Iron Crisis Part 2 (IC)

[Amnestic]

Sam, Senna

"We'll take ten", A quiet groan from his comrades cut him off, and he corrects - "20 minutes to catch our breath and then start heading northwest out of the forest and back towards the Gate, put as much space between us and the fire as we can, hope it blows off in another direction before it catches us." Ender raises his eyebrows but says nothing, the quiet elf idly watching the fire with a pensive quiet. He doesn't seem against the plan though.

"I'm guessing you'll be going after your other one, and picking over the bodies? If you get any news worth sharing then leave it at the Friendly Arm, it'll get where it needs to go, though hopefully this is the end of it for good." Whatever his frustrations otherwise, they're still seeking the permanent removal of the bandit threat.

Caelyn, Grepha

While Grepha might not be faster than Eagle-Venkt, her umbral wings do beat faster than Caelyn's human-resembling feet, though that only means so much when she's trying to catch up and doesn't know exactly where Caelyn or Rosc Roche is, or where either are going.

Luckily for Caelyn many of the threats of the forest had the same idea regarding the fire: put as much distance between it and them as possible, and so she goes undisturbed during her relentless pursuit of Rosc Roche's trail back towards the Red Wizard torture dungeon. Both imp and druid's paths coincide at the ruined building, arriving, as fate would have it, at much the same time. Rosc Roche is stood outside the ruins, looking extremely stressed as it kneads at the ground with its hooves. Ralaar is sat on what would be the doorstep of the ruins, looking at the horse with a blank expression, and occasionally glancing at the smoke plume that grows ever closer. He'd be safe here, the desiccated forest wouldn't burn as well as a healthy tree, and the stone ruins would give plenty of protection. If necessary he could even retreat below the surface if needs be.

"You're back." It's a matter-of-fact statement, lacking surprise, curiosity or confusion. It just is. "Your horse is here." He points with his one-intact arm at Rosc Roche, though it's hardly necessary. Horse and cart aren't exactly camouflaged or stealthy as they snort and rattle respectively. "It ran from the fire." Ralaar has clearly taken no steps to calm the animal, or indeed interact with it at all. He just sat and watched.

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 31/39 PP: 17 PIv: 10 PIs: 17 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Caelee ignores Ralaar upon arrival, dashing up to Rosc Roche while panting from the exertion of her run. She immediately begins speaking calming words in elvish and rubbing at his nose and neck. She spends several minutes promising never to leave him alone again and apologizing for her actions, and not just to Rosc Roche. She hoped whatever nature deity was listening would forgive her for starting the fire, but she still felt it was necessary and still felt the forest would recover. After nearly ten minutes of this, she finally turns to the one armed man. "It is good to see you are well. We may need to take shelter from the fire if it continues in this direction. How are you doing for food? I can go get more, if it's needed." She turns to spot Grepha, and that elicits a smile. "Hail, Grepha. You can tell Sam and Senna that I will meet up with them tomorrow after the fire has burnt out. I will shelter here for the day and make sure Rosc Roche... and Ralaar are safe."

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- Sam "Alright. We'll go with you north, and then we can cross the river once we can move safely around the fires. I think there should be shelter from the fire at the old fort, that's probably where Cae would go," Sam guesses, moving a little bit away from the others and reluctantly taking a seat on top of the riverbank to watch the flames. He looks expectantly at Ender and pats the ground next to him, since the elf seemed to want to talk out of earshot of the Fist. Grepha Circling above, Grepha shifts back into the form of a raven once she sees the elven witness, before descending and alighting upon the cart bound to Rosc Roche. She spits out a few paper notes into the back of the cart. "Caelyn," the imp-bird speaks, with a bit of surprise in her voice. But it quickly fades. "I shouldn't be surprised. You and the horse are inseparable. It's almost concerning." Waving at the notes inside the cart with a wing, she explains, "I plucked some evidence off of the dead bandits before it burned up. Do you... either of you happen to read goblin?" she asks, glancing at Ralaar. "I don't believe I am acquainted with the one-armed elf."

[Amnestic]

Sam, Senna.

The Fists settle in, one keeping an eye on the flames while the rest tend to wounds or just spend a few minutes recovering. A run through the woods is hard enough after a big fight. They chatter aimlessly for a while, but the topics are as banal as anything - favourite foods, favourite inns, good places to grab a sneaky nap while on guard duty.

Ender Sai quietly takes a seat beside Sam. You might not have heard him approach if he didn't make a point of coughing to announce his presence - his feet are quiet, gliding over the grass with skill, and there's not a single ruffle from his clothes. "The information that I have is sensitive because it might cause Flaming Fist soldiers to act before it's the time to do so. They might get it in their heads to charge off and do something rash, and that would not go well, considering the state the city is in. How much do you know about who is behind these attacks?"

Quietly, a slave approaches the praying Senna - not the one she stabbed, but one who saw it at least. He's not making any particular effort to approach quietly, but he still flinches back in a moment of fear once you acknowledge his presence. "Uhm." He stammers a bit, "We...we didn't want to seem ungrateful. Thank you for helping to save us. We understand you were just trying to blend in but...no...nevermind. Thank you." He bows, deeply, in sincere thanks, though it's hard to miss that he's still not getting any closer to you.

Caelyn, Grepha

Rosc Roche is eventually calmed. They don't seem to hold it against you at least, but the encroaching fire that edges closer and closer with every passing minute does threaten to reignite the worries and stress once more.

"I can't read goblin. I can't read any language." The monotone is perhaps unnerving for such a statement. One might expect there to be a hint of shame, or its inverse - pride in defiance of the expectations - at such a statement. Though not entirely uncommon to be illiterate, it nevertheless creates a clear divide for tasks and jobs that they can participate in, and even farmhands were expected to have a modicum of literacy, even if only so they could read directional signposts. Then again if he and his people lived in the Wood of Sharp Teeth, then perhaps they had no use for writings at all. They wouldn't be the first elf group to eschew them entirely. He doesn't do any introduction for Grepha. His name has already been given, and he's not exactly one for pleasantries. He speaks when spoken to, and that's about it. "I have food." He points back towards the makeshift campsite commandeered from the mercenaries. "Don't need any more. Getting more isn't safe. There's a fire."

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 18 HP: 23/33 PP: 17 PIv: 12 PIs: 17 Conditions: - Concentration: - Senna ends her prayer, fully knowing the gods might smite her for an abandoned prayer. She wasn't sure, but maybe that was the world saying that she did well? Her thoughts still revolved around Caelyn, but she stood up and turned over. With sadness in her eyes, she said. I have gone overboard on that. I am sorry. Do you trust me enough to let me see the man I injured that night? I would love to make amends before we leave for the Gate.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- Sam Thinking over the elf's question, Sam goes over what they've run into since leaving home. He keeps his voice hush as he speaks, "We know a cleric of Cyric named Mulahey was cursing the iron mines, and there was a messenger between him and these bandits. That's about as far as we got right now, hopefully some of their letters and stuff survived the fire... what's wrong with the city?" he asks, catching onto Ender's ominous words.

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 31/39 PP: 17 PIv: 10 PIs: 17 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Caelyn picked up the pages and began glancing through them, seeing if there was anything she recognized. I didn't know goblins even HAD a written language, so it is safe to say I won't be any help there. To my knowledge neither Sam nor Senna know it either, though I would bet that Senna could with a bit of magic prepared for it. At Ralaar's concern over the encroaching fire, Caelee looks back at the rising smoke and shrugs. I'll probably die wreathed in flame at some point, but I don't think that day is today. Not with an underground shelter at hand. But if you've got food we just need to make sure we have water and we'll be able to wait out the flames. And once the fire settles, nature will begin reclaiming this land anew, and we can make our way to the others. Thinking to herself, Caelee reaches into her bag, roots around, and removes a single seed that the dryad had given her. Ash led to fertile soil, and they were outside of her reach. She put the seed in one of her herbalism bottles on her hip for a safe keeping reminder. Then she unhooked Rosc Roche from the cart and began leading him into the ruins, again for safe keeping. As long as she has the time, Caelee will unload the cart (a difficult task for her weak arms) and store all of their belongings in the stone structure, then return above ground to watch the fire. She wanted to watch it for as long as she could. It was her fire, after all. She made it. She was responsible for it. She didn't have the right to look away from what it destroyed.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Ready for a time skip when you all are, I think.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- Grepha "Do not mistake hobgoblins for the inbred hicks that live out in the wild. They are every bit as strong as an orc, and twice as intelligent," Grepha cautions Caelyn, watching her poke through the notes. "There is also a half finished letter from the bandit leader in there. A few names, persons of interest." When Caelyn begins unloading the cart, Grepha helps with what she can. Whenever Ralaar is not looking she shifts into imp form to better carry things that require proper hands. Eventually, she perches near Caelyn, once again in raven form, to watch the fire next to her. "It occurs to me we've never really talked," she says, after a few minutes. "So, how was your day?" she asks, jokingly making droll small talk.

[Amnestic]

Sam, Senna

The slave backs away a few more steps from Senna, fear and distrust still clear. You helped them, yes. You saved them, even. But the sight of you stabbing one of theirs, for seemingly no reason, is still fresh in their mind's eye. "Make amends...how?"

Ender doesn't look at Sam as he speaks, keeping his eyes forward on the forest. "It's in a state of flux. The Iron Crisis has people worried. The bandit attacks have people worried. The movement on the Amnish border has people worried. People see enemies everywhere, and if they heard of one specific enemy, without proof, it could tear the city apart as a side is picked. Inevitably the Fist will be called on to establish order by way of the sword and a lot of people will die before the fires die down." He brings one finger up to scratch his nose, sniffling slightly at the stench of acrid smoke that still clings to your clothes. His voice drops down a tad in volume, while he slightly increases the pitch. All the better to not be overheard. "I am an agent of one of the Grand Dukes, though I can't tell you which. One of many investigating the true perpetrators behind the situation. A lot of people think it's the Zhents, but not me. I don't wear soft soled boots just to keep quiet, it's so I know whose toes I'm treading on. I didn't touch the Zhentarim. Only people whose toes I was treading on was the Iron Throne. Sure enough not long after I end up bundled up by Tazok and dumped here, among the bandits raiding caravans. I don't think it's a coincidence."

"I'm telling you this because you're not official. If you start shouting it from the roof tops no one would believe you. Not without evidence, anyway. Since Tazok wasn't here for all of this," Ender gestures towards the fire with a lazy hand, "My guess is he's at their base in the Cloakwood. He made frequent trips there, though I wasn't privy as to why. If you don't find any hard evidence back at the battle, perhaps you'll have better luck in Cloakwood. As for me, I need to report back, so do with it as you will."

Caelyn, Grepha

Unless called upon to help, Ralaar...doesn't. He watches, sometimes, and sometimes he pays no attention, but he doesn't offer to help Caelyn move the items below. There's a distinct sense that if someone told him to stop eating and breathing he'd probably do so for lack of any other direction. Perfectly malleable, which can lend itself to both good and ill.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 18 HP: 23/33 PP: 17 PIv: 12 PIs: 17 Conditions: - Concentration: - Senna looks puzzled. Yes, well I would love to say sorry. Would you lead me over? Senna says sheepishly without being able to make eye contact. She started sweating cold sweat putting herself out there so much. She touches her tabard and mumbles something to herself before following the slave. She would follow at a distance, waiting outside the designated area for the civilians. Once introduced enough, she steps inside and stops a good 10 feet before the man in question. Her tabard glimmers in a calm candle light, her voice ever so slightly enhanced by divine providence. For all you out here, I must apologize. Not in the name of my god, but in my own. I hurt one of yours pointlessly, and I beg for forgiveness. I injured you, all for naught. We were not even close to being detected. F-f-for that, I am sorry. Senna locks eyes with her former victim. She is shaking, sweat is running down her hairline. She gauges if the man is still scared, or if the anger finally boiled over so he would retaliate in kind. The cleric would accept all but deadly weaponry. But what she was afraid of the most was rejection.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- Sam Rubbing his chin in thought, Sam watches Ender's face more than the flames. The elf is making an effort not to look at him in turn, and he has a pretty good poker face. "That's a merchant group from Cormyr right?" he asks, not very familiar with them. Ironically he knows a bit more about the covert Zhentarim - if only because they're one of the boogeymen used to make kids listen. Go to bed or the Zhents will snatch you up. Zhents will get you if you don't eat your veggies. "So you want us to go to Cloakwood and check it out, huh?" he asks. "How'd we get in touch with you if we find something?"

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 31/39 PP: 17 PIv: 10 PIs: 17 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Between miles of running in both humanoid and animal form and hauling her sibling's belongings out of the cart, Caelyn was exhausted, shaking from exertion and sweating like a pig. Moving the last bag, which felt and smelled like clothes someone had worn last tenday, she lost her footing and tumbled from the cart, ripping the bag and scattering someone's clothes across the ground, all while landing on her shoulder with an impact that made her bark with pain. She shot Relaar an aggravated glare at his lack of help, but her gaze quickly fell to his missing arm, cooling her anger and leaving behind remorse. She quickly gathered up the smelly clothes and tossed them into the ruin in a disorganized pile. She watched Grepha flit down and start hauling the mess one shirt or pair of pants at a time, and she couldn't help but be impressed that the evil creature volunteered without asking her. With Rosc Roche stowed inside the ruin with a bag of feed and a small bucket of water, Caelyn moved outside the ruin, leaving Ralaar to his own devices and settling down to sit cross legged on the highest point she can find to give her a better view of the fire. She's silent and still for long enough that an observer may think she was trancing. It wasn't until Grepha addressed her that she spoke, but her response was immediate. I know little of devils, but I have been told three facts. You are evil incarnate, you wish to seduce people into sin, and you stick to your oaths, if only just the letter rather than the spirit. I give you considerable leeway because Sam favors you and because you are useful, but I can never be comfortable around you, Grepha. You have an agenda that is not shared by my family. One day it may prove to be our undoing. Until then, however.... She sighed and brushed a strand of hair our of her vision as the black smoke grew closer. while your loyalty is always in question, your usefulness can not be doubted. As long as I keep that in mind, we can speak. As associates. But never as friends. Caelee took a deep breath and sighed, hanging her head and collecting her thoughts. I am not sure if I've had an excellent day where I got to express my magical powers with abandon against dastardly foes, or if I've had a wretched day where I destroyed half a damn forest in a reflexive act of childish rage that nearly killed my family and my best friend. Somewhere between the two, I suspect. If it all works out, the people I care about are safe, and it turns out the lives I saved outweighs the unwarranted destruction I've wrought, maybe then it will be a good day. Maybe a hundred years from now I will return to these woods, see them healed, and then maybe I will look back at this as a great day. For now, I'm tired, dirty, and singed. How was your day, Grepha?

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- Grepha Gazing out at the fire, Grepha can't help but be reminded of Avernus. The towers of smoke, the flames, the way it tinges the air and the sky around it red. It's like the world has transformed into some nightmarish otherworld. She softly chuckles a little, when her agenda is mentioned, in a way that feels like dramatic irony. She doesn't interrupt, until Caelyn has finished saying her piece. And she answers the question in kind, "I spent most of the past few days leading the Fist around while pretending to be a normal dumb bird familiar. Don't want to get Samuel arrested for diabolism." There's a bit of tired irritation at putting on the show. "It's mortifying having to croak in that awful raven voice." Grepha lets out a small sound that might be a sigh. "Our agendas are more alike than you know," she adds, hesitantly. "And I understand what you, and your siblings are going through in a lot of ways." Grepha looks away from the fire, down at the ground beneath them, the ragged earth that surrounds the old fort. There's an internal struggle between wanting to say more, and a loathing that has been quite literally branded into her towards giving anything for free. In the end, she just can't make herself say more. Not without something to gain. The devil wins the day. "There as a standing deal with Senna, but I doubt I can count on her to follow through. I really need an Augury spell," the imp says after a period of awkward silence. Her mind prods and pokes at angles she can use to improve the chances of this going her way. "It concerns Samuel's safety."

[Amnestic]

Sam, Senna

The mixture of emotions on the slave's faces as you approach their group, if turned to liquid, would be best described as a slurry. A mixture of positive and negative that muddles together into a sea of uncomfortable. Fear, gratitude, anger, forgiveness. The one you stabbed, a haggard man with a gaunt face, thinning hair and sickly expression. It's perhaps a surprise he has any blood at all to spill. Everyone goes silent at Senna makes her passionate, if clumsy, apology, and silence remains after she finishes. Agonising seconds stretch out. They all heard you, and they look to the man for his response. Anger flares in his eyes, contorting his sallow cheeks. "For no reason." The man finally says, standing from a tree stump. He's taller than Senna, even with the hunch in his back, but he also looks as if a strong breeze might make him crumble or blow away. "Stabbed me for no reason, and expect words to make it right?" His voice is cracked, broken, scraping at a dry throat slashed by the screams of his past beatings. "Not enough, not enough for any of us." In his right hand he still clutches your knife, the one you'd thrown at them to loose them from their bonds during the fight, but he doesn't brandish it, just tightens his bony grip around the handle, squeezing it so hard his fingers might snap and break. "No." He doesn't move forward, but instead tosses the knife, end over end, so that it lands in the dirt between you. "Finish the bastards off for good. Then I'll accept your apology, and maybe the gods will too."

"They've got a branch operating in Baldur's Gate, they're expanding. As for getting in touch with me - you won't. If you find hard evidence in Cloakwood then take it to Scar. He's second-in-command of the Flaming Fist in the city, and will know what to do. He's below only Duke Eltan in authority for the knights, and will act with the appropriate level of care that...others might not. If you don't find anything, then there's nothing more to discuss. For what it's worth, if you do follow through, then I wish you good luck in the days to come." With that he stands and moves away. It's tough to call it guidance, exactly. He clearly is not relying solely on you in this situation, but also doesn't seem to have any problems with giving you enough breadcrumbs in case you do prove yourself useful. It goes unspoken if he's done similar with other groups before, or will again.

Road

The Fist and now-freed prisoners travel with Sam and Senna for an hour or so, but before long they split away. Their destination is to the west, and yours the east. It seems they would prefer taking their chance in the forest than spend additional time heading in the opposite direction to their destination. Unlike you, they presumably do not have the luxury of time to spend as they will, and have to answer to their superiors before long. The local forest inhabitants are still absent, scared off by the fire that was broken for a while by the drained river that seems to be draining yet further as the day - and the fires go on. The smoke climbs ever higher, and the sun takes on a disturbing tinge of red as ash mixes into the clouds. Still, aside from the persistent stench, the waves of heat, and the knowledge that you contributed to the destruction of acres of natural beauty, your path back to the ruins - to Caelyn, Grepha and Rosc Roche - is unimpeded. Thankfully the dead trees mean that the fire dies down in this area swiftly, and the heat won't kill you during the night, though staying below from the smoke may still be the better plan.

By the time you arrive night has fallen, though the fire nips at the horizon, casting the world in a red light. Dimmed, but still brighter than a true night would be.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 18 HP: 23/33 PP: 17 PIv: 12 PIs: 17 Conditions: - Concentration: - With the civilians: Senna was surprised by this much restraint, but she did not want to destroy this chance to redeem herself by saying anything. Silently she picks up her ceremonial dagger again and sheats it. She just nods and turns away. She could not undo her deeds, she could just atone for them. At the ruins: Senna hasn't had a whole lot of time to think about her personal emotions, the day was too crowded with responsibilities; and dodging wildfires. At night at the camp she does her best to recap: So we know the following: Ender Sai claims to be an agent of the Gate's dukes. He does not think the Zhentarim are involved even if they are partially held responsible. If anyone, I assume Venkt was a Zhentarim mage. But we do not know. Additionally, there are bandits and the Iron Crisis making the area unsafe. Plus Tazok eludes us still. The Cloakwood is huge, so I assume we should go back to the battlefield tomorrow and find the corpses. With any luck, we can find something that points us into the right direction. Unless Grepha has seen something suspicious in the woods, or Caelee can commune with the wilds to find such a hideout. She looks around tired. I promised the people to find their captors, and let them pay. If not for them, or for justice, at least for myself. I want to prove to myself that I am not a power hungry tyrant. She turns to Sam. How can you stay so calm in all of this? So adult and responsible? You are the one with the infernal pact, the one who takes his magic from cameraderie and song. If anything you should be the first to jump to unknown depths for power. The cleric sighs, clearly knowing that was not true. Grepha, you said if I casted a spell for you, you would provide answers that helped us. With this much chaos around, you have proven yourself to be a stabilising asset for us. It pains me to say it, but I trust you more than the evershifting chaos of other information sources. Do you promise in giving us information that is not altered to imply a specific interpretation?

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 31/39 PP: 17 PIv: 10 PIs: 17 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: The Day Of the Battle Caelyn tilted her head at Grepha, trying to imagine what the devil could want with an augury. Unable to imagine something, Caelyn shrugged. I can't cast that spell. You'll have to wait for Senna, if she is willing. After your work leading the Fist to us, I'd say you deserve some sort of reward. I'll lend my voice to your request. Is that what you're rooting around for? Speaking with Grepha made Caelee feel... uncomfortable. Like she was being examined. Poked. Prodded. Is this what Sam felt like all the time? Or was he numb to it? The Day After the Battle Caelyn gave each of her siblings a hug when they arrived, grateful for the non-diabolic and non-simpleton company. She listens to Senna's explanation, and then she hands over the letters and notes that Grepha had collected from the flames. Senn, you might be able to make use of these. Grepha says one of them is in goblin, but there could be something useful I missed in any of them.When Senna agreed to cast Grepha's spell, Caelyn nodded in support of the idea.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- Day of the Battle "That would be appreciated," the bird nods, and still looks like she's distracted by a thought. Finally she finds the strength to admit a little. Something for Caelyn's willingness to be cordial, if nothing else. "I honestly want to tell you more, at this point. But there are things that have been... ingrained in me. An inability to give without getting." Even sharing this small vulnerability, this weakness, seems to cause Grepha some discomfort. She shifts in her position, and her voice sounds a little strained. "Conversation is starting to grate on me... but thank you for the talk." The imp, in her strange mood, flies off to settle on some long-forgetten corner of the fortress in solitude. The Reunion When he sees Caelyn, Sam runs up to her and practically picks her up in a big, spinning hug. Practically because, despite his size and efforts, he's just about the most noodley armed dragon around. "I had faith you'd be alright!" he says, putting her down and ruffling her singed, smoke-smelling hair with his hand. "And in need of a haircut," he jests. As they go inside and settle at their old camp, perhaps with a few bad memories of their previous campmates, Grepha glides down to settle on Sam's shoulder and a familiar presence in the back of his mind greets him. It's nice to have the devil on my shoulder back. How was your vacation? Her voice scoffs in his head. A vacation of pretending to be a simpleton bird? It was lovely. How was your vacation in the camp of stinking, filthy bandits? About the same. "Scouting the Cloakwood from above sounds doable," Grepha agrees, as Senna and Sam share their debriefing. "Unfortunately, that mage escaped. Transformed into a bird and flew off that way- but it may have been to misdirect me," she points off into the dark red horizon with one of her wings. Looking back at Senna with a serious face, Sam reaches up and taps the side of his head with his finger when she asks how he stays so calm. "It's elementary, dear Senna." His poker face cracks into a grin, "I'm too dumb to fool." "I prefer to think it's some of my good sense finally rubbing off on you," Grepha comments in a deadpan. She looks at Senna with a bit of surprise when she voluntarily offers to follow through on what they'd discussed before. "Here I thought you hated me the most. Yes, the offer still stands. I'm willing to answer your question truthfully and to the best of my knowledge if you provide an Augury spell." What do you need an Augury for? It pertains to that night. The one after Nashkel when you found me in the bushes. Sam and Grepha seem to be communicating silently, then he tips his head to the side in a one-shouldered shrug. "Alright. I don't have any objections."

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 18 HP: 23/33 PP: 17 PIv: 12 PIs: 17 Conditions: - Concentration: - Senna sighs. Like so often, she was ill prepared for such magics. Do you need the Augury now to give me information? Because we can ill-afford to travel back to Talantyr to pick up some candles for the ritual. If the news travels faster than us, the base of operations will be on high alert. Your kind are fallen angels perverted by sin, but you are reliable. Still, I will not take further advice from you. You are evil incarnate after all, and I am not. The cleric turns to Caelyn. Well, languages is really more Melian's department, at least casting a spell to read goblin is. But she seems out of it for now. So let's just check the other ones. Senna smiled. It was her job to read out things with her friends and family. Not because the others couldn't read, but because Senna was just very adept at reading out loud. It was a skill she was proud of, even though professional narration was more Sam's metier. For now, she just felt reminded of her childhood, where despite her being the youngest one, she always got to pick and read out the bed time stories.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- Grepha barks a single, short laugh. "I am not a fallen angel, Senna. Whatever books you've read of devils in Candlekeep, it sounds as though they told you only what the devils wanted you to know." She shuffles a little on Sam's shoulder, eying Senna. "You are moody and prone to mood swings. In short, you are a teenage girl with far too much power. I cannot be certain a change of mind later won't see me robbed of my part of the bargain..." the imp answers skeptically. "I am willing to part with a partial answer before the deal is done. Something to show you whether I actually know something about the subject of your asking or not." "Is there anything we can do about the goblin note?" Sam asks Grepha, leaning forward on his knees. "I sense your power will soon grow once more. With some nurturing, we could change that magic of suggestion you've come to despise so with some magic to read languages." "Great!" grinning from ear to ear, Sam looks around at the group, satisfied. "I can give it a try in the morning then!"

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 31/39 PP: 17 PIv: 10 PIs: 17 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Unleashing an unseemly squeal when Sam picks her up, Caelyn squeezes him back. Once she is set down she embraces Senna as well, though with less physicality. Rosc Roche is ok, too. He's inside the ruin, just in case the fire came faster than we expected. I also saved all our stuff. Which reminds me- it is high time we all did our laundry with more soap. Some of those bags smell terrible. Caelee sighed at Senna and Grepha's back and forth, putting her palm to her face. Moving right along... I hope the druids of the Cloakwood are more like Jaheira and less like the Malar worshippers. And I hope that Grepha's augury can point us in the right direction. I may be a skilled tracker, but not without some sort of trail to work with.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 18 HP: 23/33 PP: 17 PIv: 12 PIs: 17 Conditions: - Concentration: - Senna nods. Too much power, yes. But all my power is borrowed. If Deneir falls silent, if the Metatext demands it, I will be no more than an ordinary bookish scholar. All that remains is my magical items. Which reminds me, these flipping boots won't come off. Senna tries to remove them, but to no avail. She calms herself and tries to read their magical aura after a short ritual. Spoiler Show Detect Magic as ritual to understand the boots. (1d20+5)[13] Arcana If Guidance is allowed (1d4)[1] If Melian helps, advantage (1d20+5)[11]

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- "Oh, I ran out of soap a while back," Sam laughs it offer, but stops and sniffs at his clothes, frowning. "I'll put it on the to-do list for when we visit civilization again." "Stumbled rather literally into some cursed boots have we?" watching Senna struggle with the boots, Grepha hums a little. "Perhaps you ought to ask Deneir for a spell of curse removal as well." Getting up from the rock he'd been seated on, Sam walks over and places a hand on Senna's shoulder, squatting next to her. He looks up at Caelyn as well with a look of sympathy. "When I went down during that fight, I finally encountered that thing Senna was talking about before. The one that seems connected to these... dreams. And what's been affecting the two of you, with your..." he can't quite make himself say 'violent urges'. "It's been affecting you, too, Samuel. Less so, but I have noticed a shift." He stops and looks at the bird on his shoulder with a worried expression. "So you haven't noticed it yourself... when this first began, you were struggling not to vomit from the stress of hurting people. Even the orc. And now..." she regards him analytically. "An entire camp of dead bandits, many burned alive, and I don't see any concern." The thought slams into Sam like a bag of hammers and he looks speechless at first, looking back at everything that's happened. The idea of offering surrender never really occurred to him. Even if the Fist would have just executed them immediately, it is Bahamut's will that criminals be allowed the chance to repent and begin the road to saving their souls at the end. "But take heart, Samuel. Thus far it's only made you more quickly develop a resilience to the things a veteran soldier or mercenary would grow used to."

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 39/39 PP: 17 PIv: 10 PIs: 17 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Listening to her younger brother describe the internal force that was pushing them all, to different degrees, towards dark inclinations, Caelee shivered and briefly squeezed herself. Through some combination of luck and tactics she had not been severely wounded in any of their fights, so the only experience she had had with this force of violence had been the fiery after effects of her heat based magic. Again, she ruminated on whether she had chosen the Circle of Wildfire or if something had influenced her decision. Maybe she wouldn't get any answers till she fell in battle and met this force in person. With a small, rapid shake of her head to clear her mind, she looked up at Sam and Senna with sorrow and concern in her eyes. She'd become more jaded over their travels too, to the point that killing people with magic came with ease. What was happening to them? How much of it was a natural side effect of their dangerous lifestyle and how much was this evil force that tainted their souls and warped their minds? She bit her lip for a second before whispering If this is what it takes to be strong... is it worth it?. As terrible as it sounds, she was grateful for Senna's cursed boots changing the subject. Her voice raised to a more audible level again as she spoke up. I don't think I possess any magic that can remove a cursed item. Maybe if I was lucky I could suppress the magic long enough for you to get them off, but I'm not schooled enough in magic to know if that would work. We may want to take the time to use magic to identify any items we pick up from now on... which is again something I'm not capable of. Druidism bears many gifts, but non-natural utility is not one of them.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 19 HP: 29/39 PP: 17 PIv: 12 PIs: 17 Conditions: - Concentration: - The thing is, I revel in the power. Sam looses his inhibitions, Caelyn might enjoy the cleansing fire. But I do enjoy making people suffer. I enjoy the dominance, the fear and ultimatively the death. And I know Deneir does not agree in the slightest, but I have been more open for his powers as well. I feel like a leech taking in His glory for my own gain. Murdering not in his name, but with his ordained magic. Senna says without much emotion, more like a seasoned soldier reading a war report. As for the boots, I think I want to try them out. Sure, they won't come off, but their advantage cannot be understated. Their aura is a slight conjuration, and they are meant for gnomes originally I assume. So maybe they just summon some random stuff during high times of stress? Senna shrugs. Normally an uncontrolled battlefield would be a disaster for her, but she couldn't even summon the effort to care. If you wanted them gone, I'll dispel them.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10 PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13 -- | -- The Campsite Looking down at the ground as he listens to Senna's chilling remarks, Sam slowly stands up and lets out a sigh. "Then we have to get this thing out of you as soon as possible. I need to clear my head." Stepping away from camp, he descends into the fortress below, the darkness parting before his and Grepha's devil eyes. "And they call me the evil one." "Sht." Below Spoiler: The Ritual Show Below, Sam goes into the coffin chamber for some privacy and sits down, his back up against one of the stone contraptions. Grepha shifts out of her raven disguise and jumps down to the stone floor. "I've given some thought to your idea from before. I think I'd like to- anything that will weaken this thing in me before I become like..." he can't make himself finish the sentence. "Then I will help bear the burden," Grepha answers. "It should be a deceptively simple ritual, since our souls are already bound." She begins listing out things they'll need to prepare, and recite. "What if it affects you too?" Sam asks, as he takes out some chalk and incense, and a dagger. "I know there's probably more to your motivations for this. But I also know a part of you seemed to honestly want to help that Gil kid. What if this is too much?" "Hell has a way of numbing what torture means. And if I lose sight of the mission, I have you. You must not be afraid to give me commands, to use your authority. Place standing orders as safeguards- against attacking you in your sleep, against killing anyone I please. These are things you should have done a long time ago. The soft-hearted incompetence cannot stand if we do this." Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Sam exhales slowly. "Alright. Grepha, I forbid you from killing anyone without my permission. And I forbid you from doing anything to harm or steal from me, my family or my friends while I sleep." "It's a start." Taking one of the pieces of chalk, Grepha assists in the transcribing of the ritual circle. Twisting, overlapping spidery lines - the patterns of Chaos evoke discomfort and unease for any sane mind to look at. Sam sets out ritual incense, the small flames at their wicks as they burn adding a touch of faded color to the pitch darkness around them. Until at last they are both seated across from one another, on either side. Sam looks curiously at Grepha, who has written some kind of note and folded it up. "Are those incantations?" "I want you to ensure that this is carried out if I lose my mind. I would prefer if you didn't open it before then. I don't like people knowing things that could be used against me," Grepha hands the note to Sam, and he tucks it away despite gnawing curiosity. "Now, give me your hand. I'm going to have to cut hard enough to draw blood, so try not to flinch." Nervously, Sam complies, holding his hand over the circle. Grepha steps inside the confines, feeling an unpleasant crawling down her back when she passes the threshhold. She draws the blade smoothly down Sam's palm, blood dripping down onto the stone floor and settling into the cracks. The white chalk lines absorb it and darken to black, as if hungry, wherever it trickles to. The black lines spread, becoming almost invisible against the dark floor. Next, Grepha draws the blade across her own, much smaller palm. She speaks in Infernal, "I offer my blood in oath. From this day forward, siblings bound in blood, kin of kin. Against all outside law and authority, loyalty to this alone, silent in the face of torturers. The code of my family. I offer to share the burden that weighs upon you. What in turn do you offer, Samuel, ward of Gorion?" Repeating the words with less certainty, Samuel takes it slowly. "I offer my blood in oath. From this day forward, siblings bound in blood, kin of kin. In return for your loyalty, I offer this power." Grepha places the two wounds to one another, infernal and demi-god blood nearly boiling on contact, bubbling with red foam. Sam focuses, reaching down into that place he is loathe to go, where the power dwells. His arm and blood begin to glow in prismatic colors, as the burgeoning power flows out of him. Feeling lighter already as it leaves, whether it is placebo or not, he adds, "And I will help you bear your burden as well. I swear it." "The pact is made. I am Warlock of your name, Patron Samuel."

[Amnestic]

Caelyn and Senna both feel the slightest of shift when Sam's ritual is complete. Subtle, but the air changes in tone, and the next time you see Grepha it's immediately clear to you both that the mystical link that bonds you siblings together has been shared, ever so slightly, with Grepha. It's not the same, of course. It's doubtful that Grepha is going to start seeing the great obsidian sea any time soon, but nevertheless despite better instincts there's a tug that calls on you to recognise them as 'one of you'. Vala, for her part, isn't totally ignorant of what's gone on, though she keeps her comments and any potential judgements to herself, merely raising her eyebrows. She doesn't seem perturbed, or curious, by the slight adjustment in 'smell' that she perceives, merely making a mental note of it. As for Ralaar, he appears utterly ignorant, but then his reaction to most things is passive apathy so perhaps he does understand and he merely doesn't care.

Regardless, secreted away in the ruins you're otherwise undisturbed and left unbothered. It seems to have been a good choice of resting place, as the fire indeed doesn't find you, and you're able to sleep the day's trials and tribulations away, though what dreams or nightmares plague you tonight are ones entirely of your own making, there's no creeping influence at the darkness inside your souls.

The next morning brings cloudy skies, blackened with the ash and smoke risen from the fires that have burned past you. It overcasts the sky, blotting out the sun, and casting the summer's day in a shade of depressing grey. At the very least it's not raining, though the black in the sky above may change that before long. Despite how that might make you feel, water is probably the best thing for the forest at this point. After a quick breakfast and confirmation of your next steps, you begin retracing your steps back towards the battlefield. Devastation, even if it were not your intention, is the only thing you see. Rare is the patch of greenery now, and rarer indeed is any sort of cover from the sky above. Gone are the overhanging canopies of leaves that cast the world in a calming shade of natural green, gone are the pervasive sounds of animals and creatures living their lives, gone are the bird calls and the wolf howls and the gentle press of boot upon grass. Instead you are met with mile upon mile of blackened, shrivelled trees, their branches felled by fire, their life extinguished. You greet endless silence, save for the crunch of your own passage against cracked and brittle wood. It's not a forest. Not anymore. It's a graveyard. A thousand thousand thousand standing stones pledging memory to the life that has been wiped out, stretching as far as they eye can see and further yet still.

And your soul likes it.

Maybe your mind recoils, maybe your heart grieves, maybe your body flinches every time you press a hand against a tree to steady yourself only to find it collapses at the lightest touch. But a part of you revels in the destruction and death, and it wants more.

Caelyn's memory of the area is no help to you anymore, but she nevertheless manages to guide you to the epicentre of where the fire started, where more death was yet carried out. It is as Grepha left it, and not that dissimilar to how the party left it, save that Tenhammer has had his armour opened. Bodies are strewn about but they've been cooked, their flesh peeled and cracked, armour scorched and covered in black marks, armour partially melted to skin or clothes burned straight from their bodies. There's no chance that anyone could identify the corpses identities at this point, save the ones you knew the positions of when they fell.

Most of the equipment and items that the bandits were carrying has been scorched beyond use or salvage, but you don't miss that some of it is still good, likely protected by enchantments that made it sturdier than others. The longbow that Ardenor held is one such item. Despite being made of wood and bowstring, it remains fully intact, and picking it from the ground finds it as ready to launch arrows as ever. His armour, and that of Tenhammer, is likewise still intact, along with Tenhammer's maul, but that's all for recovered items from bodies.

With the area now free of clogging smoke, Grepha - and the rest of the party - is able to spot the keys to the chests. They fell partially beneath one of the ogres when they died, and it's a small matter for Vala to shove the corpse aside and allow retrieval of them. The body seems to have saved them from melting, and the the thick black iron is slotted easily into the locks of the containers. The first chest contains coins a-plenty, alongside three magic scrolls and two non-magical scrolls that appear to be letters sent to Tenhammer. Thankfully, the chests being locked seems to have saved them from being ignited by the flames. The second chest has more coin, along with a fancy shining silver (or perhaps platinum) necklace embossed with the symbol of Bahamut, but otherwise has little of note.

Finally, Caelyn's staff - that which she took from Osmadi, begins to resonate with the area. Whatever has happened to the land, it seems that something in the staff is responding, though more investigation is required to deduce what it wants, exactly.

Spoiler: Items

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Ardenor's Bow (Unidentified)
Ardenor's Half-Plate (Unidentified)
Tenhammer's Plate (Unidentified)
Tenhammer's Maul (Unidentified)
3 magic scrolls (Unidentified)
Bahamut Necklace (Unidentified)

2060 gp in coins.

Spoiler: Letter 1

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Tenhammer,
I hope that everything moves along smoothly. I have written to give you instructions from our superiors. I have been told that a small group might cause the Iron Throne some trouble in the future. You are to ensure that they don't live to upset our operations. Be aware that I have contracted an assassin, Nimbul, who may make contact with you in the future. He will serve our purposes well.

-Davaeorn.

Spoiler: Letter 2

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Tenhammer,
I have noticed your shipments of iron have slowed of late. It is imperative that we receive another ton of ore. Step up your raids, and get a shipment to our base within the next week. We need to stockpile as much ore as possible before our ultimatum is given. Also, Sarevok wants to know what has happened with the group I sent word of. Have they been killed? You had best ensure that they have been, as Sarevok will not take kindly to any other news.

-Davaeorn.

[Spore]

Senna Human Arcana Cleric AC: 19 HP: 29/39 PP: 17 PIv: 12 PIs: 17 Conditions: - Concentration: - Morning, at the campsite: Senna was glad her bells gave her a decent reason to focus her mind on more scholastic matters, even if the bell's probable dark intent cloud that somewhat; a trained scholar such as Senna would do away with such trifling morality for the sake of science. After Sam was done downstairs, but before they go to bed, Senna sifts through the remains yet again. In an ideal world, she would present consecrated candles to Deneir, as a thanks for his Divine insight, the clearer they burned the better the vision. But she had to improvise, like so often in the last weeks. She found a handful of incensed candles, worthy of a tribute to her god. If she could consecrate them with her prayer, and find a link to her faith once more, she could ask Him questions. Senna was assuming she would ask the First Scribe about her future, her parents or her path, but never in her life was she imagining casting this for a devil. And now that Sam and Grepha were linked inextricably, part of her felt better about this request. The devil was of blood now, even if the question still stood, how a half-dragon, elves and a human were related in the first place. She went to bed, with uneasy dreams all fearing the divine revelations the new day was about to bring. On the next day, the charred and destroyed dungeon was an oddly comforting backdrop for her prayers to the Lord of Glyphs; mayhaps because of all the demonic runes carved into the ground. Finished, refreshed and feeling her link to her deity becoming stronger, Senna went to the others. She produces the candles, hoping the devil knew what they stood for. I think we can hold our little deal now, but under one condition. Caelyn will be with us and listen in on everything. Senna asked Vala to pack the camp together with Vala, with the express intent of doing it elsewhere. She hoped the divine warrior trusted her enough. It was not like she was able to push her to do it. With the ritual closing in, Senna wasn't going to draw an elaborate circle. Instead she arranged furniture neatly enough so they resembled a monk's writing desk. She revealed a book with empty pages, decorated with writing utensils and the black candle smelling of brimstone. When I raise my left hand, you shall begin to ask your questions, Grepha. Senna used the better part of the hour carving the candle, consecrating the table and neatly arranging everything in an orderly fashion to counteract the destructive chaos around her. As she felt a divine presence, she rose her hand. The others smelled the waft from the sulfur change to a more subtle and nuanced smell of myrhh and sage. The charred battlefield Senna checked the battlefield, starting with the chests and items. I am not fond of wearing hobgoblin armor, but that actually looks very well made. She looks around, with only Vala being able to wear heavier armor. Senna was trained in all but the heaviest knightly armors, more a safe precaution of Gorion than a real requirement of her clergy. Of course she could use her dagger with a bit of speed now, but she was still more comfortable at a distance. That did not deter arrows or even ranged magic though. When she turns to the scrolls and letters, she pockets the first, and reads the latter. Sarevok of the Iron Throne, eh? And Davaeorn, probably the next henchperson in line. They will pay for what they try to do to these people, this land. Senna's grip almost tore the pergament. Her will was iron when she was presented with a target, an enemy to hate and purge in the name of Good.

[RandomWombat]

Cheerful Sam | Grepha Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Warlock AC: 12 HP: 48/48 | AC: 13 HP: 17/17 PP: 10|13 PIv: 15|12 PIs: 11|13 Comprehend Languages (1 hr) | -- The Night Before The ritual complete, a quiet falls over the 'stasis' chamber. The unease recedes, for now, as the chalk markings burn themselves out. A moment of tension hangs in the air, and then Sam and Grepha both let out a breath of relief that nothing went wrong. "Do you feel any different? I feel a little bit lighter." Flexing her fingers open, Grepha calls upon the new sensation of power within, channeling it into the wounds upon her and Sam's hands. A smoky, coiling darkness slithers out and shudders, weaving through the wound like needles, pulling it together with strands of shadow as if performing stitches. It recoils and pull back after the deed is done, fading into the dark all around them. Raising her hand, Grepha smiles at the tiny display of power- and exercise of dominance. "There's this part of me, this spiteful thing that has remained unchanged throughout everything. A little spiteful spark that takes deep pleasure whenever the devil part of me watches in horror as I subvert even the littlest part of Hell's agenda." She looks up and cracks into a frighteningly toothy grin. "How does it feel watching this thing writhe when I force it to heal, going against its terrible nature?" "It feels like justice." "It feels like rebellion," Grepha affirms, forming a fist and feeling the infernal her twist in glorious discomfort at the word. It is a good pain. She blows out the remaining sticks of incense and climbs back onto Sam's shoulder. "We're gonna crack this thing wide open, Samuel. With all our due vendettas." Spoiler: Grepha Show That night, memories flicker through the imp's dreamspace. Images of a past shrouded in clouds, starting to clear- just a little. Muscle memory twitching to life in hands that had forgotten. The grip of a dagger, the feeling of a tumbler sliding into place. Morning Meeting Sleeping in somewhat, sleeping soundly for the first time in what feels like forever (whether due to the Ritual or just coincidence), Sam rolls around uncomfortably before finally resting on his stomach in the bed. When he and Grepha finally emerge, Sam looks different - and it's a good thing he doesn't wear a shirt to bed. Stretching in the morning light, he reaches up with his hands and a pair of broad brass wings stretch out behind him. Grepha is in bird form again. She seems not to want to show her true form around Ralaar, and for good reason. He's probably no less willing to talk than anything else. She seems to be in a good mood as she stretches her own wings, causing Sam to sputter as she accidentally (or jokingly on purpose) smacks him in the side of the face with one. "Let him notice on his own," she tells the girls, then responds to Senna's offer, "I don't mind." As they settle in for the Augury downstairs, Sam remains above ground with Vala and Ralaar. He finally notices the change when he tries to pull his shirt on. "What? Holy crap, I grew wings!" he excitedly starts trying to fly, fumbling and falling over more often than he succeeds. Getting the idea to climb up to the old ramparts, he tries gliding as well. "Vala! Check it out, I can fly!" The Augury Perched on the edge of the desk, Grepha watches Senna arrange the candles and chairs. She knows that an Augury is very limited in its temporal scope, and she needs to be careful with her wording. Something being a devil has at least taught her some basics of. Still, she hopes the Lord of Glyphs (or more likely one of his unpaid interns) is in a good mood for hypotheticals this morning. When Senna gives her the go ahead, she recites in practiced fashion, "If we meet a traveling cleric of Waukeen this morning, and we speak to them of omens I've been shown, would it bring Samuel weal or woe?" she asks. The Burned Forest Sam has had to make some adjustments to his leather cuirass, cutting wing holes into the back of it. He's still clumsy with them, bringing back memories for his siblings of when his tail finally grew in and he kept knocking everything over. It's almost enough to distract him from the worrying thoughts flitting through the back of his mind. Almost. Enough to get over it, at least. Plucking the pendant of Bahamut out of the chest, he looks at it with more interest than anything else in the pile. Except maybe the letters. "Think this is silver or platinum?" he asks Grepha. She leans in to tap it with her beak, seeing if it singes at all. "We should check the chest for a false bottom as well." Spoiler: Rolls Show (1d20+5)[7] Sam Investigation (1d20+5)[9] Grepha Help Adv While none of the other correspondence end up needing it, Sam was holding off on his new spell just in case. Taking a pinch of soot from the burned trees, he smears it across his face, just beneath the eyes. They glimmer with red light briefly as the magic takes hold. He takes out the goblin note to read it. "By the way. Are there any sets of lockpicks that survived the fire, among all these rogues? Oh. And a wand or pouch of spell materials from the Red Wizards," Grepha asks the group.

[purepolarpanzer]

Caelyn Syol'arael Wood Elf Druid AC: 15 HP: 47/47 PP: 17 PIv: 10 PIs: 17 Conditions: -- Concentrating on: Morning Meeting Caelee couldn't help but feel some resentment and revulsion that their mystical sibling bond had been... polluted by the miniature devil's metaphysical presence. Any feelings she had on the subject were immediately quashed by Sam's massive wing span. Her mouth dropped open as she watched them stretch and flex to either side of him, but she is too stunned to point. The spell is broken the first time her brother takes a face plant trying to flap around, however, and she begins to giggle watching his attempts at flight. She knew that more powerful druids could change into birds, bats, and insects that could fly, but she had no way of knowing when she would become strong enough for that. Still, watching Sam made her yearn for that day. The Augury Caelee wasn't precisely thrilled to be volunteered to take part in Grepha's ritual, but she didn't speak of any inconvenience or annoyance, instead wordlessly following her sister and the imp into the ruin to read the future by divine will. She wonders a bit at Senna's carefully crafted candles and occult office set up, taking a position off to the side to bear witness, remaining silent for now. The Burned Forest Guilt and wonder did battle in Caelee's chest as they crunched through the ash fields that were once as thriving forest. Without thinking much of it she began scooping handfuls of charcoal and ash off the ground and drawing druidic symbols across the exposed skin of her body, focusing on her arms, face, neck, and chest. This was her way of mourning for what she had destroyed, reveling in her power to do so, and praying for nature to reclaim what was lost. By the time they had arrived at the scene of the battle, she had silently written her sins across every bit of exposed flesh on her body. While her siblings rooted through the flames, she silently looked on. She had interest in the longbow, but that could wait for later. Approaching her siblings and speaking for the first time during the whole trip, Caelee looked mad, with sigils and symbols scrawled across her body. Her voice was passive, calm, and collected, as though she had done much thinking and resolved herself to her next steps. I am sorry if it slows our journey, but I need to spend half a day here. I must commune with nature, commune with this staff, so hungry for destruction, and atone for what I was forced... no... chose to do. If you all wish to go without me and have me catch up, I will understand. But I must do this. That being said, Caelyn began tracing new words and phrases in druidic into the ash barrens she had created with Osmadi's staff. Sigils of rebirth, renewal, and recovery, of spring's promise and summer's bounty. If you would revel in destruction, staff, revel in rebirth as well. Druidism is about balance- life and death both have their time and place, and I will not have you become a thing of evil and pain. With this ceremony I commit you to not only to fire, but to the fertility and fecundity that comes next. You belong to me now, and I am more nuanced than your last master. The entire time, she focused on her chanting, her breathing, her connection to nature, and the staff in her hands, seeking to bring all of them into harmony with her spirit. The sorrow. The hope. The promise to do better tomorrow. Whereas most spells released from the body with the speed of one breath, each word, each breath, and each step in this dance of renewal seeped a little magic into the soil, enriching it and calling to the dormant seeds that had fallen in the fire. Grow. Replace that which was lost. Replenish. Remake this land anew. And it was a dance, moving in time to what nature told her, scooping and throwing ash to sanctify this baptism by fire. This went on for hours... and hours... and hours more, without stopping to eat or drink. For eight hours she chanted, communed, prayed, and enriched the land. When she was done, she fell shaking to the dirt. The last thing she did to finish the ceremony was take the dryad seed from the bottle on her belt, dig a small hole in the ground in the earth, and plant it deep, scooping soil and charcoal and ash over the top of it, all while whispering one last apology into the hole with it. Finally finished, she stood up, leaning heavily on the staff. She cast the same spell again, but this time released all the magic in one moment, a blast of druidic magic which would initiate the process of healing. Spoiler: Druidic Show I do not promise that this will never happen again, but I do promise that I will return to this place, and any other place where I choose to bring purging fire, and cast this ritual once each year until the forest is restored and balance is achieved. On my power, on my life, and on my spirit I swear it.

Spoiler: OOC

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Ritual casting Plant Growth for 8 hours. If I can use that time to investigate the staff I'd like to do that as well, but I understand if you insist I can only do one thing at a time. Once that is done I'm dropping another third level spell to cast Plant Growth in one action for an immediate explosion of growth. I'm not sure how that will interact with the dryad seed, but let's find out!

[Amnestic]

Morning, pre-travel

Sam's giddiness at being able to fly with his newly grown wings seems infectious, and causes Vala to burst into melodic laughter and clapping. "I guess you really will be able to go anywhere now," she says smiling as she packs up her cooking equipment from breakfast. "Careful not to get kidnapped by a traveling circus, it'd be a shame if we had to rescue you from a bunch of carnival folk, though that might be an adventure all on its own!" It seems parts of her concern are dispelled by Sam's performance, giving her some more assuredness that the party hasn't quite yet all gone off the dark end.

Later, below, the augury ritual settles into your minds, and as the question is asked you all feel a sense of a divine presence among you. Perhaps Deneir, perhaps merely one of his agents, but the contact is clearly established. The consecrated candle drips its wax down, forming a pattern that makes sense to only Senna and would need to be relayed by her, rather than intuited by the audience. In response to Grepha's question, such as it was, the answer is undeniable - Woe.

Desecrated Battlefield

Sam's investigation of the chests, even with Grepha's assistance, finds nothing. That doesn't mean there is something there, and also doesn't mean there isn't something there, it's just that they don't find anything further. By all accounts the locks (and the now-dead ogre guards) seem to have been all that existed to keep the contents safe, without any need for a separate compartment for additional security. Once Caelyn sets herself down and prepares the extended casting of her land rejuvenation spell, it leaves Senna and Sam some time to go over the other items you've recovered and investigate the goblinoid note recovered from Ardenor. Thankfully, none of the items - including the note - seem to be cursed. Magical in nature, yes. Unsurprisingly beneficial given their use by the Blacktalon and Chill commanders, though how useful they are to the party in particular is another question entirely.

Rejuvenating what was lost is a slow process for Caelyn, but forests spring back after wildfires usually within a few months. Life tends to find a way, and that which was once turned ashen will eventually return to life once more. The casting of the spell is mentally and physically taxing - a full eight hours of quiet chanting and precise somatic movements would be a lot for anyone, but especially for the young druid who has yet to try something like this before. Your efforts are rewarded before long however. Sprouts of grass begin to poke up from beneath the dust and scorched earth, slowly filling your vision as they become more and more prominent. Vines and bushes spring up to cover the bodies, that they might also nourish the earth in time. The sound of broken trees falling is a common noise for you all as Caelyn continues to channel her spell, the newly grown replacement trees springing up and dethroning their dead predecessors.

By the time you've finished, night has fallen. It's not the same as it was. The smell of burned death still lingers in the air, the trees are shorter. They don't tower over you or block the sky - yet. Patches of black ground still exist, but interspersed by criss crossing patches and lines of newly grown fresh scented grass. What would have taken months to come back instead took less than a day. A quiet whisper fills Caelyn mind as her efforts are completed, "Your actions caused much suffering," There's disapproval, but the tone warms quickly as it continues, "Yet you have done well in returning some of that which was lost. I know the broken staff you carry. If you wish for it to take on the energy of the rejuvenated land, set it in the earth and wait."

Spoiler: Goblinoid Note

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If you're reading this then it means you killed me. Always knew I was gonna go out fighting. Best I can hope for is that I gave as good as I got. My loot's yours by right. Left it with a friend in the town of Ulgoth's Beard. Find Nikolai Svarigar, tell him that Ardenor cashed in his chips.

Best hope we don't run into each other in the next life, or I'll take back what's mine.

Spoiler: Item Identification

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Spoiler: Tenhammer's Full Plate

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Platemail of Thorns
When you are attacked by another creature within 5', you can use your reaction to deal 2d4 force damage to the attacker.

Spoiler: Tenhammer's Maul

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Earthrending Maul
When you hit a creature with this maul, the ground beneath their feet becomes difficult terrain.

Spoiler: Ardenor's Longbow

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Longbow of Marskmanship
This longbow has +1 to attack (but not damage) rolls. It also has a Normal attack range of 600', and no Long attack range.

Spoiler: Ardenor's Half-Plate

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Bladebreaker's Half-Plate
When you are attacked by a non-magical weapon, and the attacker rolls a 1, the weapon shatters and becomes unusable.

Spoiler: Bahamut Necklace

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Heart of the Platinum Lord
Requires attunement
A creature with a breath weapon who wears this necklace gets one additional use per short or long rest of that breath weapon. They can also choose to change the damage type to Force.