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  1. - Top - End - #1
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    As so often is said, it was a dark and stormy night. The sort of night that no amount of praying, nor chests of gold cast into the sea, can appease. The waves churned below, tossing the ship hither and fro, and a man could scarcely see five feet before his eyes - so thick and oppressive the fog upon the water.

    Kellon had been hired to guide the ship of a crew of pirate hunters. Rumors had spidered out of ghost ships in the night, manned by beastly creatures not entirely man nor wolf. Such tall tales, Kellon had come to expect out of the fishermen and sailors. But they had seemed so far from the awesome power of nature that he had come to know, so ephemeral next to its booming and swirling anger.

    Until this night, he had not known that power can be in silence, as it can be in rage. Nothing in him had sensed its approach, nothing in the weather predicted it. And even as the storm raged around them, there was silence. The stillness of the grave muffling the cries of the sailors. Muffling the cracking of wood as the ship ran aground. Muffling the splash as he hit the water.


    How long has it been? Feet sluggish, arms drooping, Kellon finds himself wandering through a dense fog. Its wetness clinging to his face and choking his tongue with a paradoxical dryness. All around him as he walks, he can feel it move, curl, clutch at his arms and legs and shell like spectral hands. "Lost." It whispers. The voice in the mist. "Listen." It worms into his ears, like a parasite. All around him it tingles, with every swirl of the fog, every slither of its currents. "Learn." It tells him, his tired mind, his thoughts dragging through mud and trying to comprehend.

    "Wake up."

    Ahead, he can feel it before he sees it. The mist clearing. On the other side, an expanse of darkness. Infinite black of the void. For a moment, it seems this is the end of the road. Is this death?


    Then his eyes snap open, as he gasps for breath. The sound of running water to his left, his arm lying in its cold current. He is on his chest, lying in the mud of a riverbank. To his right are trees, bushes, thorny thickets and gnarled branches that loom above, jagged like bolts of thunder stretched across a grey and overcast sky.

    Across the water to his left... the other bank is unseen. A thick fog is slowly rolling in, advancing across the surface of the water like a thousand serpents crawling through the grass, weaving between and around river stones. The longer he looks at the fog, the more Kellan feels that sluggishness from his dream creep into his bones. The fog is bad. This he knows, instinctively.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2020-10-16 at 11:38 PM.

  2. - Top - End - #2
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    Prehysterical's Avatar

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    In those dark moments before disaster, Kellon wondered in his heart if he had somehow betrayed the Tempest's trust and was punished with the most frightful storm one can imagine: one with no warning. Even the crash of thunder murmured like a distant brook, lightning invisible and reduced to causing the unearthly mist to glow ever so slightly brighter. Was it because he had taken the hunters' coin, using his gifted talents for his own profit? In the horrible, unbearable silence of the mist enshrouding the vessel, Kellon's thoughts swelled and roared like an advancing tidal wave. The sailors' questions and demands fell upon deaf earholes as Kellon stared out into the impenetrable mist, trying to glean some sort of clue out of its appearance. It was almost a relief when the ship struck rock, the slightest stimulation to prove that they had not merely sailed into a ghostly afterlife. That split-second of sensation instantly lost its value as Kellon felt himself catapulted through the air, the ship crashing with such violence that even his hundreds of pounds of weight were sent arcing like stones from a catapult. He didn't even feel himself hit the water, lost in a daze and feeling uncharacteristically weak as he began to sink.

    If it had had the spare energy, his mind would have reeled at finding himself wandering through fog instead of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Kellon would have preferred the latter, if only for the honesty of the sharks making a meal of him on the way down instead of being drained and probed by this fog so clearly unnatural and invasive. It is only his natural drive that keeps him moving forward, instinctively seeking the exit from this planescape of torment. Was this what the drowned saw in their final moments? Imaginings of being lost in a fog because the thought of dying alone in the open ocean was too much for a mind to bear? This was not how Kellon would have envisioned his death. He had always envisioned his death with a crash and a roar, not a whimper...

    The void stretches before him. He cannot go back; he must go forward, whatever the outcome...

    Breath raggedly enters his lungs as Kellon's eyes snap open. He can feel and hear the mud churning under his shell as he moves. He can feel the cold water trickling over his arm, hear it churn and ripple over the intruding limb. He can hear! The foul mist is gone! Rising quickly to his clawed feet, Kellon takes stock of his surroundings. His entire frame swivels as he examines the treeline and searches for the opposite bank. Cold blood runs colder as Kellon sees, feels, the fog from his dream returning. Despite lacking any hair, the spikes of Kellon's shell allowed him to bristle convincingly. "Would that I could blow you away in a hurricane's gust," Kellon cursed in an uncharacteristic hushed hiss. He needed to move. Before panic and survival could overtake him, however, Kellon needed to take stock of his possessions... and make at least a token attempt to see if anyone else survived.
    Spoiler: OOC
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    So, which way is left? The trees or the water? You used left for both of them.

  3. - Top - End - #3
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    Spoiler: OOC
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    A slip of the mind as I was typing, the water was supposed to be to his left, the trees to his right.


    A quick skim of his possessions finds Kellon's pack safely upon his person - albeit soaking wet, which may not do wonders for the longevity of his emergency rations. His crossbow remains strapped to the pack, but his warhammer is nowhere in sight.

    Then, almost as if Poseidon had heard a silent prayer, there is the sharp clank of metal against rock, like a thunderstrike. Just a few feet out into the water, shallow enough to wade, a warhammer has been caught between a river stone and a tree root.

    Across the river, through the fog, Kellon can hear the muffled sounds of sloshing footsteps. A shadowed figure wades out from the other bank, a good twenty or more feet out and perhaps further beyond the fog. It seems that the river is not deep here, and fordable were it not for that spectral wall in the way.

    A slightly familiar face wanders out, with deep bags under her eyes and a shambling in her step. An elven woman, one of the sailors from the ship. Her name escapes Kellon for the moment. She is clad in a plain brown tunic and has a large spiked club strapped to her back, with rust-colored hair tied back behind her and a few dark-colored tattoos on her neck. Her eyes are distant as she falls forward into the water and begins to be swept downcurrent. The fog continues to advance, uncaring, behind her.

  4. - Top - End - #4
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    All things considered, a soaking wet pack and its contents were better than none at all. Fortunately, Kellon had had the foresight to have his crossbow carved from driftwood so that it would not bloat or warp when exposed to seawater. It seemed like the warhammer was the price to pay for his life and the rest of his possessions, but the clanking scrape of metal against rock and water glimmering off of the weapon's head would have brought a smile to Kellon's face were his beak capable of such an expression.

    At first, the sound of stamping splashes puts Kellon on his guard. Upon seeing the elf woman's familiar face, however, his alarm dulls to wariness. Kellon can see the weariness in her eyes that he himself had felt in that strange dream fugue of the fog. Before he could ask a question or snap her out of her torpor, the sailor woman faceplants into the water and the current begins to tug on her as if greedily seizing its prize. The wall of fog keeps advancing and Kellon has a split-second of torn decision-making. He clenches and pumps his fists in annoyance at this obvious dilemma. "Damnation!" Kellon surges forward, trying desperately to rescue the elf.

  5. - Top - End - #5
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    The river, as luck would have it, hides no sheer drops that would send the tortle under. Kellon is able to wade out into the water, though it soon reaches the point where swimming would be faster if he intends to catch up with the elf before she is swept away - or lost in the gossamer shroud.

    Spoiler: Rolls
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    Kellon may make an Athletics check. The river is not flowing terribly fast, but this will determine whether they are overtaken by the Mist before he can get back to shore.
    Along with the Athletics check, he can roll a contingent Constitution save against the Mist's effects, should the Athletics check fail.

  6. - Top - End - #6
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    Athletics check: (1d20+4)[7]
    Spoiler: Contingent Con check
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    (1d20+1)[17]

  7. - Top - End - #7
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    Though he is swift in the water, Kellon is accustomed to the open waters of the sea. His bulky shell bumps several times into river stones, slowing him or sending him off course. By the time he reaches the woman and begins to drag her away, the Mists are advancing past them. As Kellon pulls in a breath, he feels his mouth dried by its touch as if he'd swallowed a cloud of dust, bringing him to a coughing fit.

    Pulling the elven woman out on the bank of the river, the Mists are right behind them now, looming far above like a wall as tall as the sky. The dark woods lie ahead. She is coughing and slowly coming back to her senses as she crawls up onto dry land and starts staggering away from the wall of fog. She tries to say something, but it is lost to another coughing fit as she grabs onto a tree for balance.

    Spoiler: Mechanics
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    Kellon and the elven woman have each suffered a level of Exhaustion; for her, another one.

  8. - Top - End - #8
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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    Damned rivers! Why did they have to have so many things to run into?! Only Kellon's fearsome strength lets him save the woman at all, but the fog creeps over both of them. The air is foul, stealing moisture and vitality from him instead of restoring it.

    Looking back, Kellon feels a sense of sheer dread as the mist marches forward just as mercilessly as the fiercest thunderheads or a looming tsunami. Fortunately, the woman stops being dead weight and stumbles desperately to her feet. Her disorientation is understandable, but Kellon knows that this is a test for both of them. He moves forward and shoves the woman forward into the treeline, his bulk and strength making it an easy proposition. Kellon's voice is raspy from the effects of the fog, making him seem even more like haggard flotsam. "Can't stop. You stop, you die. Keep going."
    Spoiler: OOC
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    If the woman makes no effort to move, Kellon will go on without her.
    If the woman moves forward but isn't moving fast enough, Kellon will do what he can to help.

    In all cases, Kellon will try to get his warhammer if he can make it before the fog reaches them.

  9. - Top - End - #9
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    Spoiler: OOC
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    The warhammer is within arm's reach from shore, so he can grab it as he makes his way into the woods.

    On a side note, let me know if the elf's shade of green is too bright to see well.


    The elf nods weakly and begins trudging into the woods. Her steps are ponderous, as though she is trying to wade through molasses. Her eyes are unfocused and she is visibly struggling to pry open their lids enough to see where she is going. With a guiding hand from Kellon, she is able to keep up - well enough, at least, to outpace the fog wall and leave it behind them out of view. But Kellon can tell, in his gut, that its inexorable march has not ceased.

    Ahead, they can hear the thwack of an arrow and the yowl of a beast. "Hunters?" she manages to utter, uncertainly. The two of them break through to the other side of a treeline, where they can see a sloped hill ahead and open fields beyond. There are four wolves ahead - one dead with two arrows embedded in its head and side, and another injured with an arrow protruding from one limping leg. Atop the hill are a trio of humans of fair complexion and dark hair, garbed in bleak browns and greys.

    One of the men, wearing a floppy cap, notices the two emerge and points in horror. "By the Mornin'lord, Andri, what sort of mongrelfolk is that?" he shouts, elbowing one of his comrades and pointing in Kellon's direction. The other men gawk and back away. As the wolves snap, snarl, and lunge closer, the three hunters turn tail and run.

    The wolves do not give chase, sensing the threat emerging behind them. The two uninjured wolves move between Kellon and his wobbly elf, and the injured wolf, snarling with their teeth bared. The beasts' positioning puts them unfortunately straight in the path away from the encroaching Mists.

    "****," the woman reaches up and fumbles with her greatclub, unslinging it and letting it drop to the ground beside her, handle in both hands. "I must look like..." she coughs again. "Easy prey."

    Spoiler: Rolls
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    If Kellon wishes to try and bypass the wolves, he can attempt Animal Handling alongside whatever he tries. The yet unnamed elf will provide a Help action, giving him Advantage on the roll (roll twice and take the better result). This cancels out the Exhaustion penalty he is currently experiencing, which inflicts Disadvantage on Ability checks (roll twice and take the worst result).

    If he feels it would take too much time, he can roll Initiative instead and try to fight their way past. Initiative is a Dex-based Ability check, so it would also have Disadvantage.

    The elf woman currently has Level 3 Exhaustion, giving her significant movement and combat penalties.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2020-10-17 at 01:37 AM.

  10. - Top - End - #10
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    Kellon was surprised to hear signs of other humanoids so quickly. He only hoped that they were not hostile to outsiders... Their sudden arrival into open space catches Kellon by surprise. Wherever they were, this was no island like he was used to. It is obvious that these hunters are being cornered by the wolves, but before Kellon can offer assistance, the trio point to him in horror and flee. Kellon has no time to be insulted as the wolves turn to new targets. His gut tells him that they cannot afford prolonged combat with the wolves. Even if his rescued sailor survived the encounter, the mist crept ever closer to them.

    Through the slight fog in his own mind, Kellon replies to her, "Well, I am not." Kellon's beak clicks a single syllable as he steps forward, unafraid of the wolves. When he speaks, his voice booms like thunder as the storm lends him its voice. "SHARKS OF THE FOREST, BEGONE! NO MEAL HERE FOR YOU TODAY BUT DEATH!"
    Spoiler: OOC
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    Rolling for Handle Animal with Advantage
    (1d20+3)[18]
    (1d20+3)[14]

  11. - Top - End - #11
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    Stepping forward behind Kellon and lifting herself up to be larger and less like prey, the elven woman swings an arm to the side and calls out after him, "Get! Begone!" Kellon can hear her hoarse voice straining not to crack. But their loud display and lack of fear have shaken the wolves, who take a few steps back, still snarling and baring their teeth.

    Thinking better of getting into this scrap, one of the wolves grabs the dead one by its neck and drags it away, the injured one limping behind. The third remains between them and the two shipwrecked sailors, not moving its eyes from them until the beasts have reached the treeline and skulked away.

    The way is clear, and the elf droops back down with a sigh, walking forward again. The grass beneath them is slippery and slick, as if with dew. But between his taloned toes, Kellon can feel the dew is slicker than water, leaving a gross-feeling residue on his feet, like slime or blood. Yet a glance can see that it is clear as water. More than once on their way up the hill, the elf slips and has to struggle back to her feet.

    From the hilltop, open fields stretch out around them. The open is broken sporadically by thickets and more patches of trees, and hilly. No sun can be seen in the sky, its light diluted and cast everywhere as a grey curtain through the clouds. More menacing is the Mist closing in from all directions, creeping out of the treeline like gnarled fingers.

    Yet not all is bleak. Ahead, they can see the three hunters ahead of them still running, having gained a significant lead. And they are running towards the silhouette of a town.

  12. - Top - End - #12
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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    It takes a bit longer than Kellon would have liked, but the fight is avoided. The two of them move forward again, uncomfortably aware of the ooze generously called water beneath their feet. He has to help his ward one or twice as they scramble up the hill away from impending doom. Kellon looks up and hisses at the lack of a sun. "Another bad omen... Have the gods shut their eyes to this place?"

    Each passing moment gives the fog more and more resemblance to an incoming tide as it pours out of the treeline. Kellon points after the fleeing hunters. "Fond of outsiders, they are not, but that town is our only chance. Make haste!"

  13. - Top - End - #13
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    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    "Going," the elf responds, taking a step down the other side of the hill. She slips again and goes sliding down, rolling through the grass at the bottom. With a groan, she gets back up and wipes some of the ooze off of her arms in disgust. "What is this?" she asks tiredly, and it's not clear if she's speaking to anyone, or just to herself as she continues to force herself forward.

    It is a long walk through the dreary field. The ambient light begins to fade, the sunset carrying an eerie blue or purple tinge instead of the warm pinks, ambers and oranges of the sun setting over the sea. It appears that they had the misfortune to arrive near dusk. Ahead of them there is the flickering light of a small campfire, and two of the hunters with their bows drawn.

    "Hold on. Hold on!" one of the hunters raises his shortbow, though he doesn't draw back his arrow yet. "Creature. What are you?"

    The second hunter looks towards the elf, narrowing his glaring, suspicious eyes. "A female duskie? Thought the King killed them all."

    "What... is a duskie?" she responds, her club dragging behind her as she steps up beside Kellon.

    "The ears!" the second hunter points at her head. "You've the sharp ears. Like the duskies, the nighteyes."

    No sign can be seen of the third hunter, the one called Andri. But behind the campfire is an old road, barely a worn dirt path where many people have walked. It stretches from the east to the west - the cardinal directions finally having become clear along with the direction of sunset.

    Spoiler: OOC
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    Also, not sure if the roll20 link in the OOC thread works without a game invite, so here is one.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2020-10-17 at 07:35 PM.

  14. - Top - End - #14
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    Yeah, it wouldn't let me in without an invite.


    Kellon himself slips down the hill, but his shell only seems to serve as a sled on top of the vile sludge. He is thankful that he cannot feel its disgusting muck on his hard shell like he can in the sensitive webbing between his toes. He says nothing in response to her question, lacking a single clue to answer truthfully.

    While there is some small comfort to be found in finally establishing the position of the sun, the sky feels... wrong. The colors are muted, choked, and stifled by the oppressive atmosphere of this country. They approach the campfire, apprehensive about confronting the hunters from earlier.

    It seems as though coldbloods are not the only unwanted guests in these lands. Kellon had never heard an elf referred to as a "duskie", but the term did not sound flattering at all. He spreads his arms wide, showing that he is unarmed. His voice speaks with confidence, his tone measured like a sermon. "I am Kellon, herald of the Tempest." The bronze of his trident-headed amulet gleams in the firelight. "I am a tortle; my folk are of the ocean isles. That is why I am lost. Our ship wrecked in a foul storm and we have been stranded in this strange country." He looks pointedly around at the sky. "I can see why you call upon Lathander in a place of such vile mist and feeble light. Tell me, what happened to the other hunter? Andri, his name was? He was not hurt by the wolves, was he?" Perhaps if Kellon shows that he is no threat, these landlubbers will tell them where they are.

  15. - Top - End - #15
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Default Re: Curse of Strahd Solo Run (IC)

    The broad stance of the turtle only seems to intimidate the hunters more, as the nearer of the two - the one facing him with bow ready - takes another step back. "Ocean?" the man asks, in confusion. "The ocean is only a myth."

    Before more can be said, the answer of Andri's location becomes clear. From the gloom of the nearby buildings, across the road and up a slight incline, walks a man flanked by several other townsfolk. They are dressed in bland cloth tunics and trousers draped around gaunt, hunched forms, and wearing perpetual scowls. The blue light of the dusk sets their faces an eerie hue, streaked with long shadows.

    One of the men carries a torch, its flame giving a more familiar, comforting red hue to the light around him. Comforting were it not for his fear and hate filled eyes locked onto the tortle.Two more flank him, carrying a pitchfork and a hoe. To the side of the men is a woman in a bloody apron, carrying a butcher's cleaver. Her hair is held back in a net.

    Lastly, leading their pack, is Andri - the third of the three hunters. "We are here," he tells the other two, reassuringly, though his voice wavers with doubt.

    "The creature speaks of the legendary ocean," the first hunter speaks again, informing Andri.

    "Ocean?" the woman crows in a shrill voice. "Wait. That is no mongrelfolk, you fool menfolk," she points her cleaver at Kellon. "Look at their garb, their weapons. These are outlanders."

    "Outlanders?" the man with the torch keeps his eyes locked on Kellon. The two with farming equipment remain silent, and if their stares could kill Kellon would be dead twice over.

    "Said they were 'shipwrecked'. They got a female duskie-" the second hunter points at the elf again.

    "I'm an elf," she corrects him this time, starting to get her breath back after a few moments standing. And for every moment standing, Kellon can sense the Mist growing nearer as it encircles the village. "Where are we?"

    "Why, you're in Barovia, lass," the human woman answers, waving her butcher's cleaver around emphatically at their surroundings. "My condolences."
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2020-10-17 at 09:03 PM.

  16. - Top - End - #16
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    A sense of unease grows in Kellon as the hunters deny his words and what can only be a lynch mob approaches from the settlement. He does not back down from the torchbearer's gaze, looking back with eyes colored like a clear ocean sky. Even as this confrontation played out, Kellon could feel his skin prickle as the Mist creeped ever closer. Dropping his arms in an attempt to calm the hunters, Kellon makes a request. "I know nothing of these lands, save that the Mist here is more foul than any threat I have ever come across. Even as we speak, it creeps in toward this village. I request sanctuary for the both of us. We have already been exposed to the Mist and death will find us quickly if we do not find shelter. I ask not for charity; I can provide healing or fresh water as payment for your hospitality."
    Spoiler: OOC
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    Persuasion check: (1d20+3)[11]

  17. - Top - End - #17
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    BlueKnightGuy

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    "The Mists are coming?" Andri parrots, looking out past Kellon. Indeed, behind him it has begun to crest the hills since past, and glide down them in rivers of pale white. "He's right! We must get to shelter."

    The hunter whose bow is still lowered goes to the fire and starts to stamp it out, but the other grabs him by the arm and pulls him back towards the mob. "The Mists will snuff the fire, leave it!" Both of them shoot another look at Kellon, but retreat towards the village without another word.

    "I'm not having outlanders at my house! Nothing but trouble," the man with the pitchfork declares, turning around and following on his neighbors' heels. None of the others seem particularly keen on having two strange houseguests either and begin to fall back.

    The butcher, at least, offers them some parting words: "You'll find yourselves the tavern near the center of the village... keeper doesn't much care if guest is outlander, if they have coin." With that she turns and hikes up her skirt to join the others retreating to their homes.

    The elven woman beside Kellon finally slings her club onto her back once more. "Quite the welcoming committee... legendary ocean? Where in the Hells are we?" she asks the question quietly, as she starts another tired march up towards the buildings over the road.

  18. - Top - End - #18
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    Hardly the open arms that Kellon had been hoping for, but at least they had avoided an unnecessary bloodbath. What irony that the butcher should prove to be the most diplomatic of the bunch... Kellon didn't have much coin to his name, but maybe a few gold would convince the innkeep to at least tolerate their presence for one night. As he trudges forward, Kellon replies facetiously to his companion's question. "Didn't you hear? We're in Barovia!

    ...Wherever in the Abyss that is."

  19. - Top - End - #19
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    BlueKnightGuy

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    "Guess I can't say which, never been to the Hells or the Abyss," the elf responds dryly, as they move. Not far to their right, they see a fork in the road that leads up into down, likely a main road used by traders and the sort.

    Walking into the village, they find it a gloomy vision. The homes are old, with peeling paint and poorly kept porches, and their owners pointedly shut the blinds or close the shutters whenever Kellon's eyes drift their way. Many have the look of old money that has dried up, homes that at one time must have been quite nice. While the road outside of the village was little more than dirt, the streets inside are gravel. Some patches are missing or filled with holes, leaving the streets bumpy and uncomfortable to walk on.

    "A-a- aaaahaaaagh!"

    Their walking is interrupted by a sound from the north, as they arrive at a four way intersection. The sound of a very small boy crying. Up the road, they can see two human children in the middle of the road, in front of a particularly tall, thin and worn down brick row house with cobwebs on the windows and eaves. The boy is sitting on the ground crying, with a cloth doll clutched in his little hands. A hooded jacket is bundled up around him and shrouds his crying face, save for the tears streaming down his cheeks. An older girl is kneeling next to him, trying to shush and comfort him. She is wearing a high-collared cloak.

    The girl looks up, hearing the clunk of Kellon's hammer against his shell as he walks. "H-hello?" She looks at the two of them in awe. "What are you? Can you help us?" She points at the tall scarecrow of a house. "Please! There's a monster in our house!" The boy stops crying and looks up at Kellon uncertainly.

    On either side of the house are abandoned homes, their doors and windows boarded up. A gated portico on the ground floor of the indicated home hangs open, its rusty gate creaking in the wind. Next to the gate is a water damaged copper plaque with a family name that Kellon has trouble making out.

    In spite of her condition, the elf doesn't seem to hesitate before going over to try and calm the children. "Where are your parents? Did they just leave you out here? Easy, easy." She squats down and holds up her hands, making sure not to reach for them and set the boy off again. "It's dangerous to be outside right now, can we talk inside?"

    "Mama and papa keep the monster trap in basement," the boy answers with a slight lisp, between a gap in his two front teeth.

    "We're not going back inside until the monster is gone," the girl insists, hugging her presumed little brother tighter against her leg.

  20. - Top - End - #20
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    The whole place reeks of misery, an animal living on the last of its fat. Kellon finds himself confused by the villagers' behavior. If they despise outsiders so much, why just leave them be? Why not run them out of town? They didn't seem afraid to use violence...

    Fierce wailing and sobbing shatters Kellon's resentful contemplation. They move up to investigate the source of the noise, surprised to see children out in the street at this hour. He finds their clothing strange, but it seems better made than the rags worn by the rest of the townsfolk. While the elf tries to comfort the children, Kellon can just barely make out the name on the plaque. It is nice for once to be regarded merely as strange and not a "monster" in his own right.

    He finally turns to speak to the frightened young ones. "We are outsiders, but we will help you, little one. Quickly now, what does the monster look like?"

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    BlueKnightGuy

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    The boy sniffs a trail of snot from his nose back up into the nostril and whimpers, "I down know... we never see the monster."

    "But we can hear it howling from the basement," the girl adds. "A terrible howling like the wolves."

    "What will we do if monster gobbles mama and papa?" the boy asks, lip quivering and voice wavering again. His sister pulls back his hood, revealing short brown hair, and runs a hand through the bristles.

    "Ssssh, hush little Thorn, don't be afraid. Big sister will make sure nothing bad ever happens to you."

    The elf stands up and looks at the house. She walks over into the entryway with Kellon. Inside the portico are two hanging oil lamps, unlit. Beyond them is an impressive, sturdy oak door, slightly ajar. She reaches out and tugs on the handle, and it swings open to reveal a foyer. It, too, is unlit, though another lamp with oil ready in it is sitting on a small side table. On the south wall, to their right, is a shield mounted on the wall with a coat of arms, that of a golden windmill standing over a red field. Flanking the shield are portraits of stony faced aristocrats with the characteristic hard-knock look of the Barovian people they have met thus far, but with clothes of fine quality like the children have.

    At the other end of the dark foyer is a set of mahogany doors.

    Looking to Kellon, the elf asks, "Should we go check it out?" She adds in a quieter voice, "We can check quickly, then lie to them and say there's no monster before we search more. They can't stay outside with that Mist coming."

    And indeed, it has not stopped. In fact, Kellon can sense it drawing closer with growing speed, already encircling them as if swirling and probing the edges of the town for its lost prey. For all the storms and weather Kellon has faced, never has one hunted him so.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2020-10-17 at 10:53 PM.

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    There must be something that Kellon is missing. How could the rest of the village be so heartless that the sobs of a scared child do nothing to stir aid? Apparently, their blood was colder than his own...

    After inspecting the foyer, Kellon turns his stumpy neck and nods his agreement. "I will go on ahead. Bring the children into the foyer. Protect them while I investigate. If I am not back by the time that the Mist clears, take the children to the tavern. If this monster should prove deadly, I will not go quietly..."

    Kellon lifts the spare lamp from the side table and lights it before fetching his warhammer from its sling. Armed and illuminated, Kellon ventures past the mahogany doors.

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    BlueKnightGuy

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    The elf follows behind him, stepping into the foyer and watching through the mahogany doors as he investigates.

    With lamp in hand, held by a brass handle that allows it to hang as a lantern, Kellon steps through. He finds himself in the main hall, running the width of the house. Contrary to the exterior, everything in here looks much fairer, better maintained, and newer. Just to his left is an unlit black marble fireplace, with logs and kindling inside a small metal grate. Above the mantle is a longsword mounted on the wall, and much like the shield it possesses a windmill cameo worked into the hilt. In front of the fireplace, a few paces away, is a trophy rug made from a whole wolf's hide, head and all. To the right, across the room, is a red marble staircase that curves around, leading to the second floor. The wood panel walls and the railings of the staircase are decorated with imagery of vines and flowers, and a sculpture of a frolicking nymph and satyr decorates the room as a centerpiece.

    There are several other doors, leading elsewhere in the house, but no sign of a basement staircase yet. As Kellon is about to begin searching further, the elf behind him gasps. She's turned around to call the children in, but when Kellon looks past her he can see them both standing calmly with the Mist at their backs, weaving its way through their bodies with white tendrils as if they were not there. Where it passes through them, their forms shimmer and drift apart like smoke and mirrors. Before they fade, consumed by the fog entirely, Kellon can see the older sister mouth two words with a desperate look in her eyes.

    Spoiler: Insight
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    For the sake of narrative, I have rolled an Insight check to try and read her lips, but Kellon was unable to make out what she was saying.


    As the elf is running for the door to close it before the Mist can come in, she jumps - a figure dashes around the corner of the portico and she nearly decks him in the face before he backs away and holds up his hands. "Wh- hey hey hey!" It is a bespectacled human man with a fuller complexion than the locals, and strange outlandish garb. He is dressed in a fine leather coat with a blue shirt underneath, and a pair of tailored trousers, leading down to equally fine leather shoes. His spectacles are even gilded with gold - or a good fake.

    "Who are you? Where are the children?!"

    "Chil...dren?" the man looks behind himself at the creeping mist, streaks of white already creeping around his heels like fungal hyphae. "Didn't see any children, nope. May I please take shelter in your house? I'm really terribly lost, and the Mist, and..." he pulls out a handkerchief and dabs sweat from his forehead.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2020-10-17 at 11:26 PM.

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    Compared to the squalor outside, the interior decorating seems positively lavish compared to what Kellon is used to. His head whips around at the shocked gasp of the elf and he feels his blood turn to ice as the children... not torn apart, but dissipated by the mist. No grinning specter, the girl seems desperate to tell him something, but Kellon cannot make the words out.

    When the newcomer comes around the corner, Kellon instinctively takes a step forward with weapon raised to punish the ambusher. The intruder is not one of the townspeople or some cutthroat brigand, however, at least not obviously. It is disquieting to consider whether the two of them have gone mad or if the man pretended that he didn't see them, but the Mist is a threat that will not be ignored. "Shut the damn door," Kellon orders with a shout shy of a roar, hoping to remind the elf of the immediate threat. As the man enters, Kellon steps back into the foyer and looks his fancy garb up and down. A thought occurs to him.

    "You're not from Barovia, either, are you?"

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    BlueKnightGuy

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    Kellon's shout reminds her, and the elf grabs the stammering man by the arm, practically hurling him inside at Kellon's bulky frame. She slams the door shut behind him - and locks it for good measure, whatever good it will do against the mist. But it seems that the malevolent weather is unwilling to enter the strange house... whether that is comforting or foreboding, is hard to tell.

    The newcomer steps back after stumbling into Kellon's chest and adjusts his glasses, looking up at the tortle. "Oh - you are... quite large. And menacing." The man swallows with a gulp as the elf comes up behind him. "Is that where we are? No, decidedly not. Hold on, do you mean... Bavaria?"

    "No, Barovia. Unless the locals were pronouncing it wrong," the elf answers. "I guess that means you don't know anything about where we are either, which is just our luck so far. Do you have a name?" She asks, rubbing her tired eyes.

    "Of course, where are my manners," tucking away his handkerchief, the man offers a handshake to each of them in turn. "Anton Burrel, novelist, perhaps you've heard of me?" He takes note of her prominent ears and his brow creases in confusion again.

    "Not in the slightest. I'm Gweyir," her answer indirectly answering the unasked question of her name, Gweyir returns the human's handshake.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2020-10-18 at 12:22 AM.

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    For the immediate moment, they are safe. The Mist's reluctance to test the house's gaps leaves Kellon with mixed feelings. He brushes off the man's comments. This one looked as soft and weak as they came, a hollow and rigid reed that would snap at the first gust. The man seems just as confused as the villagers, but is obviously another outsider. What even was a 'novelist', anyway? Reluctantly, Kellon stows his warhammer and accepts the strange warmblood custom of handshaking, having to take care not to accidentally flay the man with his claws. "Kellon," he says simply. Looking past the man as if he was yet another spirit, Kellon addresses Gweyir. "I know that you are tired, Gweyir, but something strange is going on with this house. I refuse to rest until I know that this place is secure. We should go together, room by room, and check this place from top to bottom. Then we might actually have a chance at some rest in this gods-forsaken place."

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    BlueKnightGuy

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    "Safety first when sleeping in haunted houses," Gweyir agrees without complaint, stepping out into the main hall. Her elven eyes don't have much trouble in the gloom outside the reach of Kellon's lantern. "Where do you want to start?"

    The soft little man marvels at the shield on display, scrambling to catch up behind them only when the removal of Kellon's light leaves him in the dark. "Haunted, you say?" the man asks, with perhaps too much eagerness mixed into the nervousness. "Perhaps I can be of some help, then."

    Turning to face him and looking him up and down, Gweyir pays him a doubtful quirked eyebrow.

    "Now, I may write fiction, but I do my research," Anton explains, holding up a finger. "What is a horror writer without a passing knowledge of the occult, hm? A hack, that's what. Why, together we could have this place exorcised in a jiffy... er, I suppose we would need a priest for that, actually. But you know what I mean."

    "Not sure I do," reaching up, Gweyir takes the longsword from above the mantle and tests its balance in her hand. "Better than a club," she comments to herself, drawing it from its scabbard. The blade is polished and oiled, clearly well maintained, and there is a gleam of silver down its length.

  28. - Top - End - #28
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    Kellon follows her into the main hall. "Like I said, I think we should start upstairs first. The... children said that there might be something awful in the basement. He shares Gweyir's skepticism. This clean-cut human, obviously born of privilege, an expert of spirits? "As it just so happens," Kellon rumbles in annoyance, "You are looking at a priest." A free claw holds up the trident head of his amulet in emphasis. "So, please, by all means, don't let that stop you."

  29. - Top - End - #29
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    BlueKnightGuy

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    Leaning forwards and holding his spectacles a little further down his nose, Anton examines the trident symbol. "Aha, the symbol of Poseidon, god of the sea!" He pushes his glasses back up and points at Kellon. "I've figured it out. You are some variety of Atlantean, from a colony in the Ionian Sea! Am I correct?"

    Gewyir turns and looks at Kellon. If he meets her eye, she seems amused by the man's guesses. She walks over to one of the doors and opens it up, revealing a closet with some coat racks. There are warm-looking black coats hung up inside, as well as a black top hat hanging from a hat hook.

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    At the very least, the man correctly identifies Kellon's god. The rest, however, is pure nonsense. Kellon's reply is curt. "I am a tortle and those names mean nothing to me." He rolls his eyes at Gweyir before heading upstairs. At this point, he would rather deal with restless spirits than this human's inane chatter...

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