|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 3:52:02 GMT
Welcome to the circus! I’m going to try and run the Orin/Arioch part of the adventure and the Citrine part more or less simultaneously... at least until they meet up (although they are starting at slightly different times)!
Healing roll for Citrine (add the total to her HP; no other resting heal applies): KG|QvrAm1d8+4
The first thing Citrine would hear would be the ringmaster’s voice. “- shouldn’t be more than twenty four hours.”
For Citrine, it would be almost as if no time had passed; in fact, she would even be lying on the ground in the same position she had fallen in, wings crooked and crumpled. A few things would have changed, from her perspective, instantaneously. First, what seemed to be a blindfold was tied tightly over her face, the knot digging in to the back of her head. Second, chains and rope were wrapped around her, quite heavily. Third, she would feel at least somewhat better than she had when she collapsed, although not nearly at full strength.
1d8+4 |
|
Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328 
|
Post by Citrine on Mar 14, 2019 14:04:04 GMT
Going from one series of motion, following the laws of physics, and suddenly shifting to obey a new set of physics. Was uncomfortable. Exceedingly uncomfortable. Mid snarl Citrine came too, her body shaking as it threw off the effects of the petrification. Her wings continued their chaotic desperate flaps as if she were still descending and her arms and legs were shifting to try and slow impact still.
But it didn't matter.
She heard the ringmaster say something, but through the clanking sounds of chains and her own returning screeching made it impossible to tell what he'd said. The pressure behind her head and over her eyes was eye-gouging - pinching her feathers and knotted into her lion's mane of a hair waterfall, making any shift in movement painful for her scalp.
Her wings felt a mess, she could tell just by the quality of their movement besides the fact they were weighted down. There would be an astonishing number of quills and broken barbs - it would take hours of preening, oil, and contorting to get them into a reliable working order again where it didn't feel like she was shedding all over the place.
The phoenix attempted to rear up like a lion, stretch and arch her back like a cat, twist and roll like a snake, and moving in any way she could possibly imagine to try and slip her bonds. Her raptor yells and skrees grew in volume the more frustrated she got. But her wrists held firm, as did her ankles. Anger. Pure rage at being confined, began to bubble out of her veins as fire that lit over her skin. Literal sparks, like embers stirred in a bonfire, erupted over her and spilled onto the ground like a welding waterfall. Fire, real fire, licked and curled around her as she summoned fire bolt after fire bolt in an attempt to start burning the ropes weighing her down. And her mage hand appeared to pull at her blindfold. If she could get the blindfold off? She could misty step out of this whole mess.
HP: 9/26
Spell slots left:
First - 3/4 (used mage armor once - this has now fallen off)
Second - 1/3 (used misty step and phantasmal force)
Third - 2/3 (used counterspell)
MM - 4/6 (used 2 pts to add 1d4 to a roll using Bend Luck ability)
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 14:09:09 GMT
((Please roll an attack roll with disadvantage and a damage roll for firebolt!))
|
|
Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
|
Post by Citrine on Mar 14, 2019 14:10:58 GMT
1DyAm_U41d20+6 or 1d20+6
2d10
((Firebolt cantrip (120 foot range) also ignites and burns anything that isn't being worn or carried - your call on if that counts the ropes here or not))1d20+6·1d20+6·2d10
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 14:16:24 GMT
“Boss!” An unfamiliar voice rose in audible panic. "Uh, I think she's - "
Citrine would feel fire licking at her skin, harmlessly of course. The chains would heat up as well, although they weren’t nearly as susceptible to flames; it would take more heat than Citrine could muster to break free of them.
“Water,” The ringmaster said, coolly.
What felt like a large bucketful of foul-smelling water crashed over Citrine, leaving behind faintly hissing ropes and a thoroughly unpleasant spell.
“Drop those spells. No more magic unless I tell you otherwise.” The ringleader didn’t waste any time in issuing his command; as before, it would echo both in Citrine’s mind and be audible out loud.
DC 14 wisdom saving throw if Citrine chooses to disobey!
|
|
Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
|
Post by Citrine on Mar 14, 2019 14:19:20 GMT
((Making choices, making Citrine choices))
The water crashed over her, effectively snuffing out the flames she'd brought around her in a plume of steam and hissing. Hacking, not having been prepared for the dump of nasty-ass circus water to be dumped on her, Citrine now tried to shake like a dog.
qwEzTHrr1d20+3
The weight of the command, though she tried to fight it, was too much for her to overcome. The ropes, chains, water... it all pressed around in in a suffocating blanket of nope. The fire stayed put out. The sparks faded. Her mage hand too, having just gotten under the lip of the blindfold near her nose, vanished in an instant.
Heaving she felt both the desire to use magic, yet not, twist and twine inside of her like clashing hot and cold air currents. Not... use magic? The very thought was so foreign to the firebird... but yet she let the magic simmer beneath her skin in her blood like an underground river. She stared where she thought her hands were, despite not seeing, as she went still, very still. Only her chest heaved as the reality choked her throat. No magic. She couldn't use magic. Her hands clenched. Her toes curled. And she listened. Like a quiet before a storm. She listened.1d20+3
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 14:32:34 GMT
“Good,” the ringmaster said. “Very good. Get the whip.” This command didn’t seem to be aimed at Citrine, nor magically reinforced.
It was obeyed quickly in either case, and Citrine would feel the whip pull free from her back, and a loud crack as the ringmaster presumably used it. There was no crying out, so one could only suppose he hadn’t actually aimed at anyone or, if he had, he’d missed.
“Remove the blindfold,” The ringleader said.
“Boss – “
“Now.”
The first thing Citrine would see would be a grubby hand easing the blindfold down from her eyes.
The ringmaster crouched just a few feet away, whip in hand, tilting his head to the side as he looked at her. There were two circus employees armed with crossbows standing with him, one of whom Citrine would recognize from the gaming booth; a third was standing and hastily taking a step back, keeping his various limbs far away from Citrine, just in case – even the hand with which he was holding a mace. She wouldn’t have much of a view, trussed up on the ground, but Citrine would be able to see that it was early evening, just as it had been when she was petrified. From where she lay, she could only see one of the ropes securing the tent – but either it had been replaced or repaired, as the spot she had cut into seemed as good as new.
There wasn’t much other noise, no shouting or cheering like the night before.
“Glad to have you back with us,” The ringmaster smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Normally I like a bit of a longer training process, but… I suspect you’re a fast learner, aren’t you?” It wasn’t the sort of question that required a response. “Be good, and I might even give you a healing potion later. You’ll see – if you obey me, there’ll be no need for cruelty here.”
|
|
Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
|
Post by Citrine on Mar 14, 2019 14:42:04 GMT
Listening, not gracing the company she was around the musical gift of her voice, Citrine growled deep in her throat as the ringmaster crouched down in front of her. Attempts at finding loopholes and cheats out of the command were swirling in her head, but there was too much sensory input and stress around her to let her think clearly. She was a bird of action, not contemplation.
It was a relief to see it was still night. Not much time had passed - they hadn't let her stay out very long. Just long enough it seemed to clear the crowd (since she couldn't hear any noises from within the tent). She had 20 hours or so until her date with Orin, and like fooking hell she'd miss that…. She hope Pip got home safe and wasn't too worried. Thea was gonna give her a lashing that'd make the Ringleader jealous if she found out about this, no doubt blame her for bringing Pip into something like this.
The urge to grab at the whip as it was removed was immediately squashed, mage hand staying unconjured. A new set of crushing panic went through her at not using her magic as easily and instinctively as she did.
The phoenix lifted her head and adjusted herself up enough to stare right back at the ringleader, then spat in his general direction.
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 14:52:30 GMT
The ringleader grinned. Whatever fear he’d had of Citrine earlier (the day before, not that Citrine knew that) seemed to be long gone. “That’s fine too,” he said, easily.
“Take her into the tent,” The ringleader ordered.
The worker with the mace set it down, slowly, as did the one she hadn’t talked to the day before with the crossbow. Both would advance towards Citrine cautiously, and work together to pick her up. The ringleader would keep pace as they carried her bodily into the tent, the chains hanging from her body jangling together.
“In the cage.” The ringleader said.
The inside of the tent had been largely cleaned up; the stands were utterly clean, as if no crowd had sat noisily, drunk and eating fistfuls of snacks on them. There were four cages on the stage in the tent, two which were angled with their bars facing the canvas, and one which sat open just beside the entrance. Citrine would be able to see the satyr pacing slowly back and forth in the other one, making small, tight, frustrated circles. The two workers would dump Citrine fairly unceremoniously into the open one.
The ringleader shut the door, closing a padlock over the hand and turning a key to lock it. Faint magical sparks hissed and sizzled as the lock shut audibly.
|
|
Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
|
Post by Citrine on Mar 14, 2019 15:00:56 GMT
Huffing harshly as she was dumped in Citrine bared her teeth and narrowed her eyes at the thugs who were in charge of moving her. It was elating to see the nervousness in their eyes. She wanted to push it, to see if she could get it to fear ((intimidation check?).
The clean nature of the tent had her second guessing herself, which she observed as she jostled enough of the bonds so she could cross her arms and scowl darkly. This. This was stupid. This was so stupid! At least none of her friends were here to see her in this embarrassing predicament. Gods, if her crew saw her? Hell - Thea… Orin… oh gods Malakbel? They'd never let her live it down.
Snorting again she growled out her frustrations as still no loophole came to mind. She was well and truly without her magic. Unless she tried to fight it again - but her desire to live kept her from trying to resist a second time. She remembered the blinding headache that had lashed her head… and right now? Her body felt so tired and weak she doubted she could go more than a round with the mental magic.
She did sent a whistle though over to the satyr, the most cheerful sound she'd made since she'd woken up. There were no hard feelings from earlier. If he looked? She'd wink in an attempt to make it seem like she had this totally under control. Totally.
Scary burb checks (disadv):
zjuZDNyX1d20+3 or 1d20+3
Second time:
1d20+3 or 1d20+3
... my god she's so seven right now it hurts >_< XD1d20+3·1d20+3·1d20+3·1d20+3
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 15:04:14 GMT
((Two intimidation checks for the two employees... both with disadvantage.))
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 15:17:32 GMT
Maybe it was the broken feathers. Maybe it was the fact that she was crossing her arms over her chest while dripping in chairs and rope. Maybe it was just the whole situation. Either way: Citrine would not find either of the guards particularly intimidated by her. One of the guards actually let out something that sounded a lot like a snort at her attempt.
The satyr was holding onto his bars, and glanced over at Citrine at the sound of the whistle. A fleeting smile crossed his face.
“Reassuring, is she?” The ringmaster smiled. “I have an idea. Let’s try a little practice run for our friend here.”
“After I unlock your cage, do your routine.” The ringmaster would focus his gaze on the satyr.
The satyr hung his head, and, as far as Citrine could tell, didn’t fight. His eyes glossed over a little, the same look he’d had the night before. The ringmaster stepped up, unlocking the cage.
The satyr would prance forward out of the cage, spreading his arms wide in center stage, as if to an imaginary crowd. He would toss his head, thick curly hair bouncing a little with the motion, and prance forward to the front of the stage, hips almost swaying. He would pause again there, then slowly walk all the way to the left-most edge of the stands, pause, then walk back to the right-most edge.
The nearest cage seemed to hiss and shake when the satyr came near; he didn’t even seem to notice, as far as Citrine could tell.
“Sit,” The ringleader ordered one of his employees.
“Boss, do I hafta – “ The man glanced at the satyr.
“Sit,” The ringleader wrapped his whip around one hand, giving it a slight tug.
The employee went to sit on the stands, head lowering. His colleague left the tent, fetching the mace and crossbow.
The satyr produced panpipes, lifting them to his lips and playing what was recognizably a little lullaby. After a moment, the employee’s head would tumble forward, and he would start snoring. The satyr paused for a long moment, tucking the pipes away.
After that, he would prance back to the back of the ring, picking up what looked like a… unicycle? He would mount, clumsily, hoofed feet clacking against the pedals, and begin to ride a circle around the arena. The ringmaster watched, smiling. After a few laps and a few simple-looking ground. – quick direction changes, etc., - the ringmaster would toss him three colorful rubber balls, one after the other. The satyr would juggle them as he made a last lap – and just before he completed it, the wheel seemed to hit a bump on the stage, sending him tumbling to the ground.
The ringmaster hissed his fury, stepping forward and lashing the whip at the satyr.
Attack roll: BrqrTiaJ1d20+5
If successful, damage: 3d4+61d20+5·3d4+6
|
|
Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
|
Post by Citrine on Mar 14, 2019 15:47:33 GMT
Watching with morbid interest, Citrine kept an eye on the 'spectacular' of the saytr's performance. It was good, rather good, but there was missing the spark of a -real- performance where the individual actually cared about prancing around. You couldn't force that, no matter how good a command spell you had. From the prancing, to playing through the juggling and unicycle Citrine watched - she had nothing better to do, so minds well, but that all changed when an unfortunate rock or divot sent him spilling to the ground.
The crack of the whip didn't cause her to flinch or turn away.
The sun was sitting on the horizon, sending a watercolor painting across the seas. The air was still warm, and the waves calm. She stepped out onto the deck, out of her Captain's Quarters, a lash in her grip. The worn, oiled dark leather shone in the fading sunlight, yet was not the center of attention. There, tied to the mast moreso in terms of giving the crewmember support than to keep him there against free will, was one of the newest recruits that had signed her code.
The entire crew, from scrub and cabin girl to the quartermaster, were silent as the Captain walked across deck. "Ye stand 'ere, bare-backed, fer breaking line five o' teh Rose's Charter - ah Charter en which ye signed, en blood, teh moment ye agreed ta board me vessel." Her usual upbeat and infectious tone was hard set, stern, and unforgiving. "That Man that shall strike another whilst these Articles are en force, shall receive 40 Stripes lacking one, on teh bare Back." She recited the proclamation, one every single person on the ship was familiar with. They had all signed in blood as well.
Captain Redbriar didn’t need a practice snap as she took up position behind the charged crewmate. "Be there anyone 'ere who speaks on his behalf? Or be willin' tae take 'is place, as allowed." Silence. She let it sit for a heavy moment, ensuring no one would speak up at last moment. "Then sae be et. Messier Tou'louse. Ye will withistand teh fourty minus one, fer ye acts against Misses Starrea. Aggression will be put en teh past. Ah repeat offence will result en death o' marroning - whichever teh crew says sae en majority."
Silence met the Captain's words.
The crack of the whip against his back was the only sound accompanying his grunts and, eventually, whimpers.
Citrine was never one to turn away from a lashing. It served as a reminder, a lesson, and a warning all in one. And in this case? She was no Captain here. And today's lesson? She'd need that healing potion.
The simmering heat of a phoenix's anger still stayed right below the surface, just under the skin. Waiting.
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Mar 14, 2019 16:21:47 GMT
It was a square and vicious hit. The satyr didn't cry out, although his body jerked in response to the lash, three bloody lines opening up on his skin. It seemed even his ability to react was gone. Instead, he climbed to his feet, remounted the unicycle and continued the peformance with blood trickling down his side.
When it ended, he would step back into the cage, standing still and blank until the ringmaster locked him in. Only then did he begin to whimper, involuntary keening noises.
The grunt on the bleachers had woken up a few minutes earlier, looking bleary and uncomfortable.
"Fetch Marguerite." The ringmaster told him.
The grunt nodded, leaving out the front. He would return moments later with the woman from the concession stand, who sat next to him on the bleachers.
"Is she ready?" Marguerite asked.
"We'll see." The ringleader turned to Citrine, studying her. He smiled. "I have a feeling she'll be a real star. You may not like it, aarakocra, but this will be much easier if you don't fight me."
After a moment, he would focus. This command would be a little longer, more intricate. "No magic. When I say begin, wait for me to unlock the cage, step out and fly one circle around the stage inside the tent, then reenter the cage and wait for me to lock it."
Saving throw, etc
|
|
Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
|
Post by Citrine on Mar 14, 2019 20:05:55 GMT
She had a choice to make here. Either do her best right out of the gate, or deliberately be lackluster in her performance so as to not get their hopes up. As she listened to the command, not resisting the order, she lowered her head in resigned obedience at the moment. The cage door swung open once more, the ropes and chains pulled off - all of which she kept still and steady. She listened. Marguerite. That was a name she'd remember. She then waited for the 'begin', once all the ropes and the like were off of her.
She stepped out, and fluttered hop jumped (ungracefully) onto the top of the cage, out of whip range, and took a leisurely moment to stretch her wings and torso - arms reaching over her head, wings matching the movements. She then cracked her back, her neck, and reached down to touch her toes then arched her back like a cat. She took another leisure moment to inspect both wings, not looking at anyone in the ring, to preen a few of the extremely loose and broken feathers. There'd be no way she could fly properly with that much wing damage. And everyone else here would just have to wait until she was at least somewhat presentable. The nasty water hadn't helped any - she was still soaked, no magic having been used dry herself.
The soaking had ruined her wings too. Despite being a sea-bird her wings had to be dry in order to fly. It was soon raining Rain as she shook out her wings and held them out and aloft - both massive things made of a slightly dimmed sunset. Shaking them both in a hummingbird like way she shed the water that had flooded them, spraying the people around her if she was lucky. They went to hang again, spread out - all 12 feet - to dry further. It would have taken her mere moments, but… no magic. Air dry it would be.
If the ringmaster was actually a druid, he'd at least have the intelligence to know there was no way she was flying until she was dry. Wet wings didn't fly, it just wasn't done. Especially for a phoenix like herself. But if he wanted to assume she was a different race? That was on him - poor excuse of a druid, in her opinion. She was a creature of fire, first and foremost despite her love of the sea and sky.
She kept a passive face even as inside she was smirking. He'd said to get out, fly, and return. Not that she couldn't have a few detour steps in-between. She was obeying, to the word. Intent didn't matter, not with how her mind processed commands, not in cases like this. The spell was very specific, and so, too, would she be. She'd been manipulated by Archfey of the Winter Court - a power hungry druid wouldn't be able to top that. Not by a long shot. He wanted a star for the show - he wouldn't kill her. She could take a few lashings and being force-fed potions until his hair turned blue. She'd be obedient. On her terms. Collar or no. Pip was gone, they had nothing truly to hold over her.
Absently she preened off a few more feathers as her wings dried. Still quiet. Still simmering. Still listening.
|
|
