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  1. - Top - End - #181
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Lothakal lanae lulakamana! Earth brother, it has been long since I heard Gol-Kaa!

    Spoiler: In Dwarven
    Show
    It is only fitting that I respond in kind. I hope you are well, and wish honor to you and your clan.


    I don't suppose you have any weaponry here that would be sized appropriately for me? I was considering some throwing axes to go along with my hammers.


    He visibly perks up at hearing his own tongue.

    Yes, those rings were attached to some of the bows and swords, both. Arendi confirmed that they had magic, but it was expended by the time we got to it. I don't know that we have more information than that. We'd appreciate any expertise that you can provide.

  2. - Top - End - #182
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Vokon and Aerilaya
    Morlin's Smithy
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Nine bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Vokon and Aerilaya were people of the world, and more significantly had been travelling in Aidan's company for quite some time now. Still, both of them were taken aback by the inventiveness and length of the string of foul language that came streaming from Morlin's mouth in the wake of their answering his question. It was biologically improbable, colourful, oscillated between dwarven and Common, and stinging enough to just about peel the tribal markings off Vokon's body. Indeed the reason it probably didn't do so was because it was directed to hobgoblins of all kinds rather than the goliath. The dwarf turned away, snatched up a nearby forger's hammer, and swung it at the nearest anvil with enough force to make the four-hundred-pound metal quiver in its position and set the adventurers' ears to ringing. The stream of swearing continued unabated, now interrupted -- punctuated -- by the blows of the hammer on the metal. The dwarf's swearing grew louder, as did the pounding on the forge, until with one last eye-watering suggestion for hobgoblins of all kinds, the dwarf hurled the hammer at the back wall of the forge. The hammer whistled through the air, and the blow wasn't enough to crack the stone it hit, but it did take out a pretty sizeable chunk from the rock.

    "Ye stinkin' bastards!" the dwarf roared, glancing around with hands clenching as though looking for something else to hit. Then his gaze fell across Vokon and Aerilaya. The dwarf seemed to remember they were there. He gave a snarl and bowed his head across the table where the iron rings sat, hands splayed on the table as if to support his frame, his white headband already drenched with sweat, huffing with the effort.

    At length, the smith took a deep breath and raised his head. "M'apologies, saers. 'Tisn't anythin' ye done. 'Tis what was on these rings. 'Tis known t' me. T' me people. These rings - no, the writing on them, in truth - they're works of rune magic. It's an old way of crafting spells into writing. 'Tis not that much different from the way one brews a potion, or makes a wand, in truth. A cleric, or some such magician touched by the gods, casts a spell into the writing placed on an object, and when anyone touches the writing, the dweomer breaks free, casting the spell upon the person who touched it - surely as if the cleric had cast the spell himself at that moment."

    Morlin held up one of the rings, brows merging, eyes gleaming in the firelight. "But in its way, it's a far more powerful way of holding a spell in an object. Potions, wands -- these things can only hold so much magical power, can only sustain spells of a certain strength. And it takes a good day at least to make one. Runes like these can hold any spell the cleric can gain from his god, or from other places, and it'll take minutes to make one. And the rune will last indefinitely, until one touches it. And there's nothing to stop one using more than one rune at once, if the runes are placed wisely. Any finger can touch it, and the spell will be unleashed. These runes contained only a single charge of magical energy; use them once and they disappear, leaving you with nothing but a piece of iron. I was told there were rune magicians -- runecasters, they called them -- of such power, ones who devoted their lives to the study, and they could accomplish incredible things. Runes that regenerated their own charge, runes that could be used every day. The greatest -- the ones they spoke of in whispers -- could make runes that never faded away, runes that would always cast a spell forever."

    The smith looked steadily at the goliath and the woman. "This way of magic was the secret of the shield dwarves, far and away to the north, for thousands of years. Perhaps it should have been left to Dumathoin, Keeper of Secrets, rather than dwarfkind, to guard its lore. But the lore did escape them. Generations of dwarves have devoted their lives to hunting down every creature, be he giant, goblinkin, or gnoll, who managed to discover the secret of runecasting. But the fact you found these in the hands of stinkin' hobgoblins only proves that they failed, as we knew they would. There are precious few in the world who know the secret outside dwarvenkind, but there can be no other conclusion - somewhere, the hobgoblins have found one who knows rune magic. Or th' one ye killed knew how to make the least of 'em, that'd explain th' painter's set. So," said Morlin, laying the ring on the nearest bench with a heavy clank, "I can give you nothing to neutralise them as such. But, on the Soul Forger's hammer, I'll do all I can to help you. Because, you see, I am a cleric of the Soul Forger. And I know the secret of inscribing runes. And I can do damned better than some gods-damned hobgoblin hedge cleric who wants to bring death on my town with holy dwarven arts!"

    With an effort he calmed himself again, turning to Vokon. "I believe I'd have a few things t' yer size, saer. Whether it's here or stowed somewhere in th' back, I c'n likely find somethin' t' fit ye. Ye're not th' first big lad I've had to sharpen steel for."

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Marginalia
    Show
    Morlin's a cleric 5/runecaster 3/expert 1 with the Inscribe Rune and Craft Magic Arms and Armor feats, so he can render any cleric spell he can cast as a rune. He's a runecaster 3, which means he can also make multiple-charge runes or runes that trigger when read or passed.

    The cost of a rune: spell level x minimum caster level x 50 gold x number of charges required. (If it's a rune that triggers when read or passed, the cost is doubled.) Takes 10 minutes + casting time of the spell to craft a rune.




    Aidan
    Along the Dawn Way, Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
    Eleven bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    "Well, of course it's safe, dearie, there's no hobgoblins here right now," said the old woman, turning back to her easel and adding a spot of paint into the picture. "If there were I wouldn't be painting a picture now, would I? Of course not. Now, would you mind coming down here and helping me with this picture? I do find it hard to get people to pose, they all think I'm crazy or something, let alone the fact it's hard enough to find people to pose all the way out here where the light's best."



    Arendi
    At the Lakelock Warehouse, Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Noon, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Finding the warehouse was straightforward; it was just a matter of asking his way there. Jendar's warehouse stood across the river from the Green, meaning the last few minutes before noon were spent with the young cleric sitting on a ferry, gazing southwest, down the Talar River as it began its long journey to the Shining Sea. Drathgar, the ferryman, charged him a silver piece, and offered no conversation for the privilege, just a grim expression as he saw Arendi across the river.

    The warehouse doubled as a home, or so it seemed. The warehouse stood out the front, brightly coloured in green and red, but a chain had been drawn across the entrance and Arendi's search took him around the rear to a small, three-roomed cottage sitting in the shadow of the wide wooden structure, built with a flat roof from white stone, which seemed to be common around here. The trees of the local wood all but backed onto the cottage, more of the white-trunked eucalyptus with drooping, weeping dark green leaves that hung almost to the ground in places, the bases of the trees hidden with scrubby, drab brush.

    Danuta answered his knock at the door. She was in a black dress and was wearing a black veil, wrapped around her face. Its fashion was old - shaped more like a translucent hood than a true veil, with the edges of the hood lined with black ribbon inset with tiny pearls. In his time, and in his profession, Arendi had seen several such. It wasn't as though even merchants could afford the luxury of a black robe for every death, so such veils were often handed down from mother to daughter in anticipation of sadness to come. Either way, the veil accomplished its task; her red hair was hidden and one couldn't see the trails of tears from her eyes. Beyond her, within the room, Arendi glimpsed her husband's form lying in state on a long table in the central room of the house. The three boys were also dressed in black and were slowly moving around the body, making sure things were in their place.
    "Please, come with me, saer greywarden."
    She led him away from the house, south, down to the riverbank. When the house was visible only as a sketch between the trees, she turned to him. "I ... have a favour to ask of you. It's a large favour, one I shouldn't be asking of you at all ... but I am asking all the same. I want your help to send my husband's body on."

    She didn't wait to hear his reply, but took a step north, inclining her head northeast, in the direction of the Ferry, but taking into account the Talar River and all the green line of Shaareach Forest that stood on the horizon that way. "Jendar ... my husband ... he may only have been a merchant, but his family has been living in Cannath Vale for generations. The Lakelocks were noblemen, once, long ago. The stories told us their name came from the kingdom of the lake, beyond the woods, that fell long ago. His family was here when the dwarf bridge fell. They were foresters, and they respected the Earthmother, Chauntea, borderers on the edge of the kingdom . They birthed their children along the river, they raised them on the river sand, they anointed their fathers' heads with water and fire when one of them passed. They were given the ritual of manhood in the Grove of the Old Ones. They were sworn to the Vraaths, who fell long ago, and still they remained."

    She looked at Arendi. "Times have changed, of course. There is no king in Cannath Vale, only Rethmar and Cannathgate and the little places in between. And this town has changed, too. It is all the domain of civilised folk. Farmers, not hunters. Not borderers. And their traditions have changed, too. Once there was a shrine to the Earthmother, and singing. Now there is a shrine to Lathander, above the village, and a ceremony that speaks only of light and rebirth, not of being one with the river and the land. And there is no anointing with water and fire. Only burial in the cold ground." She bowed her head, and Arendi looked away to allow her to dab at the tears that would not remain unshed.

    He looked back to her when she touched his shoulder. "What I ask is that you help me send my husband on at sunset tonight, in the old way." She gestured downriver to where a narrow jollyboat had been beached. "We will take his body down there, and lay him in it, and send him on, fire the boat as it goes down the river. Anoint him with water, and then anoint him with fire, and let him sail the river to reach your Lord's realm." She must have seen his hesitation. "I know you do not know the words of the old way. It is not required - only that a man of the gods be there to administer the ritual. The ... man ... who presides over the shrine of Lathander has preached against this way. He has called it barbaric, a ritual of an old time best forgotten. It is not. I swear it. But no man will go against him who comes from this town. And unless the ritual is conducted, Jendar's fathers will not welcome him once your Lord has judged him."

    Her grip had become tight on his shoulder. She seemed to realise it, and released him with a start. "I am sorry. I ask much. If you do this, you set up a conflict between you and the master of that shrine. But I cannot let my love's ways go dishonoured. And I cannot face the swine Iormel, who will be at the burial with prideful, greedy eyes. He is the real author of my husband's death. So I ask. And I will wait here, at sunset, for you, with my sons."

    She dabbed at her eyes once more. "There is something else I must let you have, regardless of whether you come or not. You returned a purse that was yours by right of claim. My husband's people honoured such acts in a world where what is found is deemed the property of the finder. There is a debt that is owed and must be paid."

    She led him back up to the warehouse. Crickets dree'd in the heat. Asking him to wait outside, she moved into the house like a troubled shadow, and re-emerged with a long, thin object wrapped in grey cloth, and handed it to him. Unwrapping it, Arendi's suspicion given the size of it was confirmed: it was a hand-and-a-half sword in a lacquered black scabbard, its handle lined with sharkskin, the pommel and crossguard finished in silver. To his surprise, where the crossguard met the handle, the image of a tiny scale had been placed in bas-relief.
    "This weapon my husband said had the name Reason," she said. "It has been in our family a long time. I cannot wield it, and my sons are training to different weapons. And even if Iormel reduces our family to a copper piece, I would not sell this weapon to pay the price. It is yours. May you find better use for it than we did. Do not tell me it should be mine. Do not dishonour my husband's name by doing so."

    Arendi drew Reason. The weapon cleared leather without a sound. Fifty inches of steel shone in the midday sun. Even looking at it, Arendi could see there was more to it: the weapon was magical, clearly, from the subtle difference in the weight and balance he had known from ordinary blades, but the edge was sharper than he'd seen in many such weapons - and that wasn't a property of the magic, it was the property of the sheer craftsmanship of the blade. He carefully returned the weapon to its sheath.

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Marginalia
    Show
    The sword is a +1 bastard sword, but it has the Razor Sharp quality from Dragon #358, which in game terms just means: it does an extra +1 in damage. And it's, well, razor sharp. Enjoy.

  3. - Top - End - #183
    Titan in the Playground
     
    danielxcutter's Avatar

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    "This... I see. We've actually been hired to drive the hobgoblins away, so it'll soon find use." Arendi said softly, detaching his own blade from his belt and replacing it with Reason. "And we head out tomorrow, so I doubt that priest will be too much of an issue either."

    He bowed slightly to the widow. "Very well, I shall be there then."
    Cool elan Illithid Slayer by linkele.

    Editor/co-writer of Magicae Est Potestas, a crossover between Artemis Fowl and Undertale. Ao3 FanFiction.net DeviantArt
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    Quote Originally Posted by Squire Doodad View Post
    I could write a lengthy explanation, but honestly just what danielxcutter said.
    Extended sig here.

  4. - Top - End - #184
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    Deadguy's Avatar

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Aerilaya Ralothyra
    Sheet

    Human Paragon (3) / Swordsage (2)
    Player: Deadguy

    "Oh my..." Aerilaya couldn't help but smirk at the outburst. It was good to see someone able to cuss better than a sailor. Her companions were so... nice.

    She swung her legs off the table, landing lightly on the ground again. "I'll leave you two to business then... I've no need for magics, runic or other. And none of your weapons would do me much good. No offense to you I'm sure you craft a fine blade. It's just that my hands are spoken for."

    With an exhale of smoke, the smirk became a full smile. "I do believe I'll head to the Old Bridge for that bath. A performance tonight and traveling again tomorrow. What a weary life..."

    Spoiler: OOC: Checks
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    Active Effects
    Hunter's Sense (scent)

  5. - Top - End - #185
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Sounds great! I'd appreciate a couple of throwing axes, and possibly a one-handed weapon that fits me. Warhammer? Morningstar? Longsword?

    What spells do you have prepared today that you could put into a rune? And do you prepare spells in the morning? I do believe a rune that can keep me moving if we run into more Tanglefoot bags would suit me nicely if you have such a thing available.

    And is there anyone else in this town who can craft magical supplies of different types? Does the more well-known temple have a cleric? Is there a wizard?

  6. - Top - End - #186
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Planetar

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Vokon
    Morlin's Smithy
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Nine bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Aerilaya departed for the warm baths of the Old Bridge Inn. (And they were superb. And they cost her 2 gold pieces. And they even had tubs large enough for the biggest goliaths around, apparently based on the fact that the ferryman Drathgar's ancestors had been descended from forest giants living in Shaareach Forest, but Vokon of course did not find that out until later.)

    Morlin frowned at Vokon's mention of longswords. "Why would a big lad like yerself all happy and sweet wi' that great mallet over yer shoulder want t' start pickin' up edged weapons? 'Tis like puttin' coffee and tea t'gether in th' one cup, an affront t' good taste, earth brother!" Then he grinned suddenly. "But who am I t' say what taste is? Aye, lad, I've a longsword and a morningstar if ye want them. And I might jus' have a warhammer back here that'd suit yer size, too. Still, ye want throwing axes, well, I've a few quality pieces and I've a magical one too. But if yer planning to throw things around, I've somethin' ye might find useful as well." He bustled over to a wooden draw and reached under it, seemingly looking for a hidden catch of some kind. A draw popped open and the dwarf grabbed something small from inside it, coming back to Vokon. He opened his thick, lined palm to reveal two little crystals, perfectly cut into dodecahedrons. Milky white, the crystals seemed to gather their own light in the shade of the forge. "Aye. These'll hold themselves t' any weapon ye hold, and they'll let ye call yer weapon to yer hand from a good six paces out." He laid them on the table for Vokon to peruse.

    "Now, as for other folk who sell other such arcane items ... well, ye've three options in this town, though none of them make weapons and if they did, none of them make them better than me. Still," and he tapped off three of his thick fingers--

    "For a start there's Sertieren. Idiots aroun' here call him Sertieren the Wise, do it please ya, but only on account o' th' fact he's got more snow on his hilltop than most around here. Halfling. Wizard. Mostly has scrolls of arcanists around, couple of magic rings and such. Same idiots who call him wise also think his house up on th' bluff is haunted, but frankly given Sertieren it's more likely stuffed with biscuits than with ghosts."

    "Over far side o' the river there's Avarthel. Strange young lad, makes his home near a stone circle the folk here call the Grove of the Old Ones. He's likely a druid, but he'd be one o' th' last out here - his master died a few years ago, and he's on his own. But he makes a good potion or two, nothing too formidable."

    "And lastly ye got Kandil of Rethmar up at the Lathanderian shrine. I've not much t' do with that faith, but I hear he has scrolls of his god available t' buy if the price is right."

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Marginalia
    Show
    So:

    Basically if you're looking for a +1 weapon Morlin's definitely got it, as well as masterworks. He has two Least Crystals of Return for sale as well. That said, people making a list off in the OOC thread and us working through it is probably the better option.

    As for the people he's talking about:

    Sertieren the Wise: basically, wizard scrolls of 3rd level or lower, craft Wondrous Items of 5th level or lower. He has some arcane scrolls and potions available if you're looking for them, and a random ring of protection or two.

    Avarthel: potions of druid spells of 3rd level or lower. Brew Potion feat. Potions of barkskin, lesser restoration, cure light wounds, neutralize poison.

    Kandil of Rethmar: cleric scrolls of 3rd level or lower.




    Arendi
    The Green, Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Afternoon, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Arendi had settled down to study.

    Study, in this case, being a moment of prayer. Of a sort. He began, as he had been taught, with a centring of himself, commencing the prayer with the reminder that he was mortal, that he was here only to be mortal, and that he would one day share the path of those to whom he ministered. He focused on the nothingness and the grey that was taught to him of the Fugue Plane, and it cleared his mind. And then he waited.

    His Lord came.

    Or at least an avatar; a shadow. There was an icy touch which did not chill the blood; a space between heartbeats that did not cause fear. And Kelemvor's blessing was upon him.

    Arendi opened his eyes, and reached for the tome he had carried with him. His fingers caressed the spine and then the pages, and, as he knew it would be, they detected a little indentation which in normal life he would have sworn was not there. But the guidance of Kelemvor was upon him and he opened the book without hesitation, scanning the page that was revealed to his hand.

    Yes. Yes.

    The monastery in Chondath had not taught much of this area, but the book did reveal that Kelemvor's priests--.
    No. Not Kelemvor's priests. It had been a sect of the dead god Myrkul's followers, centuries ago, when the Lord of Bones held power over the world of the dead and death itself was a fearsome concept in the world. These followers had, it seemed, been more of the ascetic kind, and they had come here long ago, bringing with them old rites that pleased Myrkul. It made sense, in a certain way, that Lathander's priests would have seen the rites as barbaric; they were, after all, the work of a people questionable even to Myrkul himself. But Myrkul was long gone, and Kelemvor was Lord of the Dead, and the rite propagated here to see on the dead was an old yet not unfamiliar one; it had its echoes in the burning of dead men in their ships far and away to the north, but the rite was sacred and individual nonetheless.

    The anointing with water was more subtle than Danuta had suggested; the water had to be tainted with a certain incense made from the essences of basil and rosemary, in just the right proportions, and then dribbled onto the corpse's head. Fortunately that incense was amongst Arendi's accoutrements as a cleric of the dead. The anointing with fire was the end of the ceremony: when the body was placed into the boat, it was to be set alight on a pyre of branches. Here, of course, the pyre would have to come from the eucalypts on the shore, and helpfully, the rite indicated the stronger the scent of the flames, the more it honoured the gods. Eucalyptus had a sweet, tangy smell as it burned, which was fortuitous. The rite between the anointing with the two substances was laid out in some detail, taking a good three minutes or so, and culminating in a great call at the end as the deceased's body began its journey downriver:

    I call upon thee, Jendar Lakelock!
    Heed me this hour!
    Ye have passed beyond living.
    Ye are quick no longer.
    The light has left thy eyes.
    The heat comes, and then ye shall be cold once and always.
    Kelemvor will sight ye.
    The river of your fathers is before thee.


    That, Arendi read with some satisfaction, functioned both as the orientation of the spirit to the path of his fathers, as well as a final reminder to the soul that it had passed, so it could not mistakenly stumble into the hated state of undeath.

    The cleric took a full half hour to study the rite once more, until he was certain he had memorised it. And then reverently closed the book.

  7. - Top - End - #187
    Orc in the Playground
     
    NinjaGuy

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Spoiler: Stats
    Show
    Aidan Blackbow (Adinae - Forgotten whisper)
    Male LE Drow (Dark Elf) Ranger, Level 5, Init 5, HP 28/28, Speed 30
    AC 19, Touch 15, Flat-footed 14, Fort 1, Ref 9, Will 5, Base Attack Bonus 5
    Elvencraft, Dragonbone +1 Composite (2) Longbow (60) +11 (+9/+9 rapid) (1d8 + 3, x3)
    Throwing axe x2 + 10 (1d6 +1, x2)
    Short Sword +7 (1d6+2, 19-20/x2)
    Mithril chain shirt, Heavy wooden Shield (not equipped) (+4 Armor, +5 Dex)
    Abilities Str 14, Dex 20, Con 11, Int 12, Wis 15, Cha 11
    Condition None

    Spoiler: Rolls
    Show
    None

    Aidan had a distinct impression that this was entirely strange. Strange forest, strange gathering of hobgoblins, strange feeling in the woods, strange woman, strange hobby, strange conversation. "Arraah! Yes, model elf! The painting will look nicer than your face!" And strange bird.

    Ignoring the bird, Aidan takes a second to consider. On the one hand, if the woman is this stubborn then she has every right to do as she pleases, and a warning from a drow is hardly trustworthy. Besides, he has a job to do. If he can track them for a little more he might be able to find their camp and that would ensure a safe journey for the group. But on the other hand, he could hardly leave a woman stranded in the woods, knowing that raiders are about. Darn woman. "If I stand as your model, will you promise to go back to town afterward? I do not think it wise that you remain here in the woods."

    Edit: Grammar.
    Last edited by ShedShadow; 2021-02-12 at 03:32 AM.
    Quote Originally Posted by Frozen View Post
    Quote Originally Posted by Bobbyjackcorn View Post
    Do we know when Shed Shadow is going to pick?
    Scholars maintain that it will be in the winter equinox under the light of a full moon when the reflection of it's light upon a lakes surface will illuminate and cast into silhouette the shape of our humblest storage unit, the shed.

  8. - Top - End - #188
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Planetar

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Aidan
    Along the Dawn Way, Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
    Eleven bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    "Yes, yes, I'll go home when we're done here," said the old woman impatiently, flapping her hands in his direction. "Of course I won't stay here, the light won't be any good if we keep waiting around. Now. If you could please disrobe and stand right over there, where that big grey rock is lying, we'll get started. One hand on the back of your head, that should help with the shadows and make the musculature more distinct, yes."

  9. - Top - End - #189
    Orc in the Playground
     
    NinjaGuy

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Spoiler: Stats
    Show
    Aidan Blackbow (Adinae - Forgotten whisper)
    Male LE Drow (Dark Elf) Ranger, Level 5, Init 5, HP 28/28, Speed 30
    AC 19, Touch 15, Flat-footed 14, Fort 1, Ref 9, Will 5, Base Attack Bonus 5
    Elvencraft, Dragonbone +1 Composite (2) Longbow (60) +11 (+9/+9 rapid) (1d8 + 3, x3)
    Throwing axe x2 + 10 (1d6 +1, x2)
    Short Sword +7 (1d6+2, 19-20/x2)
    Mithril chain shirt, Heavy wooden Shield (not equipped) (+4 Armor, +5 Dex)
    Abilities Str 14, Dex 20, Con 11, Int 12, Wis 15, Cha 11
    Condition None

    Spoiler: Rolls
    Show
    None


    At hearing this, the bird starts flapping wildly and flying in circles and cawing as if in riotous laughter. "Naked Elf! Naked Elf!" Aidan grabs a rock and tosses it at the bird, intentionally missing, "blasted bird." Libby, still in a laughing fit, settles on a branch nearby, cawing loudly. "Lady, that is hardly appropriate. What if you simply paint it without me in there? I'll wait here to the side until you are finished."
    Quote Originally Posted by Frozen View Post
    Quote Originally Posted by Bobbyjackcorn View Post
    Do we know when Shed Shadow is going to pick?
    Scholars maintain that it will be in the winter equinox under the light of a full moon when the reflection of it's light upon a lakes surface will illuminate and cast into silhouette the shape of our humblest storage unit, the shed.

  10. - Top - End - #190
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Aidan
    Along the Dawn Way, Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
    Eleven bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    "'Hardly appropriate?' The mortal form is one of the highest expressions and keenest studies of art! Without someone within the picture to give it scale, there is no sense of mortality in the work, it is all but a green sward! Would you have a sword with no pommel? No crossguard? Well, then, saer, I tell you this work is not complete without a model to function as the study! Now hurry up, we're losing light while we stand here talking about academic points!"

  11. - Top - End - #191
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    Alastor and Diana
    The Home of Sertieren The Wise
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Afternoon, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    The northernmost end of the village had a bluff overlooking the Talar River. At the top of the bluff was a well-appointed, clean and well-maintained noble house of some kind; it had the usual accumulation of faux minarets and gables marking it as the home of a wealthy person, but the architecture style was old - not as old as the dwarven constructions dotted around Drellin's Ferry, but not a contemporary structure by any means. And yet it showed no apparent signs of decay.

    The garden around it, though, was something else: overgrown, weeds had conquered what had probably been the resistance of generations of gardeners. Mystra's Tear, a small, bright azure flower, glinted from every patch of green, and Love-Lies-Weeping had overtaken the white picket fence that had once protected the house's front boundary. Still, nothing opposed their trespass into the garden, and though weeds lined the sandstone path up to the front door, not one blade of grass hung over or lay on the yellow stones. The door, a well-oiled, single carved piece of eucalyptus, swung open on silent hinges as they approached, though no doorman came to meet them.

    The foyer of the house was more varnished and polished than many they'd seen. Marble-tiled floor and a round skylight inlaid with clear (and therefore expensive) glass let light dance around the chamber. Doorways led into presumably other rooms, and through one of these doors the halfling came.

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Sketch
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    He was ageing, white hair framing his features, and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. His clothes were well-made, though, and there was a certain incongruity to them. As if they didn't settle back to his body when he stopped moving as the lack of wind would ordinarily compel. Or perhaps it was some sheen on the material that came not from silk or any other rich material that would ordinarily produce it.

    He clapped his hands together, taking in their group with a single, nearsighted peer. "So. You must be the folk that are being talked about. Well, then, I suppose you've not come here for a social call, heh, my door wouldn't have opened for you if you were. So let's get on with it. I am Sertieren. You, I presume, are looking for, heh, some rather more, heh, unusual wares."



    Arendi
    The Shrine of Lathander
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Later Afternoon, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    The shrine stood at the east end of the village, the last light of day gleaming on its walls. Made of fieldstone and dark wood, the building itself was a regular, single-storey structure with a doorway into it. Its garden, though, was exceptional: paths of white river stones made graceful arcs across a carefully-kept lawn as green as washed emerald. They had to look twice at the plants growing at artfully-selected locations around the garden; they appeared shrunken trees, and only close inspection revealed them to be small bushes cut so to beautifully resemble conifers. In the centre of the garden stood a stone plinth with a large iron cylinder on it, somewhat incongruous with the surroundings. Lathander's symbol, a rising sun, was carved into the lintel above the wooden doorway. Arendi entered through that door to find a modest, even spartan, space which was clearly a temple, although far too small to act as a true church. Symbols of the rising sun were set into the walls and the windowsills.

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Sketch
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    There was a small, stocky man with dusky, leathery skin speaking to two others. Arkaiun, Arendi realised: the man was an Arkaiun, that ethnicity of men noted most for being enslaved by the Dambrathi to the east of here. But the man had a gentle, calm smile as he spoke to the two other men: younger than him, they had the look of students, with small packages in their hands.
    Or acolytes: the Arkaiun was in plain, peasant robes, but one could not mistake the symbol around his neck - Lathander's symbol. This had to be Brother Kandil.
    "I forgot - will you stay with Wellim until he falls asleep?" said Kandil to one of the acolytes. "It's five years tonight since Jacynda passed. He'll drink himself down if you don't."
    "I won't be able to get over to the Stoneshaw house tonight if I do," said the acolyte.
    Kandil nodded, holding his hands out for the acolyte's package. "Very well. I'll go to the Stoneshaws. Off you go - and start at the outlying homes, yes? I want you both doing your last rounds right in town. The Morninglord go with you."
    The acolytes bowed briefly to him, and then excused themselves, glancing at the companions as they went.

    Kandil turned to Arendi, but as he opened his mouth a small chime sounded -- from a water clock sitting on a sideboard nearby. He smiled apologetically. "Please -- come in. I'll just be a moment."
    Arendi watched as Kandil hurried out into the garden, pulling a long wooden stick from inside his tunic -- and struck the iron cylinder hard four times in succession, the noise ringing out across the town. There, it seemed, was the source of the chimes the Circus had been hearing once per hour from dawn til dusk. The cleric turned back to Arendi, moving back into the temple, closing the door softly behind him. The first thing he did was peer at the scale-and-bones symbol that Arendi wore around his neck. "What can I do for you, neighbour? I hadn't heard a follower of Kelemvor was in town - have you some purpose here in Drellin's Ferry?"

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    Arendi scratched his head awkwardly - Danuta had said performing the old rites for Jendar's would turn Kandil against him, after all, and talking with priests of other faiths was never that comfortable for the greywarden.

    Of course, there was no need to tell him, was there?

    "Ah, not much. You know the circus that came in last night? I'm travelling with them, though," he shrugged and continued, "I'm not exactly part of the show either. Anyways, Morlin is a fine blacksmith but he said to come here for scrolls. Do you have scrolls that help against being paralyzed or blinded?"
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  13. - Top - End - #193
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    Arendi
    The Shrine of Lathander
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Four bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    "Oh, you're with that group - the ones that dealt with the hobgoblin raiders, yes?" Kandil didn't actually wait for a reply. "It's been quite the story - both your success against them and the ... performance ... that was given last night. I think the word that a cleric of the Lord of the Dead is travelling with them might only serve to increase the interest you raise through here. Of course, I have scrolls that will permit those prayers to be spoken. The cost will be the full normal price, though, I'm afraid."

    They were getting finished with that transaction when the door of the shrine opened without a knock and a well-dressed man walked in like he owned the place. Or at least had a lease on it.

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Sketch
    Show


    Balding, in his fifties, with a look as though he had misplaced a fairly significant taxation remit from some years earlier, the man's robes looked possibly more expensive than those Norro Wiston, the Speaker, had been wearing. He glanced at Arendi on his way to Kandil. "Good afternoon to you, brother Kandil," said the man with a singularly unpleasant grin.
    "And to you, Iormel," replied Kandil. His smile was patient. "It's a little early for evening service."
    "Oh, I came by to simply provide a donation." Long, elegant fingers dived into a hidden purse in the man's robes and withdrew several well-polished gold pieces, which clinked and clanked against each other as they dropped into the nearest collection plate.
    "It's most appreciated," said Kandil.
    "Well, one does what one can. Really it should go to Jendar Lakelock's widow, Danuta. Terrible business. Three sons."
    "Quite. Although it seems we've the saer," said Kandil, indicating Arendi, "partially to thank for at least bringing his body back where it can be buried in home soil."
    "Really?" Iormel's eyes, pale blue and dancing with interest, now turned to Arendi. "You must be the cleric of the Dead Lord I've heard about. One of the guardsmen was saying you were with Danuta Lakelock when her husband's body was brought back to town. Is that so?"

  14. - Top - End - #194
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    Iormel, eh? Arendi thought. I've heard that name a few times around here.

    He knew he really shouldn't jump to conclusions, but his first impression wasn't a strong argument against what he'd heard.

    "That would be me, yes." the greywarden said coolly. "Although that was more a coincidence than anything. We'd recovered her husband's purse, and the others are busy today so I went to find her as a representative."

    He glanced down at Reason and added, "Wish we'd brought him back ourselves, but we were too busy getting the dodge out of there before another band came and stomped on our faces. *tsk* Again."

    Remembering something, Arendi turned to Iormel and asked, "I believe you're a merchant as well? Any idea why he was out there?"
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    "If the streets are talking it's probably us, yes. You know what they say when this go crazy the circus must have arrived." Alastor said in the halfling tongue while taking off his hat in a greeting

    "You are right, we are looking for specialty items." he continued in common while putting his hat back on.

    "We have been contracted to deal with the problem that is blocking trade to this lovely town. Some of my troupe have bought some lovely gear from Morlin's shop but I myself have no real use for pointy things. I was hoping you might have something that would aid me in communication with these bandits and that would allow me to speak either the Goblin or the Dragon's tongue. When they observed my compatriot here they started addressing her in the dragon's tongue, which is the only reason why I'd think that one might work too, though the goblin's own language would be preferred.

    I was also wondering if you happened to sell a charm that would allow me to more swiftly cast one of my summoning spells, failing that I was hoping you'd have something that I could give my pet bear to wear to enhance his prowess further.

    These may be unusual requests, but given the severity of the situation we'd like to prepared as much as possible. The tour can't go on if these roads remain blocked after all.
    "
    Remember: Offence is taken, not given



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  16. - Top - End - #196
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    Arendi
    The Shrine of Lathander
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Four bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Iormel smacked his lips. "Desperation, I'd imagine. Not to speak ill of the dead, particularly in present company, but Jendar ran up rather the unfortunate line of credit in the past couple of months. He had something of a surge in business and had problems getting enough money through to take advantage of it. When we started getting a little hobgoblin trouble, well, those of us who were a little more prudent and raised our prices in answer are weathering the drawback in trade, but Jendar went well into the red. Took a few loans out."

    The merchant raised his hands palm up. "Anyway, word came that there was a big shipment of adamantine in Sheirtalar - its owner went bust, couldn't pay the portmaster's fee let alone the stevedores' lien, so it was just sitting there on the docks waiting for someone to claim it. Like a number of other prominent merchants around here, I was offered a chance to join a consortium to buy out the shipment and bring it to Rethmar to sell. Now, maybe the profit would have been handsome, but who needs a speculative commodities trade like that? So I passed. Poor old Jendar, though ... well, as I said, desperate men do desperate things."


    Alastor and Diana
    The Home of Sertieren The Wise
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Afternoon, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    "And I was wondering if you had a giant wasp amber necklace," Diana put in.

    "Heh, would go well with your scales' colour, heh," replied Sertieren. His bushy, white eyebrows rose and fell. "Lucky day for you both. Unlike that great puffball Morlin, heh, I keep a good back supply, heh, of oddities and such. Heh. Don't know why you would want to talk to hobgoblins, heh, raiders or not, heh. Only need to know two phrases in hobgoblin, heh, 'You are going to die' and 'Run or die'. Learn that plenty from being around hobgoblins, heh. Hm. Hobgoblins talking in the Dragon tongue strikes me as, heh, even less reason to talk to them. Either way, I can help you with that. Heh. Of course - only if you've the gold for it, heh, not much call for that sort of thing around here."

    The halfling suddenly snapped his fingers. "Oh! And since you're here ..." Sertieren turned to a pink-white, translucent vase standing on a mantelpiece by the nearest wall.

    Alastor was fairly certain the vase hadn't been there a moment earlier.

    Sertieren shuffled over to it, picked up the vase, and gently shook out a handful of small, brown wafers no larger than a coin. "Yes, heh, there's these. Not much call for them around here, hm, adventurers without spellcasting companions are few and far between. But these will do. Eat one of these wafers, and the next item you grasp in your hands will have its enchanted properties revealed to you. They're a hundred gold each. Another ten silver if you want some sugar to make them go down a little easier. Heh."

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Marginalia
    Show
    The wafers cast identify on the next single object the consumer grasps in his hands.

  17. - Top - End - #197
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    "A fine price, saer, and I thank you for offering. I never would have thought to ask for such a thing." Diana peered at the wafers with interest, for the moment disregarding their container. "You've heard aright, our companions mostly have mastery of the body, not of mana. Which makes for a spectacular show -- you should come watch tonight."
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    Arendi replied, "Hm, I see. I've heard a bit about the adamantine, yes."

    If Iormel was actively involved in Jendar's death, he obviously wasn't tipping his hand. And of course, it was certainly possible that the merchant was simply an unpleasant person in general rather than being directly responsible.

    He dropped the scrolls into his backpack, then said "Ah yes, that reminds me. The band of hobgoblins we ran into seemed to be followers of Tiamat - do either of you know anything about that? You know," he glanced at the merchant, "the five-headed dragon goddess that makes the greediest merchant look like a humble friar."
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    Aerilaya Ralothyra
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    Player: Deadguy

    Aerilaya returned to the troupe's tent. She seemed quite content, even happy? Gone was the seeing-eye person, as was the grime and weariness of the road. A hot bath and a glass of wine to ease the pains of travel and performance.

    There was no need for her to go back to the shops. There was little for her immediate use to be found. Instead, she kept watch over the animals and tent to keep those that might get too curious from snooping about and causing chaos or getting injured.

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  20. - Top - End - #200
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    Arendi
    The Shrine of Lathander
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Four bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Iormel and Kandil's faces held only looks of incomprehension.

    "Tiamat? Really?" Kandil frowned. "That's very unusual for hobgoblins. Not that I know much about the gods of the barbarics," he added with a shrug.
    "I don't know what difference it makes which god they bow to," said Iormel with a sniff. "They're just hobgoblins. Raiding rabble. Unfortunate for Jendar, of course, but this whole thing strikes me as terribly overblown. A few pig-snouted humanoids burn a barn or two and the whole west country empties, everyone hunkering in town like it's the end of the world. "
    "There have been farms burned, Iormel," said Kandil. "My acolytes have heard some awful accounts from the refugees."
    Iormel waved the comment away. "A good, hard surge to clean up the Dawn Way and we'd be finished with this hobgoblin 'threat' in no time. Was it really that hard to deal with a pack of hobgoblins, saer?" He turned back to Arendi.

  21. - Top - End - #201
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    Spoiler: Stats
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    Aidan Blackbow (Adinae - Forgotten whisper)
    Male LE Drow (Dark Elf) Ranger, Level 5, Init 5, HP 28/28, Speed 30
    AC 19, Touch 15, Flat-footed 14, Fort 1, Ref 9, Will 5, Base Attack Bonus 5
    Elvencraft, Dragonbone +1 Composite (2) Longbow (60) +11 (+9/+9 rapid) (1d8 + 3, x3)
    Throwing axe x2 + 10 (1d6 +1, x2)
    Short Sword +7 (1d6+2, 19-20/x2)
    Mithril chain shirt, Heavy wooden Shield (not equipped) (+4 Armor, +5 Dex)
    Abilities Str 14, Dex 20, Con 11, Int 12, Wis 15, Cha 11
    Condition None

    Spoiler: Rolls
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    From the branch where the bird was perched a constant stream of cawing in laughter and an insult or two were aimed at Aidan. Meanwhile, the woman was obviously not perturbed by the news of hobgoblins, the appearance of a dark elf while the sun was up, or a talking bird that was swinging around slurs at the mention of the dark elf disrobing. "Very well. After that, you must return with me to town, however." He stood at the indicated spot, awkwardly following the instructions from the woman as to how to stand and whatnot. He did, however, keep his clothes on, notwithstanding the goading from the bird.
    Last edited by ShedShadow; 2021-02-16 at 06:18 AM.
    Quote Originally Posted by Frozen View Post
    Quote Originally Posted by Bobbyjackcorn View Post
    Do we know when Shed Shadow is going to pick?
    Scholars maintain that it will be in the winter equinox under the light of a full moon when the reflection of it's light upon a lakes surface will illuminate and cast into silhouette the shape of our humblest storage unit, the shed.

  22. - Top - End - #202
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    Aidan
    Along the Dawn Way, Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
    Three bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Aidan was watching the subtle shift of the greenery in the dell below, hip thrown out at a jaunty angle. Cicadas tss, tss, tssed in the heat. There was a smell of water from somewhere below and a strong hint of decaying things. It had been some time since the woman had asked him to shift position. Libby had also finally gone quiet, apparently deciding she wasn't going to get any further joy out of remarks ("Arrk! Just as well you didn't get your gear off, no living thing could have stood the shock! Squawk').

    It was the play of the shadows that made him realise something had changed. When he had first assumed the position, his shadow had been visible before him, facing west. Now the shadow was gone. Or facing another direction.

    Aidan turned with a snap of movement, gracefully, silently. And had reason to curse. He had thought himself standing here for a few minutes, but the position of the sun was clear: it was more in the way of midafternoon. And for that reason, a good portion of the day was now wasted. With about five hours left until sunset, with travelling time he wouldn't be able to go much further into the woods in daylight, and perhaps it would be foolish to try alone.

    He suddenly realised that he was, in fact, alone.

    Well, almost. The easel and stool were still standing where they had been when he had turned to pose, but the old woman, her paintbrushes, and her colours were nowhere to be seen. And not a track on the ground to indicate her direction. The easel still held the canvas she had been working on ... and Libby, perched on top, eyes closed, clearly fast asleep. When he strode towards the easel, the bird snapped awake. "What? No, sergeant, I swear this gem was in -- (Awwk!) Hey! Where'd she go! One second I was flapping down to her finger, and next--AWWK!" The bird lit for the nearest branch as Aidan closed to strike range. The drow looked over at the easel.

    It was nothing but random paint marks. A multicoloured mess with not even a suggestion of reality, colours simply sploshed together in something that infants might have created at play.

    A gleam of silver caught Aidan's eye. Something had been left on the stool, perfectly centred. It was a gleaming ring, and Aidan's keen eyes picked out the details easily: the image of a drow was finely inscribed along its circumference.

  23. - Top - End - #203
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    Spoiler: Stats
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    Aidan Blackbow (Adinae - Forgotten whisper)
    Male LE Drow (Dark Elf) Ranger, Level 5, Init 5, HP 28/28, Speed 30
    AC 19, Touch 15, Flat-footed 14, Fort 1, Ref 9, Will 5, Base Attack Bonus 5
    Elvencraft, Dragonbone +1 Composite (2) Longbow (60) +11 (+9/+9 rapid) (1d8 + 3, x3)
    Throwing axe x2 + 10 (1d6 +1, x2)
    Short Sword +7 (1d6+2, 19-20/x2)
    Mithril chain shirt, Heavy wooden Shield (not equipped) (+4 Armor, +5 Dex)
    Abilities Str 14, Dex 20, Con 11, Int 12, Wis 15, Cha 11
    Condition None

    Spoiler: Rolls
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    "Arraah! Finally a lady wants you to disrobe and then she stood you up!"
    "Shush." Aidan said it quietly, the bird knowing, from traveling with him, that meant business. Aidan looked at the painting, and again to the ring. He looked up at the sun with one eye closed. He then looked at the woods around him, assuring himself they were indeed completely alone. And then he swore.

    He swore from the desert sand to the willow roots and from the hawk's feathers to the udders of the behir. Libby joined in the racket, cawing on about ursine droppings in a winter boot and skimmed milk for breakfast (Aidan wasn't sure what to think of that one). He swore one last time, starting to say something about a spider goddess' behind, but thought better of it, since mentioning the Dark Mother always makes a situation worse. Swallowing the curse, he pulled out a knife, cut the painting from its wooden frame so he wouldn't have to carry it and wound it around a javelin, tied together with a piece of string so it wouldn't unroll, then put the javelin in his quiver. He then took out a piece of cloth and, careful to not touch it with his skin, picked up the ring to examine it further. "Pretty ring. If you put it on at least your finger will be pretty! Arraah!" Ignoring the bird, Aidan pocketed the ring in the piece of cloth, hoping one of the clerics might figure out what it was. He then started to hike back to town at increased speed, though keeping his eyes peeled for hobgoblins. "The rest is never going to believe this."
    Last edited by ShedShadow; 2021-02-16 at 09:26 AM.
    Quote Originally Posted by Frozen View Post
    Quote Originally Posted by Bobbyjackcorn View Post
    Do we know when Shed Shadow is going to pick?
    Scholars maintain that it will be in the winter equinox under the light of a full moon when the reflection of it's light upon a lakes surface will illuminate and cast into silhouette the shape of our humblest storage unit, the shed.

  24. - Top - End - #204
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    "It's not so much that I want to talk to them so mach as it is that I want to be able to hear what they say when they talk to each other. For now I just have enough gold for the chronocharm. Morlin however wrote us some IOUs for the hobgoblin gear we sold him. Would those be acceptable currency here? I'll also take one of those waivers and I'll tell the rest of my companions about them in case they'd like to buy some too."
    Remember: Offence is taken, not given



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    Arendi raised an eyebrow. "I'm... flattered, but it actually was 'that hard' - and you know what happened to that poor man. They came close to taking half our group out and outnumbered us two to one..."

    The greywarden had been walking towards the exit while saying that, and with those words he whipped around. Pulling Reason out from its sheath, he spun the blade from hand to hand in a whirlwind of steel before sheathing it and turning again on his heel in one fluid action.

    He looked over his shoulder and added, "And believe me, we're not that bad."

    Spoiler: OOC
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    If necessary, please treat this as an untrained Perform (weapon drill) check (Complete Warrior p 121); if taking 10 that's half my BAB for +2 and a +1 from Charisma, so that'd be a 13. Not that I imagine it'd matter that much in terms of mechanics anyways.
    Cool elan Illithid Slayer by linkele.

    Editor/co-writer of Magicae Est Potestas, a crossover between Artemis Fowl and Undertale. Ao3 FanFiction.net DeviantArt
    We also have a TvTropes page!

    Currently playing: Red Hand of Doom(campaign journal) Campaign still going on, but journal discontinued until further notice.

    Quote Originally Posted by Squire Doodad View Post
    I could write a lengthy explanation, but honestly just what danielxcutter said.
    Extended sig here.

  26. - Top - End - #206
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Alastor and Diana
    The Home of Sertieren The Wise
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Afternoon, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    "Heh, oh, certainly, hm, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to stick an IOU under old windbag's nose, yes," said Sertieren. The halfling was almost hopping from foot to foot. "And do come back tomorrow, heh, no problem at all!"



    Arendi
    The Shrine of Lathander
    Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Four bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Out of the corner of his eye Arendi was pretty sure that both Iormel and Kandil took reflexive steps back as he whirled Reason in a flourish and then sheathed it with a soft clack.

    He was even surer that as he closed the door of the shrine behind him that one of them said "Well, of all the nerve--!" to the other.


    ...

    Everyone except Arendi
    The Green,
    Drellin's Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Eight bells, the Seventh of Mirtul
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    Night came round again, and the crowd was bigger this time. The Green Apple had fully emptied, and the Old Bridge Inn staff were standing outside the door watching across the village green as the townsfolk started to line up. Drathgar's last ferry across the river that night was fully loaded with women carrying small children in the direction of the circus tent.

    Alastor was truly in his groove now. The halfling appeared from nowhere on the rim of the tent above the doorway in, announcing a fine welcome to everyone who had come that night and drawing cheers of appreciation. He went to work with all the same deft handling of the crowd as he'd done the previous night, if anything scaling even more dizzying heights of oratory, the crowd oohing and aahing as though they were breathing like one, great, entranced beast. Libby appeared and together Alastor and the bird had the audience in tears of laughter.
    Once more he extolled Vokon and Aerilaya's virtues. This time he hinted at something more to come. Finally, after a good fifteen minutes of this, the halfing simply jumped down onto Dobble's back, and rode serenely into the darkness of the tent. The audience rumbled its approval and started inside.

    A little more light in the darkness of the tent this time, a circle of light in the centre, around the tentpole, from no immediately discernible source. Then Aerilaya appeared.
    And danced.
    She whirled, leapt, and tumbled in and out of the light. Sometimes her blade appeared in her hand, only to vanish again as she left the light and returned. After a few moments of the floor routine (also accompanied by drums and a violin with no immediate source apparent), she vaulted to grasp the central tentpole, and began to dance around that as well. Which was the same time she used the trick fishing line that Alastor had sourced, and began to remove her hands from the pole, twisting and arcing in and out from its supports, holding herself by her legs and even by one leg - as though gravity had no hold over her at all. The crowd gasped at the performance. And, with one last, great, spinning twist around the centre of the structure, she spun away into the darkness of the tent's upper air, vanishing from sight.

    "MORTALS!"
    Every member of the audience jumped. The voice came from the darkness at ground level, towards the back of the tent.

    Vokon loomed once more out of the darkness.
    He wasn't wearing tribal markings this time.
    He had been costumed up and painted to look like a miniature fire giant, eyelids and eyesockets filled with glittering red paint such that his pupils seemed afire, and his body gleaming with yellow, shining dust. He came striding out, arms above his head, bearing a massive cauldron with a massive lid on it. Women and small children gave cries of temporary horror. Vokon placed the cauldron down before him. Red light, a sign of fire, gleamed from the edge of the lid. He grasped the lid, threw it clear into the darkness, revealing red coals and flames filling the cauldron entirely.

    Vokon raised a pillar-sized finger to the audience. "WATCH MY CAULDRON WELL, MORTALS!"
    And then turned, walking back into the darkness.

    The audience watched.
    The cauldron did nothing. For several seconds. Merely smoked. And flickered with light.
    And then blew apart.

    In a small radius, of course; it in fact collapsed on the hidden catches within it. Still, red coals tumbled from the cauldron, and the fire blazed up, smoke billowing, drawing cries of shock from the audience.
    Diana stood up from the centre of the flames, unfolding herself from where she had been inside the coal-filled cauldron, revealing the gleaming brass scales of her true form, stretching open her dragon wings to the sky, fire flickering from her form, coals raining off her body. For a second it looked as though the audience would actually start to flee the tent - but then her identity became clear, and the awe of a dragonborn revealed washed over the crowd, and the cries of apprehension turned to cheers and laughter.
    "My greetings to you, and the blessings of Bahamut upon you, citizens of Drellin's Ferry!" she called to the audience, and the applause roared higher.

    Alastor brought the show to a close, promising that should the Circus be there another night, they would see "darkness and light! Shadow and flame! Grace and power--"
    "(Squawk)Beans and toast!(Awwk)"
    "--and a display you will remember for years to come, my friends!"

    Spoiler: The Chronicler's Marginalia
    Show

    Did some rolling.
    Alastor pulled a natural 20, for a result of 36.
    Aerilaya pulled a 12, for a result of 22.
    Vokon pulled a natural 10, so a 12.
    Diana had her result at 12 IIRC. Wasn't burned thanks to DR 5 fire resistance.

    So the money that comes out of that:
    Alastor: (3d6)[12] gold
    Aerilaya: (2d6)[4] gold
    Vokon: (2d6)[3] gold
    Diana: (2d6)[8] gold.




    Arendi
    By the River Talar,
    Drellin's Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Eight bells, the Seventh of Mirtul
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    The last light of the day had turned the river blood-red like the sky above it, and the eucalypts were black sentinels. There was muted noise coming from across the river on the Green, but the falloff was enough that Arendi could hear the river waters burbling against rocks and small obstacles in the stream.

    The boat had been brought up. A wrapped form lay within it. Danuta and her three sons stood by the boat, and they turned to Arendi as he walked past Jendar's cottage and down to the riverside.

  27. - Top - End - #207
    Titan in the Playground
     
    danielxcutter's Avatar

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    Arendi looked back at where his companions were likely putting on the show. Pity. He'd actually considered joining this time.

    Ah well. Duty waited for no being.

    Pulling down the grey hood of his clerical vestments, he turned to Danata and said, "I've... actually managed to find the old rites. They're a bit... unorthodox for some people, but from what I see any problem there might have been came from the practitioners and not from the rites themselves. My Lord's blessing has been on me, I even have the necessary requirements. Now, here is what we must do..."

    Soon, the incense-tainted water was ready. He dribbled it onto the merchant's head - with just a twinge of guilt for initially leaving his body untended - and muttered the prayers of his Lord and of the people of this land.

    He stepped back and let the bereaved say their last words. Then, he helped the sons to place the body atop the pyre of eucalyptus that had been assembled inside the boat to be set afloat.

    The greywarden watched as they lit the pyre with a makeshift torch of fragrant branches, then struck the ground with his ashen staff with a loud thump, surprising the family somewhat. Taking a deep breath in, he called out the words that his god had guided him to, the words that those who lived here in the olden days had used and finally saw use again many years later.

    "I call upon thee, Jendar Lakelock! Heed me this hour! Ye have passed beyond living, ye are quick no longer. The light has left thy eyes! The heat comes, and then ye shall be cold once and always. Kelemvor will sight ye!"

    He struck the ground again, before saying the last sentence. "...The river of your fathers is before thee." He bowed his head towards the departing merchant, a final gesture of respect.

    And it could have been a trick of the light - or was it the dark? - but for a moment, he could have sworn that he saw two figures standing on the boat.

    One, a figure robed in dark clothes and wearing a silver death mask, a hand-and-a-half blade hanging by his side. A figure weary, yet still not having lost all its compassion, it made just the slightest of nods to the priest.

    The other, one who seemed reluctant, one who'd left much behind - but knew that his time had come. It had been facing the others, but it turned to the first figure.

    And then they were gone.
    Cool elan Illithid Slayer by linkele.

    Editor/co-writer of Magicae Est Potestas, a crossover between Artemis Fowl and Undertale. Ao3 FanFiction.net DeviantArt
    We also have a TvTropes page!

    Currently playing: Red Hand of Doom(campaign journal) Campaign still going on, but journal discontinued until further notice.

    Quote Originally Posted by Squire Doodad View Post
    I could write a lengthy explanation, but honestly just what danielxcutter said.
    Extended sig here.

  28. - Top - End - #208
    Bugbear in the Playground
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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    The next morning, Vokon says: If we're going to be leaving the pack animals here and actually moving as a warband, we should probably take the paths rather than the Dawn Way. Even Alastor would probably agree that moving fast is going to be best - after all, we solve the hobgoblin problem, and we can get back to our show, right?
    Last edited by Aracor; 2021-02-18 at 12:46 PM.

  29. - Top - End - #209
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    The Green,
    Drellin's Ferry, Cannath Vale
    Seven bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
    1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


    "(Awwk) I'd like it acknowledged that I (whistle) qualify as a pack animal, given the way I'm carrying you all at our shows (Squawk!)"

  30. - Top - End - #210
    Titan in the Playground
     
    danielxcutter's Avatar

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    Default Re: The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

    "Well in combat the only thing you bring is a deep-fried parrot dinner for our enemies." Arendi said, rolling his eyes. "But yes, we should probably leave most of them behind, as well as the circus tent. Dobble and Pogo should come, though."
    Cool elan Illithid Slayer by linkele.

    Editor/co-writer of Magicae Est Potestas, a crossover between Artemis Fowl and Undertale. Ao3 FanFiction.net DeviantArt
    We also have a TvTropes page!

    Currently playing: Red Hand of Doom(campaign journal) Campaign still going on, but journal discontinued until further notice.

    Quote Originally Posted by Squire Doodad View Post
    I could write a lengthy explanation, but honestly just what danielxcutter said.
    Extended sig here.

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