconstrued. "Not myself. I've seen a number of them however." He taps the sigil embroidered on his robes. "My clan's connection to wolves is long, and it extends to those cursed to live both lives. Some we help. Others we put down. He pauses. "Most we put down." There's a touch of remorse in his voice. "They're dangerous when fed, lethal when hungry. If we can take some meat from one of the houses it might serve as a distraction. Assuming it even is a werewolf, and not something else. It could just be a mangy wolf with a weird howl." He didn't believe it was, of course. He'd been around enough mutts and runts to think better than that.
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  7. - Top - End - #127
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    At the howl, Selissa had frozen stock still. In the dim light, her dark green hair made her seem like part of the forest as she listened, trying to work out the distance of the howl. For a second, she was somewhere else, hearing the howl of the Horror as it made its fatal charge before she blinked hard.

    No good. The birds had made too much racket and she was unfamiliar with the sheer volume of a werewolf's cry. Was she so rusty after a mere five years?

    She nocked an arrow to her bow, but didn't draw it back.
    "Want to scout," she announced tersely. Standing in the circle of light was making her uneasy. "Can't fight it. Need to know if it's coming."
    Last edited by Awful; 2020-07-08 at 03:08 PM.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  8. - Top - End - #128
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    Vargath glances down at his gear. He'd be an active hindrance to anyone scouting in the dark. Loud. His eyesight was fine and he'd stalked prey before, but unfamiliar land, in the dark, as he was now, no good at all. "Can't go with you, but won't stop you. Stay in touch as needed, we'll continue the home search." She seemed competent enough. It might be patronising for him to offer advice, so he holds his tongue back from anything further.
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  9. - Top - End - #129
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Jemriah Cleater
    Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10

    "I don't know anything natural that howls that loud around here..." He adjusts his grip on the dagger as his eyes settle on a cluster of bushes off to the right, searching for any sign of rustling terror.

    "I'm useless in the dark," Jemriah acknowledges in response to Selissa's comment, the flickering torchlight revealing large pupils trying to soak in as much of the surroundings as they could and giving him an even more childish appearance. "Be safe."

  10. - Top - End - #130
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Selissa gave a short nod in agreement at Vargath's words.
    "You clank too much. Far too noisy."
    At Jemriah's statement, she gave the boy a look. She turned to go, considered a moment, then turned back for a second.
    "Look for reflections of their eyes. Shines further than your torch otherwise reaches. Use more than sight, though. Sound. Smell. The... il-yaril." She paused as she considered the words for it in Common. "The gut feeling. Understand?"

    Waiting only for a moment for his reply, she melted away into the dark. Not too far out - she had to be close enough to head back and give warning if need be. She flitted from shadow to shadow, her green eyes seeing the grey world of darkvision.

    It seemed like a common misconception by humans that elves could see perfectly in the dark. That wasn't quite true - the world was a greyscale painting, fine details hidden in monochrome. Still, the dim light and the quiet was a comfort. A torch like they'd had only let everything else see where you were.
    Last edited by Awful; 2020-07-08 at 04:31 PM.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  11. - Top - End - #131
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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: 16 HP: 27
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    Staring off into space, Set's mind conjures a nightmare from which he struggles to escape. His sister's stare back at him, eyeless, mouths yawning open in death as they seem to accuse him of allowing this to happen. They could be out there right now, suffering a fate as bad or worse than the bull while he stood here, powerless to stop it. He clenches both eyes shut trying to ward off the vision, but it persists even as he drops the hatchet to the ground, pressing two bloody palms into both eyelids.

    As Set watches in his mind's eye, a stream of maggots issue forth from Sisi's mouth while Sythpen seems to decay into the earth, the worms feasting from her empty eye sockets and leaving nought but their waste behind.

    Set feels a chink in his armor crack as his mind splinters at the thought of his sisters shrieking in pain, calling out to him for help that would never come until they're finally left to the maggots and worms. The strain of having sacrificed so much and come so far only to see them that way in his mind was more than he could bear.

    The strange sensation of something crawling over his ear finally forces the image from his mind as Set swipes it away, a lone maggot flying to the earth. Suddenly he's possessed with an indescribable terror as a few flies and maggots still cling to his blood and filth-stained robes. He begins brushing them off frantically, but the bloody gloves only serve to spread the stain of their corruption further, his once-white robes covered in patches of the dull brown of dried blood and feces.

    With all other thoughts finally turned aside, Set begins looking for a well or a trough for the animals, any water source he might use to get clean. He leaves his hatchet laying in the dirt as, at least for the moment, all other concerns pale in comparison to his need.

  12. - Top - End - #132
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    Fanlomen had expected ... well, anything that wasn't this, really. It was truly horrifying, in all the possible meanings of the word. He didn't blame the others for turning away, or for their more severe reactions. The very air around the elf seemed to crackle as his mental state threatened to unhinge slightly. I am in control, I am my own master. My mind is my own, and I am its master. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and even though the pungent smell of death and corruption filled his nose, he fell back on his training. I am here because it is my duty. I am stronger than the evil before me. The presence of the bull displays the urgency, and is the first solid clue we have found. There is nothing to fear. Fanlomen opened his eyes in time to see Set put the animal out of his misery. A kind act, Fanlomen thought to himself. The animal had experienced more suffering than even being slaughtered for food could have brought upon it.

    As everyone else backs away from the stench and the awful sight, Fanlomen observes and examines. He attempts to guess the age of the wounds, though he admittedly knows that the presence of flies and maggots was telling that this was no recent event. The nature of the cuts themselves were obvious to him any everyone around him. Putting that together was a poor sign for their investigation though. The cultists may be entrenched in this town deeper than he had thought, if a family with 'more money than sense' was supporting or abetting cultists.

    Fanlomen finally speaks for the first time after this whole ordeal, loudly enough so that those who are seeking the comfort of fresh air can hear him as well. "Should we attempt to show Chief Moeller what has happened here, or should we dispose of ... the carcass?"
    Quote Originally Posted by fibericon View Post
    This seems like a really cool concept, so I feel like you're going to get a lot of applications. Best of luck sorting through them all. That said, I'm going to do my part to make your job that much harder by adding one to the stack.

  13. - Top - End - #133
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    Set, Birel, and Fanlomen

    Teetering on the brink, facing the Abyss.
    Mercifully, there is a small well nearby in the barn yard with a full bucket waiting for Set. As the wanderer's mind struggles with the horror of what he just witnessed, the Chief's helpers approach Birel and Fanlomen where they stand, all ashen faced and trembling. "We... we should burn the barn down. Only fire can cleanse corruption like this. We burn the barn, and tomorrow when the godsdamned sun is out we plant an oak in the ashes. Let the Father reclaim this poisoned earth." It is Wallo who voices this opinion, and the other two villagers nod enthusiastically in support of the idea.

    Fanlomen's investigations reveal the worst. These wounds are old, and the infection that seeps from them would have killed the beast before long if it were not for Set's merciful cut. Moreover, they were all done in non-vital areas- places that would bleed for hours, perhaps days before the beast would succumb to blood loss. It appears that the bull was mutilated around a week ago and left to suffer intentionally, perhaps in some sort of depraved ritual fueled by pain, anguish, and corruption.

    Selissa, Vargath, and Jemriah

    As the search party advances on the distant houses of the homesteaders, Selissa stalks through the night, trying to find the hunters before all of them become prey. The trees become thicker, the path overlayed with branches that block out the moon and deepen the darkness surrounding you all. Thankfully the torches hold back the uncertainty of the night. But there is no torch for Selissa, no respite. Noises in the distance grow louder- howls and roars, bloodcurdling cries and yelps. It is hard for Vargath, Jemriah, and the villagers to tell where the sounds are coming from- they echo between the trees, seeming to come from all sides, but thankfully sound as though they are travelling from far away. Only Selissa realizes the truth from her quieter position in the trees- the sounds are growing louder and closer as you travel north. Thankfully they are not approaching you, but you are approaching them.

    By the time the party has arrived at one of the homesteader's estates, the sounds of bloody, bestial combat are so loud that the very air seems charged with primal rage. Whatever is making the din, it is dangerously close, hidden in the trees just behind the simple single story home. Scouting ahead, Selissa is the first to spot signs of what causes the raucous. About one hundred yards beyond the home, she starts to find blood sprayed against trees, and tufts of grey, matted fur hanging from bushes and branches. Moving silently, Selissa finds a small hill that rises to a crest before it descends into a hollow, a small valley between the surrounding hills. The sounds of battling animals is coming from this hollow, and they are so loud they are painful to her elven ears. Dare she get a closer look?

    While Selissa scouts beyond the home, Vargath, Jemriah, and company approach it from the front. It is a humble affair, barely more than a cabin with an attached garden plot. Sitting on the porch in a rocking chair rests an old man, perhaps in his seventies, who seems completely ignorant to the roars of rage coming from behind his cabin. He has bare feet, muddy and withered, that rise into legs covered in buckskin pants. Naked from the waist up, his body is thin and spindly, wrinkled and scarred. His eyes, however, are bright, alive, and darting. When he sees your party coming closer, he smiles and waves congenially. "HOWDY NEIGHBORS!" He shouts, but it can barely be heard over the sounds of beasts fighting in the distance. "Did ya'll come for a touch of moonlight shine? I got plenty in the jug ifn you have a mind to tip back with Ol Roger!" He cackles and raises a ceramic jug, taking a hefty pull from it, still ignoring the horrible noises coming from behind his cabin that make it so he can barely be understood. "That's Ol' Roger!" Says the woman leading the villagers. "He's stone deaf and half-crazy. Probably didn't hear the bell to gather. Hell, he DEFINITELY didn't hear the bell if he can't hear this racket! We need to get him to safety!" She has to shout to be heard clearly over the sounds of monsters going to war.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2020-07-08 at 07:52 PM.
    The Bear is Back.

  14. - Top - End - #134
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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 HP: 20/20
    PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    After returning to the group, Birel replies, "The fire and oak are probably good ideas... but after the Chief has seen this. He might have a clue as to what the markings mean" She waves in the direction of the shed, but doesn't look in. Seeing Set run off to clean himself, she can't blame him one bit.

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    Jemriah Cleater
    Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10

    Deaf. Perfect. This old man would be the death of them all if the ruckus beyond simmered down for even a moment. Hopefully his faculties were at least functional after however much bootlegged liquor he'd guzzled.

    Jemriah reaches inside his mind to the dripping, thread-like tendrils of shadow stuff that stretch in every direction and runs his hand along one with frayed edges, willing it forward to connect to its other half within Roger. He waves his torch back and forth a few inches to draw the man's attention. Then in a feeble attempt to not make the effect as startling, he mouths the words as he projects their meaning into the codger's booze-addled mind. <Roger, listen very carefully. There are monstrous beasts fighting just beyond your home. If they hear us - if they hear you - all that fanged rage will turn itself upon us, and we are all of us too young to die this night.I need you to come with us. Quietly. Right. Now.>

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    It was perhaps good that Jemriah had an alternative plan. Vargath's involved simply knocking the man out and carrying him away. Quick and simple, but a bit brutal. It didn't exactly feel right to hit the elderly - unprovoked at least, but he also valued not being torn apart by beasts. He stands off to the side, leaving the elder to Jemriah as he casts his eyes to the dark. "We still need to search the place." He tells the gathered locals. "Mad or not he could be responsible for bringing death to the town. He can't be overlooked." He thought better of pinging to Selissa. If she were nearby then a distraction could spell her death. She'd be in touch when she had something worth being in touch about.
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Fanlomen agrees, and voices as much. "I will attempt to bring him here discretely. The wounds are about a week old, so whatever cultists have done this haven't been here long, or else we would have found more than this by now. Perhaps, if you are able, you can investigate for any lingering magics before we take to the torch and all is destroyed." He didn't know exactly what kind of magics were under Birel's purview, but almost all mages could detect the presence of spells. Couldn't they?

    Barring anyone's objection, Fanlomen makes his way to the town square.
    Quote Originally Posted by fibericon View Post
    This seems like a really cool concept, so I feel like you're going to get a lot of applications. Best of luck sorting through them all. That said, I'm going to do my part to make your job that much harder by adding one to the stack.

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    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20
    PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    "Whoops! Should have thought of that myself." Birel thinks to herself as she just gives an affirmative nod in reply, as this at least lets her keep the appearance of being clear headed and clever, and moves only as close as she has to as she performs the ritual to perceive any magic in the area. Only once the spell is completed will she force herself to look again at the mutilated and tormented cow.

    Spoiler
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    Casting Detect Magic as a Ritual.


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    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 16 HP: 27
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    Set drops to his knees in front of the well, peeling off his gloves and shemagh first, then cupping water from the bucket and splashing it onto his face over and over again. It's not enough. He dumps the bucket over his head, fiending for the cool, clean water, but still he can feel the taint all over his body, skin crawling with it's influence.

    He stands up and peels off his robes with the look of someone that's clearly in a hurry, but is just doing what needs to be done. Clearly this is the only practical choice at the moment. He needs to be clean and here is a well. He's vaguely aware of the others, but they seem similarly occupied with the needs of the moment.

    Boots, gloves, belt pouch, shemagh, serwal, and robes lay in one distinct pile, tossed a safe distance away. His Fallback spear, spare hatchet, and pack go into the other pile. Clad now in scale mail and a jalabiya, Set lowers the bucket back down into the well and brings up more water. He deliberately begins scrubbing his face and bald head, eager to rid himself of any remnant of the evil that had stained him. If he could not cleanse the corruption within him, he would at least remove the filth that plagued him on the outside.

    Spoiler: Jalabiya
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    Last edited by Riggdgames; 2020-07-09 at 06:59 PM.

  20. - Top - End - #140
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    Birel and Set

    The water is cool and clean, and with enough scrubbing and drenching Set begins to feel clean again, though his clothing is still heavily stained and will need laundering before putting them back on will feel comfortable again. The feeling of crawling things leaves Set's skin, but the damage to his psyche will be harder to alleviate for now.

    Birel finds no trace of anything that can be pinned down as a specific spell, but the bull and the room it's corpse rests in are saturated with a dull, brutish red aura of magic. The symbols etched into the beast and painted on the walls glow with demonic power. No skilled mage did this, nor even a particularly gifted occultist like the Chief, but what they lack in finesse they make up for in effect. The entire kill shed, along with the back wall of the barn, are saturated in conjuration magic. Birel realizes that the torture of the beast was part of a ritual meant to pull some Abyssal creature across the void into this world. Possibly more than one. Regrettably, the ritual has weakened the veil between the worlds, so it is still possible something might come through. Burning the barn will help by destroying the symbols that channel the magic, but sanctifying the area against evil will be much more effective.

    Fanlomen

    By the time Fanlomen arrives at the town square, the people of Dam'ess have grown even more restless. People are shouting at the Chief, shouting at each other, and all look afraid. The Chief is standing on an impromptu stage made from wooden crates, and just as the crowd is rising to a crescendo of paranoia and distrust, he does something that throws everyone off balance- he begins to sing. His voice booms louder than any of the villagers as he sings a hymn from the Green Faith. It's a simple rural song for simple rural folk, but as he begins the second verse half the crowd have joined in with him and the other half have gone silent. Spotting Fanlomen, the Chief begins the third verse before clambering down off the boxes and hurriedly shuffling over to him. "What is it? What have you found? I can tell you've found something serious." He speaks very quietly, but his voice carries just as much force.
    The Bear is Back.

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    Fanlomen was singing along with the hymn as best he could when the Chief approaches. He coughs to clear his throat and speaks with similarly low, urgent tones. Even then, he didn't want to risk being overheard, and leaves out the full details in case of probing ears. "You need to see it yourself. It is definitely something we were looking for, and a matter we need you to weigh in on. Miss Birel and Master Set are still at the Fulton farmhouse, by the kill-shed. I'll keep an eye on the villagers in your absence."
    Quote Originally Posted by fibericon View Post
    This seems like a really cool concept, so I feel like you're going to get a lot of applications. Best of luck sorting through them all. That said, I'm going to do my part to make your job that much harder by adding one to the stack.

  22. - Top - End - #142
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    Betula paused as the sounds of combat rang hellishly loud. She retrieved a clump of fur from a waist-high snapped branch, the end hanging from a strip of bark like a broken arm. The fur was wiry and harsh between her fingers, and she put it away in the hidden pouches she kept her things in.

    Should she go forward? For a long moment she hesitated. The wolves weren't their immediate concern, but knowing what they might be fighting... if they had a split in their group, or the Pale Night cultists had managed to summon unholy things, or what?

    She reached out and plucked a leaf, crushing it in her hand, and let the breeze carry away the fragments. She breathed out, and quietly as possible, she ghosted forwards, slowly and surely, until she could just see the wolves' combat - or she considered it unsafe to go further.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  23. - Top - End - #143
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    Fanlomen

    "Aye. You wait here, I'll go investigate this... foulness you've found." The Chief doesn't waste time, heading off immediately and with surprising speed for his age and infirmity, leaving Fanlomen with a crowd of confused, angry people.

    Birel and Set

    The Chief arrives after a half hour or so, and quickly surveys the scene. When he enters the kill shed, he comes out of it with ashen features, eyes distant with the horror he has witnessed. "This must be cleansed. If left alone, fiends could enter our world through the weakened barrier created by this ritual. Torch the barn, and tomorrow during daylight I will enact a ritual to wipe away the evil magics of this place. I will go back to the villagers and have the Fullerton's taken into custody. They must be dealt with as well, to prevent this... abomination... from happening again." The Chief's helpers begin lighting torches, obviously meaning to enact his will.

    Selissa, Vargath, and Jemriah

    The old man cackles again when Jemriah's voice sounds within his head, responding telepathically as well as verbally, though it is much easier to hear the telepathy over the din. "Aye, I'll come with you. But only because I like the cut of your jib, son! Won't you share a drink with me? Don't want to die sober!" The man stands up, takes another drink from his jug, and begins to toddle off the porch and towards you all.

    The Chief's helpers agree with Vargath and rush into the home as soon as Ol' Roger is out of the way and begin hurriedly searching the place. They aren't quite as thorough as they were with the other homes, probably due to nerves and the immediate danger, but with all of them searching the place is quickly turned over. No signs of demonic taint. The home was actually quite well kept, making the search even easier. The only thing of note inside was a massive still in a shed adjoining the house.

    While the search is going on, Selissa creeps forward and bears witness to the werewolves for the first time. They aren't as hairy as you'd imagine, with larges sections of their body only covered in a light peach fuzz of grey and brown fur. The hair grows longer along their spines, around their shoulders, and over their necks and faces. They stand taller than your average man and much more muscular, with long claws at the ends of their hands that look like they could shred someone to pieces. Their heads are fully transformed into the leering head of a wolf. But more than the shape of their bodies, what strike Selissa is the blood.

    These three creatures are covered in each other's blood. As she watches, two of them rush towards each other and clash, tooth and claw attacking each other in rabid fury. Muscle tears, fur is ripped away, and blood flows freely, splashing over both combatants in a burst of extreme violence. Violence that Selissa has not seen since fighting the Horror all those years ago. As they fight, they roar in pain and ecstasy, obviously enjoying the pain, enjoying the blood. They lick it from their lips like sweet wine, even as their bodies are destroyed. She can see the wounds healing slowly even as more are made. The third werewolf stands to the side, panting wildly and watching the fight. It is so heavily wounded that she is not sure it can move very well, apparently out of the fight. The current battle looks like it will soon be coming to an end, but the monsters relish every bite, every claw, every spilling of red. As someone who knows nature, the wood elf can identify this as a struggle to determine the Alpha of the pack. The sheer violence and enjoyment threatens Selissa's mind as the fight for dominance plays out, all three heavily wounded werewolves bathing in glory, pain, and joy in equal measure.

    Spoiler: OOC
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    EDIT- Selissa needs to make a DC 8 Madness check due to extreme violence.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2020-07-12 at 02:19 PM.
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  24. - Top - End - #144
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    Fanlomen keeps an eye over the antsy villagers. He couldn't help but feel at least a little pity for them. Being rounded up and told to stay in one place like this. No doubt several rumors of what was going on or why had made the rounds over the course of the day. The elf was reminded of a phrase that he had heard from a brother in the Shepherds of the Wild. 'One person is a reasonable, capable individual. A group of people is the most distrustful, paranoid entity you can ever cross.' From what Fanlomen had observed so far, these people were no different.

    He had no authority here, and he had no reservations that the people here wouldn't trust an outsider's words, no matter what he said. So he attempted to use the only strategem that he had seen work so far. His singing voice hardly carried the Chief's booming authority and clarity, but Fanlomen was no stranger to quite a few hymns that the worshippers of the Green Faith generally agreed on. It was awkward singing this one in Common instead of his preferred Elvish, but he hoped at least some of the villagers would share his piety. It was a song for hunters, truly, but it taught that life was simpler when people banded together. Perhaps it would reach the ears and minds of the villagers.

    "A hunter walking on his own
    Must watch the shadows' threat
    When hound or hawk are with him
    There is nowhere he can't tread

    Keep together in the darkness
    Tip your hat to Brother Toad
    And the wilds will heed your footsteps
    And the spirits avoid your road

    The lone wolf's howl is mighty
    Heard for miles upon the wind
    But the pack, the many made into one
    To its prey shall bring the end

    Keep together in the darkness
    Tip your hat to Brother Toad
    And the wilds will heed your footsteps
    And the spirits avoid your road

    The way of prey is stay together
    Hunters must force them apart
    For when the herd can stand as once
    They can face down any weather

    Keep together in the darkness
    Tip your hat to Brother Toad
    And the wilds will heed your footsteps
    And the spirits avoid your road"


    It was up to the townspeople to join in now. There were more hymns he could sing, but he silently hoped the Chief would be back soon to placate his people.
    Quote Originally Posted by fibericon View Post
    This seems like a really cool concept, so I feel like you're going to get a lot of applications. Best of luck sorting through them all. That said, I'm going to do my part to make your job that much harder by adding one to the stack.

  25. - Top - End - #145
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    Nothing. They'd found nothing. The only hope was that the other team had been more successful in rooting them out. Finding the demon worshiper was something, but it hadn't been their goal. Were they just better hidden than he'd thought? What to do now, wait for them to do something and try to catch them in the act of making victims? He grunts to no one in particular - thoroughly frustrated at himself. He wasn't sure if the plan was to blame or whether they'd been outwitted. It didn't matter though, not really. It was still a failure. His failure.

    Now was probably the time to message the elf, they wouldn't be waiting around for her. <Selissa, we're done here. Come back while you can, we're heading back to town.>

    He needed to hit something to blow off steam, but chances are he'd be going to bed frustrated tonight. Maybe tomorrow would be more productive.
    DMing:
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  26. - Top - End - #146
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    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20
    PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    "The sooner you can sanctify the area, the better. Even after the fire, you should keep a pair of people on watch here. The veil between realms has been weakened here and something might still find its way through before you can properly sanctify it." Birel says to the Chief. "We can oversee the fire, plenty of time while we wait for Fanlomen to return. I might suggest not doing anything before we finish our searches. They might have some kind of contingency plan involving people whose homes we haven't searched yet and knowing who to watch for trouble could be vital."
    Last edited by Ramsus; 2020-07-12 at 05:17 PM.

  27. - Top - End - #147
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    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 16 HP: 27
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    Finally soothed in body, if not entirely in mind, Set stands dripping over his tainted robes, looking down on them with open revulsion. Pulling out a sack of rations, he empties the contents loosely into his pack. Set then flips the sack inside out and reaches both hands in, gathering his things together and flipping the sack back without ever touching the tainted items directly. The sack goes smack back into his backpack, his heart threatening attack due to the sanity he lacked.

    Gathering the rest of his things, Set begins to calm until he realizes his Favorite is still leaning against the wall inside the barn right next to the kill shed. His heart skips a beat, anxiety gripping him at the thought of having to go back. He couldn't just leave her in there. He clasps both hands together, wringing them as he tries to figure out what to do. He could ask Birel for help. She probably wouldn't even make a big deal out of it and it's not like she would use her. She would just grab his Favorite and bring her to him. Set's knuckles go white as he squeezes his hands together, stressing further. He was so stupid. Why had he left his Favorite in there near that filth?

    Suddenly releasing his hands, Set reaches for his belt pouch. What!? The pouch, the coin, they're not--Set slumps, realizing his pouch is stored away with the other tainted items, and the coin with it.

    Wait, wait, he just needed to walk back in there and go get his spear. There was no need to make this so difficult. He would just walk in, grab her, and walk back out. Easy. Set approaches the barn, walking straight towards the entrance and then turning aside at the last moment to inspect the bushes just outside the barn door. Finally he turns his attention outward, ostensibly keeping watch while Birel enacts her rituals and the villagers talk in hushed tones.

    Some minutes later, Set nods silently as Chief Moeller approaches. Say one thing for the Chief, he was clean. Clean in a way Set couldn't really understand. There were a few smudges of dirt on his person and a sheen of sweat from trying to get over here quickly, but his freedom from any sort of filth or corruption seemed almost profound. Set was really beginning to appreciate what the Shadowkeeper might have sensed.

    Set struggles with indecisiveness for a few more moments. Finally he budges, following Chief Moeller into the barn and up beside the kill shed, snatching his Favorite away from the wall. A wave of relief passes over him once he has her back in his hands. He might feel naked without his robes, he might feel lost without the coin, but she would stand by him no matter what.

    As the Chief gives his assessment and Birel responds, Set clenches his spear impatiently, but recognizes the wisdom in her words. "Birel speaks truly," he says, glancing back towards her, but focusing primarily on the Chief. "It will be my pleasure to help ensure this does not happen again, but we cannot act too hastily. Whether the Fullerton's have some contingency plan or taking them merely tips off others who's homes we have not yet searched, taking them now may do more harm than good. If you can keep your people busy for a little longer, we may yet finish our search and return in time to help." Looking around at Birel and the villagers, Set continues, "depending on how widespread this cult's influence is, you may be glad to have our help taking them into custody." And I will be glad to have the opportunity to see to them myself, if I can mange it, Set leaves unsaid.

  28. - Top - End - #148
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    Fangs flashed red as the wolves tore at each other, and Selissa-

    -Selissa tried to be brave, but the slight tremor in her one fleshen hand put the lie to her efforts.

    Selissa wasn't afraid of blood - she was hunter and warrior both, and she had fought both beast and undead scourge.

    But that had been with trusted allies at her side, friends she knew and relied upon. Now she was alone, and monsters she couldn't injure ripped and tore each other to bloody shreds and wouldn't even die from it.

    The mental message made her startle silently, and instantly she froze dead still, not even breathing while she waited to see if the wolves had noticed the movement. When they hadn't, she fought back the urge to bolt and began withdrawing backwards.

    Soon they'd be done with their fight, and if they saw her, they'd soon be done with her, too. She had to move, move, movemovemove-

    As slowly as she dared, so as to not draw their attention, she withdrew, quietly, quietly, until the house of the old man was in sight - and then she ran, dashing until she had caught up with the others. She paused before she reached them, and huffed in heavy breaths.

    She fought back the urge to look behind her as her back prickled, and was glad her birch-pale skin was too white to be paled from fear as she made the few steps to rejoin the others.

    She said nothing.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  29. - Top - End - #149
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    Jemriah Cleater
    Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10

    If it would get the man moving, then sure. Jemriah reaches out for the jug and takes a small swig of the irresponsibly strong beverage, hoping to not catch the man's ignorance in the process. His entire body shudders though he isn't entirely sure if it's from the hooch or the piercing cry of one of the were beasts that entered his body at about the same time.

    Rolling the shed door back on its hinge, the boy takes a quick peek inside, assessing the brewing contraption Roger has setup to see if there is anything unusual about the process or ingredients lying about. If it's not currently pressurized, he opens a hatch and looks inside the still as well.

    Spoiler: OOC
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    22 (nat 20) on Investigation/Arcana check with Brewer's Supplies in Discord


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    Set and Birel

    The Chief nods at Birel's assessment. "Alright. We will wait till you are done your search before we burn the barn. Just in case. Now I'll get back to the villagers so Master Fanlomen can return to you and you can all continue the search." The Chief makes his way south back to the village at a good clip for a man as infirm as he appears.

    Fanlomen

    Apparently this sect of the Green Faith keeps similar hymns with Fanlomen's people, as most of the villagers sing along with the Shepard with gusto. The music calms many, and the tension of the villagers lessens by the verse. There are still some holdouts who look at him with the disdain of the outsider, but Fanlomen manages to keep everyone in check until the Chief arrives. He gives an appreciative nod to the wood elf, then whispers to him. "Go back to the search now. The sooner we can get this done, the better. Night has a way of bringing out the worst in people. The whispers of Pale Night, no doubt."

    Fanlomen returns in short order. The burning of the barn takes little time, as dry hay makes for excellent fuel. The flames roar into the night, and soon the barn and the kill shed are a blazing inferno. Thankfully all of the cows and bulls remaining are still out in the fields, so they do not perish with the desecrated building. The searchers watch, and one of them speaks up. "Did any of you hear a scream? A monstrous shriek? Or was that just me?" None of you heard it, but it is hard to hear anything over the roar of the flames. The barn will burn for hours before it is ash, so when Birel asks two of the helpers to remain behind they agree hesitantly. The search moves on to the Hartswood.

    Into the wee hours of the morning the search continues, but nothing comes up tainted or dangerous. You ransack a few more homes, including Birel's and Selissa's cottages, but thankfully there is no sign of evil. The last house you come across is a distant neighbor to both of the adventurer elves- a small cottage next to the Green Faith cemetery that has been abandoned since Martin Heglum, the undertaker, died of a fever three years ago. It is a miniature home, so it takes no time at all to search, but after investigating the dusty and cobwebbed home both Birel and Fanlomen notice something amiss in the cemetery. At the heart of the burial ground is a massive oak- a representation of Father Oak to watch over the deceased in their passage back to nature's embrace. But both elves can tell from outside the small clapboard fence that the oak is dying. It's leaves are the dull brown of fall despite it being summer, and several branches have fallen, knocking over the wooden grave markers closest to the tree. The cemetery has been here longer than even Birel has been alive, and when it was first founded that tree was planted in it's heart to watch over the dead. Soon there will be no guardian of the graves. Most Green Faith cemeteries have few problems with undead, and according to the Faith it is because of the guardian trees. Something is wrong here.

    Vargath, Selissa, and Jemriah

    When Jemriah takes a slug of the jug, the taste of pure spirits strikes his throat like a hammer, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He is an experienced drinker despite his age, and this alcohol is strong enough that it would leave a less experienced person wheezing. Almost immediately there is a warm feeling in his stomach that spreads outward, filling the human from head to toe. Moreover, there is a tingle of magic in the spirit. The warmth comes with a strong buzz that fuzzes the man's perceptions- one more slug and Jemriah would be soundly drunk. How Ol' Roger drinks this like water and stays conscious is a mystery. Feeling the magic, Jemriah decides to investigate further while everyone searches.

    The still is a complete rig job, cobbled together from copper pipes, an iron barrel, and wooden braces. It is currently not operating, so Jemriah feels safe opening the main chamber and peeking inside. When the small door on the barrel slides open, there is a rush of intense alcohol stained air that makes his eyes water and his already fuzzy head even fuzzier. While it is improvised to the extreme, everything is just as Jemriah would expect from his years working with brewing and distilling with his family, but there is something curious. Inside the main chamber, hanging on a silver chain, is a piece of jewelry. It is hanging just low enough that if the barrel were filled with water and mash it would be suspended in the mix. At the end of the chain is a pendent of radiant gold wire wrapped around a milky white gemstone. At first it just seems like a trick of the light, but with close observation Jemriah ascertains that the gemstone is glowing. Drawing from his knowledge of magic he has picked up since discovering his own abilities, Jemriah realizes that the stone imparts the alcohol with a minor protective magic meant to reinforce the drinker's abilities to resist outside forces, be they magical or mundane in nature. There are several more empty clay jugs next to the still, along with one full one that sloshes with promise.

    After finishing the search at Roger's place, only a few homesteads remain to be checked. One of the Chief's helpers agrees to lead Roger back to the village, and the old man follows readily enough, humming a happy tune and drinking off his jug as he goes. The sound of violence and combat fades away as you follow paths deeper into the Banewood, with the moon beginning to descend in the sky as night transitions into morning. You find two empty, innocent simple farmsteads before moving on to the third and final house in your search. . This home is deeper into the Banewood than any other, a risk many villagers would never take. The owner, a dire, musclebound man by the name of Jon Bence, was always suspected to be a bit crazy for his decision to settle down here. While everyone else searches his long, single story log house, Selissa investigates the back yard and garden. It is here that she finds something amiss.

    After hearing a sound in the bushes, Selissa looks at the treeline. It must have been a small rodent of some sort, spooked by the noise of the search, but a particularly thick section of bushes catches her eye. Upon investigating it, she can tell it has been purposefully reinforced with branches and bows. Clearing some of the extra foliage away, she finds a trail that has been hidden on purpose. The trail does not go far, just beyond the range of her night sight, and by taking a brief walk on it she readily makes out what is hidden in the dark of the forest. A large pile of stones has been assembled, forming an altar. Carved into the stones are symbols that would be familiar to the other search party, but are new to the wood elf. Sharp, pointed edges, fat misshaped circles, and a radical geometry that almost hurts to look at. Each symbol has been carefully carved, and there is something odd about them that she cannot make out in her black and white darkvision. She can, however, make out what rests upon the altar. A great stag, a symbol of strength and purity in the Green Faith, has been dismembered and spread across the stone in a seemingly random fashion. It takes her a second to recognize that it has been skinned, charred, and carved with the same symbols that adorn the altar. More disturbing, however, are the bite marks.

    Large chunks have been removed from the beast's body, larger than a bear or cougar could possible manage, and the teeth crunched through bone as easily as flesh. The bites seem random, with a large section of antlers sheared off, all of the innards missing, and a hoof viciously ripped off. Whatever fed here didn't care about sustenance as much as destruction, and must have been twice the size of the largest natural predators native to these forests. Even more concerning, there are large claw marks in the stone surrounding the dismembered body, something no animal could accomplish. More information may be gained by a closer inspection under torchlight, but it is already evident that Jon Bence is worshiping something far darker than the Green Faith.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2020-07-14 at 01:56 PM.
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