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Founded hundreds of years ago as a mainly eladrin-human joint effort, the Academy of the Lake is a much more impressive sight than the other colleges of magic scattered around Noremien. Its walled grounds are the better part of a mile in diameter, and within are found dormitories, specifically warded and reinforced structures for magical studies, trials and experiments, smaller buildings containing classrooms and alchemical laboratories, as well as numerous other residential, administrative and scholarly edifices. All white marble, they are arrayed neatly around the great square in the very centre of the complex, a veritable feat of dwarven craftsmanship in itself. Dead centre of that square, in turn, stands a statue, over twenty feet tall, depicting a robed female; in one arm, she is holding a large, ornate tome, while she is shading her eyes with her other hand, gazing southwest. A symbol resembling an eye from which spring the rays of a star is prominently engraved in the cover of the tome. The largest building of the Academy is situated directly north of the square. If the pursuit of arcane knowledge were a religion, the Sanctum of Ioun might be its cathedral: a white, towering, T-shaped structure, its nave low compared to the vaguely elliptical transept rising in a graceful curve, adorned by a spire easily reaching another one hundred and fifty feet skywards. With the distant Shielding Mountains looming behind it under a reddening evening sky, one might indeed think it a sacred place of religious meaning; it was, however, constructed largely for practical reasons, containing the Academy's largest auditorium as well as the White Room, a single chamber taking up the entirety of the transept wherein meetings such as the Mages' Council's are held and Ravic Carthaune occasionally receives visitors for whom he sees fit to go the extra distance – as is the case with the seven adventurers whose presence at the Academy he has requested. Having arrived at the Academy over the course of the day, you were shown your – rather lavishly furnished – guest quarters in one of the residential buildings usually reserved for Academy staff and told to arrive here, in one of the antechambers of the White Room, one hour before sunset. The marble ceiling curves gently some forty feet overhead; together with the high, arched windows set in the eastern wall at regular intervals, there is a sense of being outdoors, somehow, even within these four walls. This impression is furthered by a soft breeze blowing in through the windows, carrying with it the smells and quiet sounds of a deepening autumn evening. Outside, green fields and a small forest can be seen, the Sanctum casting long shadows that almost stretch to the encircling walls at some points. Beyond, the setting sun lights a thousand tiny fires on the Lake of Mitback and sets golden flame to the distant Shielding Mountains. It is a profoundly serene scene. Much of the northern wall of the antechamber is taken up by two large double doors, wrought of some dark steel that contrasts the white marble of the surrounding walls sharply. To one side of the doors stands a bald human, his arms folded in the sleeves of his robes. He greeted each of you by name as you entered and informed you that Carthaune was in a meeting still; how much longer the High Mage would be thus occupied he regretfully couldn't say, and bade you make yourselves comfortable while you waited, indicating a number of cushioned benches running along either side of the room. Now, he is watching the chamber with a peaceful expression, remaining almost perfectly still. Except, perhaps, for the conversation of some of the guests, the chamber is quite silent, the magic lamps on the western wall giving off light, but no sound. In perhaps half an hour, the sun will set. A game approaches! Post format will be the usual: name in bold, IC text unformatted, OOC stuff in italics. Whenever you attempt anything that involves numbers please be sure to post them all. Include your character sheet in your first post; if your character grants bonuses to nearby allies (e.g. the warlord's initiative bonus), or anything else along these lines, a short list of such effects would also be appreciated. Immediate interrupt/reaction powers, and when you wish to use them, are best specified in your stat block. Finally, everybody please pick one of the following colours: green, yellow, white, blue, cyan, violet, orange. First come, first serve! (And yes it is for OOC purposes. Your DOOM will not be decided by your choice of colour.) Our current, intrepid cast: Apis, minotaur fighter/Shock Trooper/Indomitable Champion Cipher, warforged artificer/Battle Engineer/Avangion Landra Tirsul, eladrin hybrid (fighter/ranger)/Blade Dancer/Winter Sovereign Queen Marianna of Mandala, human cleric/Paragon of Victory/God-Emperor Sariel, eladrin mage/Enigmatic Mage/Feyliege Vihn, hengeyokai psion/Thrallherd/Cosmic Soul Our former, marginally less intrepid cast: Annetta Voss, human sorcerer/Primordial Channeler Alagand of Everleaf, elf avenger of Tiamat/Ghost of Eventide Badger, elf druid/Blightbeast Borok Stormspeaker, dwarf invoker of Kord/Hammer of Vengeance Calderos Flowing-Rock, minotaur fighter/Dreadnought Coreladdabar IV of Lockhaven, half-elf wizard/Spellstorm Mage Elliott Lamb, human ranger/Jack-of-All-Trades Sir Jayendra Bahamudasa, deva invoker/Divine Oracle/Soul of the World Lorn Ardnen, human runepriest/Hammer of Vengeance Merith, hamadryad cleric of Melora/Soul Guide Padisha, deva hybrid (invoker/wizard)/Flame of Hope Petra M'orderial, half-elf paladin/Hospitaler Rousill "Oblomov" Vreaux, eladrin bard/Summer Rhymer Roland Ca'Nathas, elf ranger/Battlefield Archer Taaliala Flamekissed, elf fighter/Pit Fighter/Heir of Siberys Taldrel Darlhunt, half-elf warlord/Combat Veteran Yuriel Ki-Amar, genasi warlord/Freedom Fighter/Destined Scion As Carthaune is a busy man, you folks can post impressions of your companions-to-be and just talk among yourselves for now or whatever you'd like to do. When everyone's settled in and accounted for, things will commence in earnest. Our former recruitment thread may be found here, which I would like players to keep an eye on/bookmark for purposes of OOC discussion! There's also an IRC channel for this game on irc.synirc.net by the name of #septemberprocession, where players can discuss tactics and such, though readers are also welcome. MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 23:34 on Oct 24, 2018 |
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Sep 5, 2008 04:27
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Roland finds himself admiring the craftsmanship of the antechamber. At their base, up to about eye level, the walls are plain, albeit flawless white marble; the higher his gaze climbs, though, the more intricate carvings become apparent, the smooth white surface of the marble forming treetrunks, branches and leaves, every little detail chiseled with masterful skill. The curved ceiling, finally, is carved to resemble a canopy of leaves, the tree-walls flowing gracefully together to form an intertwining arch of branches. The way the chamber appears to fade into a forest frozen in stone is nothing short of uncanny; the entire room might well be called a piece of art, and an exquisite one at that. While the actual stonework is undoubtedly the product of dwarven hands, it was clearly inspired and guided by the spirit of the Feyborn, be they eladrin or elves, a rare communion of the two races' skills. Something in the corner of the elf's eye catches his attention: the double doors leading to the White Room are swinging open, surprisingly quietly considering their size. From the great chamber beyond emerge two men, walking at a brisk pace and talking animatedly. One of them, shorter than the other, but scowling considerably more fiercely, wears an uniform bearing the insignia of the Mitbackian city guard. Judging from the fine robes he is wearing, his companion likely is a priest or a mage of some stature, but he bears no marks or symbols clearly identifying him as either. Ignoring the robed human standing guard nearby, the two make straight for the southern door that leads to the Sanctum's main hall and, ultimately, outside. They are clearly incensed about something, the uniformed fellow in particular, and as a result, they're talking more loudly than might be advisable; part of their conversation is quite audible to everyone within the chamber, but they seem too caught up in it to notice. "– out! Simply pulling the whole lot of them out! Horsedung!" growls the Mitbackian. "Please," his robed companion interrupts him, "there is no need for such language –" "Horsedung, and horsedung again!" the guardsman repeats angrily. "What do you think my men will be saying next time they're up against the drat scalies without mage support? Nothing but!" The robed man sighs. "You know Carthaune. He cleaves to his priorities – particularly strictly as of late, I will admit – but talking to him like that isn't any more likely to make him reconsider!" "He wouldn't reconsider anyway." A snort. "You say he cleaves to his priorities; I say he doesn't give a drat anymore about anything but his bloody research, ever since his –" The man falls silent for a moment, perhaps reconsidering his words. "Oh, whatever," he then growls in a resigned, though upset tone. "We know who to thank if things go south, and at this rate they probably will before too long, mark my words." "Your lack of faith disappoints me," his companion chides. "Pelor may be silent, but he is still with us! The sun never sets forever, only for a time! You have to believe, my friend!" In response to this, a non-committal snort is heard from the Mitbackian. One moment later, the door clicks shut behind them, and silence settles once more. The robed man by the double doors has remained quiet throughout all this. He now turns to those nearby waiting for admittance and gives a slight nod towards the doors, which swung shut again immediately after Carthaune's previous guests had left. "The High Mage will be ready to receive you in a few minutes," the man says in a soft voice. Coreladdabar, Landra: You recognize the man in uniform. His name is Hartgrim Duvolle; he is a high-ranking officer in the Mitbackian city guard and in charge of defending the city and the surrounding area from outside dangers, such as pirates and bandits. Apart from being an experienced soldier and strategist, Duvolle is well-liked among his men, neither being one to mince matters nor afraid of getting his hands dirty, though many of his fellow officers do not share their subordinates' high opinion of him. He can be quite hot-headed at times, to the point where he is generally considered a liability when it comes to political or diplomatical exchanges. Landra: The "scalies" they were talking about are a peculiar race of amphibian creatures that were first encountered only a few weeks ago, preying on fishing boats and small coastal settlements. Little is known about them, except that they are quite deadly; the city guard has already suffered numerous losses against them, with no confirmed kills in return. Those guardsmen involved have been sworn to silence, although a few vague details have leaked out anyway; they allegedly use cruel tridents that leave wounds which heal poorly, if at all, and they have some kind of supernatural mastery over the element of water itself.
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Sep 6, 2008 05:58
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Once again, the great double doors open. On cue, the robed man looks at each of you in turn. "Follow me," he says simply and leads the way into the White Room. If its antechamber conveys a feeling of not truly being indoors by means of its masterful craftsmanship and large windows, the White Room does so simply by being nothing short of cavernous in size. Easily measuring two hundred feet from end to end, its comparatively narrow footprint is elliptical, the structure situated at a right angle to the antechamber, whose double doors are located in the southern wall of this hall. Its ceiling curves some one hundred feet overhead, with several tiers of windows circling around its apex. Despite the sun having set by now, the chamber remains well-illuminated, however – magic at work, undoubtedly. At a height of maybe thirty feet, a gallery runs around the entire length of the walls, spiral staircases providing access at regular intervals. The only other noteworthy feature here is the great table that takes up the centre of the chamber, which looks like it could seat a hundred fairly easily. On the other side of the table, a bearded man rises from his chair as you enter. "Ravic Carthaune," the robed guard announces and bows slightly to the High Mage before turning and leaving the White Room, the doors swinging shut behind him with nary a sound. "Welcome, welcome," Carthaune greets you and beckons towards the table. Even though you are still some way away from the table, his voice sounds as though he were standing right beside you; in fact, any who speak will find they need to raise their voice but a little for it to be heard clearly throughout the White Room. Drawing closer, it is the first (good) look some of you get at the High Mage. Leaning lightly on the table, Ravic Carthaune is a tall man, perhaps slightly more heavyset than one would expect a man in his position to be. He wears all black, his clothes a little more casual than a robe would be, but still communicating the fact that their wearer is a man of power. Some elven blood clearly runs in Carthaune's veins: his eyes are a very light, piercing green, and the ears give his elven heritage away quite clearly. In one way, however, he seems decidedly different from other half-elves: he looks old. His dark hair and beard are abundantly streaked with grey, and the passage of the years shows clearly in his narrow, lined face. He cannot be much older than sixty, but whereas most half-elves his age only just begin to show signs of aging then, Carthaune already looks like an old man. However, in addition to the not inconsiderable aura of arcane might that Coreladdabar and Annetta sense about him, there is still power in the High Mage's eyes and particularly in his voice, which is deep and voluminous. "Please, take a seat," Carthaune bids you, waiting until you have all sat down before settling back into his chair. "You have all had a safe journey, I hope? There has been word of a resurgence in hobgoblin activity between the Lake and the Everleaf. It is most worrisome." Then, as an afterthought, he gestures at the table with a sweep of his hand, smiling. A number of pitchers, filled with wine and water, and cups are set out before you. There is also cake.
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Sep 8, 2008 00:14
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"I am glad the amenities are to your liking," Carthaune says with a vaguely amused smile as the cake finds some admirers. "It is the least we could do, since you all have embarked on this journey without knowing anything about its ultimate purpose. And indeed," he adds cooly, "the hobgoblins are not the reason you are here – though I should not have to remind you that their ilk never is to be underestimated. No, what I would ask of you is somewhat more, well – intricate in nature." The High Mage stares off into space for a few moments, thinking, his clasped hands resting on the table. When he focuses again, his eyes meets Landra's. "The Feywild is barred to you and to your people," he says flatly. "When was the last time you have visited your native realm? And I do mean visited – the limited, brief jaunts there, less than a heartbeat in length, that remain available to you somehow are of no consequence. You have not been to the Feywild since the Eclipse, have you?" A rhetorical question, of course, but Carthaune apparently means to drive the point home. "It is, for all intents and purposes, a lost domain, and a loss which does not singularly concern the eladrin, either." His glance flicks momentarily to Annetta before drifting away again, looking at each of you in turn. "None has been able to actually venture beyond the curtain. The eladrin can, for some reason, still step through the veil between the worlds and into the Feywild for fractions of a second, true, but it is much too short a stay, if it indeed is one at all, for it to register in the mind; as such, all we can currently guess at is that it must still exist in some state, and even that is something we cannot definitely prove." He pauses. "While it is an assumption based on nothing but our observations of the Eclipse and the events that followed in its wake, and as such not an objectively sound conjecture by our standards here at the Academy, it would appear that this...separation of the Feywild is but a piece of the larger puzzle as it concerns the loss of arcane and divinely inspired powers all over Noremien, as well as the sudden silence of the gods. In other words, I believe all of these to be symptoms of a single greater phenomenon." Carthaune falls silent for a few moments but looks prepared to continue, apparently waiting to see if there are any questions at this point. Annetta: Besides their purely artistic appeal, one might come to all sorts of conclusions about the wearer of such tattoos based on this – that he feels some sort of kinship with dragons based on their awesome power and splendour, perhaps, or even that he believes himself to have some draconic blood in his veins; there are indeed those who fancy themselves descendants of dragons, as preposterous as that notion is to anyone with an inkling of common sense. A third possible connection, more unsettling than the rest, is that with Tiamat, the evil goddess of greed and vengeance, who often takes the form of a gargantuan dragon with five heads, one for each of the chromatic colours. Some of her followers are as vain as they are covetous, which would explain the prominent tattoos, although the question remains why Carthaune would have knowingly invited one of them; it seems rather unlikely.
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Sep 8, 2008 23:34
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"As far as we have been able to tell, that indeed is correct," Carthaune responds with a nod. "The Feywild is quite obviously beyond our reach now, and it appears that this applies to the other planes as well. No one in recent memory has attempted to open a portal to the Elemental Chaos, but it used to be possible, using rituals of great complexity and cost, to open limited 'doors' to the Astral Sea and the Shadowfell, but they function no longer." He sighs, then looks at Tarldrel. "You may remember the Astral Eye, in the great temple of Pelor in Niemund? It was more akin to a window to the Astral Sea rather than a portal, admittedly, but it allowed you to view the Meres of Radiance all the same. A magnificent sight, to be sure. Before the Eclipse, the last time it'd gone out was during the Radiant Purge, when the Shining One grew wrathful at the injustice that was being done in his name; now it has vanished for good, to the great dismay of both the clergy and the worshippers of Pelor – but you've seen all this for yourself, doubtlessly." The High Mage turns back to Annetta: "I'm afraid I have no real answers to the rest of your questions. That is..." His voice trails off. "I'm sure you have heard the rumours of, well, things appearing at random in Noremien, wreaking havoc for an hour or two and then disappearing into thin air again. We have attempted to investigate these reports to the best of our ability – even though ever since the Eclipse, we've had increasingly fewer able men and women to spare – but very little useful information could be gathered; there rarely were any survivors of these attacks, and those who did live only spoke of the intruders in very vague terms – flowing shapes of pure force, huge beasts that could tear down walls with a single swipe of their claws, and so on. Nothing truly useful. These could be things from, say, the Feywild, or perhaps even native creatures merely distorted and made more terrible by fear in the eyes of the hunted, but they could also be something altogether unknown to us." He brings his hands together again. "It would appear that yes, Noremien is cut off from all other planes. The reverse may or may not be true; we cannot currently tell. Why, how, possibly by whose hand – I can't say. Yet."
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Sep 9, 2008 14:05
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In response to Alagand's question, the High Mage smiles. "Straight to the point, as expected. Do humour me for one more minute, though; M'orderial's questions deserve answers." He sips from his cup of wine. "As to how far the situation may deteriorate, predictions are dire. Every day, more mages find themselves bereft of power, and more holy men lose their divinely imbued abilities. At our Academy, perhaps one third of all members and students who were in possession of their powers when the Eclipse struck still retain them today, and their numbers are decreasing steadily –" As if on cue, the double doors open and a young tiefling enters the White Room, stopping just beyond the threshold. He seems somewhat out of breath as he bows low in apology. "My apologies for disturbing you, High Mage, but we – we've lost another. I've hurried here to inform you, as you requested." Carthaune seems to visibly slump down in his chair at the news. "Of course. Thank you," he finally replies, suddenly sounding weary. "How is he doing?" "Not well. He doesn't move or speak, only stare at his hands while repeating the gestures for one of the minor summoning cantrips, from what I've seen." "Have you told Sister Yanna yet?" "No. I came to you first, as per your instructions." Carthaune nods. "Go, then. Proceed as – as usual. I will be along as soon as my business here is concluded." "As you command," the tiefling responds, bows again and leaves. Carthaune continues looking in the direction of the doors for a moment before addressing you again. "It happens during the day now, too," he says darkly, staring at the table, almost speaking to himself more than to you. "For some time after the Eclipse, it used to be that powers were fairly literally lost in one's sleep, but now..." A tired shrug and a sigh. "Perhaps this answers your first question, partially at least. There is no way of making any accurate predictions, but I would estimate that within half a year or so, no one on Noremien will be in possession of any arcane or divine powers, if nothing is done about this." Carthaune looks up, eyeing Petra, Coreladdabar, Alagand, Annetta – those of you who still have control over the streams of magic. It's almost an accusing look he gives you. "Pray," the High Mage says ominously. "Pray to whichever deity you believe may still hold some sway over your fate that you will not find yourselves powerless, too, one day, without that invisible force that has permeated your life for years." Carthaune's eyes grow darker and his speech more forceful. "That loss destroys those so afflicted. It is not a mere inconvenience, not just something that forces you to lead a mundane life; it means ruin for those involved, and many never recover from it. A violation of the soul, the cruelest deprivation imaginable. I have had to witness it myself all too often; proud mages reduced to pitiful shells of their former selves, or screaming lunatics even, in a few cases. More than a few end up taking their own lives. It is like a taste of death unto the soul while the body is forced to linger on. The deeper one's immersion, the more horrendous the loss. –" Abruptly, he falls silent, a look of vague annoyance growing on his face as the High Mage realises he has said more than he intended to. "I'm sorry," he says after a pause, relaxing a little again, "that kind of outburst was unwarranted. Perhaps it will help you understand, however, why we must find a way to put an end to this. It is not only that the absence of magic has numerous, purely practical consequences; it is also that it ruins lives. Many lives. Take that into account if you should ever have any doubts as to whether to continue on your path. "As for why I have chosen you – it is because I feel the nature of the task at hand demands a degree of diversity, for one; and while, like you yourself said, there may be those who are more powerful, it does not necessarily mean they are willing to follow my call and leave their worldly responsibilities untended to. With power comes responsibility, and in some cases, the tendency to make unreasonable demands in return for as much as hearing me out. Power does not automatically bestow goodness of heart as well, after all, as you probably know yourselves. "I hope this answers your questions...?" MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 19:02 on Sep 13, 2008 |
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Sep 10, 2008 00:19
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"Good," the High Mage remarks laconically and to no one in particular. He is difficult to read: the way he tends to elaborate, if not ramble almost strikes you as borderline senile at times, yet on the other hand he seems quite keen of spirit, all things considered. Perhaps these tangents are simply a result of so much being on the man's mind these days; it is hard to tell. "Now, for what I would ask of you..." He pauses. "The name Tolarius may be familiar to some of you. He used to reside here at the Academy, one of our specialists in the field of transplanar arcana and a veritable mage in his own right, though he did not pursue wizardly studies; he had a, well –, a different approach to magic." Annetta finds herself the subject of a thoughtful gaze. "He withdrew from here about thirteen years ago and took up residence in the Everleaf, claiming for his own an ancient tower situated somewhere near the southern shores of the Green Mere. I will speak frankly: Tolarius did not have a great many friends here. He had always been a somewhat...peculiar man, and only grew stranger as the years passed, becoming increasingly reclusive, even choosing to cease teaching eventually. He also went on prolonged journeys for research purposes, allegedly – on Academy funding, mind – except that he did not see fit to actually share any of his findings, or even state where and why exactly he was going in the first place. Hardly proper conduct for an Academy member, you will agree. Tolarius claimed that the 'secrets' were his to keep, that the 'truth' was his and only his, whatever he meant by this – as I said, a peculiar man." He leans back in his chair. "When someone who came to visit him accidentally triggered a ward of summoning he had secretly set in his quarters, and as a result was almost dismembered by a flesh golem, I had to step in. Up till that point, I had largely turned a blind eye to his ideosyncracies – too long, in hindsight, harmless though they had otherwise been – but this I could not allow to go on. I gave Tolarius a simple choice: resign and withdraw from the Academy voluntarily, or be removed forcibly. I was not looking forward to confronting him, and I was on the verge of taking a number of mage-guards with me in case he...lost himself, but to my surprise he took it quite well. Almost seemed pleased, in fact. On the condition that I talk to no one else about it, which I agreed to, he told me that there was an obscure tower in the Everleaf, whose last known resident had been an eladrin wizard during the Great War, which he had 'decided on'. It was almost as though he'd only been waiting for me to send him away. Nonsensical, I know, but as such to be expected from him, I suppose. "That was thirteen years ago. I didn't hear from him at all until late last month, when I received a Sending from him." The High Mage closes his eyes, attempting to recall the words. Finally, he speaks, his voice a strange monotone. "'I stepped beyond the curtain. The Eclipse's nature unfolds: the live-giving cord is being severed. The mirror reflects no more. Expect me within one week.'" Carthaune remains silent for several more seconds before he opens his eyes again. "This was his message. I was, and still am, unable to make sense of much of it. Only two things struck me as clear: that he found out something related to the how or why of the Eclipse, and that he intended to come see me about it." The old half-elf sighs. "He never arrived here." "I know what you must be thinking," Carthaune says, raising a forestalling hand. "Who's to say that Tolarius didn't simply lose his mind altogether? I thought about it, too, believe me. For days I barely slept, wondering what he might be talking about, and whether it was wise to waste any time pondering it at all. At the time, I still believed his impending visit would provide answers – but it never came." A brief pause. "I believe that what he said was the truth; that he had stepped beyond the curtain, that he had seen or experienced what he claimed he had. His voice rang rational in my mind, more rational than it'd sounded during all these years I spoke to him in the flesh. Why he approached me, I do not know, but he must have had his reasons, and good reasons too, to share his knowledge with someone else. "Since this Sending, I've been unable to establish contact with him. Prior to that, I had attempted it only once, and I might have known it would not work – like many structures in use during the Great War, the tower he'd chosen as his new domain doubtlessly had strong magical shields, and it was such a forbidding ward that deflected my spell. My more recent attempts, though, simply found no recipient. There are, to the best of my knowledge, only two explanations for this: Tolarius is either dead, or he is not on this plane any longer. I do not know which it is." Ravic Carthaune leans forward, his hands clasped on the table. "I apologise if I've been straining your patience," he says rather knowingly, "but I feel you ought to know as much of the picture as possible. This, then, is what I would ask of you: find out what happened to Tolarius. Bring him back, if he's – if it's at all possible. If he's not outright the key to undoing the Eclipse, he's a drat good lead, and I am not letting this opportunity go untaken." He leans back expectantly. Coreladdabar: Though Tolarius' tenure at the Academy predated yours, you've still heard your share of stories and anecdotes about him. When your instructors used his name, it usually was with the added epithet "the Mad", although they made him merely sound like an eccentric, if harmless fellow – the golem incident, at any rate, apparently never became public knowledge. Annetta: Tolarius had made a pact with some Fey entity, no doubt. What little you've heard about him suggests that he rarely, if ever left his tower – its remoteness may have been convenient, but being somewhat familiar with the desires of the Fey, you can guess there likely was more to his abode of choice than merely location. Landra: You are reasonably confident you could locate this tower Carthaune spoke of without too much trouble. You have never laid eyes on it yourself, neither before the Great War nor afterwards, but there are only a few locations in-between the former Deepwreathe site and the Green Mere that are eligible, based on what you've heard of it and what you remember about the general area.
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Sep 11, 2008 03:59
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"To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever attempted to create a detailed map of the Everleaf as a whole, owing largely to the fact that most of it is uninhabited and untamed, very difficult to explore, let alone map out with any degree of accuracy. Furthermore, the elves never cared a great deal for cartography to begin with, and the eladrin concerned themselves largely with the immediate environs of Deepwreathe only, leaving much of the remaining territory uncharted. Do keep in mind that the Everleaf is nothing short of vast – you'd be looking at about a week's journey if you were to travel the entire length of the Dividing Road from north to south. Regardless, I anticipated a question along these lines, so you might find this helpful." Carthaune produces a piece of parchment from his pocket and slides it across the table. "One side depicts the lands to the immediate west of here, while on the other there is an admittedly crude approximation of what one could, with some goodwill, consider a map of sorts of the Everleaf." The faint twinkle of humour in his eyes is gone as quickly as it appeared.   "There are, I deem, enough woodsmen among you that the forest itself should not prove too much of an obstacle. Its inhabitants, on the other hand, well – as you know well enough, the Everleaf has always been a popular hideout and hunting ground for various less than desirable elements of society, bluntly put; the loss of Deepwreathe has only made matters worse in this regard. Bandits have always plagued its outer reaches, but what else you may encounter in the depths of the forest, I cannot say. Hobgoblins, orcs and even gnolls, I would not rule out entirely; few travellers have come or gone that way in recent times, but what word has gotten out is anything but encouraging. The elves, I gather, still attempt to keep as much of a watch over the Everleaf as possible, but I would not count on them being in the right place at the right time – no offence intended. Still, if anyone is capable of handling any threats on the way, you are." "Actually," Carthaune then replies to Taldrel, "I have not set this task to anyone but yourselves thus far. The only other effort I have made in this regard has been posting observers around Utinmar, in the extremely unlikely case that Tolarius does appear somewhere – which to date, he hasn't. Anything beyond that, I thought best left to the professionals, if I may put it that way." The High Mage frowns. "Precisely because this is a very serious matter is why I do not want to go on about it half-heartedly; it is why I have chosen you." "He was a practitioner, as you put it, Miss Voss, yes. Tolarius never spoke of it openly, and none of us pried, but it was clear as day all the same: the arcane patterns of his kind differ so greatly from that of a, well, 'ordinary' wizard that it is an extremely obvious conclusion to make. He always showed a keen interest in any lore regarding the Fey and their ways, as well; you may take that as you will." Carthaune pauses, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "Regarding his choice of domicile, you might well have a point. Eladrin wizards have historically valued it as a place of residence, or so the very few recordings concerning it tell us; it is possible that he saw something in it the more classically-minded eladrin didn't. I have no way of confirming this, but it does not sound unlikely, either." In response to the warlock's last question, he frowns. "Truth be told, he never struck me as the type to engage in such subterfuge. If anything, Tolarius tended rather to be on the naïve side sometimes. He always seemed fairly genuine to me; if he did indeed feign the worries of his mind, he went far beyond what would have been required. Someone almost died because of his actions, and I simply cannot imagine he would be prepared to accept that in cold blood." MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 06:39 on Nov 13, 2011 |
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Sep 12, 2008 04:31
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Carthaune's description of Tolarius paints a picture of a quiet and not altogether unpleasant man, though he apparently was rather quick to anger, particularly where inquiries into his magical studies were concerned. He would spend one hour in meditation at sunrise and sunset each day – always outdoors, regardless of the weather – and had a pronounced weakness for tea, stopping at nothing to acquire even the most exotic blends from all over Noremien. Tolarius also, as a rule, marked all of his possessions with a specific sign, which was perfectly visible to the naked eye, but appeared to stand out a little more brightly to those trained in the arcane arts. The High Mage briefly conjures up an oversized version of it; none of you has seen it before, and neither can you think of any particular significance it might hold; it simply appears to be a unique design Tolarius came up with. As the wizard continues to elaborate, it becomes apparent that Tolarius' friends and even acquaintances here measured very few in number, and neither did he, to anyone's knowledge, have any family or relatives. Not one of those one could consider his acquaintances is still present at the Academy today; the last one, a dragonborn with a choice of arcane orientation vaguely similar to Tolarius' and the closest thing to a protégé he ever had, left for Genvegr some years ago, to study a particular constellation that is visible in the nightsky from its capital city, according to her. "How helpful any of this will be," Carthaune sighs, "I do not know. Tolarius has always been something of a mystery even to me, and he now seems to be in a place beyond the ken of our magical powers as well; if any can find him now, it is you. – Oh, speaking of which..." The High Mage gives you a description of what Tolarius looks like – or looked like, at any rate, thirteen years ago. An inch or two shorter than even Annetta, rather slim, if not skinny, with a penchant for robes in bright colours depending on the current season of year. Between a sizable bald spot in the back and a high forehead in front, what remained of his hair was dark blond; with the addition of a face whose features were narrow, cheeks ruddy, eyes large and nose short and angular, the mental image of a man is created whom you could, if nothing else, spot rather easily in a crowd. As long as he stood in the front row, at any rate. "It is a journey of more than a week, on horseback, from here to the edge of the Everleaf," the High Mage continues. "We have some riding horses to spare, in case any of you arrived by other means. If you need any additional supplies, we may be able to accommodate your wishes, depending on your needs; certainly provisions and the like will not be an issue. Just let me know what you need and you'll be able to pick it up at the southern watchtower tomorrow morning." He glances up to the ceiling of the White Room; the colour of the sky beyond its windows has gradually turned into a deep blue during the course of the conversation. "If there are any remaining questions, please ask them now. Many of you have had to travel quite far to come here, and as I believe you have already been shown your rooms – well, I do not wish to stand between you and a good night's sleep any longer than necessary." This obviously depends on one's definition of necessity, of course. Everyone: Keeping yourselves fed in the Everleaf should not prove to be terribly difficult, wild and untamed as large parts of it are – the opportunities for foraging and hunting will be plentiful, considering you have a number of skilled woodsmen with you. As long as you stick to the few established roads through the forest, you will also be able to make good time, particularly on horseback. On the other hand, said roads are where raiders and bandits love to set up ambushes, and even before the Eclipse it had not been advisable to travel through the Everleaf entirely unprotected. Gnolls in particular have been a constant threat for the past few years, showing an almost uncanny degree of woodcraft; despite the elves' best attempts, their lair in the depths of the Everleaf remains undiscovered. Ettins, too, are said to reside within the more secluded regions of the forest, though ordinary travellers rarely encounter them. Apart from the occasional bear, however, there isn't much in the way of non-intelligent hostile fauna. Roland: There is an alternative route of travel that covers a good part of the Everleaf, a vast network of rough trails away from the main roads, known to few but the elves, who use these trails for stalking enemies, patrolling and generally moving around the Everleaf in a relatively safe fashion. They will allow you to travel while remaining fairly safe from any threats on or near the roads; there even are safehouses scattered along these trails, although they tend to be fairly well hidden. The downside is that horses will be of little, if any use, due to the rough terrain involved; if you choose to take this route, you will likely be spending most of your travel time on foot. Generally speaking, the terrain itself is not very difficult to traverse, being, at worst, somewhat hilly; the forest itself is more of an obstacle in comparison, as it is fairly dense in places. Still, though it won't be a leisurely walk exactly, you're not going to be struggling through thick undergrowth all the time, either. MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 20:44 on Jun 12, 2011 |
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Sep 14, 2008 06:51
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"You are under no obligation to return it," Carthaune responds to Annetta's question. "All we ask is that you treat it well, as if it were your own – which it shall be, for all intents and purposes. I leave the rest to your judgment."
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Sep 15, 2008 00:49
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The High Mage nods. "Apart from the elves, what 'civilization' remains in the Everleaf is cruel and preys on all that do not belong to its own people, and even these, I fear, are not always exempt. You should never expect to be perfectly safe." Landra, meanwhiles, focuses on the map, and is able to come up with what she believes are three reasonably accurate locations for the tower. There is bound to be a margin of error, of course, but it does narrow down the areas the group will need to search considerably.  (The three circles around the lower end of the Green Mere being said locations.) Ravic Carthaune rises as well. "I am confident you will not disappoint me. Remember that you do not embark on this quest for glory or fortune – though I will not deny that these might well come from it –; it is for the sake of our very world that you do this. As long as you remain true to this purpose, you shall prevail." He spreads his arms in a gesture of blessing. "May Corellon watch over you, and may Ioun illuminate the paths that lie dark before you." Folding his arms in his sleeves, he waits until you have all filed out of the White Room; if the last one to leave were to gaze back, he or she could see Carthaune sitting down very slowly, haltingly, as though greatly exhausted. The meeting with the High Mage over, everybody heads to his or her quarters – everybody except Roland, who has an urge or two that require satiating. On a whim, he heads over to the Academy's refectory; it turns out to be a timely whim, too, because the place is fairly busy, mostly with students. The Academy being a place of arcane studies and learning, its refectory hardly is a debaucher's heaven, but half an hour and a number of drinks later, the archer has made several new friends, who appear quite drawn to him. Perhaps it is because the Academy is rarely graced by the presence of a hero like him ("we've heard of you!" one slightly bubbly eladrin apprentice exclaims), perhaps it is because of his rugged, battle-scarred looks so sharply and alluringly contrasting the appearances of the Academy's usual denizens; whatever the cause, Roland learns that a completely informal get-together is to take place later that evening in one of the student dormitories. It is hinted at that he would not at all be unwelcome. Not one to let such an opportunity go untaken, the fiery-blooded feyborn passes the time wandering around the Academy grounds, taking in the architecture some more and enjoying the quiet. At the appointed hour, he sneaks into the dormitory and finds the better part of the top floor engaged in a great deal of carousing and merrymaking, much to his surprise – outside, and even on the floor below, nary a sound could be heard. It turns out that this is due to clever application of the Silence ritual, but Roland's mind does not get to dwell on this for long; the beverages available here are manifold and strong, the food hearty and the females especially quite interested in him. As such, the elf does what he arguably does best, namely enjoying himself without much regard for anything else. At some point during all this, things become rather blurry for Roland Ca'Nathas; the last distinct memory he has is half being dragged by and half dragging someone else down a hallway, which appears to be twisting and turning slightly of its own accord, towards a room that looms dark and empty and has a bed in it – That night, sleep comes easily to those who seek it. The sun rises late the next morning, and even then it provides little illumination, merely suffusing the grey-clouded autumn sky with an indifferent light that holds little allure and less warmth. It's hardly the ideal weather for setting out on a journey of multiple days, but those involved know well enough that before long, some precipitation might well be the least of their problem. You have all done this before, embarking on journeys of uncertain end; it is not a thing of worry, not yet. Roland wakes somewhat later than the rest, but to a rather enchanting sight. Stretched out beside him is one of the most beautiful elves he has ever seen, her skin soft and creamy, her hair streaming down her shoulders and onto the pillow like a waterfall of sunlight, and her eyes, when they finally open, a brilliant blue that invites him to stay, figuratively, even before the elf literally does so. Unfortunately for the ambitious archer, a quick look out the window shows him that his companions have already gathered by the southern gate. No time for love, as it were. At the gate, Annetta finds a horse waiting for her, a skewbald gelding that, as the stable-boy tending to it assures her, is the most docile animal this side of the Long River. As far as first glances count for anything in this regard, he appears to be right. The guard at the gate meanwhile informs you that the ferry is waiting, and wishes you safe travels before assuming his post up in the watchtower again. It is a ride of maybe ten minutes to the docks, and the ferry takes another twenty to reach the other shore from there. As on the Isle, the docks here are like a tiny port, with two low warehouses and a number of smaller buildings scattered about; it looks like a fair amount of goods pass, or used to pass, through here. As you disembark, you hear two nearby dock workers, who were watching the ferry arrive, grumble loudly and colourfully about a shipment being late, paying little attention to the group of adventurers. To the west and south, the northern hill lands (a rather Mitback-centric name) stretch off into the distance, their soft slopes and rises like a great, uneven sheet spread across the earth. Owing to the inexorable advance of autumn, there is a pale colour to the land, and the relatively few trees that dot the hills often show more yellow and orange leaves than they do green ones, some beginning to shed their crowns of leaves altogether. The air is cold and quite still, carrying neither so much as a light breeze nor any kind of scent. Now that the dock workers have filed into one of the warehouses, nary a sound is to be heard, either; the world as a whole seems profoundly quiet. Little else catches the eye, much of the surrounding lands being hidden from sight by the rough terrain. A road, unpaved but looking well-maintained, leaves the docks in a roughly western direction and winds off into the hills; it is a ride of about two days from here to Farling. The dice have decreed that Roland is a PLAYA. MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 19:37 on Sep 18, 2008 |
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Sep 18, 2008 19:04
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You set off westwards. Twenty-eight hooves pounding dully against the ground, the road takes you into the hills, and before long the Academy of the Lake is lost from view entirely; only rarely, when gaining a crest, can the white dome of the Sanctum be spied in the distance, out on the lake. For much of the day, the journey remains rather uneventful. The road, while turning and twisting rather precariously and, out in the wilderness, barely deserving the name at times, generally allows for smooth travel, and you cover a decent distance. Hardly any wildlife crosses your path, the only thing of real note being a large bird that circles far overhead for a few minutes in the late morning hours before swooping away to the south. As you travel further westwards, the land becomes less plain, with trees and shrubs growing more abundantly; the season of year is thinning out the ranks of their foliage, however, and the sight is not a great deal more cheerful than the plain countryside was. Just past noon, after the grey expanse has loomed above you all morning, the floodgates of the clouds finally open up. While not overly voluminous, the rain is amazingly persistent, not to mention cold, and continues to plague you for the rest of the day; even with the light fading and evening approaching, it continues to fall with no change in intensity, turning the road into an unpleasant, muddy affair. It is a facet of autumn best observed through a window from inside a warm, cosy room, but such a privilege is not yours right now. Somewhere beyond the clouds, the sun has all but set as the road leaves a particular craggy area and descends into a valley of sorts; it's really more a long, sloping depression in the land, the hills surrounding it like a child's imitations of proper mountain peaks. Towards its northern end lies a small wood, several hundred feet away from the road, nestled between and partially growing beyond the slopes of the valley, which are gently beginning to converge along the edges of the wood. Long shadows have claimed almost the entirety of the valley by now, though it's still light enough to see for now. The wind, too, has picked up a little, driving the still-present rain eastwards at a slight angle, into the travellers' faces – who are by now starting to feel the exhaustion of a long day spent riding. As you cross the valley, the arcane senses of both Annetta and Coreladdabar suddenly register something emanating from the wood, even at this distance. It is a faint sensation, like a moth in the dark that lightly brushes against one's skin; whether this is simply due to the distance or the lacking strength of the source is hard to tell. Off the top of their heads, the two learned arcanists are unable to tell exactly what said source might be, in any case.
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Sep 20, 2008 00:53
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Even as Petra examines his surroundings, he notices a tiny flock of birds taking flight from the edge of the wood and swiftly heading south at a low altitude. Their route intersects the road, and the paladin gets a fairly good look at the small animals as they fly overhead. The bright blue markings on their chest and wings, unusually bright compared to the rest of their dark plumage, leave little doubt in the half-elf's mind: these are magebirds, a very rare species whose origins scholars have been unable to definitely determine to this day. Some say they originated in the Feywild, having crossed over into the mortal world at some point like many other fey creatures; others claim the first magebirds were the results of a wizard's attempts to create living, intelligent familiars to aid him in his magical experiments. At any rate, this is the first time he has seen them in the wild, things out of legend, almost; what the legends and stories he heard of them consistently mentioned, however, was that these birds have an affinity for magic. In terms of intelligence, they are about on par with crows; what sets them apart is that they can not only sense magic, but actually prefer to be in its presence whenever possible. If they weren't incredibly rare and, as legend has it, very shy, magebirds would doubtlessly make interesting pets for the magically inclined, to say the least. The flock, meanwhile, continues to fly south, and soon disappears in the rain beyond the southern end of the valley. Annetta attunes her senses to the strange magical emissions, but try as she might, their precise nature eludes her. It is infuriating; somehow, she feels she should recognise the effect, but the knowledge, teasingly, will not come to her. All she can tell is that it comes from the direction of the copse in the valley. Coreladdabar has little luck spotting any suitable campsites that could accommodate the entire party; the "out of the rain" criterion makes these an incredibly rare find to hope for in this kind of terrain. The most obvious choice, other factors nonwithstanding, seems to be the nearby wood; it's not going to be perfectly dry, but certainly a good deal more so than camping out in the open would be. You have passed one or two other similar copses on your way here, though backtracking to these would mean approximately another two hours of riding. However, when it comes to identifying the arcane aura he and Annetta can sense, the wizard has significantly more luck. He recalls something he read about years ago in a dusty tome, courtesy of the Academy's great library, on the subject of translocational magic, which specifically concerned the creation of portals between the Feywild and other planes. While such gateways sometimes occur naturally, as was the case with Deepwreathe, it is essentially impossible to create them artificially, from what he read, to say nothing of sustaining them for any length of time. It reportedly took the author of the volume a great deal of energy to bring such a portal into existence, and even then it was not large or long-lived enough to interact with the other side in any way. He remembers the description of the arcane patterns these tiny portals emitted, a brief magical sample having been embedded in one of the pages; it was similar to what he is experiencing right now. However, the current phenomenon also is fundamentally different in a way he simply cannot grasp – Coreladdabar has no explanation for why or what this is, only that it's not quite the same as the effect he read about. Alagand and Landra begin to hear, in the loosest sense of the word, a low humming noise of sorts; while it seems to slightly grow in intensity when they turn towards the northern end of the valley, it's not actually something they hear – at least, placing their hands over their ears does not muffle the 'sound' in any way, nor does it seem to be tied to the physical world, strangely reverberating inside their heads as it does. It is a mildly disconcerting experience. Annetta and Coreladdabar meanwhile notice that the arcane emanation is growing stronger. As they have not moved noticeably closer to the wood, distance perhaps isn't a factor after all. Some mighty fine rolling on these knowledge checks there.
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Sep 21, 2008 01:30
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Petra notices nothing out of the ordinary.
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Sep 21, 2008 17:01
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As far as Roland can tell, the current weather is of entirely natural origin, and unrelated to whatever the others might be experiencing. After scanning the far skies and examining the clouds and their movement, as well as paying close attention to the intensity and direction of wind and rain for some time, he forms an educated opinion: these weather conditions are here to stay until the coming morning, if not longer, but on the other hand, they're unlikely to get any worse. Glancing towards the wood, however, Roland notices something. Unless his keen eyes are deceiving him, the archer spies a very faint light among the treetops. Whatever is causing it can't be near the edge of the copse, as it lies still and perfectly dark otherwise, but deeper within, it would appear that there is a pale, almost colourless light just barely radiating beyond the tops of the trees there. This light being as hard to see as it is, even in the growing darkness, Roland can't entirely rule out the possibility that he is mistaken, though. To the best of Taldrel's knowledge, no events of significance ever took place here in recent and not-so-recent history, much of the northern hill lands never having been particularly alluring or fertile. During the Great War, a number of bloody, but ultimately inconsequential skirmishes were fought farther to the south, in the same general area where the small village Maltstead lies today, but these locations are miles away. Both arcanists sense the magic aura continuing to gain in strength, the sensation coming in waves now, pulsing rhythmically. It's slowly turning into a nuisance, affecting the mind as a minor headache might, though without any actual pain involved. Simultaneously, the humming experienced by Alagand and Landra intensifies and rises in pitch; it becomes a kind of incessant buzzing that is not terribly pleasant. Taldrel and Roland are subjected to it now as well.
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Sep 21, 2008 22:23
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Alagand focuses his thoughts and tunes out all inside and outside interference, attempting to open his mind to the arcane aura supposedly felt by Coreladdabar and Annetta. His training in the arts, though a little less substantial than that of these two, eventually does pay off: as one abruptly extinguishes a candle, the buzzing suddenly is gone, with nothing but the memory of it to assure him he ever felt it in the first place. It is replaced by a curious tingling experience, definitely magical in nature, although he does not get the impression that it is pulsating as such; rather, it appears to be very slowly welling and fading, like the ebb and tide of a vast arcane ocean. What's beyond doubt, however, is that it originates somewhere within the wood.
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Sep 22, 2008 20:01
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There are a few trees not far south that seem suitable enough for the purpose in question. Off the road, you find the ground to be surprisingly treacherous, easily surpassing the crude highway in muddiness; the rain has somehow done a masterful job of turning it into a nasty combination of wet grass and soft, squishy earth, complete with a few small pools of dirty water. If care is not taken, it's quite easy to slip and fall, getting mud all over one's clothes and armour.
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Sep 23, 2008 00:42
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This is an unrelated, very small wood on the way to Farling, so small that it's not even on this particular map. See the dot on the map for your approximate location. Farling is about a day's ride away still. Sorry if anything was unclear.
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Sep 23, 2008 14:24
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The party are agreed and leave the road behind to ride northward towards the wood. It is slow going, one misstep being all it'd take for one of the horses to break a leg, but for now luck remains on their side. The wood is about three hundred feet away; as you get closer, both the arcane emanation and the buzzing sound grow stronger, the latter continuing to rise in pitch, slowly turning into a whine of sorts that is definitely very unpleasant, if not mildly painful in one's head. You're about one hundred feet from the edge of the copse when this all changes. The magical aura suddenly, almost violently swells in intensity, and Annetta and Coreladdabar just barely manage to keep hold of their reeling minds as arcane energy explosively batters down on them. Relief follows just as quickly, however: with the mental equivalent of a loud popping noise, the emanation is gone virtually entirely, only the faintest of afterimages remaining in their minds. It fades into nothingness even as they catch their breath and gather their senses. Similarly, the whine present in the heads of most of the others bursts into a shrill whistling noise that lasts for the fraction of a second before stopping entirely and abruptly with the suddenness of a door slamming shut. Roland sees the light over the treetops flicker briefly, then go out altogether. It is a welcome silence, no doubt; the quiet makes you realise how aggravating the noises were in the first place. It also is a silence that does not last very long. After a few moments, noises are heard coming from the wood. It is hard to put a finger on them initially, faint amidst the constant, soft murmur of the rain as they are, but as they come closer, you identify them: they are the sounds of trees being uprooted, of trees crashing to the ground and crushing the underbrush. Your horses seem suddenly uneasy, snorting loudly and stomping their hooves, and more than one of them needs to be actively restrained lest it simply bolt in the opposite direction. It is too dark now to make out anything beyond the outermost trees at the edge of the wood, but the noises themselves tell you enough: whatever is in the forest is big, and it's steadily making for the muddy field beyond the copse – or for you.
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Sep 24, 2008 02:51
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Alagand finds the terrain to be rather plain, lacking shelter for the most part. There are a few smaller trees as well as a number of man-high boulders strewn about behind which one could, in a pinch, take cover. How long said cover would last is another question, of course, given the circumstances. Meanwhile, the cascade of crashes coming from the wood grows louder and closer. There is nothing to be seen still, but the horses do sense something coming quite clearly, something they want absolutely no part of. It now takes a good deal of effort to rein them in; some primal terror is taking hold of the equines, the natural fear of a nameless predator the beasts can smell, perhaps, and it doesn't look like they're going to resist the instinct to flee very much longer, no matter what their riders do. Alagand's horse needs no further encouraging in this regard; it has already left the group well behind, and it appears that reaching the road isn't going to stop it either. MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 05:13 on Sep 24, 2008 |
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Sep 24, 2008 05:07
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Roland ponders all the strange and wonderful creatures he has heard of, if not encountered on his many travels, and considers which of them might suddenly turn up in a wood in the middle of nowhere following some sort of mysterious arcane occurrence, and then proceed to smash the trees aside with the greatest of ease on their way out. It can't be something wholly natural, that much he is certain of. Something from the Feywild, he muses, might fit the bill, if only because whatever this thing is seems little bewildered by its new arboreal surroundings; then again, if it hails from the Starless Beyond, as could also be the case, it might not even pause to consider its course of action, simply sensing the nearby presence of life, and moving to maim and drag it back into the dark coldness of the Far Realm. Who knows? Sometimes, such questions handily answer themselves, however. The far-sighted among you spy shadows moving near the edge of the forest; massive shadows, and more than one of them, as well. Another two trees are swept aside casually by huge claws, and then the invaders emerge from the wood for all to see; even as they do so, the remaining horses, wisely unmounted, bolt at the sight. There are two large ursines, looking considerably meaner than your average cave bear, their claws almost twice as big as a human head. Great plates of what appears to be bone protrude from their bodies, forming a kind of natural armour. One of them stands on its hind legs, sniffing the evening air with a low, rumbling growl; the beast stands well over twelve feet tall for a few moments before it settles back on all fours, its forelegs making an audible thud as they slam into the ground. Next to the creature they are flanking, however, even these hulking bears appear of moderate size at best. Amidst them stands a huge owlbear, its claws eagerly scratching at the wet earth as the beast towers over its escort. Its feathers have a silvery, almost white sheen to them, and Roland recalls that this is a special subspecies of owlbear, one that lives in the ever-frozen northern tundras of its native Feywild. It's said that its claws rake wounds which immediately turn blue with an inhuman cold, freezing the flesh and, eventually, the mind. The massive owlbear gives an angry screech, its yellow eyes burning into yours even at this distance. Awed by the appearance of these three imposing beasts, it would be fairly easy to miss the two small humanoids that accompany them. They're about halfling-sized and grey of skin, each wielding what looks to be a shortsword. These quicklings, as they're aptly called in Noremien, are a rare sight indeed; some say it's because they traditionally prefer living in the Feywild, while others claim it's because they move so fast that they can actually vanish from sight altogether. Even now, they look ready to burst into action, and in fact they would, were it not for Landra's almost preternatural senses – while her companions are still busy taking in the whole picture, the eladrin swordswoman gets the drop on her opponents, all of them, her battle-honed instincts serving her well. She is a veteran of the Great War for a reason, after all. A single crack of thunder ominously rings out somewhere in the distance. Still the rain keeps falling, dripping quietly off armour and unsheathed blades and forming thousands of little drops on the fur of your opponents. The ground underneath is not without dangers of its own and may just give way when one least expects it to. Everything considered, this is unlikely to be a battle of legend, with shining armour and gracefully dispatched foes; it's probably going to be ugly and dirty and bloody. Statblocks as usual, please. Since many of you have abilities, powers, items etc. that can go off when it's not your turn, please also specify these in your statblocks, along with the conditions under which you'd like to use them. Again, whenever you do something that involves numbers, please include all relevant figures, outside your statblocks. I'll do my best to keep track of things, but since combat at paragon tier can get fairly complicated at times, we'll all benefit from keeping things as clear as possible.  Dark brown squares are extraordinarily muddy and considered difficult terrain, though with a successful DC 20 Acrobatics check, they cost only one square of movement to enter. Failing the check means you fall prone in the square you were trying to enter the difficult terrain from. Light brown and grey squares contain the aforementioned trees and rocks, respectively, and grant cover. code:
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Sep 24, 2008 19:28
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The eladrin weaves through the rain swiftly and gracefully, looking for the ideal vantage point from which to launch her attack. Picking one of the quicklings as her target, Landra then charges forward, weapon raised high, every bit as relentless and terrible as her epithet might suggest. As a result, the diminuitive fey creature is caught completely off guard, the swordswoman landing a devastating blow that almost severs one of its arms. The quickling staggers back, its large, black eyes fixed on its attacker in surprise and wrath, and subjects the eladrin to a torrent of words that is over as quickly as it began, what with it chattering angrily at mindboggling speeds. Landra manages to identify the language as Elven, or some fey dialect thereof, but cannot make out what exactly the quickling is saying; it simply talks too fast for her to parse its words without some effort. Glaring at her one last time, the small fey humanoid darts past her, taking care not to venture anywhere near her cruel blade again. From the corner of her eye, Landra notices its companion doing much the same, also heading southwards towards the others. At some point, their movement simply becomes too fast to keep up with, both for Landra's eyes and those of her comrades-in-arms; the quicklings quite literally vanish into thin air, leaving no trace of their passing. Landra claims first blood and crits on the hapless quickling, dealing 46 damage and bloodying it with one fell blow. The quicklings use Blinding Speed and turn invisible. Everybody is up.  code:
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Sep 24, 2008 21:32
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The former cleric of Tiamat slogs through the mud, his eyes on the huge form of the owlbear. From his hand springs some dark divine curse that envelopes the beast's head in terrible radiance, and for a moment, it almost looks like it's going to take effect; with an exasperated screech, however, the owlbear swats at its head, and somehow the supernatural brightness evaporates harmlessly, leaving the owlbear no worse for wear. It has less luck swatting aside Roland's arrow, though; none at all, in fact. Stealthily crouching behind a boulder, the archer lets loose a projectile that catches the owlbear entirely unawares, driving deep into its flank. Again the monster screeches, in pain this time; the arrow must have struck a nerve centre or some other important part of the owlbear's anatomy, as the beast suddenly seems a good deal less lively. Taldrel moves into position, choosing, perhaps wisely, not to wander too close to the hulking beasts. Annetta bestows her curse upon them, which bothers the creatures little; the wall of raging lightning which Coreladdabar then proceeds to conjure up, however, most definitely does. It strikes the owlbear particularly hard, though the other bears find merely being in its vicinity to be painful enough. Petra's attempt at resolving the situation diplomatically goes entirely unheeded, meanwhile. It is doubtful the bears understand him at all in the first place, and the quicklings either aren't in a debating mood or simply don't choose to give away their locations by responding to the paladin; most likely, the fact that his companions have been showering the beasts with arrow and spell isn't helping either. As such, the paladin instead strides forward and hurls a mind-wrecking spell of his own at the owlbear, which appears to work marvelously: the beast recoils in pain and stares in Petra's direction – or, rather, the direction it last saw the armoured half-elf in, because he is now inexplicably gone from its sight. While the monster's brain attempts to make sense of this, the dire bears at last burst into action, no doubt spurned on by the electrical proximity of Coreladdabar's arcane enclosure. One of them rears up and almost lands a crushing blow on Landra; Taldrel, however, somehow anticipates the bear's attack and shouts a warning at the eladrin, who neatly manages to duck under the claw swipe and move out of the creature's reach for the time being. It swiftly moves after her and attempts to smash the offending swordswoman again, but this time, its blows go wide. Petra has less luck, finding the other bear taking some interest in him, and suffers two mighty claw strikes that hurt a good deal even through his armour. The offending paladin gone from its sight, the owlbear finally begins to move, shouldering its way through the wall of lightning with a number of pained, angry screeches. Seeing the feyborn that almost slew one of its quickling companions and eluded the attacks of the dire bear, it bears down on her with furious swings. Its efforts are in vain, though: between Roland's arrow still doing its job, Landra mustering some renowed resolve of her own, and Petra's divine abilities, the eladrin actually emerges from the owlbear's torrent of attacks entirely unscathed, while the beast is blasted with holy light for ignoring the paladin's challenge. Landra does, however, feel her limbs responding more slowly, while at the same time the owlbear appears to get over the hindering effects of Roland's arrow. Alagand misses. Roland lands his Excruciating Shot on the owlbear for 35 damage, weakening it. Annetta curses WO and DB#1, dealing 2 damage to each. Coreladdabar hits with Storm Cage for 27 damage. Petra hits with Eyebite for 11 damage. The owlbear delays until after the dire bears, but takes 10 damage from Storm Cage. Bear number one also takes 10 damage from Storm Cage; it then attacks Landra and would hit if it weren't for Taldrel's Tactical Shift interrupt, which lets Landra avoid a critical hit and shift towards the rest of the party. It moves after her and attacks some more, but misses. The second dire bear takes 10 damage as well before moving towards Petra and mauling him for 26 damage. The owlbear moves closer to Landra, taking another 10 damage in the process, and hits her twice, but between her Unbreakable power and Petra's Hospitaler's Blessing ability, she doesn't actually take any damage. She is slowed until she saves, at least. The owlbear saves against being weakened. Dallan: you weren't around when this went down, and in the interest of not holding the game up I decided you would take Taldrel's interrupt and move away from your secluded position. The joys of PbP in 4E.  The coloured corners on the monster tokens indicate curse/quarry, while coloured outlines represent marks being in place. code:MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 17:59 on Sep 26, 2008 |
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Sep 26, 2008 17:38
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Despite her legs feeling like they're made of lead, Landra closes in on the owlbear and swings her scimitar in a graceful arc. The beast moves its leg just in time, however, and the blade only causes a shallow cut. At least the attack seems to have a reinvigorating effect on her, though, as she feels much more mobile again. Her warning to the wizard, on the other hand, while perfectly sensible, comes too late. Literally out of nowhere, a small grey shape slams into Coreladdabar, its blade scoring a nasty gash in his side; an injury like this can only be inflicted with cunning and maliciousness, and the sheer agony dazes the half-elf. It is the fey so grievously wounded by Landra earlier that caused it; pure hatred gleams in its dark eyes as it cackles evilly. A little further to the north, Petra doesn't fare much better: the other quickling's sword-like weapon, appearing out of thin air, finds a gap in his armour and stabs into the flesh, the rush of pain exploding in his head almost knocking the paladin senseless. Alagand moved forward to engage the wintry beast. Today apparently is not his day, however, as each of his attacks fails to affect the creature in any significant way, even taking into the account the legendary accuracy of elves. The wrathful flame of his second swing scorches the owlbear a little, but does not leave any lasting marks. Landra misses the owlbear, but deals 5 damage thanks to Scimitar Dance. She makes her save against being slowed. One quickling charges Coreladdabar, hitting him for 19 damage and dazing him (save ends). The other quickling attacks Petra and hits as well, dealing 20 damage and dazing him (save ends). He's (barely) bloodied. Alagand misses the owlbear with amazing consistency, dealing only 9 damage when Hellfire Vengeance whiffs (even after the reroll).  code:
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Sep 26, 2008 19:50
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OK. Petra heals surge + 8 + 5, which I think comes out to 35 hitpoints altogether. Simply pretend he's not in fact bloodied on the map above.
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Sep 26, 2008 21:30
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From behind the boulder, Roland sends two more arrows into the fray. They both fly true, hurting the owlbear in particular, which by now looks to be in dire straits, blood abundantly dripping from its beak. Not to be shown up by a full-blood, though, Taldrel unleashes a tactical manoeuver on the beast that overwhelms its puny mind and slow reflexes, dealing comparatively little damage but sending the creature stumbling back into Coreladdabar's lightning wall; guided along by a wave of the Niemund captain's hand, Landra proceeds forward as well. Annetta, finally, teaches the fey creature a thing or two about true fey power, actually ripping it from this world for the fraction of a second. When it reappears in a slightly different spot, it not only feels the shocking embrace of the wizard's stormy spell again, but it is so confused that it lashes out at one of its fellow bears. The attack is hasty and goes wide of its intended target, though. With the group having landed three successful strikes in a row, however, their luck was bound to run out at some point, and it is Coreladdabar who finds his powers failing him when he would need them most. Faced with a diminuitive, yet surprisingly vicious opponent, he conjures up a pulsing spray of dazzling colours that, in theory, ought to do to the quickling what its cruel blade did to the half-elf. The fey's mind is strong, however, and not so easily dazed by the wizard's display of pretty colours. It still eyes him with a leering grin, seemingly not bothered by the fact that its left shoulder is cut to the bone, while Coreladdabar continues to feel the effects of its blade. Meanwhile, his highly effective lightning cage fades out of existence. Roland was able to hide from the dire bear, but not the owlbear, on account of not having superior cover against the latter; since the former, however, in turn had cover from him, combat advantage was negated. He hits them anyway, for respectively 19 and 29 damage. Taldrel hits too for 12 damage, sliding the owlbear two squares back, indirectly causing another 10 lightning damage, and letting Landra shift one square closer to it. Annetta hits the owlbear too, for 31 damage, and teleports it a short distance, piling on another 10 lightning damage. Its attack against the dire bear misses, however. Coreladdabar also fails to hit the quickling and continues to be dazed, not making his saving throw. The Storm Cage effect ends.  code:
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Sep 27, 2008 04:38
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The quickling openly grins at Petra as he makes his second offer. It's not grinning any longer, however, after the paladin leaves a scorched wound across the fey's chest, courtesy of his flaming blade; instead, it hisses something at Petra in its obscure Elven dialect. As the creature draws out the last few words in an angry snarl, the half-elf is reasonably certain he actually understood what was said; something roughly along the lines of "he is mightier than you" is what he guesses it said. Immediately afterwards, the quickling establishes eye contact with the three bears and shouts a few brief words. No one present has heard them before, but the animals respond with roars and screeches, and move to attack with renewed vigour. One of the bears brings its massive bulk up the paladin and swings its claws at him; having to mind both the bear in front and the quickling at his back, one of the swings connects, soundly rattling his head. The other ursine moves in and chooses Taldrel as the subject of its primitive ire, perhaps sensing the protective blessing bestowed on Landra by Petra, but to no avail; the warlord dodges both its attacks nimbly. Thus occupied, he is caught by surprise as the owlbear suddenly rears up, an imposing sight to say the least, and lays into him with its cruel claws. Having expected the owlbear to attack, Roland unleashes an arrow to disrupt its swings, but the projectile zips past the beast's head with no effect. One blow thus connects solidly, almost ripping one of Taldrel's arms from its socket and leaving a series of deep wounds running all the way from the shoulder down to the wrist. However, the enchantment on the captain's shield activates almost immediately and restores much of his health again, leaving only a number of fading cuts on his arm. Though barely injured, the half-elven warlord feels an unnatural cold clinging to his body now, however, impeding his movements. Petra hits the quickling for 24 damage, granting Landra +2 AC until the end of his next turn. As he did not engage the marked owlbear, however, his Divine Challenge is cancelled, and he can't use it on his next turn. He does make his save and is no longer dazed. Dire bear #1 moves into a flanking position and attacks Petra, hitting once for 14 damage. Bear number two moves closer and attacks Taldrel, but misses. The owlbear attacks Taldrel as well and scores a critical hit for 23 damage, with Roland's Disruptive Strike failing to hit its mark. This sets off the immediate reaction on his Shield of Defiance and lets him spend a healing surge (let me know if you don't want to use this for some reason). Regardless, Taldrel is slowed (save ends).  code:
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Sep 27, 2008 17:28
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Landra slips into the fray. The large bear she has to move past to get there takes a swipe at her as she goes, but fails to catch the nimble fighter. Her taunt, on the other hand, has visible results, as another three of her opponents now crowd around her, eager to crush the insolent eladrin. Before they can do anything about her, however, she turns into a whirlwind of scimitar strikes that leaves none of her enemies unscathed; only one of the dire bears emerges from her series of attacks with relatively minor injuries, bleeding from two smaller cuts on its forelegs. The owlbear and the quickling, however, are in fairly bad shape now, the latter not looking much better than its companion, whom Landra landed a devastating blow on earlier in the fight. Briefly passing through the curtain by means that, somehow, still remain available to her, the swordswoman then deftly vanishes, reappearing on the other side of the bleeding quickling. Gracefully assuming a defensive stance again as her blade comes to a rest, she focuses on the bear who dared elude her scimitar so, daring it to strike someone besides her. Meanwhile, further to the south, the second quickling watches the situation slowly but surely deteriorate. It gives the still dazed Coreladdabar a look, perhaps considering whether to finish him off; then, giving a barely coherent snarl, it charges away towards the main mêlée, hoping to catch the eladrin off her guard. It fails to do so, albeit only barely; her reflexes still keen after that clash of arms, Landra brings up her shield just in time to deflect the quickling's blade. Doing so leaves her wide open to the attack of its companion, though, whose weapon finds its mark, rending her side and creating a deep, painful cut that puts an end to her sense of euphoria rather abruptly. Seeing its handiwork, the creature cackles cruelly and darts away northwards, barely leaving a trace of its passing in the muddy grass before vanishing entirely. Taldrel stabs at it, but the quickling moves too, well, quickly for him. Alagand, seeing the owlbear's defences drop for a moment, steps a little closer to the beast and scorches it with flames of ill portent. Not only does this further hurt the enraged creature, but it brings strange clarity to Coreladdabar's mind, who finally feels the pain from the knife cut subside. In turn, Roland seizes the opportunity created by his elven companion's attack and takes a shot of his own at the owlbear, which catches the beast right in the throat, ripping out its windpipe The monster remains standing for a few more moments; then, its last breath escaping through the gaping hole in its throat, it crashes to the ground, sending mud splattering everywhere. DB#2 gets an OA on Landra, but misses. Then, between her two attack powers, she deals 16 damage to DB#1, 10 damage to DB#2, 18 damage to QZ#2 and 32 damage to WO before Fey Stepping out. QZ#1 moves up to stab her and misses; QZ#2 has more luck, dealing 23 damage and dazing Landra (save ends). It then uses Blinding Speed, dodging Taldrel's OA, and turns invisible. Alagand hits the owlbear for 11 damage and grants Coreladdabar a saving throw, which he succeeds on. Roland chips in with Combined Fire for 32 damage, dropping the owlbear.  code:MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 22:18 on Sep 27, 2008 |
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Sep 27, 2008 21:53
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His first quarry put down, Roland sets his sights on the nearby dire bear, nocking and unleashing another arrow. It strikes true, piercing the beast's flank and bringing forth a roar of anguish. Meanwhile, the ever tactically-minded Taldrel advances towards the creature and spears it in the nose. Thus encouraged, his eladrin companion follows up with a scimitar stroke that cuts through the bear's thick fur and hide, blood mixing with rain as it pours down into the tattered grass. Perhaps as a result of the owlbear's death, the warlord feels the chill of winter leave his body. Roland hits DB#1 for 24 damage. Taldrel moves and hits DB#1 for 10 damage, allowing Landra to make a melee basic attack against it, which connects and deals 14 damage. Taldrel saves against being slowed.  code:
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Sep 27, 2008 23:17
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Annetta focuses her fey powers, blasting the second dire bear – the one that has yet to get a taste of her abilities – with a creeping malediction. She then attempts to mire the mind of the other, but fails to get as much as a grasp on the beast's tiny thoughts. It slips beyond the searching streams of fey energy easily; her rod makes a lame fizzling sound, and that is unfortunately the extent of her achievements for now. Coreladdabar, free of the quickling's harassment at last, calls on the arcane storm invisibly surrounding him, pulling forth a blast of icy cold that explodes around the bears with glacial tenacity; the ground beneath them rapidly freezes over, softly mirroring the bears and the evening sky. Tiny stalagmites of ice begin forming as rain drops hit the ice and freeze immediately. One of the brutes manages to weather the worst of the icy storm, the biting cold not penetrating far past its furry hide, though appearing to slow it a little all the same. Its companion gets to feel the full wrath of the blast, however; countless little ice crystals form all over its massive body, not hurting it so much as severely impeding its movement. After neatly stepping to the side, Petra calls on the powers bestowed on him by Melora to dazzle into submission his enemies. It works on the nearby bear, which actually recoils from the paladin initially, giving a startled roar. Then, tongue hanging out, it stares at the hospitaler, an empty look to its eyes, before it shakes its massive head and recovers somewhat. The quickling is not so easily impressed by the half-elf's fancy display, on the other hand. It simply cackles, as if it knew something Petra doesn't. Then, the dire bears burst into action again, the one next to the paladin laying into Landra with a growl of rage. In its dazed state, however, both of its swipes go wide. Its companion, after carefully treading closer across the icy ground, likewise attempts to maul the swordswoman, and succeeds in drawing blood: one of its swings smashes into the eladrin's shield, but the other one makes it past her defences, knocking her head to the other side and leaving some quite unbecoming cuts across her face. As if encouraged by this hit, both beasts seem to shake off the effects of Coreladdabar's spell, looking a good deal heartier again. Annetta misses, with a natural 1 no less. Corel's Ice Storm misses DB#2, dealing 5 damage and slowing it while hitting DB#1 for 11 damage and immobilizing it. Petra crits on DB#1 for 11 damage, dazing it until the end of his next turn, and misses the quickling. DB#2 hits Landra for 17 damage. Both bears promptly save against their immobilized/slowed conditions.  code:
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Sep 28, 2008 04:40
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Turning her attention to her quickling nemesis, Landra delivers a stroke that, while not a perfect hit, nevertheless is nothing short of beautiful in its accuracy, giving the small fey another not-so-subtle nudge towards death's door as well as purging the last remnants of knife-induced agony from the swordswoman's mind. The gravely injured quickling glares at her with unabashed loathing, but reconsiders its position anyway and, deciding that this would be a good time to slink away, attempts to do just that. Unfortunately, the eladrin saw that decision coming and puts the keen edge of her scimitar in the fey's way. As a result, its shoulders and head are sliced almost completely away from the rest of its body when it literally runs into the sword; a surprised look frozen in the quickling's large eyes, its now lifeless body drips dark blood as it silently hits the mud and grass. Meanwhile, the other quickling remains nowhere to be seen. Has it left the other fey to fend for themselves, perhaps? Landra hits the quickling for 28 damage and saves against being dazed. It attempts to move away, but Landra's OA hits for 10 damage and kills it. Wherever did the other quickling go?   code:
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Sep 28, 2008 18:50
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Deciding that one dazed dire bear isn't enough, Alagand hews at the second ursine with his glaive. It slips on the icy ground as it tries to evade the heavy blade, though, and what might have been a glancing hit now misses entirely. The cleric is more accurate with his healing powers fortunately, and Landra feels divine energy knitting almost all her wounds shut again. At Taldrel's urging, she drives her scimitar into the bear's chest, harshly reminding it of her presence. The beast rears up, giving a terrifying roar the likes of which only a wounded bear can give utterance to. Were it sentient, it might now regret doing this, however, as one of Roland's arrows easily buries itself in the creature's now exposed underbelly, enraging the creature further. In fact, it would be fair to say that the bear has had downright enough now; it suddenly moves with blinding speed, furiously lashing out at everyone near it. All Landra is hit by is a cool breeze of evening air as the beast's claw misses her by a considerable margin, but Taldrel and Petra are hammered hard by its blows. The latter in particular really feels the sting, and is fairly certain there would've been a broken rib or two if not for his cloak's protective enchantment. Alagand misses with Wrathful Thunder, but uses his remaining Healing Word on Landra to let her spend a surge and regain an additional 12+5 hitpoints. Commander's Strike hits, and Landra deals 19 points of damage, as well as marking the bear. Roland hits once with Twin Strike to the tune of 14 points, bloodying the bear. This in turn triggers its Dire Rage; Taldrel is hit for 21 damage by the resulting close burst, and Petra finds himself on the receiving end of a critical hit, which only does 16 damage after his damage resistance. The bear gets a natural 1 on its roll against Landra. I initially failed to take Petra's damage resistance into account, so please note that he is not bloodied after all. Currently anyway.  code:MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 21:00 on Sep 28, 2008 |
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Sep 28, 2008 20:18
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foxxbot has it in for you, apparently. Also, using Tiamat's Vengeance won't do anything in this case; the bear is dazed until the end of Petra's next turn anyway thanks to Divine Reverence, and part of being dazed is granting combat advantage.
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Sep 28, 2008 21:31
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Perhaps that distant fey entity, unfathomable, unknowable, even, by mortal minds, does not approve of Annetta using her powers against beings from its own realm; otherwise, it is hard to explain why, for the second time in a row, the warlock's eldritch magic fails her so absolutely. Dreadful flames emerge from her rod and streak towards the dire bear, but like someone who watches an accident slowly unfold and cannot do anything about it, she somehow senses immediately that this attack will go astray. Her hopes are lifted for an instant as the mystic fire reaches the beast, eliciting a surprised snarl, and dances erratically about its bulk; but then it fades and is gone, as smoke is swiftly dispersed by a gust of wind. Coreladdabar, meanwhile, fares no better. His spell was meant to effect confusion in the hulking bears, but the only one bewildered in the end is the wizard himself, his release of arcane energies entirely without results. Petra, correctly figuring that the dire bear next to him still is out of it sufficiently so as not to lash out at him, deftly moves away and up to the other fey beast, whom he presents with his flaming blade, issuing a challenge of a profoundly divine nature before lunging at the bear with his sword. It strikes true, sinking up to its hilt into its chest. The paladin must have missed the heart, what with the beast continuing to draw breath and generally looking quite alive, but it is a grievous blow regardless, visibly draining away some of its vigour. Vigour is something that's anything but in short supply with the two beasts, however, as they proceed to show the party of adventurers just why angering bears, let alone dire bears, is widely and rightfully considered a bad idea. The wounded bear whom Landra is menacing lets out a fierce roar that is thunderous in volume – someone overlooking the valley from one of the nearby hills might actually mistake it for distant thunder mixed with the crash of lightning. It is an omen of things to come: for the eladrin, who has thus far not had a great deal to worry about from the bears, the next few seconds consist of nothing but the successive impacts of two huge iron rams that smash more than one bone in her body to bits while white light explodes before her eyes. Dizzied from this powerful barrage, she vaguely feels something big and warm envelop her; this 'something' turns out to be the bear's mighty forelegs as it gives the swordswoman a quite literal bear hug. There is immense power in these limbs, she realises for the first time, perhaps, and she knows the bear will do its best to crush her to death unless she can escape somehow. Petra does not fare much better. Enraged by his challenge, or more likely by his vicious sword attack, the dire bear hits him. Twice. Hard. One swing hits the side of his chest with the strength of no less than three dwarven maul-fighters, knocking the air out of the paladin and conveniently smashing aside his shield; the other forepaw, by the feel of it made of pure lead, connects a little higher, tearing dangerously at Petra's neck and all but dislocating his jaw. Still, despite all this, the half-elf keeps enough of his wits about him to dodge the bear's attempt of taking him up in a hug as well. Given the shape he's now in, it's not much of a comfort, but sometimes you have to take what you can get. Annetta just barely misses. Apparently this is not a good game for your character's name to begin with the letter A if you want to hit anything. Corel follows this up by rolling a 3 and 1 respectively, missing both bears. Maybe the 'letter A syndrom' also extends to arcane powers? However, Petra crits with Enfeebling Smite for 19 damage, bestowing a -2 attack roll penalty on the bear. The bears then proceed to bounce back from all of this with a vengeance and dish out some punishment of their own! DB#1 lands both of its blows against Landra, dealing 38 damage altogether. It also succeeds on its secondary attack, meaning Landra is now grabbed. DB#2 returns the favour to Petra, scoring a crit and a regular hit that add up to 37 points of damage. Petra escapes being grabbed, however, though he is now bloodied.  code:MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 20:27 on Sep 29, 2008 |
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Sep 29, 2008 04:20
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Against her hulking enemy, Landra finds that exploiting her natural nimbleness works significantly better than trying to actually break the beast's embrace would, and so she deftly slips out of the bear's grasp, dodging aside and severing several sinews in one of its hindlegs with a swift scimitar stroke, sending it crashing to the ground with a surprised roar. In the middle of this mêlée, a small grey form suddenly appears, nobody taking notice of it until it is too late. The quickling's blade buries itself in Petra's spine; at first, the paladin can't feel his legs anymore, but an instant later, the pain overwhelms him, casting his thoughts into darkness as he crumbles down. His attacker meanwhile turns to the other adventurers, blood still dripping from its knife. It is grinning openly, looking entirely unafraid of what is sure to come now. Landra successfully escapes the grab and hits with Spinning Sweep for 14 damage, knocking the bear prone. The quickling makes a reappearance and stabs Petra for 19 damage, dropping him to -7 and causing his mark to expire.  code:MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 22:32 on Sep 29, 2008 |
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Sep 29, 2008 21:16
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Whispering some soothing, sacred words, the tattooed elf channels healing energies into the motionless body of the paladin. His voice swiftly takes on a wicked tone, however, as Alagand then utters phrases of command directed at the quickling. Struggle as it might, the fey creature is helpless to resist the cleric's dominant urging and is lured closer into the fray, where it stands bewildered, as if unaware of how it got there in the first place. Roland's arrows both find their mark as well, hastening the bear's demise along a little more. Taldrel attempts a distracting attack against the gravely injured bear, hoping to create an opening in its defences for Landra to exploit. The ursine swats his spear aside with a growl, however, and Landra finds no way to land a strike of her own. Annetta meanwhile turns her attention to the quickling, even drawing on her own life essence to channel the same energies that already failed her but a few moments ago. In a cruel twist of fate, they do so again, the flames half-heartedly swirling about the fey a little before vanishing. Fickle are the fey, and doubtlessly amused by the occasional failure of those who serve them; her would-be target, despite the grim position it is in, cackles at this dubious display of arcane 'mastery' and spouts forth a blur of words in Elven, something that could be vaguely rendered as "prapsellSHOyasomminboudatsoon". Gibberish, maybe. Then again, maybe not. Coreladdabar decides that the thick sheet of ice still glimmering beneath the two bears isn't enough of a hindrance and conjures up a giant, magical spider web of sorts. One of the bears gets hopelessly tangled up in it, while the other just sniffs at it with bored curiosity before turning its attention to other matters again. Finding himself greatly reinvigorated both by Alagand's healing magic and Taldrel's curt encouragement, Petra gets on his feet again, a little unsteady still, perhaps, but very much alive. He surveys the situation for a moment, then turns away from the entangled bear and focuses his divine ire on the quickling instead, striking the fey a blow that staggers the creature, almost causing it to drop its knife in the process. Still, it hangs on to life, snarling under its breath. The two bears appear to be getting the hang of things, soundly thrashing the party's defenders once more. Petra may come to regret turning his back on the hulking animal as its claws batter his back, rending the armour and just barely failing to rip his spine apart. Wrapping its powerful limbs around the paladin, the bear then takes him up in a hug of dubious purpose; at least now Petra can guess how the bear feels about being tangled up in the magical web. Landra similarly feels the other bear's wrath and finds herself barely hanging on to consciousness after its heavy paws have smashed into her body. While she could swear she only finished wriggling out of the ursine's powerful embrace, she finds herself in the same situation all over again. It is little comfort that in the process of attacking her, the second bear has gotten caught up in Corel's web just as badly as its companion. Alagand restores Petra to 27 hitpoints and successfully hits'n'slides the quickling, dazing it as well. Roland hits DB#2 twice for 18 and 13 damage. Taldrel fails to hit, but heals Petra for another 35 hitpoints. Annetta misses some more. Corel hits DB#2 with Web, immobilizing it. Bear number one gets up, hits Landra for 35 damage, bloodying her, and grabs her. His companion hits Petra for 26 damage, also bloodying him, and grabs him as well. Both bears end their turns immobilized.  code:MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 17:13 on Sep 30, 2008 |
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Sep 30, 2008 04:47
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Perhaps having learnt from its previous failure to contain the swordswoman, the dire bear's grip is altogether merciless this time; Landra tries hard to slip out of its grasp, but to no avail. Busy as it is holding on to the eladrin, it can't dodge her blade very well, however, and it pierces one of the beast's natural armour plates, drawing copious amounts of blood. Landra feels revitalised by her successful strike. Finding itself surrounded by grim-looking foes, the quickling decides on a tactical retreat. With a ridiculous speed for such a heavily injured and dazed creature, it eludes the blades of its opponents as it scampers beneath the bear crushing Landra and out of sight, though it does accidentally catch on the edge of the eladrin's scimitar as it dashes away. Landra fails to escape from the dire bear's grab. She does land her Comeback Strike for 20 damage though, enabling her to spend a healing surge. The quickling gets out of dodge and goes invisible; Landra, Petra and Taldrel each get an OA against it as it moves out of an adjacent square, but all three attacks miss, with Landra at least dealing 5 damage thanks to Scimitar Dance.  code:
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Sep 30, 2008 18:17
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Even with a glaive, a raging bear isn't necessarily an easy target. This holds doubly true if said bear has its arms wrapped around one of the attacker's companions, whom he is trying to avoid hitting. Alagand finds out about this firsthand when his glaive's blade strikes metal instead of hide, failing to penetrate Petra's scale armour with an audible clang. The paladin isn't hurt by the attack, but then again, neither is the bear. Balancing lightly atop his boulder, Roland has a fairly good vantage point for sending arrows into the mêlée. This time, one of them goes astray, thudding uselessly into the muddy ground far away from its target; the other projectile hits squarely though, piercing the hide of the wounded bear with ease and sending a shudder through the monster. Alagand misses. Roland hits once for 21 damage. The map didn't actually change. code:
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Oct 1, 2008 00:45
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To end their struggle with the wounded bear is Taldrel's goal, and the half-elf achieves just that, neatly putting the tip of his spear through its eye. The creature freezes as the weapon penetrates deep into its skull; then, letting out a low, drawn-out growl, it collapses, Landra just barely avoiding being buried beneath its now lifeless bulk. The death of the bear brings about a surge of fey energies within the nearby warlock, and she vanishes, reappearing a short distance to the west. Again she sacrifices some of her own strength to wield her bewitching fire, and flings it at the remaining dire bear. While the third time sometimes is the charm, in this case it isn't; different bear, same result – the beast shakes off the mystical flames, no worse for wear. Coreladdabar, meanwhile, has only marginally more luck. His illusion fails to take hold in the monster's tiny mind, and causes no mental damage as the beast's notion of reality remains intact; it merely seems reluctant to leave its current spot, perhaps as an aftereffect of the vague image he attempted to create. As the eladrin did a few moments before, Petra pits his dexterity against the bear's reflexes, and emerges from their contest victorious. Taking a few steps back, he flashes his burning longsword at the creature and lands an awesome blow that leaves a long, scorched cut running across the beast's nose and past one of its eyes. So righteous is this blow that its divine might soothes some of Landra and Petra's wounds. Infuriated by both the paladin's attack and the death of its companion, however, the bear then strikes back equally mercilessly, almost knocking Petra senseless again. Its attempts to take him up in another hug go astray, at least. Taldrel hits, reducing DB#1 to exactly 0 HP. (Incidentally, since the description of the Helm of Heroes specifies that you "[use] this power when you grant an ally a basic attack", you couldn't use it in this case, since Lead the Attack doesn't grant anyone a basic attack. It could be used with Surprise Attack, for instance.) Annetta's pact boon goes off, teleporting her to Q17. With only one bear left I've assumed she'll be targetting the other one with Witchfire instead, but misses. Coreladdabar misses as well, but at least immobilizes the bear until the end of his next turn. Petra escapes the grab, challenges the bear and promptly crits for 33 damage, restoring 7 hitpoints each to Landra and himself. The bear then hits him twice for 30 damage, but fails grab to him.  code:
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Oct 1, 2008 21:20
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Finally free of the ursine's embrace, the eladrin swordfighter moves past those of her companions already locked in battle with the remaining bear before laying into its flank with a wicked scimitar stroke. The strike cuts deep and deeper still, hot blood spilling over Landra's hand, and for a moment she actually fears the weapon might slip out of her hand and disappear into the beast's guts entirely. With a spray of gore, the blade is ripped out again. It has drunk deeply, having scored a vicious blow indeed; a large wound in the bear's side both expelling a continous flow of blood and hindering its movements now. With everyone amazed and, perhaps, a little disturbed by this grisly display of carnage, the quickling, appearing out of nowhere once more, easily manages to slip its knife beyond Petra's defences and into his vitals. His eyes rolling back in his head, the paladin collapses. Again. Grinning cruelly, the quickling stops and licks his blood off its blade. Landra crits on the bear for 53 (!) damage. Until it saves, it is subjected to ongoing 5 damage and a -2 penalty to AC as well. Everyone's favourite quickling drops by to hit Petra for 22 damage, dropping him to -9 and ending his mark.  code:MMAgCh fucked around with this message at 22:04 on Oct 1, 2008 |
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Oct 1, 2008 22:02
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