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  1. - Top - End - #91
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    purepolarpanzer's Avatar

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    Borthan Zuek
    Half-Drow Ranger
    AC: 14 HP: 29/29
    PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12
    Conditions: Exhaustion Level One
    Concentrating on:

    Borthan eyed the unconcious form of the female drow. Melad. That could be vital information. He briefly considered offering himself up for her work shift. Briefly but thoroughly. But just because they didn't call him today doesn't mean they wouldn't call him tomorrow, and he was already beat. Instead he observed the reaction of the guard to Sarith's question, trying to read meaning from his answers.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    A history check on Melad with little in the way of hope. Borthan only just started working with the Drow recently. The Dwarves knew of him and he didn't try to impersonate gnomes for drop offs. (1d20-1)[15] or Discord roll- 4, whichever is worse. Insight check on the guard Sarith is intimidating. (1d20+2)[21] or (1d20+2)[21], whichever is worse.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-01-06 at 12:43 PM.
    The Bear is Back.

  2. - Top - End - #92
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    The drow officer - Kronryn - pales slightly at Sarith's suggestion. It's hard to see the difference, at least for non-drow. But Borthan knows how to tell when these dark elves are sweating under the pressure. "When did she drop?" he asks, looking behind him. "Guards! Bring out the Melad traitor."

    Two subordinates open the door and pull the drow woman outside to examine her. Their officer closes and locks the door after they're out.

    Standing from where he'd been meditating atop the hard stone, Shuushar approaches the door. "I may be ablublu help. I have magic that could cure her."

    "Ilvara," Jimjar enunciates the name with a grin, peering up at the bars of the window. "Doesn't even need to know about the carelessness that led to her moneymaker getting sick, if you let us cure her ourselves."

    The drow glares daggers into the stone cage, at Sarith and at Jimjar. "Speak the priestess' name without proper reverence again and your tongues will be forfeit, worms," he snarls.

    Spoiler: Borthan Insight
    Show
    The drow is definitely shaking in his boots at the idea of garnering this Ilvara's ire. It shouldn't take much more to push him over into complying.


    Spoiler: History: House Melad
    Show
    Full-blooded drow (Sarith) treat DCs apart from the last as 5 lower. Faedryl knows all information below DC 20 automatically.

    Spoiler: DC 0
    Show
    There was a traitor house that sided against the other drow during the war with the dwarves and deep gnomes - it might have been Melad?


    Spoiler: DC 5
    Show
    Melad is a drow noble house from Menzoberranzan. Like many others, they are in the business of slavery, and indulge in any number of nefarious and subtle side ventures.


    Spoiler: DC 15
    Show
    Led by Matriarch Neeralee Melad, the House is involved in all the typical drow affairs - slaves, subterfuge and spiders. They are best known for their long tradition of priestesses, and their skilled poisonmakers. Yet Lolth's favor has rarely fallen on the House, and they fell from prominence on the Council. Among the Matriarch's greatest personal accomplishments are forming a pact with the black dragon Nago, and enslaving him to serve as her personal bodyguard.

    Melad's House symbol resembles a downward-facing spiked key.


    Spoiler: DC 20
    Show
    An order of 'holy' assassins dedicated to Lolth, known as the Black Silk, owe their founding to the previous House Melad Matriarch, Naliae. They are best known for their iconoclastic efforts against other deities and their followers, and they have clashed with the Zhentarim in the latter's attempts to make inroads into the Underdark.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2021-01-07 at 04:42 PM.

  3. - Top - End - #93
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Dworic Urgrimson
    Dwarf Barbarian
    AC: 15 HP: 31/35
    PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day - Cell

    Dworic looks at the drow's unconscious form and a bare wisp of sadness crosses his eyes. She had helped during the cleaning after all.

    Dispelling such thoughts, he simply watches on.

    Eldeth Feldrun
    Dwarf Fighter
    AC: 12 HP: 25/25
    PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day - Cell

    The name Melad sparks memories of scout reports and Hold Enemies and Eldeth grins as the drow squirm. The guards could be making a powerful enemy. Of at least be led to believe so. "How fascinating it would be if the first prisoner to die under your watch were a drow." Her voice drips with sarcasm. "Maybe Matron Mother Neeralee," she emphasizes the honorific, "will seek retribution."

  4. - Top - End - #94
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    The Sixth Day

    "Fine," the drow known as Kronryn snaps, opening up the door again and ushering Shuushar out. "Fix her, now."

    Hunched forward, the kuo-toa waddles out and kneels beside Faedryl on the hard cave floor. His fishy eyes do not close as he hovers his hands overtop of the prone drow and incants. "Come now from blu dark dream. Reblurn. Be anchored." He repeats, a soft glow falling over her unconscious form.

    Faedryl can feel herself being pulled, as if by a broad hand, out of the infinite dark in which she has been floating, deprived of all sensation. Up above a pinprick of light breaks through the blackness. And her eyes flicker open to behold the unblinking eyes of a kuo-toa hunched over her.

  5. - Top - End - #95
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    Amnestic's Avatar

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    Faedryl Melad
    Drow Hexblade/Evoker
    AC: 12 HP: 22/22
    PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11
    Conditions: No longer comatose
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day, Cell

    The return to the waking world is quick, perhaps faster than she would have liked, but comforts were in short supply. It's a blur when her eyes open, she needs to blink a few times for the reality to settle in. When she finally does see the looming face of Shuushar it takes a remarkable degree of self control not to immediate lash out with fist or flame. She didn't like fish at the best of times. Then a nightmare that was exceedingly fish related. Now one looming over her. She steadies her breath, turning her head left and right. She was still imprisoned - too much to hope that they'd managed an escape while she was lost in the nightmare - but there were new faces. How much time had passed? A few hours? A day? More? Faedryl reaches a hand up to her lips. Dry, but not overly so. Her stomach growled quietly, but not excessively. She knew from her escape what multi-day hunger felt like, and this wasn't it. Not yet, anyway. Hours at most then.

    She shuffles away from the fish and sits up, clutching at her head. Out of the cell. Guards around her, fish over her. Either this was some new torture cooked up by the outpost or they'd needed a prisoner to pull her back to the waking world. Faedryl concludes the latter. She gives a nod of acknowledgement - of thanks - to the fish. It's the most she can muster. The actual words thank you passing her lips, to that thing, in this place, is beyond her. Maybe if she wasn't surrounded by drow. There was still a lingering cultural pride that refused to let her lower herself like that. Lower. Was it really that? Was expressing thanks really a degradation? She shakes her head again. Not really the time for such musings.

    Delicately, as elegantly as she can, and slowly so as not to provoke any reprisals, she stands, cocking an eyebrow at the guards, but saying nothing. She will make them speak first. A small power play, but one to enjoy for the brief moment it lasts.
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  6. - Top - End - #96
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    purepolarpanzer's Avatar

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    Borthan Zuek
    Half-Drow Ranger
    AC: 14 HP: 29/29
    PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12
    Conditions: Exhaustion Level One
    Concentrating on:

    Welcome back. You missed a good time, lazybones. Bort smiles at Faedryl in a slightly manic fashion, noting the usefulness of Shuushar. The more useful people they put in this cell, the easier it was going to be to get out of here. Just a few more, Silvanus. Just a few more, if you please. he thought.
    The Bear is Back.

  7. - Top - End - #97
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    The Sixth Day

    The drow watch carefully as Faedryl gets up, and one of them jostles the fishman with a foot, apparently not wanting to dirty his hands touching it. "Are there any further injuries on her?"

    "No, I-"

    Before more can he said, the drow officer cuts him off and looks inside the cell. "Then the work shift will continue as planned. She-dwarf, get over here." He opens up the door and looks to Eldeth expectantly.

  8. - Top - End - #98
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Eldeth Feldrun
    Dwarf Fighter
    AC: 12 HP: 25/25
    PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day - Cell

    Eldeth's lips curl in a sneer as the drow calls her over. She-dwarf. Not very creative.

    She dusts herself off and, head held high, strides confidently to the door, staring the guard right in the eyes.

  9. - Top - End - #99
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    The Sixth Day - Work Group

    Reaching out, the drow officer grabs a hold of Eldeth's braided hair and yanks painfully downwards, forcing her face towards the stone below. "Learn not to look your masters in the eye, meat." His voice snarls.

    The three of them are led out of the room - again before Faedryl can get a chance to eat anything. Hunger is gnawing at her stomach like a ravenous beast, and she feels her guts burning like fire. The smell of cooking food from the kitchen is tortuous as they are led out to the common area yet again. Long strands of spider silk are gathered and laid out.

    "Today, you will be weaving strands of silk into rope," their prison guard announces, pointing down. "They will be tested for craftsmanship when you are finished. Well? Get to work."

    Spoiler: Mechanics
    Show
    Each character will make a Dexterity check to contribute to the crafting of the ropes. As usual, a character can exert for Advantage at the cost of Exhaustion on Day 7. Having been a scout, Eldeth may add her Proficiency. She is not unfamiliar with making rope.

    Sleight of Hand may be attempted to slip some of the rope, if someone feels gutsy.

    Faedryl must also make a DC 11 Constitution save to withstand hunger, or take Exhaustion from that as well, before her work rolls.


    The Sixth Day - Cell

    While the others are gone, smooth tones inquire from the back of the cell. "I don't suppose anyone has something sharp I could borrow?" the derro asks, opening up his eerie white eyes to peer into the rest of the cell, reflecting the light of the fungi across the walls. Where they're looking in particular is a mystery, perhaps the most unsettling aspect. He reaches up with a hand and runs two fingers along one side of a mustache. The ends have begun to split and frazzle. "I find myself in need of some... work."

    The Seventh Day

    Spoiler: Sarith
    Show
    It is dark. D̮͚ͬͪ͆ͭͪ̌͘arker than it sho͚̦͓̬̣̝uld be, a darkness that thwarts even Sarith's superior drow ey̥̖̍̑͌̎͒͋es. It hangs heavy, like a fo̲̓̒g, and he can feel it draped arou̧͚̦͗ͭ̍nd his shoulders. F̝̲ͩͭ̀ͥ͞e̮̲̾̃͜e̶̫̫͉̬͑͊͋͛̅͋͛l͙̣̻͎̞͗̓͌͛ its clạ̵̝͍̝̞̜̎ͦmmy fingers down the p̴̱̝̌̃̍ͣale flesh of his back. Arő̈͐und him are the bl̨̜̠͔͖͐eak, co̯͚̟̮̰͓̲lorless, tw̎̓́istiṅ̘͖̫̙g archite̛̳͒ͯcture̺̰̻̥͚̲̾̍ͫͥ͊ͅs of Menzober̂ͦͫͦranzan. Fine tapestries swim with patterns that make no sense, ĺ̢͔̦̠̆ͭͬikè̟̈ grey quickš̙̰̣̣̌and s̺̅̄̊͛ͩ̾ͫliding around beneath great twirling fingers.

    There are two paths down this hallway. One a head, and one behind. Tiny flecks of light dance in the air, and he feels a buzz crawl over his flesh. The telltale hum of faerzress. He can feel himself torn.

    In each direction, the only spots of color in this dismal place. Green in one, and orange in the other.

    His feet refuse to move, feeling glued to the spot. But he can feel one word, pounding in his mind, pounding against his skull.

    N̝̪̘̿̑ͣ͊̆͋e̷̞͈͌͌̎̒̚v̺̣̙̳͘e̖͕̞̩̮ͤ̏ͨr̭̮̠̙̺̲̆͋̑̒̎̚ ̩l̛͉̆͐̿̉̍i̠̪͍̪̤̰̰ͨ͒͌g̟͔̖͇̬͒hͤ̆ṭ͓̏̂ͣͥ.̻̿̒ͪ̅̎ͭ̇͜ͅ

    And he wakes.


    Footsteps outside clap against the stone, stirring some of the early risers or light sleepers from their slumber. More than usual again, including the scraping claws of a quaggoth against the stone. Looking out through the bars, they can see two shapes. One the hulking, pale blue shape of a northern orc, being led along by the quaggoth. He is grumbling and struggling against the grip, visibly drugged much as Dworic had been. As the door opens up, he is shoved in first.

    Nilvae is pulled ahead roughly and dragged towards the same door. Her vision is swimming, like looking at the world through wavy, blown glass. The colors of glowing fungi inside the room dance and leave trails in the air. The drugs in her system are not as potent as those pacifying the orc, who turns and slams his fists against the door even as it is closed behind them. The large tree trunk arms slap against the metal like noodles, with no power behind them. A defeated grunt of something in orcish escapes under his breath.

    The shapes of her companions had fallen off behind them, somewhere else in this place.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2021-01-13 at 05:41 PM.

  10. - Top - End - #100
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Amnestic's Avatar

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    Faedryl Melad
    Drow Hexblade/Evoker
    AC: 12 HP: 22/22
    PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day, Work Shift

    Her stomach was gnawing at her again, but their task today was at least one that didn't involve heavy labour. As she sits she takes up the spider silk and threads it around her fingers. Familiar and comforting, in a way that is both welcome and melancholic. Idle afternoons weaving with her sisters. Gone forever. Even when she succeeds - because she will succeed, there was no other option - she wouldn't get those days back. The material is deeply familiar to her though, and she finds it quite simple to return to rote memory. She pushes the distraction of her gnawing belly and its constant hunger pangs away, instead focusing on the task in front of her, letting her eyes unfocus as her hands twist and curl the silk around itself. She didn't need to look, and in fact it was easier if she didn't. Looking would make her critical, make her doubt. Times like this her brain could switch off, if only for a while. All the better to forget about her burning desire for food that smelled oh-so-good.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show

    Even with disadvantage, she rolled a 20 (18+2), per discord.


    Seventh Day, Cell

    Faedryl finds herself torn by the new visitors - another half-elf, though this one without even the decency to have a drop of drow in them by her look. Probably less useful than the thinblood. And an orc who was apparently all bluster and little bite, going off his feeble smash against the door, though she wasn't exactly in top shape either. Assuming they didn't fall victim to the cell's madness, maybe they'd prove themselves more useful than her initial expectations. At the very least the orc had more spirit than the pathetic male they'd been saddled with. Of all the drow they could end up imprisoned with, it was one who had given up to despair. She darts her eyes across to Sarith, still in the throes of sleep, before back to the newcomers. She wasn't one for speaking for, or introductions, or welcoming, or niceties. She'd had people do all that for her, or never needed to at all. Something...light then. "Welcome to our home," she drawls at them, gesturing with one hand at the wonderful expanse of cave around them. "Planning on staying long?"

    Sarith Kzerkarit
    Drow Fighter/Rogue
    AC: 14/16 HP: 23/23
    PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day, Cell

    "Why bother? Want to look good for your execution?" Sarith retorts, full monotony in his voice. "The spiders won't eat you any faster if you've got a haircut." A fast death was all they could hope for. A swift exit from this plane, and then hopefully a better existence in the next. Maybe one where his failures would not be compounded upon. But then, likely not. As a failure he was not destined for any afterlife worth speaking of. No, he would be consumed in the pits by Lolth's servants, and then his spirit would descend to be consumed a second time, and likely not quickly. He lets out a deep sigh, realising just how pointless it all was all over again. Pointless piled upon pointless.

    Seventh Day, Cell

    Sarith wakes uncomfortably, unpleasantly, unhappily. But then that was his existence now. Uncomfortable, unpleasant, unhappy. Even while trying to trance he was denied proper rest, instead forced into some maddening dream. "Neverlight," he murmurs to himself, though when he says it aloud it doesn't quite have the same tone to it that it had in the nightmare. He rolls his tongue and flexes his throat, muttering the word over and over trying different intonations, mouth shapes, tongue movements, but none seem to fully grasp the way it was said. Whatever it was he is keenly aware once more that he is insufficient, now apparently unable to even properly communicate the things he had seen. All that education and he can't even put images and sounds into words. Pathetic. Truly so. He can't bare to look down at himself any longer, and finally raises his eyes, spotting two new faces, both of which the Melad was addressing. She had an angle - she was a female, of course she had an angle, though what it was he couldn't see. Surely she didn't plan to escape with this gang of misfits, rejects and deviants? To what end? She would be hunted. A phrase he found himself repeating, both to himself and to others, bubbles up once more in his mind. Why bother? What could she possibly see as worth the effort now? She had lost it all. More than he had lost, even, and yet she seemed to not at all concerned by it.

    Quietly ruminating on this, he realises something: He hates her a little for that.
    Last edited by Amnestic; 2021-01-13 at 07:26 PM.
    DMing:
    Iron Crisis IC | OOC
    Cyre Red IC | OOC

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  11. - Top - End - #101
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    Spore's Avatar

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    Nilvae
    Half-Elf Warlock
    AC: 13 HP: 23/23
    PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1)
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    The half-elf's head was spinning and slowly accustoming itself to the dark dank environment of the very crowded cell. She looked around, immediately realizing just how many creatures where in here. Most stayed silent, quite a few busy with themselves, as the drow female of all opened a conversation. She, rather than Borthan, who was caught here too, so at least he wasn't actively betraying her.

    Where is my donkey? she blurts out before regaining her composure, and answering the question. It was too long since she had real human contact. Polite ones, not pragmatic ruffians like the half-drow headhunter. She puts up a smile and says: I am not sure. Do you have any plans on leaving, ilharess*? adressing Faedryl like nobility. If you pardon the insinuation but you do not look like you are used to hard labor, but even if the dwarves look more hardy than you I think we all have an interest in leaving here. If I judge the amount of people and other creatures in this cell. she nudges the small mushroom already at her feet it is looking as if the drow would orchestrate our sudden departure by in
    Stool
    Myconid Druid
    AC: 11 HP: 28/28
    PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    Having learned to pretend to be caught in his cage whenever the guards approached, Stool openly communicated telepathically that he was open to help in any way possible.

    He stands in the middle, extruding his rapport spores to be inhaled by everyone. Sorry for sporey air. We should continue this talk in mind, not mouth. Pale-face elf is right, but we have to take a chance. Our physical and mental health is getting worse, some of us will die sooner than later in here. It would make Stool sad to have to eat their bodies.

    Despite a grim subject, Stool's voice reverberates happily in your head.

  12. - Top - End - #102
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    purepolarpanzer's Avatar

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    Borthan Zuek
    Half-Drow Ranger
    AC: 14 HP: 29/29
    PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12
    Conditions: Exhaustion Level One
    Concentrating on:

    The Sixth Day- Cell

    Borthan looks up at the derro, flummoxed at the very idea of giving him something sharp. Maybe as a last resort when the time for the breakout came, when he had a piece of iron in each hand, but certainly not now. Thankfully, for once his wits came up with a more political answer. "Guards might notice if we all look good and well trimmed. Once we get out of here I'll personally find you somethin' you can use to barber yourself, Derro."

    The Seventh Day- Cell

    Bort moves out of the way of the door just in time to escape being squashed by the orc pushing his way through. When the next newcomer arrives, he groans audibly and covers his face with his hand. Damnit, Nilvae, I told you to RUN. Maybe if you didn't have a small zoo behind you you could have gotten away! He stands and moves over to her, looking into her eyes with no sense of tact. Poisoned. You better sit down. They don't normally call first dayers out for workshift, but I learned the hard way never to underestimate the mercy of the Drow. He extends a hand to the paler half-elf, offering to keep her steady. She did pay him, after all, so he felt some obligation to her comfort. Turning to the myconid, he nods in agreement and focuses on thinking his words without saying them. Getting pretty full up in here. Can't fit too many more prisoners in here without stacking them tall ways. Nows about the time I think we all sit down, come together, explain what we're capable of, and let our more discerning minds come up with an escape plan. Anyone opposed? Oh, and we should introduce. Funny as it is to call you fat-blood, something a bit more personal than Melad would be nice He looks at Faedryl for this last bit, as they have never been properly introduced.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    Exhaustion is gone on the seventh day.
    The Bear is Back.

  13. - Top - End - #103
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Eldeth Feldrun
    Dwarf Fighter
    AC: 12 HP: 25/25
    PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day - Work Group

    Eldeth bites her tongue when the drow yanks her hair, her face contorting in rage. I will make you pay, ebonskin, is the only thought coursing through her brain. Before stepping out, she glances back inside and meets Dworic's even gaze. The older dwarf nods at her and the meaning is plain - we owe them a debt of pain.

    She takes out her frustration and anger in her work, much like she has in the past. Twist and turn and over and turn and twist and turn and over and turn goes the mantra in her head hour in and hour out. She sees nothing else and, at the end, has a nice length of rope to show for it, as well as calloused fingers and an aching back.
    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    Rope roll: 18 (from Discord, including exerting for Advantage.) Hopefully Fish Man can help.


    Seventh Day - Cell

    Eldeth wakes exhausted, but she grins and bears it as usual - lack of rest is normal for a scout. She sits beside Dworic in silence for a long moment, feeling the rock beneath her and the comfort of being near another dwarf, despite the presence of less comforting elements in the cell. When she speaks, her voice is low and conveys unusual softness for Dwarvish. "I do not know how you came to be here or what your affiliations may be. My scouting party was ambushed and I've left a family in Gauntlgrym. I must return to them. By Moradin, I will return to them. I hope we can join forces, kinsman. Little trust can be had in this group."

    She looks at the older dwarf, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

    Dworic Urgrimson
    Dwarf Barbarian
    AC: 15 HP: 35/35
    PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day - Cell

    Dworic wakes up for the first time feeling refreshed, despite uneasy sleep. The gouges and bruises healing nicely, his mood lightens for a moment. He rolls upright and stretches renewed muscles, loudly popping myriad joints. He barely looks up when Eldeth sits beside him and considers her words carefully for almost an eternity before replying in rumbling Dwarvish. "I don't know if we can make it out," he says dejectedly, but suddenly brightens up as if taken by inspiration. "But maybe we can get you out. Maybe we can get you back to Gauntlgrym," he says with a look of determination - the first in a very long time. And maybe I will finally find my end. Protecting another dwarf's escape might bring me redemption.

    When the newcomers arrive, Dworic looks on curiously, noting the fact that Bort knows the half-elf. He takes stock of the orc as well. That one might be trouble.

  14. - Top - End - #104
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    Amnestic's Avatar

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    Faedryl Melad
    Drow Hexblade/Evoker
    AC: 12 HP: 22/22
    PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --
    Seventh Day, Cell

    The half-bloods knew each other. Well, she shouldn't be too surprised by that. Birds of a feather. Faedryl sucks in air in displeasure as the myconid unleashes another wave of spores on them. She didn't trust anything that forced its way into her head. Grimoires, nightmares or mushrooms, they were all the same to her. She couldn't deny that it made sense to continue the conversation silently though, much as she disagreed with the manner in which it was prompted. "Faedryl Melad, Fifth Daughter and Eighth Child of Matriarch Ahlysra Melad. Once a rising star, now on my way to the capital for execution as an example. Or I would be, if we weren't all going to escape." She speaks back telepathically, her tone clearly lacking in any pride in her titles at this point, instead they're delivered with a sardonic tone of criticism. Faedryl looks around the collected prisoners. It might be enough. It might not be. But the mushroom was correct - they were only due to get weaker the longer they stayed, or risk some being thrown to the ooze to 'free up space'.

    "If we're doing this, we should do it when we're at our strongest. Tomorrow, after the work shift?" It's a question, not an order. She shifts in her 'seat' on the floor. If they wanted to start this right, Duskryn's 'open door' would be needed, so she'd need to get the message to him somehow. On slightly wobbly legs she stands, looking out the door's small opening to see if she can spot the Priestess-hating 'traitor'.

    Sarith Kzerkarit
    Drow Fighter/Rogue
    AC: 14/16 HP: 23/23
    PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --


    Seventh Day, Cell

    Sarith keeps his mouth - and mind - shut at Faedryl's suggestion of escape tomorrow. They were really still going for this, despite everything. They really believed they'd make it out of an entire drow outpost with nothing more than a few scavenged 'weapons', if they could even be called that, against an organised drow force lead by priestesses? With quaggoth support? Foolishness. He thinks, for a moment, about selling them out, telling the guards of the ill-conceived attempt and thwarting it before it starts. No, it wouldn't help. A traitor once, a traitor still. It wouldn't gain him any reprieve from his end. He should let it play out, watch them all fail, and let the encroaching storm of death wash over him. It was his only choice at this stage.
    DMing:
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  15. - Top - End - #105
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Spore's Avatar

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    Stool
    Myconid Druid
    AC: 11 HP: 28/28
    PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    The tiny myconid thinks the loudest, which is odd since he appears very meek and tiny in actual 'person'. Stool is blessed with endurance, and is in tune with the fungal miasma. I pull from nature, though not every aspect serves me. Give me a bit of protection, and a wooden plank and I will be a warrior and a priest.

    The small mushroom meanders over to the used chamber pot everyone shares and puts it on top of its head, having no issue with its contents. It fits as if it were a helmet. It is disgusting, silly and all around a bizarre sight.

    Nilvae
    Half-Elf Warlock
    AC: 13 HP: 23/23
    PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1)
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    Voices in her head, again. But these are not laughing, and Nilvae feels the voices are connected to the presence, to the people around her. Still a bit perturbed, she enjoys the help of Borthan. Thank you, Bort. Steadying herself, she sits down cross-legged, trying to access her arcane powers. Her face distorts a bit, but the cage's magic pushes back. She shortly hears the whispers of a dozen rats but then it is silenced. This cell is imprisoning magic? she asks rhetorically.

    I am of no use inside here. I could talk to the guards to maybe leave your cell, but I feel my chances of escaping alone are poor, now that they know I can use magic. If I am to serve as a personal servant to a noble drow, I feel they would mutilate my ability to incant magic. I am exhausted as well, Faedryl, though I assume this is nothing compared to your suffering. Assuming the work shifts are exhausting I would say before or during is better, unless the work camp is inescapable?

    Also I am Nilvae, friend to animals, and to fey.


    She concludes with a small bow, expecting the others to introduce themselves mentally as well.

  16. - Top - End - #106
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    The Sixth Day, Cell

    At Borthan's refusal, the derro breathes out his nose in an exaggerated sigh, but waves his hand in front of him. "Prison is no excuse to live so... uncivilized," his voice drawls. White eyes glaring out into the cell - it is impossible to tell if the glare is intentional or not - he turns his head towards Sarith at the far end.

    "Such a sad sap. You would rather be caged with the spiders, I am sure... What did you do to get thrown in here with me," Buppido asks, a faint trickle of venom dribbling down into his otherwise steady and perfectly pitched voice.

    The Sixth Day, Work Group

    Between the practiced ease of the two ladies in ropemaking, they swiftly work through the pile of silk. Shuushar's ropemaking is slow and ponderous, as he rocks back and forth in his seated position with a calm and content look on his face. He does not seem concerned about meeting the expectations of their captors.

    All the same, the task is soon finished and the drow come to inspect their work. They tie the rope around rocks and swing it in the air to test the tensile strength and quality. "And without using your magic this time. It appears I have no excuse to punish you today, traitor," Kronryn takes Faedryl by the arm and pulls her into a standing position. The three prisoners are led back to the cell and unceremoniously dumped inside.

    The Seventh Day, Cell

    "You should just knock that one out. She sings nonstop," one of the drow outside the cell points at Nilvae, before the trio of prison guards and their pet quaggoth file away. They do not bother to answer the question of her donkey.

    Duskryn comes to the door, as everyone gathers around in expectation of food, giving the prime opportunity for Stool to puff out spores upon the cell's entire population. Topsy and Turvy react with immediate suspicion, drawing back from the cloud and glaring at the mushroom. I do not appreciate doing this without our permission, the female gnome's thoughts lash out, chastising the myconid. But we do need to plan. Fine. I am Topsy, and my brother is Turvy. Her brother's thoughts are flurried, wild, and hyperactive.

    Spoiler: Insight DC12
    Show
    Those with keen minds are able to catch the word Rat repeated over and over in Turvy's mind, which he always snuffs out with a new thought immediately after.


    Telepathic introductions are made for most of the inhabitants: Shuushar's smooth thoughts flow clearly and evenly, Jimjar's ring with playful mischief, and Buppido's carry an uncomfortable dissonant reverb despite his polite and formal introduction.

    The tray slides in, with nothing but eleven rolls of bread. "Food supplies are running thin," he whispers through the bars. "They may start selecting prisoners soon to... help with the cooking," the scarred and crippled drow chuckles darkly.

    There is no introduction from the second of their newest cellmates. Ignorant to the spores' effects, the orc's thoughts are muddled by the poison, but made clear through a mantra echoing out from his mind: Food. In a drunken haze, he grabs two of the dinner rolls for himself and stuffs them into his gaping mouth. He seems prepared to grab more if not stopped.

    Spoiler: Stool
    Show
    Stool obtains a suit of wooden 'Hide Armor' while wearing the bucket.

  17. - Top - End - #107
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    Amnestic's Avatar

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    [QUOTE=Amnestic;24885463]
    Faedryl Melad
    Drow Hexblade/Evoker
    AC: 12 HP: 22/22
    PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day, Cell (After Workshift)

    At least they'd be fed properly tomorrow, there was that at least. She's shoved into the cell roughly and finally spots the newcomers of the day - the fish, a myconid, and...a drow. Another like her, perhaps? One who saw the follies of drow society and received punishment for it? He wasn't one she knew, that much was clear. Faedryl approaches him, sat on the floor in a corner to himself, and sits in front of him crosslegged, her red eyes meeting his. Older than she was, she determined. Military trained from the scars and callouses on his hands. No spark in his eyes though. If he was an idealist, something had made him lose it. She speaks first, a whisper not for fear of being overheard - the cell wasn't large enough for that to ever be a real concern they could address with the number of people here - but rather to signify it wasn't a conversation intended for everyone. They speak in Elvish, their drow dialect clearly coming through.

    Spoiler: Faedryl and Sarith Conversation
    Show

    "Name?" His eyes gaze into hers, and it takes a few moments of parted lips for him to respond.
    "Sarith Kzerkarit. You are Faedryl Melad." He knew who she was then. Meaning either the guards had told him or...
    "You were stationed here?" Not a definitive assertion, just an educated guess. She hadn't been privy to the events of the 'negotiation' while in a coma, after all.
    "Yes. And now I am a prisoner, bound for the pits just as you." He sighs, his voice bereft of hope or energy. He was already less than what she'd hoped for. There was no fire in his belly, no desire, he'd given up. She frowns, and he continues to speak. "You plan to die in an ill-fated escape attempt." The others had been talking without her, it seems. She shouldn't be too surprised, if they'd 'trusted' her enough to let her in on any escape plans, then 'trusting' Sarith wasn't a great stretch.
    "I don't plan to die at all," she retorts swiftly, cutting off any further negative words before he can speak them. "Our escape will be successful, and I will continue to live." Sarith lets out a mirthless laugh.
    "You really believe that? You have nothing Faedryl," he stresses only using her first name, the implication clear to them both. "What could you possibly expect to accomplish even if you overpower the outpost? Even if you somehow aren't killed in the attempt? You'll be hunted down ruthlessly. You have no family. You have no support. You're all alone. And you will die alone. As we all will." He was right, in a way. She had lost everything and had ended up with nothing, not even her trusted spellbook. She sniffs in defiance. He wasn't right about everything.
    "I have my life, Sarith. It's still mine, as are my skill and spells. I am still Drow, not some mewling gnome crying because he can no longer suckle at the teat." Her tone was harsh, derogatory, and clearly intended to belittle. She'd seen drow prisoners before, those who - like her - had fallen foul of the Matrons or committed a crime, but none ever so pathetic as Sarith was being. It was as if any pride or drive had left him. He was her opposite, completely and totally. "Family or not, imprisoned or not, I will find the path towards my goal and I will follow it. I will make the path if I have to."
    "And what goal is that?" Faedryl bites down on her lower lip, hesitation bubbling for just a moment, but she wasn't deterred. She takes a deep breath, speaking her next words with full conviction. Shame of the subject wouldn't inspire anyone.
    "The reformation of the drow. I've seen things you wouldn't believe, worlds and peoples beyond count, and when I touched that I saw the truth of the drow - that we will never succeed as we are. We're destined to fail, unless we change." He laughs again, louder, a bit more amused this time, and any hope that he might see she was right drains away from Faedryl. Even having ended up here, he still clung to the current system. He still believed that it was 'right' even when he was on the verge of it executing him. She doesn't laugh back, it's not funny to her. All she feels at him in that moment is pity.
    "And you're going to do that from inside this cell? Change society one prisoner at a time?" His tone is as mocking as monotony can get. She stands, bringing an end to their discussion.
    "I didn't expect words to work so easily, not on one as lot as you, but if you follow me, you'll see my truth soon enough." She shuffles away to a separate edge of the cell, leaving Sarith to himself. She was mad. Mad as any of them. But...but he didn't have anything else. No one else. He shuts his eyes from the world, from everything. Let her try then. He'd watch, and when her she claims her last breath he'd get the final word. He would be able to tell her she failed, and that it was all for nothing. Everything would always be for nothing.


    Seventh Day, Cell

    "We do it tomorrow." Faedryl whispers back to Duskryn hurriedly. "After the workshift." No further words need to be exchanged between them, so Faedryl turns away, spotting the orc scarfing down all their food. She was still hungry, hadn't eaten yesterday, and the anticipation of getting free was mounting in her. Black inky liquid spreads into the sclera of her eyes as her mind lashes out, trying to shove the orc back into the wall. Even if it doesn't work, the effort should get his attention. "That food's for us all utschut," she slips into deep speech without even noticing. She takes the opportunity to scoop up a single bread roll for herself. Long past due. "If you want to live past tomorrow you'll work with us."


    Spoiler: OOC
    Show

    Faedryl really is going to shove here using her telekinesis - orcyboy needs to succeed on a DC14 strength save or be pushed 'back' 5 feet.

    Also utschut means 'scum'. She's not really herself right now you know.


    Sarith Kzerkarit
    Drow Fighter/Rogue
    AC: 14/16 HP: 23/23
    PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Sixth Day, Cell (During Workshift)

    "What does it matter? Will knowing my crime bring you some solace? Satisfaction? I will not share the details with you, leave me to my thoughts." Sarith snaps back, curling up on himself. Would it bring him resolution to tell others of something he couldn't remember? No, it would only bring scorn on himself, and he had quite enough of that already, he didn't need any more external mockery.

    Seventh Day, Cell

    Sarith doesn't intervene in the 'dispute' between the Melad and the orc, but he does watch, quietly, eyes burning as she continues to act. To intervene instead of letting the tide of death sweep over them all. He purses his lips, biting commentary on his tongue, but lets it roll back into his throat. Leave her to it. It made no difference to him.
    DMing:
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  18. - Top - End - #108
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    Faedryl's mental force shoves the orc into the wall and he grunts from the impact, pushing off and whirling around in search for what shoved him. His gaze settles on Faedryl, and it's not clear if he really understands her words - even without the drugs, orcs were never the sharpest javelins in the quiver. But it's clear he understands the hostility behind them. "You- wh-" he stumbles over his words as he stumbles over his feet, taking a wide swinging haymaker at Faedryl. She is able to duck beneath the swing, and his fist rams into the wall hard, causing him to growl and clutch his knuckle.

  19. - Top - End - #109
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    Stool
    Myconid Druid
    AC: 13 (bucket armor) HP: 28/28
    PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    Stool is almost kicked out of his bucket 'armor' from the force of both the haymaker and the psychic thrust. STOOOOP! Please don't hurt anyone. he shouts mentally clinging to the chest of the huge orc extruding another cloud of spores, this time a dark grey one.

    Spoiler
    Show
    Pacifying Spores: DC 13 Con Save or stunned for a minute. Save each turn.


    Nilvae
    Half-Elf Warlock
    AC: 13 HP: 23/23
    PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1)
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    And they call me mad. Nilvae comments, this time vocally. Just stop, all of you. This is what they want. We fight each other, they want us divided, not united. I know I am here the shortest, and I do not know how bad it can be in here, but we cannot punch each other, with mind or fist.

    She turns to Faedryl, with her bread roll in hand. Take my share. You need it more than I do. And develop some sense of community, all of you. We need each other. she messages Faedryl. She then turns to the orc, with a bit of safety distance*. You are confused, drugged and beaten. But I feel your pride has taken the worst brunt of damage. Hurting feeble women is not helping your reputation nor your situation. Stop it.

    Spoiler
    Show
    *distance in such a sense that I prepare the dodge action.


  20. - Top - End - #110
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    purepolarpanzer's Avatar

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    Borthan Zuek
    Half-Drow Ranger
    AC: 14 HP: 29/29
    PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12
    Conditions:
    Concentrating on:

    Sixth Day- Cell

    Borthan keeps quiet during the exchange between the two drow, but keeps his eyes on them. As ironic as it was based on his heritage, the dark elves were the underdark species that Borthan was least familiar with. He'd avoided them due to a healthy fear of their wicked, treacherous ways that the Gray Dwarves had instilled in him from a young age. He'd just begun hunting for them when he was first captured turning in a mark. He spoke their language, but he'd learned how from the dueregar as well. Still, he understood enough. One without hope, and one with spirit. Hopelessness was next to uselessness but spirit was needed to make this escape work. As the two finished their conversation, he spoke a few carefully chosen words in elvish, just loud enough for the room to hear clearly. Little change never hurt nobody. The cells certainly could use work.

    The Seventh Day- Cell

    Borthan advances quickly towards the orc and Faedryl, moving past Nilvae and attempting to interpose himself between the noble drow the orc. Alright, the first one's free but there won't be a round two. Not in this cave.. He would purposefully make himself a small target by turning sideways, arms down, ready in a slight crouch so that in an instant he can drop down and grab the knife. He hopes he doesn't have to because a secret knife is only useful if it is a secret, and wounds on the orc would probably tip off the guards. Still, he didn't intend to allow the brute to ruin what they'd been working toward. Take a few punches to the face, maybe, but not ruin the escape.

    Spoiler: OOC
    Show
    Providing advantage on someone's check to get Ront to back down.
    Last edited by purepolarpanzer; 2021-01-18 at 06:22 PM.
    The Bear is Back.

  21. - Top - End - #111
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    Amnestic's Avatar

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    Faedryl Melad
    Drow Hexblade/Evoker
    AC: 12 HP: 22/22
    PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day, Cell

    Faedyl leaves the talking to - wait, was she just referred to as feeble? She'd remember that - Nilvae. Chances are whatever she said at this point it would only serve to make things worse. Drow weren't exactly well trusted, and for good reason. Still, she won't be caught unawares, and tenses herself for another approach by the orc in case words aren't enough.

    Spoiler: Actions
    Show

    Ready another telekinetic shove. Trigger: Orc moves to attack again. She'll shove him sideways, to throw him off balance which mechanically doesn't do much but it's satisfying either way.

    DMing:
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  22. - Top - End - #112
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    The cloud of spores causes the orc to sneeze, and he pushes the small mushroom away with his foot. Baring pointed tusks and fierce teeth, the hulking orc looks down at Borthan. Even in his addled eyes, Borthan can see the orc is taking measure of him. For one of elven heritage, Borthan is not a small or slim man. The orc grunts and turns away, breaking eye contact first. He pushes gruffly past Nilvae. "Need real food. Not little... bread balls," the orc complains as he finds a corner of his own, warily giving the derro at the back of the room his space when pale white eyes fail to break and look away first.

    "Glad we got that sorted out," Jimjar smiles, moving over to where the food is. Duskryn apparently gets tired of waiting with the tray held out and drops it to walk away, the gnome gambler sliding over just in time to catch it and keep it steady. "It's not very much. Maybe some of us can split a few?" he suggests.

  23. - Top - End - #113
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Eldeth Feldrun
    Dwarf Fighter
    AC: 12 HP: 25/25
    PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day - Cell

    Still seated, Eldeth watches the spectacle before her. Tensions were running high and now with an orc added in to the mix she felt even less at ease. She shakes her head, chuckling at how the big bad orc cowed before the drow and half-drow. Her chuckle becomes louder as Nilvae mentions community. "Hah! Community! Two drow who might well turn on us at the prospect of earning their demon goddess' favor back, a brute cowed by a mushroom and a motley crew of underdark races does not a community make. At best an uneasy alliance and the sooner I am gone from here and back to my folk the better it is."

    Dworic Urgrimson
    Dwarf Barbarian
    AC: 15 HP: 35/35
    PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day - Cell

    Dworic's muscles tense momentarily as conflict begins, but he relaxes once tensions die down once again. He stands, walks over to the bread rolls and takes one, splitting it and handing half to Eldeth. "We can split one," he rumbles nodding agreement with Jimjar. "If we are to get out, we must work together." His piece said, he sits and chews his bread slowly and methodically.

  24. - Top - End - #114
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    Spore's Avatar

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    Nilvae
    Half-Elf Warlock
    AC: 13 HP: 23/23
    PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1)
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    I understand your concern, lady dwarf, but as far as I know no drow inside this cell is particularly devout or even a priest of their demons. They might be other allegiances at play, but at this point I take an ally bathed in abyssal fire rather than no ally at all. Nilvae chuckles brightly. Besides; you don't know if I don't serve the darkest gods in here, feeding you to the beasts I befriend.

    We can parts ways when we escape. In fact we might be forced to, to split their attention
    .
    the final few sentences are thought again.

    Stool
    Myconid Druid
    AC: 13 (bucket armor) HP: 28/28
    PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12
    Conditions: -
    Concentration: -

    Stool looks in awe at the orc, that just coughed up his spores and shrugged them off like it was nothing. You are sturdy one. Strong one. If we submit to you, can you lead us out of here? this thoughts thrust into the orc's head. The apparent feces running down Stool's face like a heavily gelled combover of dark hair makes the small myconid not really convincing.

    You don't like me being in your head, do you?

  25. - Top - End - #115
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Amnestic's Avatar

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    Faedryl Melad
    Drow Hexblade/Evoker
    AC: 12 HP: 22/22
    PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day, Cell

    Faedryl drops from her 'fighting' stance (mostly being ready to dodge, she doesn't think her fists would do her any good here) as calm returns, if it could be called that. With a small, polite smile and a small wave she rejects Nilvae's offer, gesturing to the bread she'd managed to grab in the chaos for herself. "I don't think any of us are under any illusion this is anything but an alliance of brief convenience." Faedryl says, "I'm not your friend. I'm not your family. But none of us want to die here, so in the meantime," she takes a small nibble of the bread she took. It'd have to last. She nods at Dworic, "together, for now. Until we can all eat as much as we'd like."
    Last edited by Amnestic; 2021-01-19 at 09:03 AM.
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    Iron Crisis IC | OOC
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  26. - Top - End - #116
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

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    At Dworic's acceptance of his idea, Jimjar smiles and offers the surly dwarf a grateful nod. The right idea, my friend. Fortune has ferried us to one another - we would be fools to fold on such a fortuitous draw! his thoughts resonate through the psychic connection. Taking a bun, Jimjar splits it and offers half to Nilvae, even though she never reached for one herself. "Here you are, miss. You will need your strength to recover from whatever they dosed you with."

    In my head? the orc's thoughts rumble and churn, struggling to stay coherent. He narrows his eyes suspiciously at Stool. "What are you about mushroom?" And he snarls, pointing at Eldeth. "Not cowed by tiny mushroom! Stupid dwarf."

    It's a while before any of the guards come around. Perhaps their captors have started running out of tasks for them. But no - no such luck. Kronryn rears his ugly head again - though compared to Duskryn, his ugliness is masked below the surface. "Trash male, he-dwarf, mutt meat. Get up and line up. Everyone else back."

  27. - Top - End - #117
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Eldeth Feldrun
    Dwarf Fighter
    AC: 12 HP: 25/25
    PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11
    Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day - Cell

    "Humph," Eldeth snorts at Nilvae's response. "The best of your knowledge spans but an hour. And if you think that it takes a devoted priest of Lolth to commit atrocities in her name then you haven't been around the dark elves long enough."

    Dworic Urgrimson
    Dwarf Barbarian
    AC: 15 HP: 35/35
    PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day - Cell

    Dworic listens listlessly at the exchange, but does nod acknowledgment back at Faedryl. Once the jailor summons the work crew interrupting the discussion - mental as it may be - he stands and briefly lays a reassuring hand on Eldeth's shoulder. He shakes his head at his new, even less creative, nickname and walks forward.

  28. - Top - End - #118
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    Amnestic's Avatar

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    Sarith Kzerkarit
    Drow Fighter/Rogue
    AC: 14/16 HP: 23/23
    PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8
    Conditions: --
    Concentrating: --

    Seventh Day, Cell

    Sarith stands lazily, making sure to grab a piece of bread before he goes. Trash male. Was that the best Kronryn had? Well he shouldn't be too surprised. Intelligence had never been the man's strong suit. Minor word play tended to trip him up. For a moment he considers just not going, but he didn't want to give Kronryn the satisfaction of an excuse to beat him. Dragging his feet he slowly plods out of the cell, ready for the next workshift.
    DMing:
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    Master Homebrew Index (5e)

  29. - Top - End - #119
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    purepolarpanzer's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jan 2006
    Location
    The Frozen Northlands
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Out of the Abyss IC

    Borthan Zuek
    Half-Drow Ranger
    AC: 14 HP: 29/29
    PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12
    Conditions:
    Concentrating on:

    The Seventh Day- Cell

    Borthan looked at the guard, then over at Sarith, then to Dworic, then finally stands up, stretching far enough to elicit a pop from his back before stepping forward. He moves to the door, keeping his gaze down as his anger rose. Mutt meat. The gray dwarven word for half-elf wasn't exactly positive, but it carried a bit more respect than the doggerel insults of the guard. I'm going to make you remember my real name before I send you to meet your queen. He thought while staring at the guard's boots.
    The Bear is Back.

  30. - Top - End - #120
    Firbolg in the Playground
     
    BlueKnightGuy

    Join Date
    Apr 2013

    Default Re: Out of the Abyss IC

    The Seventh Day - Cell

    After the guard and his workers leave, there is a grinding sound from the orc's spot. He has withdrawn a carnelian gemstone from... somewhere, and has begun whittling one end into a point using the stones. Though his idea isn't bad, it's making noise that could draw a guard to investigate.

    From the back of the cell, Buppido is looking out from under his shaggy bangs and eying the would-be shiv greedily.

    The Seventh Day - Work Shift

    Led by the guard Kronryn, the three of them file through the now-familiar (to some more than others) tunnels and stalactites of Velkynvelve. Out into the common area, where they find the curious sight of a drow feeding a giant spider a piece of fresh meat. Meat that could have been for them.

    Not curious in the sens that a drow is feeding a spider before their prisoners - that is par for the course. No, the curious part is firstly the spider itself - not the pinks and purples of Lolth-touched giant spiders common in the underdark, but a darker, more natural coloration. And secondly is the drow's intense gaze, as if purposefully trying to blink as little as possible while watching the spider; he does not even spare the prisoners a derisive glance or comment, so firm is his concentration.

    "Pay attention, this one is complicated," Kronryn snaps his fingers to draw the prisoners' attention, speaking as if complicated orders might be too much for their meager minds. "Step one. Get a bucket." He points to six iron buckets beside him. "Step two. Fill the bucket with water from the waterfall." He points back the way they came, towards the white noise that is the steady roar of the water, now a familiar and natural sound. "Step three, bring the bucket to the kitchen and warm the water over the fire." With a nod over his right shoulder, he indicates one of the rooms off the common area.

    "And lastly," he crosses his arms and looks towards the central stalactite, "Deliver the heated bucket to the guards waiting at the doors of the the shrine." At the indicated spot, two male drow are standing at attention with a statue of Lolth visible behind them. "Do you understand your instructions, or do you need them repeated for you?" Kronryn asks, looking through spiteful eyes at the three men before him.

    Within the kitchen, during their task, they spot a dog tied up and whimpering in the corner beside the table.

    Spoiler: Borthan
    Show
    The spider and dog he recognizes as Nilvae's pets, from his travels with her. The spider has the curious trait of changing between the forms of a spider and a donkey whenever unobserved.


    Spoiler: Sarith
    Show
    The task is likely gathering and heating bathwater for the head Priestess of the outpost.


    Spoiler: Mechanics
    Show
    Each character must make checks for each portion of the task. There are no bonuses for exertion, but there are six buckets, each of which must be filled and delivered by someone. So each person needs to take two... or take one and let someone stronger take three, for example.

    Step 1:
    DC 12 Dexterity or Strength checks not to lose balance and fall off the bridge while gathering water, as it requires stretching arms out over the gap. The penalties for falling off the bridge are probably obvious.

    A character may accept 1 Exhaustion to ignore this check instead, by taking a more conservative but tiring approach and filling the bucket more slowly.

    Step 2:
    DC 12 Strength check for hauling the water; failure is 1 Exhaustion.

    Step 3:
    DC 12 Dexterity or Constitution check to avoid dropping the scalding hot metal bucket after it is heated. Failing this check means spilling the water and starting that bucket all over again.

    These steps must be completed for each bucket.
    Last edited by RandomWombat; 2021-01-21 at 07:23 PM.

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