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

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 23/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: Wrathful Smite (Round 4/10) Set cries out in pain and disgust as the demonic creature sinks it's jagged teeth into his arm, ripping the sleeve of his jalabiya and leaving a bloody trail in it's place. He tries to punch the creature off with the spine of his spear, but a bird of periwinkle and a ray of azure come flying in, raising a squawk from the demon and giving Set all the room he needs. The butt of his spear arcs parallel to the ground, just missing as the creature ducks underneath the blow, seemingly at Set's knees and staring up at him stupidly. Set's Favorite whirls around with the momentum of the swing as he brings her point crashing down through the creature's upturned, gaping mouth and nails it to the earth through its body. Set's eyes dart up towards the next target as the battle continues. One left. Stomping his boot into the demon's face, Set pulls his Favorite free, cradling her with one blood-soaked hand stained black from the creature's spray and the other painted red as his own blood drips freely down his left arm. Rushing across the square, Set moves quickly towards the last dretch standing, eager to watch it crawl back to hell. Spoiler: OOC Show Discord rolls across the board. Bonus Action Spear butt attack: 9 Action: Spear attack (2H): 17 Damage: 13 Move action: Run towards the last one standing.

[Amnestic]

The rune magic does a less than stellar job at calming Vargath's nerves and giving him the heart to charge back into the fray. He takes another deep breath, focuses and tries to push the fear away, push it down until he can process it in peace later. He could grasp their nature, if he tried. The halo glimmers and shrinks, binding around his forehead and slowly seeping into his skin.

With the villagers helped, he turns to the fiendish foes that still stand. He might not be able to find it in him to step closer but he could at least do something. Blunt or blade, it didn't matter, he just wanted to hit something. To help. To not be useless. He shifts his weight, draws his right foot back and pulls back hard before stomping forward with his left and launching his axe in a powerful overhead throw through the air, spinning head over end in a direct path at the nearest enemy.

Spoiler: Actions

Show

Vargath is going to throw his axe.
Attack (disadvantage from frightened): (1d20+5)[24](1d20+5)[12]. Damage: (1d4+3)[5]* + (1d6)[5]

Uvar granting advantage on breaking frightened at the end of his turn, using Intelligence: (1d20+2)[21](1d20+2)[18]

*Dice changed to 1d4 for improvised since it's not a throwing weapon, modifier lowered to +3 because no longer dueling.

[WhismurWanders]

Fanlomen sees the others seem to have the situation under control, and returns to where he had left the corpse of the man who started all this. Just to make sure there was no funny business going on, he would plant one of his physical daggers into the corpse's chest. There were strange magics at work here, and he wanted to make sure the dead would stay dead.

[Awful]

Selissa stepped up to the corner of the roof. For a moment, she looked down at the wretched demon, and the beast turned its head to look back up at her with a single dull eye.

A hideous thing, she thought, as she steadily withdrew another arrow from her quiver and nocked it. Perhaps realising it was about to die, the demon tried to push itself back upright. A gurgling bellow began to grow in its throat-

Selissa's arrow nailed its head to the dirt.

She watched it carefully for a moment, to ensure it was dead, and then straightened up. She nodded once in satisfaction and nimbly dropped down to the ground by the corpse of the monster.

[purepolarpanzer]

In the Village Square

The last demon takes an ax across the spine that sends it reeling, then an arrow to the face that puts it down. You are left with nine corpses, until, with a loud sucking noise, each and every demon is ripped from this reality, almost like a liquid up a straw, disappearing in a wet singularity of crushed, slurped monster. Fanlomen's dagger sinks into the remains of John Bence with a dull thunk, breaking through his burned flesh easily enough and burying in his heart. He has become nearly cremated, and another pyre will finish the job readily.

In all the commotion, Weldry Wessen has gone missing. Likely he ran as soon as he was given a chance. The Widower Trent and the Jakobs are still present, having run with the crowd and returned with them as well. The Chief has his cane again, looking out at the square with disgust. "This night needs to be over. It's nearly morning already. Let dawn bring righteousness to our cause." He raises his voice to a shout. "Take the Jakobs and the Widower Trent home. Guard their doors. We will find out their involvement tomorrow." The Chief turns to the party, eyes tired, arms shaking.

"I wouldn't send anyone to find Wessen this night. We already know the werewolves are about, and whatever horror Bence summoned in the Banewood. If you wish, you can pursue him, but I think banishment is an acceptable punishment at this point." He shakes his head. "Thank you all. Without you, this cult could have led us to ruin."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 23/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Sprinting for the last dretch, Set watches an axe take it in the back before Selissa's arrow pierces its skull and nails it to the ground. Slowing to a walk, Set joins Selissa by its remains, examining the demonic creature now that it's no longer a threat. "Nice shot," Set exclaims, glancing over at Selissa appraisingly before looking back down at the dretch. "Can't say I've spent that much time learning the way of the bow, but it certainly has its uses when you can place one like that. Not to mention," Set continues, grimacing more at the dretch's blood than his own, "staying out of reach has its benefits." Suddenly the dretch at his feet is sucked from this reality, it's place on this plane forfeit. Set watches with a mixture of horror and dark curiosity as all of the demonic forms meld together and are slurped from existence, the image of their filth joining together making him uncomfortable. He rips the right sleeve off his jalabiya, the left already in shreds from a dretch's bite, and wipes the black blood from his hands and his Favorite with disgust, doing what he can to cleanse what's left of them from his person. He looks around for a water source, but before he can find one his eyes settle on Vargath. "Didn't take you for much of a ranger," he says, picking the half-orc's axe up and walking it over to him. "Didn't realize those giants speaking to you had designs on making you one of them, either," he says with a touch of admiration. Listening to the Chief's words, Set nods, feeling the weight of his own fatigue settling over him. It's been a long night. set barely had the energy to be disgusted by Jemriah's foul use of magic. The thought of chasing Weldry back into the Banewood when he didn't even serve Pale Night was more exhausting still. "Perhaps it is time we rested," Set says, looking around at companion and enemy alike. "Let the man Wessen find his way through the Banewood alone and never return. No doubt that's punishment enough."

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel shrugs in reply to the Chief's decision, she trusted him best in how to deal with these threats. And she was getting rather tired. Thinking of that she looked at the assembled others and the Chief, "Given the dangers present and that some situation might occur it be best for us to quickly arrive together for, I would like to invite some of you to stay at my home for the night. I don't have room for all of you, but I could take two or three."

[Amnestic]

Vargath takes the axe from Set, still dripping with blood. He wipes the worst of it off on the grass. A proper clean would have to wait. "I am Vargath, nothing more or less." He replies to Set's...probable compliment. He judged it as such. After a minute, the runes that had flared up across his body do so a second time, but rather than spreading they instead steadily coalesce back to his eyes as he shrinks back down to his normal size of six and a half feet, still towering over everyone. When he has returned to his original size he blinks twice and the runeglow vanishes. Once again, Vargath. Nothing more or less.

"Throwing axes are usually custom made, but we make do with what we have." He kept quiet about the fear that had gripped him and prevented him from closing the distance. Such thoughts were his alone. "ᚨᚾᛞ ᛟᚢᚱᛊ, ᛟᚠ ᚲᛟᚢᚱᛊᛖ." Yes, and theirs, he conceded. The bloodletting had reinvigorated Vargath, and he felt his second wind hard and fast. He felt he could run laps around the village border. He shouldn't, and wouldn't, but he could.

"I'm loathe to leave any loose ends, but the weasel devilboy," He wasn't an adult, to Vargath. Possibly not even a child. He'd certainly met children with more sense and spine, "is more likely to become food for a monster than bother the village again. That said I would like to check his home before retiring, just in case he's folly enough to return rather than leave with just the clothes on his back." He's volunteering to save any of the tired from the effort, and truthfully he doesn't expect to find anything - but it would give him time to wind down. Or perhaps another head to take. Either was fine.

At Birel's suggestion, he considers for a moment. "There's a few suddenly empty houses now, if you can't accommodate us all." He wasn't embarrassed to admit he hadn't kept count of exactly how many. At least two, he knew that much, though he'd rather see Bence's home put to the torch. "If I'm checking Wessen's house, I could sleep there - perhaps catch him trying to sneak back in should he try something. "

[Awful]

At the Chief's statement, Selissa shook her head.
"Still could. Don't know what's in the Banewood. Till that's gone, can't relax too much."
She crouched to retrieve her arrow from where it had slain the dretch. It had been left behind, neatly cleansed of demon ichor by the whirlpool-like effect that had sucked up the remains of the dead monsters.

She blinked in surprise as one of the adventurer humans spoke to her, nursing a wound left by a demon's claws on his arm.
"Yes," she agreed. It had been a nice shot, and the bow did have plenty of uses. A moment passed before she awkwardly added "...thank you. Best to kill from afar. Best prey is unaware, until..."
She tapped the arrow in her hand, her wooden finger making a plink sound against it.

She felt a turn of unease at letting an assembly of strangers sleep in her home, as Birel so boldly volunteered her own. Still, she would like to talk more freely with one of her own kind.
"I... would permit the forest-brother to share my fire, if need be, but none other. Without offence, humans, half-blood."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 23/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- "No offense taken," Set says, bowing his head slightly towards Selissa. "No one could fault you for being cautious in these times, particularly with all we've seen this night." For a moment, Set's eyes glance over at Fanlomen, worried for Selissa should he have misjudged the wood-elf earlier. He'd shown his merits, that was true, but what of the nightmare? A dagger well-wielded already promised danger and duplicity, but doubly so in the hands of one who made them appear from nothing. Whether it was a trick borne from nimble fingers or something darker Set could not say, but if he'd meant to use his skills on anyone in their company, he'd been awfully forthcoming about his powers. His daggers, hidden as they were, were no longer hidden from them. If only everyone were so forthcoming. One among them still hid behind a mask of innocence. Set could feel the young man's presence nearby, but he refused to look over at Jemriah. He'd no desire to restrain himself from the further taunts of his abuser. Open confrontation wasn't possible, not while they'd sold their soul to the same patron, though no doubt Set would die in the attempt to rid the world of Jemriah's evil regardless. Jemriah was undeniably, unequivocally in His service, but the Shadowkeeper clearly favored his young prodigy with powers far beyond what Set had been given. The coin had been bad enough. When Set had flipped his own coin and promised his soul in exchange for his sisters, the coin had given him the strength to do what was necessary. He never could've guessed another pawn of the Shadowkeeper would taunt him with it. But why stop there? Jemriah's arrogance knew no bounds and no doubt word of Set's failings at the Fulton estate had been music to his ears. The thought of Jemriah spewing filth and corruption all over those dretch made Set's stomach turn, skin itching as phantom acid trickled down his spine. Looking towards Birel and Vargath, Set was loathe to split from any more of those he might be able to call allies while Jemriah stood nearby, nor did he wish to see them leave alone with him. "A generous offer, Birel, thank you," Set starts, looking at her earnestly and thanking his lucky stars. "If it's not too much trouble, should the rest of us not stay together?" Set asks, pointedly staring at Vargath, a pleading quality creeping into his voice. "I am far from my own home, tis true, but where I'm from we take such water as is offered. I am thirsty for a place to rest my head where we needn't worry about a demonic presence." Jemriah alone was enough to worry about. "Besides," Set continues, nodding to the wolf-pelt cloak and the wolf sigil, "the pack is stronger together, right?" We may not be strong enough apart. Set did not doubt Birel could punish Jemriah with the weight of the heavens if he showed his true face, or the strength of giants would rip the young man limb from limb should Vargath recognize him for what he was, but neither of them saw His influence. Neither of them saw what Jemriah hid. And if the Shadowkeeper wished to play a game, taunting Set from within and without, Set would not allow Him or His servant to claim two more lives in the battle for Set's sanity.

[WhismurWanders]

With the threat of the hellspawn put to rest, and the corpse of Bence not reacting to being stabbed post-mortem, Fanlomen retrieves his dagger quietly and rejoins the rest of the group. From what he could tell, only a few minor scratches and cuts had been endured by Set, and aside from the missing villagers who had fled or been turned into lesser beings, no other casualties had been sustained. Good. The flock had been protected, and even the wizened Chief had held his own against the forces of darkness. It was a genuine victory.

At first, the wood elf prepares to spend a night with Vargath, or at least ask if the half-orc would have him along for the watch at the abandoned house. However, he stops short when he hears Selissa's offer. It seemed a bit strange to him; while he was technically of the same people as her, he had always felt quite removed from their culture. Their blood was no doubt the same color, but was he still her forest-brother when he had been banished so long ago? His mind kept finding excuses even as his heart grabbed control of his mouth, and he answered, "I am grateful for the offer. It has been a while since I have rested near a hearth."

[Amnestic]

Vargath frowns at Set for a moment, though his rough-hewn features make it easy to miss as just his normal resting face. He hadn't exactly felt welcome - and if space was an issue then the hulking orcblood was perhaps not the wisest of house guests. "If there is room," he nods at Birel, "and it would not impose unduly. I have been known to snore." He wanted to give her a reasonable out without losing face. Courtesy to guests only extends as far as a host's arm can reach, and if there wasn't space then, well, there wasn't. His power was of giants, not mites. He wasn't sure what had Set on edge, but perhaps Bence and demons had rattled him too. "Though I would like to check the Wessen's home first regardless of where I lay my head." He adds on - no sense wasting his adrenaline high while he had it.

[purepolarpanzer]

In the Village Square

"Wait. All of you." Chief Moeller opens his coat and unfastens a large bag. Opening it up, he withdraws six smaller purses, handing one to each of you. "Three hundred gold, split six ways, fifty apiece. You may not find a place to spend it during your time here, but it is well earned. Now go to your rest. There is more work to be done tomorrow." This said, Maus Moeller goes about seeing that the other suspected cultists are handled. Jemriah's thought detection spell reveals no guilt from the Widower Trent or the Jakobs- they have the same confusion and fear as everyone else, magnified several times by the fact that Bence named them. Even a deeper dive into their thoughts reveals no sign of corruption- their minds whisper prayers to the spirits of the Green Faith. Prayers of salvation and safety, earnest and honest. Everyone else in the village goes home safely, leaving the six of you to walk to your respective sleeping places together. The coins are all uniform- rough round coins with a hole punched in the center, meant to be strung together. There are no stamps or markings to identify them.

Weldry Wesson's shop and house are in shambles when Vargath goes to check it out. Much of the wood for his pyre was ripped from his very home. In the wreckage you do find a lock box that was broken into, presumably when the shop was being looted for wood. It has been emptied, but a single piece of platinum remains, wedged in the lid of the box. It is a promising coin, diamond shaped with rounded edges and a hole in the center, obviously meant to be worn on a string like your gold. It is stamped with the symbol of twin mountains on either side of the coin, a crown on top, and a river below, minted somewhere official in the Vale.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

I'll leave it to Ramsus and Awful to describe their homes. I'll allow a bit of time for roleplay before bed before advancing to the next day.

[miinstrel]

Jemriah Cleater Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10 As the panic comes to a close and the demons leave this realm, Jemriah steps over to Bence's body with Fanlomen. As he withdraws his dagger from the ashen figure, Jemriah peels back the crisped shreds of his tunic, looking for the carving of the town's name in what was left of his flesh... just to be sure. On finding it he withdraws his hand and frowns, heavily releasing a held breath aand shaking his eyes trying to both remove the vision from his thoughts and also refocus on the details of what he saw. "I'd be honored to share your fire, Birel. My thanks." ... and an opportunity to speak privately. Their tolerance of his mental intrusions was nice. When he'd tried this in the past with... normal people, it hadn't gone particularly well. And it was difficult to have a more private conversation than the kind he offered. <Birel, wait up,> he thinks to her, a sliver of his essence connecting with her own as he takes a few quick steps to reach her at the head of their group. To anyone watching they were simply walking together in the comfortable silence of old friends. <You've been studying this place for a while, right? Buried ruins, you said? So you know a lot about old buildings and stuff... Have you heard of... the Ebon Ziggurat?> His steps bear the brunt of his exhaustion, and the conversation was as much to help stay awake as to make sense of things.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel raises an eyebrow in surprise, but doesn't respond aloud as she imagines if young Jemriah wanted to share this conversation with the others he would have done so. <"Ebon Ziggurat you say? How interesting. My life's work has been studying something I've dubbed the Onyx Obelisk and just this morning I discovered there is another related location somewhere out there in the woods. Which is what I was referring to before... though now I don't recall if you were there for that."> she replies and mentally communicates the concept of a shrug, as the exact order of conversations was lost to her memory given all the activity this day had seen. <"My goal is to find this.... Ebon Ziggurat as you put it, assuming that is the same place as what I'm searching for. Why do you ask? And just as importantly, where did you learn of such things?"> As Birel leads the three men back to her home she mentally chuckles to herself as she thinks, "Oh dear, what would the neighbors think!" Not that she can imagine any of the three propositioning her, let alone all three at once. Nor would it matter as the outlying farms are distant enough from each other that it's unlikely anyone else even saw them pass. (Jemriah might pick any of this up if he still has Detect Thoughts going.) As they approach, they see a modest sized roughly circular shaped farmhouse with a small barn attached. There is only the stray wooden plank here and there to hint that the property might once have been surrounded by a fence. In a very loose area there is a wild garden that may have once been contained and free of weeds that is clearly just slowly spreading out due to lack of proper gardening (though at least the flowers and vegetable and fruit bearing plants clearly get watered as they're growing). Also there's just a cow skull sitting right next to the pathway to the door. Birel opens the arched door and leads everyone inside, the first to enter are Periwinkle and Marigold. The first thing to be seen in a room that takes up a large portion of the home and is clearly focused around the hearth at the opposite side from the door. In front of the hearth are the usual tools and pots, as well as some cushions, spare bed-sheets, and quilts. And of course some firewood and kindling. On the wall to the right of the entry is a bookcase, filled with all manner of things. Certainly the expected books and scrolls, but also jars and bowls and loose items. On the left side is a locked chest and a window above it. Closer to the hearth on the same side of the room is a sizable bird area or something like that. Little wooden poles going up with various poles going outwards at different heights and lengths on top of a flat board sticking out of the wall. On one side with some more panels as "walls" are a pair of small bowl. One with a mix of seeds and the other water. To the right (from the perspective of those entering) there is an open doorway which leads into a bedroom with a large unmade bed. Inside the bedroom is also a dresser, a desk, and various items like candles and ink and quills. There is a window in this room as well, situated in front of the desk. To the left side of the main room is a closed door that leads to a sizable pantry. Inside it's lined with shelves, modestly though certainly not fully filled with various items. Some you would expect like bottles of milk, wheels of cheese, and cured meats. But also bowls or jars of plants and powders or other such items. On the far side there is another closed door that leads to the barn. There certainly seems like there's more milk here than would be required for just Birel herself. There are also barrels of water. If someone inspects the barn they find that while it clearly is meant to store a few animals due to the pens and trophs, what it is currently being used for is storage of more plants and odd items and a sizable amount of firewood, kindling, and various seeds and millet. On closer inspection of the barn, it would seem the largest pen has a tub for bathing in it and the various items that would accompany that. Including more water barrels and even a little fire pit underneath for heating the water. On even close inspection the troph here has been modified to be a sort of tube that sends the water flowing outside if one were to tip the tub over it. There is also a door in the back of the barn that reveals itself to be an outhouse. After everyone enters, Birel motions to whoever comes in last to close the door and she says, "Well, you'll have to argue over which of you gets the bed for the night. There should be enough space by the hearth for the rest of us." As she gets the fire started she asks, "Does anyone need anything to eat or drink? I'm out of spirits or ale that aren't reserved for the green folk, but I have plenty of water and milk and some not alcoholic cider or blackberry juice. As for food, well I mainly eat my dinner at the inn most nights. So it's just some bread, cheese, nuts, berries, and cured meats. Though I do have plenty of garlic and onions and there are some fruits and vegetables growing outside if you want to check if anything is ready. Might be a few potatoes, squashes, blackberries, or mint. I don't think anything else would be ready right now. Though I have somewhat lost track." she finishes with a shrug.

[miinstrel]

Jemriah Cleater Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10 On the walk... Jemriah tilts his heada bit, weighing how much to share. They would likely all need to know eventually, but talking it through with Birel would help refine the idea. The 'tone' of his thoughts clearly conveys he doesn't really know what he's talking about, just trying to make sense of a smattering of information. <I saw it... in Bence's head just before he died. Well not it, the ziggurat, but he was thinking about a promise he made to Pale Night just before he burned up. A promise to find it for Her. And She told him it was in Dam'ess... or near hear at least, I think. That's why he came. That's what all of this horror was for - The Ebon Ziggurat.> <Cccccooooommmmeeeeeee....> rumbled the plodding thoughts of the Dim, stirred no doubt by his calling on its powers this evening. Or perhaps it knew of this Ziggurat as well? If it was indeed buried somewhere beneath these foothills... Jemriah's breath catches a moment before he shakes the thought from his mind, losing focus on the connection with Birel for a split second as well though he hopes she doesn't notice. <What about red stone buildings?> he continues. <I don't know of any near Falcairn or down by the water, but I haven't traveled too far or been high up into the hills here. Do you know any red... temples? or towers or anything?> As the group enters Birel's abode, Jemriah looks around curiously though does not venture beyond the main room as such an intrusion would be rude. It told a tale of a busy life and the singular purpose of protection from the dark of night. He found himself wondering where she called home, because this struck him as no more than a place to close one's eyes and prepare for the next venture. "I'm fine on the floor," Jemriah concedes, doffing his pack in one of the few uncluttered corners where it will be as unobtrusive as possible while he waits for the others to select their desired spots. His eyes follow the fluttering birds hopping between beams and dipping into their feed. He was too tired to eat, but perhaps in gratitude for the lodgings he would rise early and make breakfast. He didn't sleep well most nights, anyway... though after the day's events hopefully this night would be an exception... "It's nearly dawn," he reminds everyone. "my stomach went to sleep hours ago..." Even without the exhaustion, the lingering taste of bile put him off food for the moment, and he was eager to settle into the dreamless depths and put this night behind him.

[Amnestic]

Vargath pockets the platinum piece from Wessen's home - maybe he'd send it to Shura as a souvenir of his trip...journey...adventure. Whatever 'this' was. It was at least poetic justice that his house had been ransacked for his pyre. All that work to build up his life cavorting with devils only to have it torn down in an instant.

Birel's house is...quaint, if extremely bizarrely organised and arranged, though she might have said the same of Vargath's home were she ever to visit. It'd suffice for the night at least. Hopefully only one night. He'd prefer his own space in the future. This was a temporary measure at best. "Thank you for the offer of food, but I too would rather sleep on a quiet stomach." He unstraps the shield from his arm and props it up against the wall, before sitting to one side. He hadn't said it, but he was clearly taking the floor as his bed - leaving it open to others if they so wished. Him and a hard bed were no strangers, and though he oft wished for a soft mattress he could fall asleep anywhere, and quickly. A beautiful trick he'd learned. Tonight he hoped to dream of home, of the soft pant of their wolves, the scent of tanned leathers, the taste of blood on his lips.

Indeed, it's barely a minute before his eyes are shut and he's quietly snoring, head limp, arm gently resting on one raise knee.

[Awful]

Selissa weighed the bag of coins in her hand, before she shrugged and put it away. In truth, gold meant little to her, but perhaps she could see if someone in the village had enough skill as a bowyer to make a longbow: the demons they'd faced had been strong enough to survive what would have been fatal shots on many creatures.

Her house, as she lead Fanlomen back to it, stood in comparison to Birel's, if one ever considered them together. Much like the other elven woman's, it was a cottage, but the squared walls of it had been overgrown with ivy. There was no sign of a garden: the plant life had been left to grow free into a riotous mix of sweetly blooming flowers, herbs, and feathery-tipped grasses aside from a patch beaten down as a work area, with only a set of tanning racks for hides and a few wooden buckets.

Inside, it showed much the same practical nature. Mostly a single room, with just a couple - probably once bedrooms, now just storage - of other rooms leading off it. Stepping carefully past a bowl of sage and rosemary, to ward off mischievous spirits, the wood elf made her way to a central hearth and, once lit, set a pot of aromatic herbal tea to steeping.

Wood elves were rarely ones to gather an excess of crud and hoard like packrats: most of what was scattered about to some internal plan were the various items to do with hunting, or bags of air-dried mushrooms, fruit and smoked meat sitting alongside small clay jars of wild honey. Bunches of herbs hung from the rafters, giving the whole place a scent vaguely suggestive of incense. Only a few knick knacks and trophies sat about on shelves, alongside a great iron cauldron that no doubt had come with the cottage.

"I sit on furs, when I trance. Don't tend to lie down. Help yourself," she said, slipping once more back into elvish as she waved a wooden hand towards a pile of the same. The tea ready, she retrieved two wooden cups and poured in the fragrant liquid. She placed it before him, then sat back, her bone-white skin a play of light and shadows from the fire as she regarded him.
"Your thoughts?"

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 23/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- "You are too kind Birel, truly," Set says, inclining his head towards her as he lets his pack slide down his arm to the floor, leaning it up against the wall by the door. Glancing back and forth between the elf and her bed, Set opens and closes his mouth, eyes darting briefly over to Jemriah. The Abydosians took such water as was offered, but alas, as long as this day had been it wasn't quite over for Set. "The floor will more than suffice," he continues, smiling warmly at her. The home was quaint and comfortable, but hopelessly cramped and cluttered compared to what Set had grown up knowing. His own childhood bedroom had been larger than her home, the ceiling a chasm stretching away towards the sky. Those days were long-past, however, and thankfully his travels had more than prepared Set to be truly grateful for a spot next to Birel's hearth. With her and Vargath by his side, he could almost feel comfortable settling in to sleep. Almost. "I would be most grateful for a few nuts to quiet my own stomach," Set says, taking a few cautious steps towards Birel's pantry. "May I?"

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- <"Well, that's worrying."> Birel replies to the parts about the Ebon Ziggurat as that's certainly going to make her goal more perilous. Maybe the wise thing to do would be to make sure nobody finds it and not look for it herself, but there's no way she's going to do that and nothing would really prevent someone else from finding it just because she doesn't. <"As far as the red stone, the only thing that comes to mind is Veirtai. A country that's at far south end of the Stone Spine mountains from us here. The mountain there is made from red stone, and the place is said to be cursed and the people there consorting with dark powers. The area is harsh, mostly badlands and wastes. Their capital is built right into the mountain."> Birel responds and then adds, <"Why do you ask?"> Birel frowns at the three men and then shakes her head. "No, one of you is taking the bed. We can't all fit round the hearth and it makes no sense for the only one of us who doesn't need to sleep to be using it." She then pauses for a moment and then just makes a choice for them. "You'll take the bed tonight Jemriah." at which point she shoes him along to it until he gets up and goes to the other room. Perinwinkle "helps" by landing on his shoulder and "pulling". Merigold sort of follows along in the she lands on the other shoulder and chirps at him. "Help yourself." Birel replies with a nod and smile to Set. She then reflects on it, thinking it's a bit odd none of them are at least thirsty after rushing around like that. She certainly is. Which prompts her to go join set in the pantry and get some water for herself.

[miinstrel]

Jemriah Cleater Aberrant Mind Sorcerer 3 | AC 15 | HP 20/20 | PP 11 / PIns 11 / PInv 10 <... I think that's where he's from.> he closes ominously as they approach what's left of her garden. He wouldn't have volunteered, but he similarly wouldn't object, and rises with a shrug, leaving his gear in the corner of the main room. Why did she even have a bed anyway if she didn't use it? The thought wasn't important enough to hold him long, and while the chirping was appropriately timed in relation to the sun, it was an unwelcome addition at this late hour. He shoos Marigold away as he takes the last steps, crawling forward onto the bed on all fours before dropping to his stomach in the middle, unmoving.

[WhismurWanders]

The scents of Selissa's home instantly brought decades of memories hurtling to the forefront of his mind. His mother, standing in front of a fire roasting some mushrooms in a pan she had traded for. The smell of herbs the clanmother would make into teas whenever young elves were sick. Smoked meat, constantly within view but out of reach either due to lack of height or knowing the punishment for taking a sausage meant for another meal. He stumbled slightly as trying to walk while daydreaming proved more difficult more than his lack of concentration would allow. He catches himself before hitting anything valuable (sentimental or otherwise), and composes himself (hopefully) before Selissa notices his misstep.

Since she spoke first in Elvish, he responds in kind. "It is sparse, compared to other homes in villages I have visited." One hand brushes against a wall. "But it is organized. Well-kept. Very in keeping with the ways of the forest-people." He means this as a compliment, even if he is not the best judge of how the wood elves kept their homes, relying on memories from his home, faded as they were by time. He lets his guard down for a moment and moves to remove his shirt, part of his ritual to unwind, but stops when he remembers where he is, and in whose company he finds himself. He instead stretches and begins arranging the pile of furs that Selissa had indicated were his for the few hours of the night he would spend in trance. "All trophies of yours?" he inquires.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 16 HP: 23/27 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Perhaps she'd just meant to give away the bed to the youngest, but Set couldn't shake the feeling that Birel's instincts had told her to send the Fake One away from the rest of them. Whether she consciously suspected something or her doubts ran much deeper wasn't clear, but Set was thankful nonetheless. He could rest a bit easier knowing the young man was separate, split off on his own while Birel, Vargath, and Set could come to each other's aid immediately should the worst come to pass. "You have a fine home," Set says quietly so as not to distrub Vargath, taking a sip of water as he examines Periwinkle and Merigold's perch. Walking over to it, he runs his fingers over the various poles with a small smile, thinking back on the way the two birds had annoyed the Fake One. It had been slight, truly, but it made Set's smile widen nonetheless. While not especially fond of birds himself, Set decided he liked these two. One look towards the inert form of Jemriah through the bedroom doorway was enough to elicit a yawn of genuine exhaustion from Set. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Birel. If there is some way I can repay you, I trust you'll let me know," Set says, grabbing a patch of floor by the hearth and a quilt before settling in with his Favorite clutched in hand. Well aware that sleeping with her so openly was in bad taste, Set nevertheless held his Favorite close as he tried to relax, eventually succumbing to his weariness.

[Awful]

"Mmm. Some." She absent-mindly toyed with the corner of a rabbit-fur as she spoke.
"I trade with the humans sometimes. Furs and leather, meat and bones, for what I don't make. Replacing shafts on arrows and the like."
She paused for a moment to sip at her tea.
"The house is... my people do not even build shelters, as I hear some tribes do. I had not lived in anything but a tent until I had left the forest. It is strange - humans live such short lives, but chain themselves to one spot, and many never even leave their village. I do not understand how they bear it. "
She looked down at her hands, curled around her cup. She did not have the words to explain it - the discontent at lingering here, slowly building up in her bones, how in only five years many of those she'd met had already shown the advancements of time upon their features.
"Tell me," she said, just when her silence had stretched perhaps a little too long, "Have you met of a half-orc named Gnarl Yukkot? A druid, and priest of the Green."

[WhismurWanders]

A half-orc named Gnarl Yukott... The elf brushed a stray hair from his face as his lips and eyes form a contemplative expression. If there was one group he could usually remember meeting, it was half-orcs; whether it was visiting their holds as part of a mission for the Shepherds, or meeting sole members among villagers of more progressive-minded towns, or warriors like Vargath. They were a proud, outspoken people, usually, even if the distrust between other races and themselves meant they were difficult to approach. Nonetheless, he couldn't recall any druids that matched a name given by Selissa. "I do not believe I have encountered him. An acquaintance of yours?"

[Awful]

Selissa blinked slowly at his statement - a sort of mild, resigned disappointment. Ah, well - she had not expected anything, anyway.
"He was a companion for a time, when I adventured besides some others. He made a bargain with a fey spirit for my sake, to grant me this, after-" she paused and lifted her wooden arm, staring down at the whorled bark of her palm. "-I have not heard of him since."
She shook her head.
"It was a passing thought. Pay it little heed."

[WhismurWanders]

Fanlomen was impressed, and seeing Selissa's somber reaction encouraged him to allow his emotions to cross his face. Besides, it was late, and the focus required to keep his emotions totally in check was bearing on him. He let his not-quite scowl melt off his face as he raises an eyebrow inquisitively. "Quite a powerful half-orc druid then, to be bargaining with such forces as whimsical and arbitrary as the fae." The thought made him jealous, slightly. Her pained look queued him into the fact that whatever had caused an arm to be needed was no light topic, and one that he would not push further to find out about. But being able to request the burden of power, or at least having the opportunity of refusal. He couldn't lie, it was something he struggled with sometimes.

"If the spirits are those who brought you together, then surely they will bless your paths and bring them to cross again." He hesitate slightly before offering a little more of his own vulnerability. "I have not seen my mentor, Kharlis Sunderriver, in some time. He was ... I sometimes thought of him as my second father. He was aged like a gnarled willow when we first crossed paths, and when I left his teachings, he was yet older still. Perhaps we will meet again, or perhaps that a greeting for the next life..." Saying it out loud startled him slightly. While it was true that his mentor crossed his mind often, speaking to the elf's mortality was unsettling. He coughs and shakes his head to clear his thoughts, hoping he hadn't embarassed himself.

[purepolarpanzer]

A new day dawns after some much needed rest. All of you sleep a bit later than normal due to the extraordinarily late night, and thankfully your sleep is dreamless, considering the visceral quality of the previous day. That is not to say your mornings are uneventful.

At Selissa's Cottage

As the two wood elves are waking up, there comes a impact on Selissa's front door. Not so much a knock as a loud bump, the sound resonates through the entire house. This is followed by a chorus of loud caws. Upon inspection, a flock of crows has roosted outside of her home, and one large one has flown full speed directly into the door, breaking it's own neck. The birds look down, almost accusingly, from the surrounding trees, oddly silent once the door has been opened. The large crow has a slip of parchment tied around it's neck with rough twine. The note reads, in an elegant script, "Congratulations on eliminating such a diabolic threat to the village. Color me impressed. If you are inclined, I would like to parley with those responsible for the summoner's demise. Meet my agent at midnight at the Oaken Larder. Drinks, of course, will be on me. Sincerely, Moira Taggart Bo'Tel." Underneath the writing is a seal, pressed into red wax, as though from a signet ring. It shows a large bird flying over a lake surrounded by trees with an island in the center of the water. Once the note has been read, the flock of crows simultaneously take off in a burst of wings and feathers, turning as one and heading east in a noisy mob.

At Birel's Farm

The warm sun of late morning is a welcome greeting to the new day, but the raucous that comes with it is less appealing. A loud, nasal voice is singing at maximum volume outside, periodically interrupted by a loud, solid THUNK sound. Birel recognizes this voice as belonging to Esquel Brownbottom, the local ouphe peddler and nuisance who often frequents her farm. With a cursory glance out the window or back door, the small figure, maned with an orange beard that extends all the way up to the top of his head, is chopping branchwood from a large pile that has been dragged out of the Hartswood, using Birel's splitting stump and a formidable looking hatchet nearly the size of a maul. Each chop is accompanied by a metallic rattling from the fey's roughspun blue vest, which appears to be covered with assorted cutlery that has been sewn into the cloth. Each spoon, fork, and knife looks like it has been twisted, bent, or broken in some fashion, but polished to a mirror sheen, glinting brightly in the sun. The brown humanoid has a terrible singing voice, and his song makes little sense, but that doesn't stop him from belting it out with all the passion of a skilled and trained bard.

"The slugs go squish, and feed the fish, and the fisherman tugged the line!"
THUNK
"The fish did leap, and jumped the sheep, and the shepherd danced in time!"
THUNK
"But the sheep fell down, knocked over the crown, and Lionel judged it a crime!"
THUNK
"He sentenced the ewe, and the shepherd too, and the headsman sang a rhyme!"
THUNK
"The ax went thunk, we all got drunk, and ate shepherds pie and wine!"
THUNK
"Lionel died, the Daravonts cried, but the people thought it fine!"
THUNK
"OOOOOOOOHHHHHH! The slugs go squish, and feed the fish..."

And he begins his nonsense song anew.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 20/20 PP: 13 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Assuming this noise has woken up the others Birel says to them, "Well, he's early today. If any of you want to come out and watch or say hello you may. But whatever you do, do not invite or allow him inside. In fact, it's generally a poor idea to allow most fey into homes." This said, she goes over to the chest in the main room, unlocks it, and removes a small item and placing it in a pocket before locking the chest again. In an unhurried manner she goes to the pantry and goes about filling a small bowl with milk and honey and leaves that on an exterior window sill. That finished she goes outside and goes up to the fey, "Good morning Esquel Brownbottom. Just here to say hello or do you have something to trade today? I know I have something I think you'd like."

[Amnestic]

Vargath awakens to sweat. Enough sweat that he might drink a lake to replenish the liquid that's now soaking into his clothes and armour. He'd slept soundly, peacefully, but the morning brought an unmitigated unpleasantness, enough that he wouldn't mind dropping off back into dreamland, perhaps sleep away the whole day and the weather that had come with it. The whisper, though more of a yell this morning, came swift, urging him to stand. The fiery crackle of a fire giant's tones rampaged across his mind. "ᚺᛖᛚᛚᛟ × ᛗᛁᛞᚷᚨᚱᛞᚷᛖᛏ ᚢᛈ ᛁᛟᚢ ᛚᚨᛉᛁ ᚠᚨᛁᛚᚢᚱᛖ, ᛒᚨᛏᚺᛖ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚺᛖᚨᛏ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛊᚢᚾᛊ ᚷᛚᛟᚱᛁ" He wasn't sure about that last part, but indeed he couldn't spend the day sleeping, least of all in someone else's house. Fine, fine. He rises to his feet, sodden chains clanking as he does so. He needed to bathe. At least wash, if nothing else. The thunking and the singing wasn't helping. Hopefully Birel could convince it to move on. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll pass, I try to stay away from...loud magical creatures if I can. Especially first thing in the morning. Got enough of them already." He accompanies it with a toothy smirk and a tap of the temple. He couldn't imagine living with...that thing nearby constantly.

Instead, he slips into the barn and strips down to the barest of essentials. Nothing would be his preference, but that hadn't gone down well at the university and probably wouldn't be seen in any kinder light here. Even in this heat and humidity, even with the action of yesterday, he'd still get his morning workout in, without fail. Sweat pours over his body as he follows the drills and the sets one by one, preparing for the day ahead. They'd probably be hunting beasts today. He'd need to be in top form for it. So would the rest of them, but spellslingers had their own way of preparing, he supposed. Probably less exhausting ones.