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  1. - Top - End - #151
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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: --

    Looking at the tree Birel says to the others giving them a rather dour look, not sure if the other two would understand without explanation since they're outsiders to the region, "This guardian tree dying is quite bad. They are for preventing the dead from rising from their graves." After saying that she quickly rushes over to the tree and inspects it, trying to determine how bad its condition is and what's killing it.
    "The last thing we need is a bunch of undead on top of everything else." she thinks to herself.

    Spoiler
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    Nature: (1d20+5)[24]
    advantage from Help: (1d20+5)[20]


  2. - Top - End - #152
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Fanlomen was pleased that the hymn was one the humans of the village also knew. Perhaps this could prove he was not as much the outsider as the villagers likely held. But as his face sweeps the crowd, he catches a few penetrating stares which reaffirm the unfortunate truth; he was still not of this village and its clans. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when the Chief returns, and leaves with little more than a nod of acknowledgement to the Chief. Time was of the essence, and surely the others would be waiting for his return.



    At the cemetary, things are further complicated by Fanlomen's lack of knowledge of the village and its customs. He knew what a graveyard was, and Birel's explanation was common knowledge to the Shepherd. No, it was the unsettling thought that so many bodies were buried here. It wasn't as rank or murderous as the kill-shed they had left behind in flames, but it was a similar creeping fear; so many dead in one place wasn't natural. No wonder the presence of Father Oak was needed to watch over this place.

    Fanlomen follows Birel closely, his gaze focused on the mighty tree as he approaches. He stops for a moment to kneel before the tree momentarily. As he stands back up and brushes some dirt from his pants, he comments, "An ill omen indeed. Father Oak is not a feeble spirit by any measure." He helps Birel's investigation of the tree's bark and roots, offering what insights he can. As they work, he speaks a quiet apology in Elven. "<Forgive our prodding and prying, watchful Father. May the Twin-Mothers, Rain and Earth, nourish you for many years to come.>"

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    Providing the Help action to Birel.
    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.

  3. - Top - End - #153
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Birel, Set, and Fanlomen

    It is easy to see what has caused the tree to sicken. Someone has pounded several copper spikes into the tree along the trunk. Both Birel and Fanlomen are aware that copper is lethal to trees. Thankfully, it is still early enough in the process of death that removing the spikes may save the tree with some luck and the blessings of the Father. However, removing the spikes will be difficult without further damaging the tree. The life of this oak walks a tightrope, and on either side their are ill omens and bad fortune for the cemetery, and by extension the village. Magic of some sort may be the best solution, but no one that you all know of possess magic that could revivify a tree, with the possible exception of the Chief. Birel certainly didn't spot any spells to this effect in Moeller's magic books.
    The Bear is Back.

  4. - Top - End - #154
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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: --

    Set hesitates as he approaches the cemetary, wary of the corruption that lies hidden under the surface, but unable to think of a good reason why he needed to stay away. Bad enough that he'd lost his wits back at the Fulton estate, he certainly didn't need to add to the narrative that he was unstable or incapable of facing the trials at hand.

    Set resolutely follows the two elves into the cemetary's center, unable to stop himself from quietly stepping between graves as he avoids trodding over the dead. Following Birel's gaze, he inspects the large tree as she relates its purpose. A guardian? The tree looked like...well, like many of the trees he'd seen since following the road this far north. Large though it was, if there was anything special about it, Set would have to take Birel's word for it.

    Brows furrowing as he examines Fanlomen, Set watches the wood elf kneel before the great tree reverently. If this elf was a nightmare, he had a funny way of showing it. Set's mouth twitched, a nervous tic he couldn't hide without his shemagh. He frowned hard, consciously stopping himself from displaying the tic again, at least until Fanlomen's words caught him off-guard and refocused his attention elsewhere.

    "An ill omen indeed. Father Oak is not a feeble spirit by any measure."

    An oak? Oh, Set thought, staring up at the leaves and branches blotting out the sky above them and finally putting two and two together. Of course. What else would they have as their guardian tree? Their Green Faith seemed to prize the oak above all others. Set stood frozen as his mind worked to shine a light in the shadows, trudging back through the night in search of a detail that seemed important.

    As both elves probe the tree and the lone villager stands idly by, Set remembers. The Chief's book had highlighted a ritual that could bring forth an ancient oak's spirit. He narrows his eyes, looking up at the genuine article and wondering if this one's fathers knew how to ensure it survived. Regardless, though Set wholeheartedly agreed keeping the corruption of this place below-ground was of paramount importance, the very idea also presented an opportunity of sorts. As the two elves appear to finish their inspection, Set clears his throat.

    "Birel, do you recall the ritual I showed you from a book in Chief Moeller's library? It was, well," Set says, struggling a bit, "I don't know exactly, but it seemed like it showed how to revive the spirit of an old-oak. One of the ancients." He wonders for a moment if there was any added significance he was missing because of his limited knowledge of their faith. "Perhaps this one's fathers would know how best to safeguard their child." Set stares at them openly before ploughing on, "though, in truth, I know little about nature and its ways." He only know that the ritual seemed quite complicated and he would be of very little use in enacting such a procedure. If he could convince them to seek out the spirits tomorrow, he might be able to get some time away from prying eyes and ears. Time away, alone with a Fulton. Oh, let them grant him such a boon. If that accursed family knew anything of note, he would teach them to sing.

    Set's eyes are alight with passion, mouth twitching a couple more times as he is enveloped by the thought of finding his sisters by any means necessary.
    Last edited by Riggdgames; 2020-07-14 at 07:24 PM.

  5. - Top - End - #155
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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: --

    "Oh!" Birel exclaims in response to Set's words. "That would be immensely helpful I think. You didn't perhaps bring the book with you? Or would you be willing to run and fetch it?" She looks a little bit apologetic about asking him to go fetch things for her, but not terribly so.

    On the one hand she wasn't surprised that the Chief would have a book like that. It made sense somebody in the community would. On the other hand, it was conveniently that for once so far there was something in an actual book that could help with one of their problems. She liked deal with books a lot more than with other methods. Books were usually a bit more reliable when they offered answers to things than people were.

    Turning to Fanlomen she says, "We need to get these spikes out. Right away. I can help make them easier to remove, but I'm sure you would be better at the physical task than myself." she says, indicating his lean muscle in comparison to her comparative lack of them. She then moves her hands above the spikes and seems to gently grasp at something, though nothing visible, and gently push it upwards almost like she was scooping up water or loose silks.

    Spoiler
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    Using Adjust Density on the spikes to half their weight. Their speed increases by 10 feet, their jump distance is doubled, and they have disadvantage on strength checks and saves.


  6. - Top - End - #156
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    SwashbucklerGuy

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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: --

    Set bows his head slightly in response, quickly agreeing to go after the book. "I did not, but it would be my pleasure to go find it and bring it back here, or ask the Chief to bring it back in my stead. If I'm going by his house, I will stop in the square and let him know what we've found this time before coming back."

    Without delay Set turns to leave, not having to feign his eagerness as he rushes to escape the cemetery grounds. Birel's plan to remove the spikes echoes behind him. This could certainly get more complicated if she meant to call forth the oak-spirit this very evening, but once again, Set had to admire Birel's direct approach. It may yet allow him the opportunity he sought. He would not have to convince Vargath, Selissa, and Jemriah to join Birel in calling forth the ancient oak if they were still searching to the south. But it hinged on the Chief's reaction. If he wished to stay in the square and keep an eye on the Fulton's himself, Set doubted he could convince him to do anything else. If he trusted Set to do that while he delivered the book to Birel, along with any information he might need to share with her and Fanlomen...well, no doubt he would point out the Fulton's so Set could keep an eye on them, right?

    Lost in thought, Set quickly has to stop planning to make sure he navigates to the Chief's house properly without getting turned around. He stops there first, working his way back down into the basement and finding the book among the others in Chief Moeller's collection. Once he's able to make his way towards the square, it finally dawns on Set that even if he's able to identify the Fulton's and get the Chief to go help Birel, his 'time alone' with them will be accompanied by the rest of the entire village. Feeling betrayed by his own foolishness, Set nevertheless continues on the path he's on, bringing the book to Chief Moeller and wracking his brain for some way to salvage his intended plan of interrogating them alone.

  7. - Top - End - #157
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    Vargath carries out the search as diligently as he can, though his mind is distracted. He's frustrated. He slams doors and drawers as he sweeps through the house, likely distracting those he's with. "ᛞᚱᛁᚲᚲ ᚾᚨᛏᛏᛖᚾ, ᚠᚱᛁᛊᚲ ᛊᛃᛖᛚᛖᚾ" A voice bubbles inside him as he leans over a counter, palms splayed to support himself. It was right, he wasn't helping right now. He needed to recentre. With a quiet word of apology he excuses himself into the night out the front door, drinking in the cool air to chill his fury. Or try to at least. It was still there, roiling just beneath the skin, in every twitch of his fingers, every tense of his legs, every furrow of his brow.
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  8. - Top - End - #158
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    More desecration. She spent a moment, her fists clenched. The teeth and claw marks... was this the work of werewolves? Were they with the cult? Allies? Was this something else with gaping jaw and wicked claw? It was troubling enough that they had an array

    Selissa reach out, and pulled the remains of the deer as best she could off the altar; it didn't deserve to be left mangled and torn upon it. She wiped to gore off her hands as best she could on the grass and leaves before she turned back along the hidden trail. She emerged to see Vargath, frustated. She twitched her head towards the hidden path to draw his attention.
    "Half-blooded. Come here," she said, gesturing down the path. "Cultist altar. Sacrificed a stag. Looks like something chewed it up. "
    Over the mental link, she spoke.
    "#Jon Bence is a cultist. Found an evil altar. Filth. Not wolves. Bite, claw marks. Something bigger.#"
    Last edited by Awful; 2020-07-15 at 07:01 PM.
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  9. - Top - End - #159
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    Quote Originally Posted by Ramsus View Post
    Turning to Fanlomen she says, "We need to get these spikes out. Right away. I can help make them easier to remove, but I'm sure you would be better at the physical task than myself." she says, indicating his lean muscle in comparison to her comparative lack of them. She then moves her hands above the spikes and seems to gently grasp at something, though nothing visible, and gently push it upwards almost like she was scooping up water or loose silks.
    Fanlomen furrows his brow slightly at the request. While he did appear to be the strongest one of the trio, he might have to augment his muscles with his powers in order to free the nails. "I can certainly try..." He cracks the knuckles on both hands as he sets to the task of the first nail.

    Right.

    A nail embedded into a tree.

    A nail which, when removed, would leave a wound which needed to be healed quickly.

    Fanlomen paused, and the words he had spoken himself came back to mind. Father Oak is not a feeble spirit by any nature. He attempts to pull out one of the spikes to see what would happen, assuming he were able to even do so without tools.

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    Athletics?: (1d20+3)[17] + Psi-Bolstered Knack on a failure (1d6)[4]
    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.

  10. - Top - End - #160
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    NecromancerGuy

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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

    "Roger, you sneaky lush..." he mutters to himself at the sight of the amulet. Living this far into the woods meant getting creative to protect yourself. A home to protect from monsters, but the loneliness damages the mind. Booze to calm the mind, but damage the stomach. Magic to calm the stomach. Each solution causing another problem. What is the solution to Jemriah's own problem, he wonders silently.

    Closing the still door with a creak, Jemriah looks around and spots a jug similar to the one Roger was carrying and fuller based on its weight. He scoops it up and heads back into the night with the others. "Nothing dangerous in the shed," he reports. <"Roger, hope you don't mind I grabbed one of your backups... no telling when this horror is going to be over and didn't want you to run out. Mind if I hang onto it for now?">


    Jemriah fails to stifle a yawn as they enter Jon's house, the general undertone of fear from being in the Banewood failing to generate enough adrenaline to keep him alert. "Almost done," he says quietly to no one in particular, disinterestedly pulling back an elk hide rug to reveal only dustless floorboards when Selissa sends her message. It's enough of a wake up call to put some pep in his step as he heads around back to join her and Vargath.
    <"We really should have included the Chief in this mental connection... we'll have to get all the way back to town before he gets the warning,"> the lad advises in perfect hindsight.

    Looking with disgust down at what's left of the sacrifice spread across this shrine to darkness he adds verbally, "We should destroy it."

  11. - Top - End - #161
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Vargath is glad for the distraction, and gladder still that something was finally found. Selissa's news was invigorating. Taking in the scene, he examines it with what he hoped was a dispassionate approach - putting his emotions aside as best he could. He'd seen butchered animals before of course - done it himself - but this wasn't that. There was no elegance or practicality to the cuts, no use in its death beyond profane rituals. He studies the scene closely, analyzing the carvings to try to intuit some meaning or cause. Perhaps glean some insight into what they were planning, if they even had a plan beyond suicide-by-religion.

    Once he's satisfied that he's deduced all he can from the shrine, he agrees with Jemriah. "I agree. It shouldn't be left standing, and it's more than enough to put the axe to Mr Bence's neck. So long as we can destroy it without endangering the forest, we should be rid of it as soon as possible. Fire may not be an option, not here at least in case it spreads. We may need to take it piece by piece to burn it safely." He points back down the trail Selissa had lead them down. Part of him wanted to burn the man's entire homestead down, but perhaps that might be excessive.

    "We can only hope that burning them isn't seen as an offering all on its own." He mumbles. A quiet whisper begins speaking but he swats it away before it can get a coherent word out. Not now.

    Spoiler: Rolls
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    Trying to identify if there's any familiar magical purpose to the altar and/or if burning the items would cause more harm than good.
    Arcana: (1d20+4)[11]
    Advantage from Uvar: (1d20+4)[15]

    Knock the modifier down to +2 and scrap Advantage if Religion instead.
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  12. - Top - End - #162
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Birel and Fanlomen

    Whether by the strength of Fanlomen's arm, the strength of his mind, or by the will of Father Oak himself, the spikes come out readily enough. When they are removed, Birel and Fanlomen find them to be of proficient make- these were not home made, but created in a real forge with decent tools and supplies. When the last spike is pulled, there is a breath of wind that rustles the oak's leaves and branches, almost like a sigh of relief from the mighty tree. Fanlomen was able to pull each spike cleanly, without further damage to the tree, increasing it's odds of survival.

    Set

    Set finds the book easily enough, though the sound of whispers in the Chief's shrine grows louder as he removes it from it's place. Loud enough for Set to hear them easily. He can even make out a few words. "Thief" "Vandal" "Foreigner". All accusing, all chastising, but just quiet enough for it to still be questionably real. When Set leaves, a stern wind blows the Chief's door back and forth, making it clap loudly against it's frame until Set puts a shoulder to it.

    When Set approaches the village square, it is easy to see the crowd is growing ever more restless. He is welcomed by the Chief shouting over the accusations and questions of the crowd. "All will be explained soon! I know you all are tired, but we are almost done. PLEASE, REMAIN CALM!!" This does little to assuage the villagers, who are at best scared and at worst mutinous. Spotting Set, the Chief steps down off the stage and stomps up to him, interrupting him before he can speak. "We do not have time for me to run more errands this evening. The people will not stand for more waiting. If you have found something, tell me. Then go fetch your companions. The only thing that will relieve the stress of this evening is justice. All else can be addressed tomorrow. Make your report, then go collect the others. We are out of time. The whispers of Pale Night are among my people."
    The Bear is Back.

  13. - Top - End - #163
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Selissa couldn't even begin to guess what manner of demon or monster had mutilated the stag so: the quiet wood elf had little knowledge of such things, having only encountered little more than imps, gibberlings and other minor infernals.

    As the others spoke of destroying the altar, she nodded.
    "Destroy it," she agreed. "Burn the flesh away from the altar. Can bury the bones in the graveyard, place the skull in Father Oak."
    She paused, not sure if that was the way of the humans here. Her tribe would always place the skulls of kills and their dead in high branches, so the soul could see the sky and know to ascend, and not linger by the dull earth.
    Well, it was her way, she decided, and what did humans know about things anyway? Not enough to realise worshipping Pale Night was a bad idea, at least, and that was a low bar.
    "Destroying the altar. Scrape away the runes? Pull the stones away?"
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

  14. - Top - End - #164
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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: --

    The first whispers fall on deaf ears. Set's mind is otherwise occupied, all of his focus taken up in locating the right book as he leafs through a few pages of Sylvan, finally spotting that same ritual he'd encountered earlier. But as the whispers grow louder, Set closes the book, narrowing his eyes suspiciously before whipping around to face...nothing. Seeing no one present, he listens intently for a moment, the silence drawing out as he grows impatient. He didn't have time for this. There was still much to do and no time left to do it.

    As Set shoves the book into his pack, a whisper tickles his ear once more. He frowns, finally looking inward for that familiar laugh. But the Shadowkeeper, if he was there watching, did not look back out at him. Set felt nothing, saw nothing, and yet he could've sworn he'd heard--.

    "Thief." It was not Him. Set looked down at his paltry shadow in the pale light out of habit, but there was no sign of the Shadowkeeper's inflence. This was something else. "Vandal." He looked all around once more to be sure he was alone, and found only bookcases nestled in the small space surrounding the Chief's shrine. "Foreigner." Set's blood ran cold as the stress of the night and the moment overcame his better instincts. It knows. He ran, pounding up the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door shut only to watch it pop open once more, banging angrily back and forth against its frame. He shouldered the door shut, adrenaline pumping through him as he quickly spun away from the Chief's home and ran towards the square, only slowing once he'd gotten within earshot of the angry multitude.

    Still breathing heavily, Set nods quietly as the Chief speaks, remembering what he'd thought the first time Chief Moeller had spoken to him. He knows. Set braces against the Chief's anger, sure that it is all because of Set's thoughts and actions. Had he seen Set's intentions regarding the Fulton's to go behind his back and seek a private interrogation? Had he watched Set invade his shrine and steal a prized book? Did he stand in judgement over the filth Set carried in his pack? Mouth twitching with no shemagh to hide behind, Set forces himself to respond both quickly, and truthfully.

    "The tree, the guardian tree," Set says, correcting himself, "in the cemetary is unwell. We found spikes. Copper spikes buried in its trunk. Birel and Fanlomen sought to remove them, but I stole away before they could finish to steal your book. That is, we think it could help the dying oak. That's where I come from. I took your book with the ritual to bring an old-oak spirit forth. Here it is," Set says, digging through his pack and handing the book to Chief Moeller. "I will, I, umm," he struggles, "I'll just go get them." For a fraction of a second he thinks about suggesting that Chief Moeller might want to look into the tree tomorrow with some, or all of the others, but he quails at the thought of the Chief seeing right through him. Waiting just long enough for the Chief to respond, Set hurries back to the elves, intent on dragging them back to the square.

    Once he is outside of the village-proper, Set's nerves seem to steady, his fear diminishing with every step put behind him. His thoughts turn to the Chief and his home. There was a presence there, that was sure. But had it just been the Chief, some projection of his will? Or something more powerful still? Set did not like feeling known without knowing anything in return. And as far as the Chief was concerned, Set felt like he knew far too little. He was clean though, Set had to admit.

    Rising a crest in the road, Set breathes a sigh of relief without thinking about it as he sees the two elves. Was he genuinely glad to see them? Both of them? Curious. Set pushes the question aside and waves, shouting across the cemetary to them and beckoning them towards him. Meeting them halfway, Set works to catch his breath while explaining the situation, saying "...so I left the book with him and came right away. They're splitting at the seams. I do not think we can afford to tarry here or extend our search a moment longer. Let us go settle our account with the Fultons, and on the morrow we may return."

  15. - Top - End - #165
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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

    Jemriah steps up to the altar, rolling up his sleeves and taking a few deep breaths. He did not look forward to what was to come next. With a few gestures and gutteral utterances from somewhere deep within his throat and mind, his body lurches forward, his jaw seeming to unhinge and fall open as a glob of viscous yellow bile spews forth with surprising speed. It splatters onto the stones of the altar with a hiss, droplets creating a sizzling constellation of burning stars connected by strings of remnant gore from the stag. It almost seemed to form an eye, watching with unblinking cruelty at his suffering. He hated it and everything it represented.

    Another heave, another bubbling mass rockets from his mouth, disrupting the stony stare fixed on him. The smell of bile fills the air for a moment before a light breeze carries the scent deeper into the woods. Jemriah offers a silent prayer of gratitude to the forest spirits for that kindness.

    A third ball of acid, each aimed precisely at the profane runes carved into the stone, dissolving their power as the stone around them pits and melts.

    When the last of the runes is burned away, Jemriah breaths deeply, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before taking a deep pull of Roger's moonshine to burn the last of the vile flavor from his mouth. "Eruukhrotuho," he annunciates carefully. The syllables seem to rumble as much from his feet as his mouth with the ground itself answering in kind. The area beneath the altar shifts to the side, causing the stones to tumble and fall apart. With another word, the displaced earth rushes like a wave back over the former altar leaving no trace of its existence except a raised mound of dirt and what was left of the creature that last sat upon it.

    Jemriah breathes a bit heavily, looking between Selissa and Vargath in what could be interpreted as either fear, vulnerability, or perhaps even challenge. Maybe all three. He offers the open jug to Vargath.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    Acid Splash as much as needed to hopefully destroy the runes.
    Mold Earth to bury the altar.

    Last edited by miinstrel; 2020-07-16 at 04:01 PM.

  16. - Top - End - #166
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    Default Re: The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

    Fanlomen frowns, but understands the Chief's reasoning. The villagers were already been irritable when he was there last, and though the Chief had a lot of power within the village, he was still only one man. The removal of the nails had almost seemed too easy, but the elf wasn't about to complain. "The watcher Oak has been treated, for now. I would like to make sure none of the graves have been disturbed, but I do not see why we cannot be finished here soon." To avoid any further delays, Fanlomen walks up and down the rows of graves to make absolutely sure that none have been recently disturbed quickly.

    Spoiler
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    Not totally sure whether Investigation or Perception is more relevant here, so I'll just roll both.
    Investigation: (1d20+2)[6]
    Perception: (1d20+4)[7] Psi-Boosted Knack on a failure: (1d6)[6]
    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.

  17. - Top - End - #167
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    Vargath takes the jug from Jemriah with a nod and a small tip of the jug as thanks. He gives it a light sniff, regrets doing so, before taking a swig and letting the powerful liquid wash over his tongue and sear the back of his throat. Finally, something worth drinking. "Good work." It's sincere, as he always is. Vargath was no stranger to magic but it was always just a bit impressive to see, especially in one so young. He'd seen those with a dozen years on Jemriah unable to muster a candleflame of power, nevermind what was just displayed. He holds the jug out to offer it to Selissa. "Both of you." They wouldn't have found it without her after all. Kept a cooler head than he had, even though it was 'her' village. Or maybe because of it. His eyes sat on where the altar had been, a place that now stood empty. Hopefully it wouldn't corrupt the earth, but who knew with things like this.

    "I doubt we'd be lucky enough for Bence to be the only one and have this all tied up." It's addressed to both of them and neither of them. Having one cultist could lead to more though - interrogating his mind, his heart, his body if needs be. If they carved symbols into their offerings and altars perhaps they had similar symbols on their own body...for protection from whatever it was that had left the bite marks, maybe. Strip searching the inhabitants would go down a treat, he was sure. Part of him was suddenly hoping that they found nothing on his body, save them a lot of arguing and unfortunate visuals.
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    Birel Amastacia
    High Elf Wizard
    AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20
    PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    Birel frowns a bit, really hoping the tree could wait. If it failed while they were occupied dealing with the villagers, they'd just have traded one problem for another. But she doesn't question the Chief's decision here. Without his warning about this they'd have been overrun by demons and undead within the week without warning.

    She joins Fanlomen in his search of the graves, because they can spare at least that little amount of time to be forewarned if there would be an additional threat to worry about.

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    Investigation: (1d20+3)[5]


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    Set

    "The ritual of seasons? Aye, that might save the tree... I'd meant to preform it as a reward to all of you for helping the town. It can only be done once a year, but we can't wait if the cemetery oak is dying. The ritual takes days to prepare. It will have to hold on till then. Now hurry. Gather the searchers and meet me back here." The Chief turns to face his people again, leaving you to make the journey alone.

    Set, Birel, and Fanlomen

    Upon Set's return, Birel and Fanlomen have ascertained that none of the graves appear to be out of order, with the exception of one. A fresh one. With no grave marker. A rusted shovel sticks out of the earth next to the grave. Birel can't seem to remember anyone of note dying so recently in the village, but the grave is well dug and shows no sign of upset that would accompany undead. For now the cemetery is peaceful, but only time will tell if this remains the norm.

    Vargath, Jemriah, and Selissa

    The altar crumbles, sizzles, and settles into a mound of dirt, the potential for evil within buried under the earth. Jemriah's magic brings some measure of peace back to this part of the Banewood, but those teeth and claw marks still indicate that something unnatural hunts these wilds.
    The Bear is Back.

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

    Selissa had taken a quiet step back when Jemriah cast his grotesque magic. She watched him with a cautious eye, as if ready to dart out the way. She only subsided when the altar had disappeared under the earth.

    When Vargarth offered the mug, she took it . After a tentative sip, she screwed up her nose at the bitter burning flavour. It was horrible, but her elven tongue could taste the moonlight-prickle taste of magic in it.

    "...Just looking," she said, brushing off the praise awkwardly. She didn't feel like she'd done anything particularly notable - just see what was poorly hidden.
    She gave the jar back. The deer would have to be buried and burned tomorrow.
    "Let's go back."
    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 HP: 20/20
    PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Mage Armor
    Concentration: --

    On her way back to the Chief and the villagers Birel thought to herself that tensions would be high and the cultists once uncovered weren't likely to go quietly and easily. So she cast a magical armor about herself. For the first few moments its conjured into being it appears as a colorful nebula with twinkling stars before fading to black then completely transparent, with the stars fading from sight last. Though those who saw her cast it swear if they look closely they can still see an almost entirely transparent aura of it, though it vanishes from sight completely any time they aren't completely focused on her.

    Once they return to the Chief, Birel walks over to him and quietly informs him, "After you left us we burned the kill room and the cow. We didn't find anything further of note until we came to the Guardian Tree. Someone had put several copper spikes into the roots, clearly trying to kill it. And they've come very close, so much so that they might still succeed. The spikes were well made, they must have been the work of a proper blacksmith." at this point she'll hand the spikes over to him in case there's anything he can glean from them either now or at a later time. "We then searched for disturbed graves. We only found one, though it looked like someone had unburied and taken whoever was buried there rather than a corpse having risen and dug its way out."

    After a moment she adds, "I almost forgot. Earlier we found Brent had a Hamurite symbol hidden on his floor. Which would be bad enough, but with the spikes in the Guardian Tree.... Well, some of the others were worried what would be justified to do about that. But I have a feeling after we question him, the answer is probably going to be pretty clear."
    Last edited by Ramsus; 2020-07-17 at 12:25 PM.

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

    The walk back to town was quiet. Jemriah could practically feel everyone's nerves crackling with anticipation. Someone would die this night, and the slithering tendril in his mind was stirring thanks to his use of its powers. Still, it was worth it to cleanse the shrine and Pale Night's whispers in the area.

    Upon their return to town, Jemriah approaches the Chief and Birel, giving a grim nod of acknowledgement to the latter. "The south side is clear until you get into the Banewood... a pack of werewolves were fighting each other just over the hill from Roger's house, but we got him out safely. More disturbing... Jon Vence is practicing dark magic at his home. We found a sacrificial altar to Pale Night bearing a torn up stag branded with evil runes. Something big... unnaturally big... ripped the beast apart with claws so strong they cut grooves into the stone. It wasn't feeding, it was relishing the destruction. We burned and buried the altar, but whatever Jon summoned is still out there..." he closes ominously.

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    "Bence," Selissa interrupted. "Not Vence."
    She looked through the throng for the man in question, and her wooden hand tapped out a brief staccato on her quiver of arrows. Standing next to the chief, she gazed at the clusters of scared and angry people, eyes flicking between them. How many, she wondered, were their foes in hiding, soon to be forced into action by the axe? There would be blood soon. The phantom scent of it hung in the air, rust and red.

    "Weldry peddles with devils," she added after a moment. "Had a statue of one. Called it a counting devil. Used it for gold-" for once, her tone changed from melodious whisper to thick scorn- "-Orvin has it in a bag."
    And the far stars cried, and the planets yearned;
    But no man may know, for she'll ne'er return.

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    "Interrogations should begin immediately. Strike while the iron is hot." Vargath adds to Jemriah and Selissa's report. "And examinations - if they've marked themselves in any way normally covered by clothes, we should discover it to locate other cultists." He turns to look out at the assembled townsfolk. "They're going to be here a while longer yet. Hopefully that incentivises some to be a bit more open."
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  25. - Top - End - #175
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    In the Village Square

    The Chief listens to each of your reports, not saying anything but taking in everything that is being said. When he has heard all you have to say, he nods once. "Orvin, bring the bag forward." The villager steps forward in a hurry and holds the bag out to the Chief, who takes it and reaches in to retrieve the statue. Looking it over, a look of disgust crosses his face before he puts it back in the bag. "Damnit... this village needs Weldry... but we can't abide this corruption..." He shakes his head, then turns to climb back onto the impromptu stage. But before he does, he turns back to the searchers. "Stand ready. Spirits be blessed, this could go south in a hurry." Then he mounts the stage and raises his hands, standing before his people.

    "Villagers of Dam'ess!" He claps his hands to get everyone's attention, but his booming voice alone does the job. Everyone quiets and turns to the stage, seeming to sense that an end to this night is coming. When he continues, he speaks more quietly, but with the same level of force.

    "Thank you for your patience and your endurance this night. I apologize to those of you who have been put out by staying up this late and ignoring your farms these long hours. But now I can finally reveal to you why you have been gathered. There is a CORRUPTION in our village. One that took root in our very homes and fields, and threatens to overwhelm our piety and our lives in equal measure. This corruption must be torn out by the root, before it can reach the heart of our community. To this end, I need everyone to clear an area in front of the stage. When I name you, step forward and submit yourself to judgement, or be forced into the light like the darkness in your heart!" The crowd begins to rumble, and many look nervous. Horace Fulton, leader of the Fulton family, turns quietly to make his way out of the crowd, but the muscular hand of Brent Bergeron grabs his shoulder and roots him in place. The blacksmith looks dour himself, if resolved. Horace tries in vain to shake Brent off before slumping, instead going to his wife and children and wrapping them in his arms.

    Brent Bergeron, step forward!

    The blacksmith steps through the crowd, parting it with his muscular bulk and size the way a teacher cuts through a school yard. In his wake, some of the helpers from the search move in to surround the Fultons. Nearby, other trusted members of the community who have been alerted by the searchers move to surround John Bence, whose features bare nonchalance in the extreme, looking as though he is barely paying attention. Brent stands tall in the small clearing hastily formed by the crowd in front of the stage, and all the eyes in Dam'ess are on him.

    The Chief looks down at him for a few moments, his stare drilling into the man's soul, but Brent only stares back at him, back straight, stance defiant. The Chief grunts, then continues. "You stand accused of two things, Brent. Firstly, of worshiping Harum, the so-called Lord of the Vale. As you know, we are a community that respects nature, the spirits, and the fey. There may be no home here for you if this is true. Second, the Guardian Oak at the center of the town cemetery was desecrated with copper nails, professionally crafted. Seeing as we have only one blacksmith in town with the tools and expertise to craft such things, blame falls in your direction. I've known you for many years, Brent. But that relationship means nothing in comparison to justice. What says the accused?"

    The blacksmith widens his stance, as though a large weight has just been placed on his shoulders. "I'll apologize to none for my faith, but I urge you all to listen to my words. I've lived among you for eight years. I've been to your weddings. I've been to your funerals. I've been respectful of your faith, and not once have I pressed my own upon you. Some who worship Harum... they look down on the members of the Green Faith. I never have and I never will. I only ask that the community I've been working with for nearly a decade give me the same respect I've given you. I wish to live in Dam'ess. Harum willing, I hope to die in Dam'ess. But I will not abandon my faith to do so. As for the nails, I won't deny I made them. But I NEVER would hammer them into the tree that keeps our community safe. They were ordered by the traveling doctor who came through two weeks ago. He paid in gold, and I didn't question his intentions, which may make me guilty in some people's eyes. But I've said it once and I'll say it again- I respect the Green Faith, and never would I attack one of your sacred oaks. Judge me, Maus, but know I am innocent in the eyes of my god as well as yours." Then the blacksmith goes down to one knee, head down, and awaits judgement.

    The Chief frowns, still staring at Brent with intensity. After nearly a minute, he speaks again. "I sense no lies from you, Brent. While I have my doubts to whether or not the Harumites and the Green Faith can live in harmony, if that chance exists it lives in you. From this day forward, you need not hide your faith. Practice it openly, and I call upon all in the village to treat you with the same courtesy and respect that you've given us these years you've lived side by side with us. Anyone who would harm Brent in any way will be dealt with the same way I would deal with a Harumite who attacked one of my flock due to their faith. You are dismissed, Brent. May your god guide you in a path that coincides with the will of the spirits."

    Brent stands, shoulders slumped, and walks back into the crowd, though people give him an even wider berth than before. The crowd rumbles again, and some souls who are either proud of their faith or cowardly enough to throw accusations from the safety of a crowd begin to shout- "Heretic!" "Nonbeliever!" "Harumite!". But these cries are rare- most of the villagers look relieved that Brent has been found innocent. The man is generally well respected and well liked in the community, and it seems for most this has not changed due to the revelations about his worship.

    Weldry Wessen, step forward!

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    Insight checks
    Spoiler: DC 5
    Show
    Brent appears to be telling the truth. The Chief certainly thinks so, at least.

    Spoiler: DC 10
    Show
    Brent speaks openly and from the heart, without shame or anger. He is telling the truth.

    Spoiler: DC 15
    Show
    In the blacksmith's words are the pain of a man who had to hide who he is for years to stay loyal to his god. He bares no malice towards Dam'ess, if anything he loves this community. Though he tries to put on a strong man act, he trembles with anxiety and worry as he speaks, showing no small amount of fear that this will be his last day in the village, or his last day living. Still, he refuses to compromise his faith or his love of Dam'ess, and speaks frankly about both. He is telling the truth.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2020-07-17 at 08:20 PM.
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    Vargath gives the shopkeeper a pleasant grin as he steps forward - the weak-willed fool who took to consorting with devils to line his pocket. Gently he fingers the axe edge beneath his robes. He probably wouldn't be the one to get to swing, in truth, but it was still a pleasant thought nonetheless. Perhaps the town would get to glimpse his soul descending into the fires when it happened. It certainly seemed a night for such visual miracles. His eyes drift to the Chief warily. There was only one right response to this situation. It should be quick, and Vargath hoped it would be.
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    Jemriah Cleater
    Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10

    Jemriah watches from the edge of the crowd as the Chief pronounces his sentence, pleased with the mercy and wisdom he shows. It was clear why he lead this corner of the mountain. Though the accusations against the remaining offenders were far less forgiving. Consorting with devils. Dark rituals and profane rites. The sons and daughters of temptation were wily, and Jemriah intended to employ his full attention to purge their evil from this community.

    As the Chief calls Weldry forward, Jemriah reaches into his coin purse and quietly withdraws a single copper piece, holding it in the palm of his hand. A few grumbled arcane words mingle incomprehensibly with the Chief's pronouncements for those in his immediate vicinity. He concentrates the power into the palm of his hand - into the coin. As the casting completes he flicks the coin up with an unmistakable, echoing *ting*, watching it spin end over end with each revolution broadening his mind to the inner thoughts of the assembly. Thoughts of worry, of triumph, of fear. He closes his eyes a moment, focusing his mind on the new sensations and not the dark, dripping whisper in the back of his mind. When he opens them again there is clarity, and he sweeps like a hooded lantern over each person in the crowd, scanning their thoughts for signs of treachery in Pale Night's name until the Fulton's are brought forward to answer for their crimes.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    Casting Detect Thoughts. Monitoring surface thoughts of people in the crowd, especially Bence, and Wessen in the wake of their testimony. I intend to do a deep dive on the Horace when he takes the stand = WIS save DC 13.

    Last edited by miinstrel; 2020-07-18 at 10:40 PM.

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    In the Village Square

    Weldry Wessen is shoved forward from behind, entering the area in front of the stage with a stumble. He blinks rapidly as he enters torchlight, either because his eyes have transitioned poorly or as some sort of nervous tick. He looks up at the Chief in disbelief, then back at the people surrounding him, then over to Vargath, Jemriah, and Selissa. His face twitches, then he turns away.

    "Weldry, you stand accused of consorting with devils. As evidence, this statue..." The Chief reaches into the sack and removes the figurine, displaying it to the crowd, who react with a mix of fear and revulsion. Jemriah reads several who are faking, however, and who look on with interest and curiosity. "... a magical totem, was found in your possession. You then admitted to the crime. Have you anything to say for yourself?" The Chief looks down with dire eyes, the torch light only enhancing his towering size and judgmental demeanor.

    "I was bewitched. Bedeviled. Ensorcelled. I couldn't help myself." He goes down to both knees, hands wringing and voice tinged with despair. "Please, Maus, my good friend! The statue was given to me by my father, when I was young. I was raised with that... damnable thing... and it tricked and misled me through my whole life. I want to be free of it. Please! Take it away and destroy it! But by the spirits I may yet be redeemed! Mercy, Chief!" He begins to sob pitifully.

    Spoiler: Detect Thoughts
    Show
    I'll fool them! I must! I will! The old fool has shown mercy already, of course he'll fall for it!


    Chief Moeller's gaze does not relent. "It matters not whether you have been corrupted from a young age or yesterday, Weldry. What matters is that you are corrupted. Spoiled goods. The spirits may redeem you, but if they do it will be in the afterlife. You will be burned at the stake. Let it be a taste of what you will experience for the rest of time, you greedy fool. I'll not let demons OR devils infiltrate my village and rot it from the inside out. Seize him, and gather wood for the fire." There are roars of agreement from the crowd, and no lack of volunteers to swarm and carry off Weldry. The crowd parts like a school of fish as the shopkeep is dragged bawling to the other end of the square. It never takes long to find wood when an execution is on hand, and a handful of villagers start stacking it, volunteered from nearby homes and even the shelves from Weldry's own shop. While this is prepared, the Chief continues.

    John Bence, step forward!

    The Chief tosses the figurine back in the sack and sets it down on the stage as the tall, muscular form of John Bence strides forward into the torch light. He draws back his hood to reveal a handsome man of early middle age, bearing a bright grin and warm eyes. One would say he looks pleased to be here. He strokes his small beard and waits for the Chief to speak.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    I'm not going to even dignify his bluff roll with a counter roll. Beat a 4 and you know Wessen is full of it.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2020-07-18 at 11:21 PM.
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    He'd have preferred an axe - quick, simple, satisfying thunk. But there was a certain amount of poetic justice to burning someone destined for the hells, so he couldn't complain. Even the normally trusting Vargath saw through his lies easily. Just how he'd survived for as long as he had without being caught was a miracle unto itself. Or perhaps more devil magic. No wonder a cult had managed to set up shop in the village.

    Bence looked like they had more presence of mind than the feeble shopkeep, and a face that could sway a crowd if they had half a mind to try. Vargath fingers his wolfpelt with his free hand, letting his finger run through the fur.
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  30. - Top - End - #180
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    Set Al-Sayyid
    Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
    AC: 16 HP: 27
    PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9
    Conditions: --
    Concentration: --

    As Birel and Fanlomen walk ahead back towards the village, Set gathers his thoughts. He'd seen and heard much this night, but nothing he could attribute to Fanlomen being the nightmare Chief Moeller had warned them all he could be. Appearances could be deceiving, but Fanlomen certainly appeared innocent of His influence, or Pale Night's. Set's gaze shifts to Birel, the stars of her ward winking out until he could barely perceive the shimmer of her spell. Her silence on the matter said much. She hadn't hesitated in the slightest to call Set out when he'd lied. He trusted she would've done the same if Fanlomen had acted in any way counter to their goals. Further examination might be prudent, but for now, Set resolves to leave his suspicions of Fanlomen aside. There was much left to do this night, and many more suspects to focus on. The blacksmith and his faith in Harum. The Fulton's with their corruption laid bare before being purified in flame. Even the young prodigy, Jemriah, would no doubt make his triumphant return from searching in the south.

    A spasm of anxiety twists Set's guts as he thinks of the two-faced young man. Guilt follows as Set momentarily hopes that Jemriah might have done something awful just to force the Chief and others to confront him openly. He was sure that Vargath could take care of himself even if surprised by an ally turned traitor, but if Jemriah had targeted Selissa or one of the villagers? Shame courses through Set as he swats the thought aside. What would his sisters think of him if they could see his thoughts now? Wishing for an innocent life to be hurt so that he could avoid having to spar with the Shadowkeeper's minion himself. He could see their faces even now, Sisi's a portrait of disappointment while the younger Sythpen's flashed in anger.

    His brother Sirus' words bubble up in Set's mind. 'Truth reveals itself to those who walk the hard path.' Set would have to walk a tightrope between avoiding open defiance of his patron and sabotaging Jemriah's own plans and actions. There was no easy path forward.

    Self-conscious about his distinct lack of proper clothing, Set happily hangs back as far as he can while still remaining within earshot of the Chief and Birel as she gives her report. As was becoming common, he thanked whatever flip of the coin had made her settle in Dam'ess and agree to join them. There was nothing in her words except truth and insight. Set questioned his own insight for a moment as he failed to see what Birel had so easily determined. Brent the blacksmith would have most likely made the copper spikes that were pounded into the tree. His own guilt or innocence seemed to rapidly sway towards guilt in Set's mind as the pieces fell into place.

    Set's eyes find Jemriah, heart skipping a beat as the young man approaches the Chief and Birel to give his own report. Momentary relief at seeing Selissa and Vargath apparently unhurt does not last as the young man wastes no time. The grim, yet oh-so-innocent farmboy slips up on the man's last name, but Set isn't fooled. All part of the act, he was sure. Once more, Set had to admit the young man was good. Let them think you're given to honest mistakes, then play that up when they finally catch you in real a falsehood. Set could have admired him if he wasn't so dangerous.

    For a moment Set mulls over approaching Vargath and asking him about Jemriah's conduct during their search, but he continues to hang back. Better to just observe for the moment. Besides, that would only bring him closer to his quarry, and Set had no illusions about confronting Jemriah here and now.

    As Brent steps forward, Set is unable to peel his eyes away from Jemriah at first. In the end, he turns his attention to Birel, watching her reaction to his words and the Chief's response to them. Given her distaste for the Harumites, he credits her silence as assent that the Chief is making the right call. Set cataloged his own uncertainty for later examination regardless, should the blacksmith give him cause.

    Set's gaze flicks back to Jemriah in time to see him flip a copper piece. Where fear and anxiety dwell, now there is also a mote of cold, calculated rage. The young man mocks him without even appearing to look in his direction. No one could see it but the two of them, Set was certain, and that was the whole point. Where Set was in the dark about the details surrounding Jemriah's search in the south, the young man already knew all about Set's search in the north. Jemriah's thoughts were no secret. 'Did you lose your coin, Set?' he seemed to ask. 'Oh no, just your sanity? A pity, but that was never yours to keep anyway. Well since you put that coin away, would you like this one?' Set's hold on his Favorite tightened, knuckles white as he gripped the spear as if choking Jemriah. But as his anger burned, fear also reared its ugly head. How did he know? Forget that he might've guessed from Set's appearance that he'd put most of his things away in his pack, how did he know the importance of the coin? It was evidence of just the sort he couldn't take to anyone. Jemriah was working with Him. The young man could see as He did. And he was perfectly happy to use that power to toy with Set.

    Set barely heard Weldry's plea or the Chief's response as he tried to figure out what to do. A single glance was sufficient to see Weldry's guilt plainly written over the man's face. No doubt his fate would've aroused more interest had he been working with Pale Night and Jemriah wasn't openly flaunting his power.

    Finally uprooted from his spot as John Bence is called forward, Set quietly tries to approach Vargath and grab his attention, but thinks better of it as he gets closer. He is altogether too wary of Jemriah to speak openly or even whisper so close to him. Instead Set takes up a spot closer to the half-orc, but still behind Jemriah. A man stands accused of practicing the dark arts in service to Pale Night, but Set's focus is primarily on a spot between Jemriah's shoulder blades where he could bury his Favorite if the real threat here gives him cause.
    Last edited by Riggdgames; 2020-07-19 at 08:49 AM.

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