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Post by pastels on Feb 3, 2019 2:51:40 GMT
The threat of carnage might have fazed someone with a weaker stomach, but Astra had seen her fair share of gore. The sight of the obliterated caravan simply left a dull, hollow ache in her chest. It was the awareness, dim but certain like nighttime shadows in the firmament of her mind, that something unfortunate happened to folk who may or may not have deserved it. And the world continued spinning, regardless. It was this perspective that allowed her to brush past idle thoughts—concerns about the wellbeing of the unfortunate travelers, for one—and focus on the relevant details.
“Well,” the elf sighed, her somber voice carrying a tinge of fatigue, “the good news is that whoever did this is long gone. Just as well. We see around ten sets of footprints… No, eleven or so. The tracks are all over the place.” She paused and raked a hand down her face, brow creased in thought. She would have to be extra alert for the duration of the journey, maybe even use the spare hours out of trance setting spells along their would-be camp. Gods help whoever decides to leave the boundaries to piss in a bush. “Our group would struggle against such numbers, caught unawares. It seemed as though the victims were as many as us.”
Of course, Astra was far more interested in sharing the details as it is, with no regard for how her words could affect morale. Motivation was important, yes—but it was nothing compared to the cold, cut-flower certainty of a good strategy.
“Gnolls, I would think. As we’ve been warned.” A loud shriek pierced through the caravan’s thick canopy as Mitja, in a flurry of black feathers, swept in. It landed right beside its mistress and turned around, a bent piece of metal wiring in its beak. Astra opened her eyes. “More reason to perform our duties the best we can.”
The tome felt as heavy as a collection of stones against the small of her back, the weight a threat—no, a reminder—of her purpose. Was it just her, or did it suddenly smell like seaweed in here? Astra batted at her nose.
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Post by Kai Wren on Feb 7, 2019 9:23:13 GMT
Alxolex 3personal5me - you guys have any more to add? If not I will assume that you set up camp around the boulder and post accordingly.
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Alxolex
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H.J. Smee, sailor and thief (3) // Caligo Drogo, ranger (1)
Posts: 41
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Post by Alxolex on Feb 7, 2019 12:12:17 GMT
<HJ is ready to hit the hay.>
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Post by pastels on Feb 7, 2019 13:34:04 GMT
(DM, I'd like to add that during this, Astra will also take some time to cast a ritual Alarm spell around their camp! I'm assuming they'll sleep within or close to the cart so it's within range too?)
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Post by 3personal5me on Feb 7, 2019 14:09:11 GMT
(Crucible is ready to camp for the night, and will be on watch all night)
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Post by Kai Wren on Feb 8, 2019 20:58:55 GMT
“Don’t like this. It’s a grizzly business.” The driver groused, but he didn’t object much more than that as he helped to establish the camp. He needed rest too, just like everyone else, and it seems that amongst the back of the wagon he’d squirreled away his own tent and enough firewood to get a fire blazing. That was a good feeling for most; a sudden burst of warmth to chase away the chill of the night. Dinner might be whatever cold trail rations they had brought with them, but the warmth, and the softer ground beneath them rather than the hard-packed earth or the rolling, harder wagon? It was all too easy to take those small comforts and let themselves be guided towards rest and sleep. Well. For most of them. After the alarm was established, after the camp had been made and the fire lit and the conversation had, after everyone was ready to turn in, only Crucible remained. Silent, stoic, and solemn, to watch the cart and the surroundings, unbothered by the light drizzle that began to drift down from the sky and the encroaching chill as the sun sank deep below the horizon. (Okay – I’ll take a perception check from 3personal5me , and if pastels could specify whether you want the bell or the mental alarm that’d be great) |
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Post by 3personal5me on Feb 9, 2019 4:05:08 GMT
Perception dEeFSyNC1d20+51d20+5
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Post by Kai Wren on Feb 9, 2019 19:47:03 GMT
(Okay! You don't see anything; the night passes without incident. If y'all could give me a generic travel description as you continue on to day 2 of your 3 day journey, up to about midday, and then give me a perception roll for no reason at all)
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Alxolex
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H.J. Smee, sailor and thief (3) // Caligo Drogo, ranger (1)
Posts: 41
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Post by Alxolex on Feb 10, 2019 16:18:14 GMT
Maybe setting up camp so close to the charred ruins of another cart was asking for trouble. But then, the large boulder provided excellent cover from the winter winds. And whoever had perpetrated the grisly deed wouldn’t think of coming back here when their victims’ corpses still littered the snow. Especially now that the sun was setting.
No one wants to hang around the recently deceased. At night. When you’re the reason for their untimely end.
Smee was glad to see that Golius the half-orc had what was needed to quickly start a fire. He’d been worried that the halfling would’ve ordered the adventurers to scrounge around for wood and deadfall and ask, “Has anyone thought of bringing any flint and steel?” He could start a fire, but he much preferred watching others do it expertly. The prospect of light and warmth for the night eased his mind. It made the idea of winter camping that much more bearable.
So he picked up his backpack from the cart, hopped down, walked to a flat spot halfway between the fire and the boulder, and dropped his pack. He unpacked his new tent and put it up, remembering the instructions the merchant had given him in the city. Well, the instructions he thought he remembered anyways. When he thought he was done, the bloody thing looked like an empty wineskin that had seen much better days. “Ye’ll get a face full o' me boot when I get back, ye jelly-boned, thumb-suckin' crud bucket,” he grumbled, thinking of that merchant as he pulled on a string here and adjusted a pole there. Then the half orc started putting his own tent up, and H.J. spied on him to figure out a few tricks. The half orc was done a full 10 minutes before him, and his tent looked like a solid little canvas cabin. Smee’s looked like a flappy depressed canvas cabin.
Now that his sleeping quarters were ready, he grabbed a log and sat by the fire with his trail rations. It was the same as he’d eaten during the day: tough bread, dried apples and prunes, rothé jerky, and hard cheese. Good thing they’d crossed paths with the gnome merchant, otherwise he’d have nothing to wash the meal down besides water. That cherry brandy was too sweet for him by far. But it warmed his insides much better than melted snow.
Astra had walked the perimeter of their camp, mumbling and moving her hands in intricate patterns. Must be an elven thing. Or magic.
Soon enough, a light drizzle started to fall from the night sky. Conversations died down, and the gnome and half orc retired to their tent. “Mistress Astra,” H.J. said, “there be enough space in me tent for ye and yer feathered friend.” He stood up and stretched luxuriously, audibly popping a few vertebraes. “Ye can watch me sleep all ye want, I won’t bother ye.” He nodded to Nolul. “No offense, me matey. Simple courtesy, ya ken?”
He turned to the warforged. “Ye stay sharp, ye lovable rust bucket,” he winked with a smile.
He grabbed a stick from the fire, lit a candle he’d taken out earlier from his pack, and went in his flappy tent. He set the candle in his tin tinder box, rolled himself in his blanket on his bedroll, and started snoring soon after.
He woke up to the sound of the halfling woman and half orc bustling around in the camp. When H.J. stepped out, their tent was already packed out of sight. The lady was going on about the lateness of the hour and their need for speed. The driver only replied in monosyllabic grunts, nods, or shrugs. By the time H.J. had rolled his bedroll and blankets and taken down his tent, the party was ready to hit the road. He’d just have to eat his breakfast on the seat next to Golius and wash it down with some more cherry brandy.
They rolled along the road at a constant pace, the draw horse as stalwart as a glacier. The scenery rolled past them as swiftly as the sun trailed across the sky. Slow and steady would get the cakes to the abbey on time, no matter the imprecations of the portly halfling.
Perception roll: OCZR|vyH1d20+5
1d20+5
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Post by 3personal5me on Feb 10, 2019 23:40:36 GMT
It was an uneventful night, all said and done. Crucible sat beside the fire, watching the others as they scurried around like ants. Tents were built, meals were eaten, and sleep was had. And Crucible watched. He conversed lightly with the others, but all too soon it was time for sleep. Seeing as the group was winding down for the night, he prepared for his own "sleep". His mace was set beside him, within easy reach, with his shield still on his back. The rain beaded up on his body, rolling its way down to the ground as he sat motionless. His mind wandered, almost like a dream. Minutes turned to hours as a small part of him kept watch. The patter of rain, the rustle of leaves, the woods were surprisingly noisy tonight. As the morning sun crested the horizon, Crucible stretched (a strange habit, as it did nothing to help him) and started his morning rituals. Starting with an actual ritual, blessing his mace, as he did every morning. Next was spell preparation, followed by maintenance on himself and his equipment. As the camp was torn down again, Crucible climbed back into the car and took his seat. The ride was boring, as it should be, and he quite enjoyed the relaxation.
Perception Roll LCV|uR0K1d20+5
Spells Prepared:
Burning Hands
Cure Wounds
Guiding Bolt
Healing Word
Identify
Searing Smite
Shield of Faith
Blindness/Deafness
Heat Metal
Magic Weapon1d20+5
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Post by pastels on Feb 11, 2019 6:07:47 GMT
The camp was set, close to the wreckage, and their little group settled in for the night. As soon as she was sure that the others were distracted, Astra opened her knapsack and pulled out a strange tome. The cover, made of a dark, ridged leather, sagged with barnacles. Tiny orbs, some larger than the others, covered the spine like gooseflesh, softly glowing in the darkness with a cold white-blue light. As she flipped open the pages, the sharp smell of salt and oceanic plants pierced the night air. Another sly glance at the camp showed that nobody had noticed the change. It was time to work.
Astra closed her eyes and whispered the words of power into being, envisioning a silver thread beneath her feet as she walked the perimeter of the camp. Once the thread was closed into a loop, the area ringing with magic and anticipation, she sat near the fire. She crumbled her rations—old bread and a couple sheets of dried mangoes—and listened to the others talk. Smee even offered to share his tent, at one point.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll sleep in the cart,” Astra replied. She already had the mind to strip some materials from the wreckage to use as a makeshift sleeping bag; it wasn’t as if it was going to see any use, with the original owners dead and gone. “Thank you, again.”
And so the night passed in peace.
Astra rose early, as usual, and spent the extra hours circling the camp. She would love to pretend she was communing with nature, as she used to do when she was younger—but nowadays, her thoughts were mostly centered on the Entity. She finished her morning walk and returned to camp just as the others were breaking their fast. Eventually, they packed up and resumed their journey. She tossed the frayed canvas sheet back to the shattered wagon she borrowed it from.
Astra read the almanac again, but Gods above, the travel was slow. In her boredom, she linked minds once again with her familiar, who was having a much better time soaring in the crisp winter wind.
ld15Nds21d20+31d20+3
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Post by Kai Wren on Feb 13, 2019 8:53:19 GMT
If it weren’t for the keen eyes and position of the raven, things would have gone far worse for the party, there could be no doubt about that.
There was just the very faintest shimmer a hundred feet or so down the road. A tell-tale sparkle of magic which, when Astra focused on it in more detail, parted to allow her to see what laid in wait ahead of them.
The hideous creatures lay in wait; an ambush carefully set up and arranged. Not, it seemed, the full war party which had descended on the caravan – but seven gnolls in all. Three armed with longbows, three with viciously-spiked spears, and one with a staff decorated with dangling human heads.
The creatures are large and imposing; hyena-men who have hunched their seven foot frames down by the side of the road and seem to be relying on that magical protection to keep them hidden from sight. The three spears are arranged up front, ready to charge the moment the caravan gets to them; three bows behind the front rank, and the staff-wielding gnoll behind them.
The monsters were quite well-organised for their savage reputation, but of course now Astra had been able to pierce the protection, the group could turn the ambushers into the ambushed.
(I'll give y'all a few posts to decide how you want to approach it; assuming that Astra wants to share this information! You'll likely get a surprise round unless you botch the approach because they are not expecting you to know they are there - so on this occassion, you can dictate when initiative is rolled!)
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Post by pastels on Feb 13, 2019 13:03:11 GMT
In the past, Astra considered Illusion as a weak school. Compared to the raw power of Evocation or the life-defying arts of Necromancy, she felt that it had no place in the battlefield—until she faced her first ambush, a week into the service. It was deep, deep in the bowels of the Evermoors; their company, waist-deep in bog water, was returning to the base camp under the cover of night. Suddenly, there was a shout from the front as Valin—riding on somebody’s shoulders—threw his handaxe to the side, through a cluster of tall reeds. The image suddenly flickered then disappeared. There was a sickening squelch as a bandit fell backwards, his splayed fingers dropping his knives into the murky water, masked face frozen in shock. It was absolute chaos after that. Illusion no longer claimed party tricks as its sole domain; it was a matter of life and death. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she busied herself in the libraries after that, trying to absorb knowledge about the arcane school she had ignored so back then.
Astra opened her eyes with a grimace. That research has paid off. Her heart began to pound faster in anticipation.
“Quickly, now,” she snaps at the others within the back of the cart to get their attention, clearly in no mood for pleasantries or soft words. “There is an ambush up ahead. I would say a hundred or so feet from our current position. There are seven of them; three in front, armed with spears, then another three at the back. Their magical cover is likely sustained by the mage in their ranks, who stands behind the archers. What is our plan?” She took a quick look at the boxed cake. Hopefully none of the gnolls decided to greet them with a hail of arrows.
As this discussion took place, Mitja glided down from above to perch on the backside of a draft horse. It swiveled to face Smee and Golius, who were seated at the fore of the cart. “Ambush, ambush! Ahead!” Mitja stated, voice and tone a perfect mimicry of its mistress. The lack of details from the familiar, of course, implied that there was more planning to be had behind the cart where the others were. It pecked insistently on the reigns in the half-orc’s grip. “Stop? Slow down? What is our plan?”
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Alxolex
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H.J. Smee, sailor and thief (3) // Caligo Drogo, ranger (1)
Posts: 41
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Post by Alxolex on Feb 17, 2019 16:07:18 GMT
The words of the familiar worked their way through the workings of H.J.’s mind. He glanced at Golius who was glancing from the bird to him. “Golius me matey,” he said, lightly elbowing the half-orc, “slow down just a smidge to buy us some time, will ye?” He started climbing to the back to join the rest of the party. He paused before closing the canvas flap. “But not so much that whatever be waiting fer us yonder guess we be onto ‘em, savvy?” He patted his shoulder and closed the flap.
He joined the worried portly halfling, apoplectic with worry, and the adventurers. “A birdie tells me we be havin’ comp’ny up ahead on the road,” he said with a grimace. “Any idea how many parrot-loving, pestilent hornswagglers be awaiting in the bushes? I’d love to ambush them landlubbers from inside the cart without leavin’ ol’ Golius all exposed.” He spat to the side. “I wanna dance the hornpipe o'er the grave o’ these worthless, plagued codpieces without anyone here having to push up daisies fer our troubles.”
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Post by pastels on Feb 19, 2019 9:00:30 GMT
“Three in front, armed with spears; another three behind them. Archers,” Astra repeated in a curt whisper as Smee entered the back of the cart. His arrival meant that Mitja delivered the warning successfully; Golius could buy them precious time by slowing their progress along the road. She pushed herself off the seat and knelt down, then raked her hand across the dusty floorboards. A magical image followed her palm, swelling to fill up the space—it was a makeshift map, depicting their position as well as the bandits from a bird’s eye point of view. “Their magical cover is maintained by their mage, who is at the very rear of their party. They’re all positioned at the side of the road.”
As the glow of the illusion lit up her face, the warlock stared intently at her companions. “As a fellow mage, I would recommend eliminating it first as a primary objective. I will try to focus fire on it once it reaches range. I know for a fact that a distraction—and nothing can be more distracting for a caster than a flesh wound—can sever a spell in its motions.” She paused to take a breath then continued on, her monotone lifted above its usual quality by a tinge of cold calculation. “But we would need to draw them away from one another, for we are outnumbered.”
By her side, the elf’s hand twitched, fingers twisting and reaching for her bag. A strange compulsion—a feeling as heavy as an anchor dragging you into the ocean deep—filled her with the sense that the tome… could imbue her magic with unimaginable power that could turn the tides in this fight. Astra winced at the imagery and tried to shrug off the knowledge.
She knew she was not above using any means to survive.
“We can create a distraction. Perhaps the cart broke? We could park by the side of the road, act as though everything has gone horribly wrong—then as soon as their warriors approach,” Astra extended two slim, pale fingers in a lunging strike, “we fire at them.” She looked at her allies once more, then amended her statement. “Or I do.”
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