Ongoing Games (In-Character)Play-by-post games are going on in this forum as we speak (well, read). All threads on this board are actual games, so please, only post on a thread if you are a player of that game.
As they traveled, Amos looked around him, paying careful attention to his companions, as well as to himself. The road would be long, and tiring, but the bard knew a song that would surely help his fellows remain on their feet longer than normal. Whenever it becomes apparent that he, or any other members of the party seems to be tiring, Amos moved closer to the members in question, and began to sing in low, somber tones. The Epic of the Lost King was long, and best sung in the tongue of Dwarves, and Amos only sang a verse at a time; just enough for the power of the song to re-invigorate the travelers, and get them moving again.
Spoiler
Okay, I have no clue what exactly these Con checks are for, but I'm wagering they're to check against fatigue/exhaustion, which Amos has the remedy for, albeit only temporarily (temporarily as defined by how much bardic music I have per day). Whenever necessary, Amos will expend uses of bardic music (I believe he still has twelve remaining for the day) to utilize his Epic of the Lost King feat, described here:
Spoiler
In a nutshell, as a move action I can expend a use of bardic music and remove fatigue from up to three allies (including myself) within 30 feet. If I expend three uses of bardic music to use the feat, I remove exhaustion instead.
Okay, now for dice checks!
Listen: (1d20+13)[29]
Con 1: (1d20+1)[7]
Con 2: (1d20+1)[6]
Con 3: (1d20+1)[19]
Con 4: (1d20+1)[15]
Will: (1d20+13)[16]
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
Absalom had tried his best to cheer up his companions during the trip, but it was awkward. He prefered to let the bard motivate the troops.
Meanwhile, the Stormcaller prayed silently. He didn't like this at all. He felt as the shadows themselves were stalking the group. Why so frightened? The warmage had encountered much greater foes than zombies before. Still...the idea of fighting old friends and acquaintances in the capital, twisted by dark rituals, seemed more terrifying than facing an army of orcs.
Spoiler
Listen (1d20-1)[15]
Con (1d20+2)[17]
Con (1d20+2)[13]
Con (1d20+2)[18]
Con (1d20+2)[9]
Will (1d20+9)[11]
Wow, all our will rolls suck.
__________________
Your Friendly Neighborhood Evil Overlord
Last edited by Kaiser Omnik : 08-29-2008 at 12:37 PM.
Sigh, Melody
Something all at once the warmth of each man’s mother and more hideous than a maggot-filled mound of dead bodies.
Amos’s music burns away nightfall’s unseen dooms, his voice, lonely or not is strong and vigorous enough to soothe even departed spirits. It’s hard to resist the sweet courage that swells in your hearts. It was even harder forget the noise would draw all the countryside. To keep walking and resist the urge to call Amos an idiot, you remembered to pat him on the back once it a while with words of gratitude on your lips. Your march would’ve been shorter without his songs. Matthias’s advice was still fresh in your mind, ‘the dead are tireless, march faster than them’.
Home, Swear your Feet are
Music, a hearth with cozy chairs to sit in, really it’s kind of like marching down a road. The bodies arranged in neat rows like flower petals under your feet; you had ample opportunities to see blisters and too long toenails. The best part about an inn was a reminder, you were done walking today. Sorely abused feet were for now without their burden.
Sung beyond his own wind, Amos found the pinwheels calming on his nerves. Quietly studying it, the Bard begins to hear the sound of rattling music. This kind of place could put him to sleep. The Green Man glances between the tree and his boss. Radley might look like he wanted to keep going but the idea of the plump man having a heart attack wouldn’t be good for business. He’s fast to agree with the Bard. When even Absalom and Matthias decide they’ve had enough, were Harin and Adun ready to rest?
Lost in the ambience, a boy’s voice was the last thing you’d have expected to hear. All the King’s wisdom said he should have died with the others, or he would soon be dead. He’s just out of sight praying on the other side of the tree. “His clarity was wisdom, his sanguine rose thornless. He spoke, Heavens wept. Listen or leave unheard, his eyes always watchful, he made his choice; light in the Darkness. Patience, Pelor would say. Sit with me, my child. Behold my great plan.”
A blood stained journal with blue covers drops to the ground with a thump, the covers were open and some of the pages fluttered until the book was open to a wax drawing about an adventurer. If there was a boy kept safe here, it might be a good place to make camp.
“Believe you understand something, you are living madness. Before existence thought about future; timeless became time. Extant abomination, you knew all things grown. You wonderful thing, patience was not enduring time without complaint. At once See all things, breathe and look. Never become ashes. Live beyond memory.”
Absalom
Spoiler
The golden crown of a king suits your brown more than you might have thought. It was ostentatious and self-important to some, the pure gold of your righteous heart walks on with only (1d6)[3] nonlethal damage.
Amos
Spoiler
Good try, they’re actually just for that. You won’t escape the wrath of effort. Straining your vocal chords beyond the limits of your own sanity, you feel the burning pleasure of (3d6)[12] nonlethal damage. After looking at the Crystalkeep index the epic of the lost King does what you say. You’ve expended 5 uses of your Bardic Music ability.
Adun
Spoiler
For all your mettle, (1d6)[4] nonlethal damage contests your efforts to march on like some kind of earthly avenger.
Radley
Spoiler
The woe of (2d6)[11] nonlethal damage as your constant companion.
Green Man
Spoiler
(3d6)[11] nonlethal damage ravages your body, but true to your roots you wear the pain with a frightening smile.
Matthias
Spoiler
Keeping up with wolves was hard enough work. Whatever this was, the pain was nothing compared to that for twenty four hours. It was only (1d6)[6] nonlethal damage.
Harin
Spoiler
Walking instead of flying, lucky for them, you knew from experience your body wasn’t meant for this sort of thing. It was hard work staying in the air with wings like these. (3d6)[8] nonlethal damage makes your whole body ache with the strain.
Last edited by Faithdreamer : 08-30-2008 at 08:19 AM.
Amos approached slowly, but paused when he heard the child's words. Quietly, the bard bent, picking up the bloodied journal, closing it carefully as he inspected the cover. As he gazed upon the cover of the book, the bard wracked his brain, trying to see if perhaps anything that the boy was saying echoed back at him from the depths of the tales and songs of the lands Amos had traveled.
Spoiler
Ouch, next feat on my wish list: Chant of the Long March. Alright, Bardic Knowledge check on what the boy's saying, as described, and we'll take a look at the book's *cover* (always judge the book by the cover. ALWAYS.).
Bardic Knowledge: (1d20+10)[17]
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
Guardian
An azure stone mosaic bubbles underneath your hand, it feels cold to the touch. You know that’s mostly because your hand is so warm. As far as you knew that was a good thing, for now. The theme seems to be a celestial landscape, a blissful, natural paradise picture. Inside the front cover is a single sentence:
“From Lord Aka, To Silk Waters Ohmi.”
The first pages all have carefully drawn pictures of fantastical and distant places with small captions underneath. After them the pages are cluttered with neatly written Sylvan text. You’re quickly able to glean it’s a diary, talking about how Ohmi (the diary’s owner?) met a boy who came to her tree one day. He needed someone to care for his wounds and as Ohmi talked to him the two became good friends. His name was Lord Aka, a famous man in his own land. He gave her this diary to write in after he taught her all about paper, and told her that she should write in it every day. She wrote very small text to save as much space as she could. Since she was unfamiliar with pens and paper she’d always used dirt, sand on struck stone on stone. She became very enamoured with the idea of all her sisters having books too.
One of Aka’s vassals could play a musical instrument very well. Everyone liked Ohmi’s voice so much they wanted her to sing along with the vassal’s music. Ohmi was apparently very sad when they left.
The diary talks about her experience over time.
The boy from the village who learned about her tree; her skin under the falling rain… Snow perched on the tree leaves, when the trees changed their colors. How the boy from the village would build a snowman, then she a graceful ice tree. When the boy’s mother came to take him away for good and how he told her the story about his sneaking off. He came in the moonlight to see her.
They watched the new flowers growing on the branches together. They loved the vibrant shimmer on the obsidian leaves the most. There were silver and red flecks; they were macabre and delicate plants. The Dryad named them …
‘Shfuowoa’ flowers. Like a quiet breath, like a gentle rain, like a falling torrent of loose snow shaken free of the branches that caught it. Like a wave of leaves giving the breath of a great spirit her voice. Like the swirling ripples of the ocean gliding ashore. Just like the boy’s happy screech after he dug himself out of that snow pile she heaped over him.
She became very lonely when the village boy didn’t return. The forest was like her mood and nothing could cheer her up. The air ached for comfort. The tree twisted. Her flower beds withered. Weeds flourished and became ugly predatory things. One day the boy came for help…
She laments that she’d already taken the poison she traded with a passing merchant for. But she promised to protect him. She writes… only as far as the last few pages left in the diary. The rest of the sheets are stained completely red. But there are white lines, clean spots on the page showing hideous creatures of all kinds. Ohmi had placed something down to form moulds and stained the pages to make prints of the things she’d seen. Amos had heard of that before.
If you found her moulds, you’d be able to reproduce the images Ohmi saw by staining paper. She’d probably done that so she could warn everyone…
You recognize a few of the pictures. Some of them look like skeletons and distorted shadows. Most of them are alien and your eyes hurt to look at a few of them. Staring at the pages hurt, and something in the back of your mind is telling you to run. You’d learned to belittle that fearful sixth sense long ago. It was the only reason you were still doing so many stupid things.
You think about the boy’s prayer:
The first part was easy. It came from the temple everyone just left on their way here. The Pelorites used it as an opening for their prayers and a consecration rite for new churches. The second part is, as far as you can deduce for yourself, a tidbit of wisdom.
You think you get it, but that’s not actually getting it, get it?
‘Believe you understand something, you are living madness.’
Asking the boy might grant answers. He’d quieted down and didn’t appear to notice your approach.
Last edited by Faithdreamer : 08-31-2008 at 08:57 AM.
Amos, book still in hand, looked around, still silent for a moment more. He didn't like this... he didn't like this at *all*. A dryad, driven mad by loneliness and rage... filling her grove with murderous things, purchasing poisons... and now, here he was, holding the dryad's diary of blood, with some small boy nearby.
A small boy that all reason told Amos that, he should be dead. Cautiously, Robilard put the book down, but he did not approach the boy. Instead, he gave his companions a look of warning before turning back to the boy and speaking.
"Pray, young one... where did you find this book?"
Spoiler
Okay, uh, well, can I get a Diplomacy check to improve the boy's attitude toward us?
(1d20+20)[24]
...not that, Diplomacy will do us any good when the kid turns out to be a pseudonatural entity disguised as a little boy. Nothing like a blast from the past before time had a past to make things fun!
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
Overhead
The roadside, empty but for your own feet and a tree with rattling pinwheels were the only companions your question knew. It might come as a surprise the only thing to answer your grave tone is a loud snore. Out of embarrassment or shame, your eyes drift around the tree and settle on the ropes hanging from it. There are several knots in them, frayed by time they’re not as strong as they used to be.
The boy intones dreamily, “Mother…”
Spoiler
I'll use your diplomacy roll to realize your interactions with the boy if you decide to awaken him.
Last edited by Faithdreamer : 08-31-2008 at 09:43 AM.
Amos, not wishing for one of his more... intimidating, companions to wake the boy, approached warily. Crouching next to the sleeping boy, he reached out, gently shaking the boy's shoulder as he murmured.
"Young one, wake up... I would speak with you, if that is alright."
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
The Green Man folds his arms over his chest. "Kid's a ghost. Kid is obviously a ghost. Normal folks do not hunker down beside spooky pinwheel trees in zombie-infested lands waiting for travelers to happen by. Generally speaking, that's what ghosts do." Although it's not likely going to do much good, The Green Man interposes himself between Radley and the ghost.
When Amos picks up the diary, The Green Man almost tackles him away from the repulsive thing. He's heard his fair share of stories about people picking up seemingly ordinary objects in the haunted ruins of such-and-such a church. Ten minutes later, the walls are bleeding, there are things scratching at the window panes, and their bathtub is trying to eat them. The Green Man does not particularly feel like fighting a bathtub, especially after the long day of marching.
However, just as his muscles are coiling for the leap, something slips over The Green Man's mind, calming him. He studies the probable-ghost, first with an eye out for glowing red eyes and razor-dentures, and then with genuine concern. Kid looks like an abandoned cub. Another victim of this whole mess. Tentatively, The Green Man asks "Hey, Amos. What does the diary say?"
__________________ Freelance writer and editor, at your service.
Snare
“Coils around here…” Faint muttering. His voice is stronger after Amos speaks. “Safe to sleep…”
He doesn’t seem to stir even after Amos tries blowing on his face and shaking him. Torpor, or something like it, has taken hold of him. He mouths, “Safe to sleep here…”
There’s something that makes the Green Man’s fur stand up about this place. Nonetheless, he feels calm at the idea of resting nearby. If only to protect the child a little longer, would it be such a bad idea?
“Dryad will watch…”
Consecration
Vetoed by a majority vote Adun’s frowning face was the last one to close its eyes. They fell across his vision gradually as the night cooed him to rest; he hadn’t the heart to keep cursing four of his companions for forcing camp like this. Time passed before he finally realized he’d fallen asleep. It was still dark out. Either there was a hood over his eyes, or –
Harin’s iridescent wings shone in the darkness, pale feathers brushed Adun’s cheek. The half-angel was less than five feet away, calmly gazing not too far away. It was funny; Amos had to resist the urge to make a joke at his expense. Apparently Harin was smart enough to remember an old adage he knew.
Gaze not into the Darkness, thar Darkness gazeth into ye’.
An adage the Green Man apparently swore by, from what he’d said a while ago by the tree. Where was..?
Something landed with a loud sound just behind the three. They spun in less than a heartbeat to face the threat, hands already on weapons and prepared to kill. Just Radley getting up off the ground, the Green Man, towering above his stocky boss gave an apologetic shrug. He’d just dropped the man on his face. He realized, for some reason he’d just been carrying Radley on his shoulders.
For his part Radley didn’t fuss over his cut lip and glanced at something darker than darkness coming closer. A lone wolf stalked out of the shadows to join the gathering. Matthias just kind of… appeared, and with a stylish tip of his hat there he was.
Absalom cleared his throat, pointing up at the ‘sky’. Not a star in sight.
Looking around, in fact, not a thing at all; though there was ground to stand on and air to breathe. This was definitely not the campsite. A dark shape, an ugly, twisted, predatory shape sprang from the ground. Gnarled bark seemed to have eyes that stared at something impossible inside each man. Freshly woven, rough-to-touch ropes swayed gently from the branches of the tree by the roadside. On the ends of each a perfect hangman’s knot; except for… most were empty. Just the one that had less sway going for it was being used.
A beautiful woman with skin like tree bark, and leaves in her hair; leaves that were her hair, hung there dead with both eyes still blinking.
No breath left to speak, no heartbeat, “Let me die.” Pain.
Her tone was the very embodiment of that. “My tree was a good tree. I don’t deserve this. Answer me… answer me… Should have kept killing…”
If I may, I'd like to past-post really quick to answer Green's question.
"It is a diary, a tale of happiness turned to lonliness and sorrow... sorrow, turned to rage, and rage turned back upon itself to regret. I think, we will be safe here, for now..."
Spoiler
I can edit my post from here to begin again once my question has been answered.
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
"Let's make camp by the voodoo tree, you said. I'm sure it'll be safe, you said. Maybe next time you should consider how much the voodoo tree wants you to camp by the voodoo tree." The Green Man growls something under his breath, extremely put out by the way he gave in to everyone's arguments. "Our bodies are probably still snoozing next to the thing while it works its roots around our necks." To test this theory, he pinches the skin on his left arm. It hurts, but that doesn't mean this isn't a dream.
When the woman on the branch speaks, he whirls to face her. "You'd be another ghost, I guess? The boy's mom or killer or something? Well, right now your moping is interfering with our sleep. Could you tone it down just a bit?" When he realizes that a response isn't forthcoming, he sighs. "Alright. Stay there. I'll get you down and then we can all work this out."
He walks over to the tree and lays a hand on the bark. It's strangely smooth, and it's been ages since The Green Man climbed a tree, but his muscles seem to remember the motions. Digging his claws in, he begins to ascend the trunk.
Spoiler
Climbing up the tree (mis-typed roll. It's in the post below,) shinnying across the branch the dryad is hanging from, pulling her up, and then hacking through the rope. After that, carrying her back down the trunk.
__________________ Freelance writer and editor, at your service.
"No, not the mother of the boy... just a creature driven mad by her own thoughts! Get away from the tree, Green!" Amos cried in warning, clutching the diary in his hands. He had not relinquished his grip on the book yet; some strange hope, perhaps even desire, told him that perhaps this dryad knew some manner of clue toward his own, personal quest for The Music. Not giving any rhyme or reason for his words nor actions, the bard stepped a few steps closer to the hanging dryad, book still gripped tightly. Locking gazes with the plant woman, Amos began to sing softly in Sylvan, a language learned from study with Elven sages. In the primal tongue of the fey, Amos wove back for the dryad the story he had found told in the diary... the story of joy and loneliness, mad rage and remorse.
Spoiler
Perform check: (1d20+22)[26]
When he had finished, Amos continued to stare at the dryad as he spoke.
"There is great power in the music of this world," he stated in Sylvan, "Echoing the very sounds of Genesis, long lost to the ears of mortals... save but a desperate few. What can you tell me, dryad? Speak!"
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
Last edited by MountainKing : 09-01-2008 at 05:47 AM.
Mercy
Her glazed eyes accused you, begged for an answer to incomprehensible things. Her ‘breath’ came out in a guttural melody. A hundred wolves rushing across the grassland growled for her. You smelled hot summer and dead bodies rotting in the sunlight when she said anything. “I See.”
Scorching wind blows around you from the direction of Durk. Rancid new smells force their way into your bodies. Your companions are clutching their noses as one and turning away in disgust; each man looks around to find the other has accidentally smeared ashes all over his self. All your hands are covered with it.
A strange mist swirls along the ground. It feels like dry sand, it coalesces around you. Someone coughs, and you feel like you’re standing in an old graveyard. The sand puffs up into the air just like dust when you drop an old tome on a pile of older books. Imagine all the little fingers clawing and rending your skin. With a wretch you realize you’re breathing powdered bones.
Everyone roll Fortitude Saves (DC 15) to avoid being nauseated. It will last (1d4)[2] rounds.
The Green Man managed to scratch his way up the trunk, the bark seemed to crumple and boil under his feet. He was nearly hanging by threads now, contradictory feelings of bumpy, smooth, slimy, dehydrated, waterlogged, hot, Cold – he felt these every time he touched the tree. The world seemed to fall away under him.
Green man must roll a Reflex Save (DC 15) to stop a nasty fall from grace.
Rotting faces pushed out of the ground, all smiling in anticipation and licking their lips, drooling and giggling. They wanted the first meal they’d seen in a long time, they were starving. Teeth clamped onto Harin’s foot.
Grapple Check (Touch Attack), (1d20+7)[20] Note: Harin is entitled to an Attack of Opportunity
A pair fingers here, a too long tongue there. Eight pairs of greedy eyes searched with maniac vigour for something to eat. Eight rotting faces crawling with bugs and covered in caked on filth.
Spoiler
If anyone has the Jade Empire Soundtrack:
Soaring/Stormclouds
Clarification:
The Green Man is safe from the faces for now, being up in that tree. Better not fail that reflex save.
Everyone can roll initiative in their responses to this post. You may also act on this turn (this time, you both get a 'Surprise' round). There's one face beside each person standing on the ground, you can feel free to be creative with the exact location.
Last edited by Faithdreamer : 09-01-2008 at 07:42 AM.
1. Fort save to prevent Nausea: (1d20+10)[26] If this is less than 15 ignore everthing else in the spoiler.
2. Attack of Opportunity - +1 Holy Greatsword to the face: (1d20+10)[18] / Damage: (4d6+6)[19]
3. Initiative roll: (1d20+2)[22]
4a. If my attack hits I am not grappled and will fly straight upwards 60ft as a move action and begin casting Light of Lunia as a standard action.
4b.If my opportunity attack misses then I am allowed to make an opposed Grapple check as a free action: (1d20+8)[21]. If your one is higher than mine I am grappled. If mine is higher I break the grapple and do as I did in 4a. (see above).
Edit: Tell me if I hit it. If I didn't then roll the grapple check and I'll write up the RP then.
Watching Green claw his way up the tree Harin let his guard down for the briefest of moments. And that was all it took. Suddenly the abomination had its teeth attached to his boot and it was trying to grab his leg.
Appaled Harin brought his blessed blade to his hands faster than even he thought possible, and with a well practised swipe he cleaved the creatures face in two. With a swift kick he freed himself from its broken jaw and in one fluid movement spread his wings wide and launched himself into the air.
Once airborne Harin looked below him to see that all the others were facing a similar situation. No not all, Absolom, the mage with the golden helm was nowhere in sight. Had he already fallen, who knew. The Green Man to was away from the creatures, his claws only just clinging to the side of the tree.
Enough of this. "Mighty Kord I beseech the, bring your holy light to us in this dark time". He felt his prayer answered and sensed the powerful silver aura approaching".
Spoiler
Figured I'd give a way for Omnik to leave the game, dying in combat. Also I am writing the RP after Kuma's post below so I know he only just made his reflex save.
__________________
Zenith Caste Solarbold-Bard by Lord Raziere. | Backer #121 of the Giantitp Kickstarter | My homebrew
Quote:
Originally Posted by OverlordJ
New law: Obey me or you'll be crushed by a MOUNTAIN.
Last edited by Kobold-Bard : 09-01-2008 at 10:37 AM.
Fortitude Save for Matthias: (1d20+9)[24]
Fortitude Save for Forge: (1d20+6)[7]
Initiative: (1d20+4)[23]
Matthias had experienced a dream like this once or twice before. They were pretty rare, even in a decade of undead hunting - which was good, since no one survives too many of them. They always had the same two rules - nothing makes sense, and things are always worse when you wake up. You'd spend the night fighting some nightmare creature to find out the next morning that you had been trying to kill your companions for the last six hours.
Still, there was sometimes a way out, and Matthias's attention keeps coming back to the tree. The dryad wished for death... dryads are dependant on their trees...
And his main weapon is a large, enchanted wood axe - a tool for cutting down trees.
Coughing, and moving as fast as he could through the faces and bone dust, Matthias heads towards the tree, axe in hand. If he gets there this turn, he attacks. Either way, on his way there he yells to Forge: "*Attack, boy! Take her down!" He follows this with a shout to Radley: "Burn the tree Radley! Do it now!" He shouts this while hoping to Pelor that Radley will know to ignite the side of the tree that the Green Man isn't on.
OOC:
Spoiler
It seems likely to me that due to this being a surprise round, Matthias would have used up all of his turn just getting to the tree. But if he didn't... Attack Roll: (1d8+18)[19]
Damage: [roll]1d8+1d6+1[/roll]
__________________ "Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel."
- Mark Twain
"Life is too short for [manuals], but occasionally much too short without them."
- Randall Munroe, xkcd.com (paraphrased)
"So you have chosen death," Amos shouted in Sylvan, gesturing about him to his companions. Rapidly, the bard put up the book, drawing his sword and readying his shield as he moved closer to the tree... and then a *face* erupted from the ground nearby. With a shout of alarm, Robilard pitched his sword downward, angling his swing sharply toward the creature's forehead...
Spoiler
Fort save: (1d20+4)[6] (I believe all of this gets ignored if I fail...)
Entreaty
Matthias’s axe cuts through the tree like any axe should. The first revelation to come up his arms, that’s no tree, would you rather be ignorant?
A white flash stands out against black ether, a blot of paint on an ink canvas; it illuminates the ‘ground’ and the cloud of bone powder glows under Kord’s miracle. Tears drip across The Green Man’s fur, falling splinters of hope. “Stay in the tree, please don’t leave me alone… Just stay, I’ll… let you see.” The Dryad was looking at Amos. “It’s not safe down there, he doesn’t understand. He tries to help me… he does…”
She sounded like she was denying her abusive husband’s mistreatment. The wounds, if there were any would’ve been visible on her face. A shuddering sob and a few broken murmurs; “See what I see.”
There’s a brief feeling of weightlessness, the bone powder seethes up and becomes a thick mist. Each man feels alone, an eternity alone with all the memories you can’t remember. They still make you sad, you don’t know why.
You smell flesh rotting in summer sunlight again, things swirl and hop through the fog and you can’t quite see them. Soft wind touches your face, for an instant you feel peaceful. Like the whole world is beneath you. Then the scent of what you can only describe as Pollution, reaches you, you want to turn your eyes away. Underneath you the fog billows outward and reveals the ground. A long column of dead bodies dances and revels in an eternally sunless night. They’re skipping along the road. You recognize that it’s the road you travelled along when you left Durk. They’re all going back the way you came.
They pass the stray zombies you slew in front of the village. After you saw the innkeeper and killed him again, after you left. You can see your own tracks heading off toward Calamdan. The dead rush passed their fallen kinfolk after the weeping Priest from the church. He tries to lead his people away desperately. Their cries and lamentations tear at the lonely peace of a half deserted place. The dead drag them in whole groups and pile even wailing children among the crowd. They’re herded – swept – like garbage, into a massive throng in Durk’s main street.
Jeering, laughing and smiling the undead spit and rape, defile whoever they please and steal whole body parts because their own aren’t quite working anymore. They force warm blood down the throats of their captives, give the false hope of living longer if they’ll just taste their neighbour’s fat.
Those lucky enough to be dead when it’s nearly over leave little more than corpses with expressions of, horror, insanity, on their faces. The undead dance on the corpse pile, drinking the village’s wine which so often pours through their bodies; they haven’t the stomachs left to digest it.
They revel, they torture, into the night. They heaped women on top of men, children over their pets, infants. Then they threw torches on the pile. “He waited…”
It’s the Dryad’s voice, she whines, she begs. “Darvis waited until you were gone. Oh,” She says, with a quivering sound, “why didn’t any wonder why there were so few of them? They were just waiting nearby…”
She choked on her own grief. When you open your eyes, you’re all underneath the tree, back in the camp again. Dawn had arrived. It looked like a flaming pyre on the horizon.
Spoiler
Everyone roll one Will Save (DC 18) each. Success will mean you start your day fatigued, instead of exhausted.
Deep impressions of maybe, footprints work their way down the road. They scurry into the grass and the trail is indistinct. It’s obvious from the rut someone was dragging a body away. The boy still sleeps soundly underneath the tree with you. Lines of worry are written on his face, there are deep, dark circles underneath his eyes. He was scratching at the dirt all night. If your body was any indication, he’s cold too; even if he doesn’t know yet.
Last edited by Faithdreamer : 09-02-2008 at 05:39 AM.
Will save: (1d20+11)[19] Does my ring of sustenance help?
Since its dawn do I need to recover my spells.
If enough time hasn't passed (1 point healed/hour) I am using a Cure Light Wounds to get rid of the nonlethal damage: (1d8+5)[12].
I am also offering healing to other players who need it.
__________________
Zenith Caste Solarbold-Bard by Lord Raziere. | Backer #121 of the Giantitp Kickstarter | My homebrew
Quote:
Originally Posted by OverlordJ
New law: Obey me or you'll be crushed by a MOUNTAIN.
Last edited by Kobold-Bard : 09-02-2008 at 05:54 AM.
Wakes with a start, slapping the ground with his paws and throwing himself to his feet. He scans the surroundings with bleary eyes, finds a decided lack of earth-mouths and chatty corpses, and then slumps back down. "You know, I think I almost had her free before we were hit with that montage."
Spoiler
Will:(1d20)[18]+4
__________________ Freelance writer and editor, at your service.
"No!" Amos awoke sharply, crying out in alarm and rage, still clutching the diary. Leaping to his feet, he half ran, half stumbled to the tree, pounding on it with his fist.
"You said you would show me!" he howled, "You know about the Music, don't you? DON'T YOU?!" His knuckles struck against the bark at an off angle, scraping across and coming away with blood blooming red upon them. The bard turned, half angry, half desperate, toward the only creature who had apparently spent any length of time at the tree: the boy. Crashing to his knees, he dropped the diary, grabbing the child by the shoulders and shaking him roughly.
"Wake up, boy! Wake up and tell me what she's told you?!"
Spoiler
Will save: (1d20+13)[18]
I can remove exhaustion problems, but not the subdual. Heal plz.
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
Matthias wakes up, and freezes. A brief check of his surroundings reveals a screaming bard, a bunch of half-concious companions, and a memory of a dream where he was shown innocents suffering by the hundreds.
Things were back to normal.
Rolling over and checking gear despite his fatigue, he was relieved to note that his actions in the dream hadn't hurt his companions - at least not directly. Not this time.
The dream awakened the old fire in Matthias too. Getting up quickly, he begins packing up his things and preparing to move - he knew a lich that needed to die.
__________________ "Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel."
- Mark Twain
"Life is too short for [manuals], but occasionally much too short without them."
- Randall Munroe, xkcd.com (paraphrased)
Lidless
His neck cracks lightly and the back of his head smacks the tree. His skull came away red, too. He doesn’t stir anymore. Amos had managed to…
The boy murmurs. “She said Durk village used this place as a Hanging Tree,” His head lolls to one side. “She’d cut the bodies down and bury them, before she was gone. I haven’t talked to her in a long time.”
He’s always quiet, he never opens his eyes though, you get the feeling he doesn’t sleep either. His skin is clammy, unnaturally cold, the contrast between your passionate heat and his intimacy with death. You imagine he’d pray for a blanket.
Amos can almost catch the curve of a smile on his lips. “Clubbing the tree with me, hn. That’s no good, the tree’s not there anymore. Something very old is where the tree was, now.”
Spoiler
I need everyone to let me know where they'd like to go. Do you feel like investigating those tracks? Do you want to go back to Durk? Press on to Calamdan where the Lich is supposed to be?
Does anyone remember how large the distance was supposed to have been between Durk and Calamdan?
borninbones mentioned it before, I cannot remember.
Waking sharpely before sitting back as fatigue washed over him, the first thing Harin noticed was unsurprisingly the shouting Amos. As he tried to move he was reminded of the difficult journey the previous day. Calling on Kord's benevolence he muttered a short prayer and the pain of the previous day faded.
Getting up, still a little woozy he moved towards Amos and gripping him by the shoulder he said "Amos Omaril, feel the light and let it ease your pain" he said channeling healing magic into Amos. Seeing him relax he spoke to him "now tell me, why were you attacking the boy"?
Spoiler
Casting Cure Moderate Wounds on Amos: (2d8+6)[13].
OOC:
Spoiler
I'm going straight to Calamden, unless I get a unanimous vote against me. He said it was a weeks walk between Durk and Calamden. (No horses allowed)
* post roll count doesn't match database
__________________
Zenith Caste Solarbold-Bard by Lord Raziere. | Backer #121 of the Giantitp Kickstarter | My homebrew
Quote:
Originally Posted by OverlordJ
New law: Obey me or you'll be crushed by a MOUNTAIN.
Last edited by Kobold-Bard : 09-02-2008 at 01:49 PM.
will save - (1d20+15)[32]
I guess the fort save and initiative are moot...
Radley
Radley wakes up and clutches his head as if he has a hangover. He scrambles to his feet, surveying the ground with a suspicious eye before looking at their surroundings.
"Master Bard," he calls over to Amos. "Please step away from the tree, and take the boy if he's not our enemy."
He cracks his knuckles and reaches into his robe...
((Radley will insist on continuing toward Calamdan, however, if the misssing body is Absalom's he can probably be persuaded to look for him first.))
__________________
In real life I quit my job and left my home to become a professional adventurer. The Great Adventure
"You guys all awake?" The Green Man asks rhetorically as the rest of the party begins to stir. "We didn't leave anyone behind in there, did we?" He does a quick mental tally. Everything seems to check ou-"Holy crap, Amos!" Green rushes over to pry him off of the ghost, skidding to a stop at the last second when Amos cracks its head against the tree. Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
A few seconds later, completely affirming The Green Man's theories, the kid's concussed head begins to speak again. The Green Man waits for it to finish and then says "Well, I guess it's pretty clear what we have to do now." He gestures off-handedly at Matthias. "Things that are Very Old tend to be bad news. Would you mind helping me take the tree down?"
The Green Man pulls out his hatchets and goes to work on the trunk.
Distance between Durk and Calamdan:
Spoiler
Seven days march.
__________________ Freelance writer and editor, at your service.
"Green, STOP!" Amos said, surprisingly himself with his tone, "Not everything that is "very old" is a bad thing! Remember in the village, when I told you that I'm doing this because it's the right thing? Well, that's still true... but my adult life has been consumed thus far by a higher calling, a greater quest. I seek knowledge, Green, knowledge of a music so ancient, so powerful, that only those who have roots back in the creation of the world can still remember it. Call me mad if you will," he said, turning back to the boy, "But I need to know for a fact that there is no clue here of what I seek."
Amos stared down at the boy, asking him only one thing.
"Who are you?"
Spoiler
If Diplomacy is necessary, feel free to roll secretly.
__________________ Amazing Mountain King avatar courtesy of the remarkable Starwoof!
"Oh brother..." Radley mutters as he puts his spell component back into his shirt. He looks around at those of his companions who are not at the base of the tree. "Anyone else here worried about these tracks? It looks like--" He pauses abruptly. "Where is Sir Absalom?"
__________________
In real life I quit my job and left my home to become a professional adventurer. The Great Adventure
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