Aric Armitage something … to the monk, for the wound that had been spurting blood now appeared more like a trickle. Even his gore from yesterday looked like it had already gone pink with healing flesh. How had the monk healed so quickly? Aric looked curiously at the Solamnic knight (to hell with splitting hairs calling him a squire, he was a knight in Aric’s book). He’d seen the blonde-haired man perform curious miracles before – the battle with the broodmother down in the sewers was the most fascinating example – but then he paused. We’ve all had strange, inexplicable things happen to us since we came together. I just had an arrow – a regular, plain broadhead arrow – turn black and smoky. Weird stuff has happened to all of us. other mentor, the elf Isandril, who had taken to examining the arrow with a curious look on his face. Aric still thought of him vaguely as his mentor, though if he were being perfectly honest, that particular avenue seemed to have narrowed, as the elven magus found his time and attention occupied with more pressing issues – the Khurish boy mage who had been saved from the cocoon, followed in short order by his mentorship under Lady Shaylin Moonborn. A lot of changes had taken place for Aric and his companions (friends?) Were they friends? They had been through many an ordeal in their short time together. If struggle didn’t make them friends, it certainly made them familiar, and that should have been enough.And yet… That seemed real. Besimeh had clearly never faced this sort of threat before – not that Aric had either – and her reaction appeared to be a genuine response to an unanticipated trauma. For all the doubt he might have held about her choice of traveling companion, he found himself strangely commiserating with the broken merchant. Only I don’t think she’s really broken. Bent, maybe. That was the key takeaway here. Every single one of these people appeared to be dealing with loss, appeared to be carrying a massive stone on their shoulders. None of them had broken thus far, and for all the questions of trust he might have had about some of them, he could not deny that they had looked adversity in the face and not shied away from it.Bless you, Habakkuk, bless you for your mercy. I still cannot undo the wrong I have done, but I will spend what time I have to give this young bird a chance at life. He wondered what it would be like to fly. He imagined soaring up above all this grit and heat, feeling the updrafts lift him higher and higher, the sun dappling against his back. He imagined flying through a cloud and feeling its clingy moisture pepper his face. He imagined the rush and roar of wind flowing at great speed past his ears as he dived down toward the earth, only to pull up at the last moment with an exhilarating whoosh of wings. He smiled faintly at this pleasant little dream, then put the cap back on his waterskin and stood up.Dice *
History of black mirror, disadvantage
1d20+2kl1 (13
Total = 151d20+2kl1 (16
Total = 18
it clicked . Gods, he whispered, his mouth full of cotton. Gods, but it was the heat, the heat from a flame, a dragon’s flame, my gods, it- it burned them to death, it scorched the very sand- How…? why…? The words of a child who does not understand. But he was beginning to. Oh, yes, he was learning quickly about this world.Might as well, he thought. Either press on, or lie down and join the dead. He walked over to where the two women stood, surveying the ancient carnage.”Had to be dragonflame,” he said dully. There was a lump in his throat the size of Xihue’s fist, but somehow he was able to press on. ”I don’t know if this is why the weird sand things came out of the ground, but I don’t see any other possible explanation…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. He thought of his dream, of flying above the clouds, of being free , and he realized that, much like the voices that had been heard inside the standing stones, these spirits must have been trapped as well. He wished for perhaps the thousandth time that Kaylen had been there. She would have known what to do, he thought with certainty. It always felt like she had the right answer. He hunched down, staring vacantly at the field of charred bones and blackened sand. If only they could just fly away… couldn’t they?They couldn’t fly away, they were just bones. Right? Silence. No, not silence. A thin, delicate squawk seemed to echo from inside his pack, and he realized that he must have jostled Kay awake. He unslung the pack and undid the leather cord keeping the pack tied. The tiny vulture was certainly awake, and probably hungry. He gave a thin smile at the bird. ”I’ll see what I have for you, little one,” he said softly. In truth, he wasn’t sure exactly what he had to offer her. There might be a little bit left of the snake meat that Xihue had killed. It wasn’t exactly clean, but then vultures subsisted on carrion, so he imagined that Kay wouldn’t care very much. He took a moment to grab the last little hunk of snake flesh. He had taken to chopping up chunks of it at a time like a long section of sausage, then cauterizing the end on a hot stone in the campfire to keep the bleeding end from gushing too much. It was not a pretty sight, but then there was little in this world that was.So pretty, he thought, brushing gently at the bird. The little thing was one of the most vibrant things out here, surrounded as they were by the leaden blue sky and shimmering hot sand. Everything was so pale, and yet here was this small creature, so full of life-Dice *
Sleight of Hand (pluck feather from Kay), disadv
1d20+3kl1sch10 (11
✔ Total = 141d20+3kl1sch10 (19
✔ Total = 22
unwittingly pulled out one of her feathers . Fortunately, the young chick did not appear to have noticed – or, if she had, did not appear to be perturbed in the slightest. He fed her the rest of her minced supper, then pinched the thin red feather between his right thumb and forefinger. It felt almost electric, the vibrant red of it. He stared at the thin tufts of red vane – and this was the strangest part. It felt like gentle hands were prodding him forward. You know what to do, he thought he heard, though it might have merely been the wind.”Fly away now,” he said quietly to the ghost of the child. ”Dice *
Religion (spirits to rest), disadv
1d20+2kl1 (18
Total = 201d20+2kl1 (16
Total = 18
Fly away. You’re free now, you and all your family. You’re not trapped here anymore. ”
Code:
Questions:
-The mirror demon: why did it look like Blyne?
Well that one might be easy, actually, he realized. A mirror reflects, and Blyne was the first one to look at it. If Tegan had looked at it first, it probably would have looked like him, right? Theoretically, yes, it was possible, but it wasn’t like he could replicate the experience to find out. I’ll just have to trust that it was simply the nature of whatever dark energy was stored in that mirror, and not anything to do with our walking talking chameleon. He put a checkmark next to the question.
Code:
-What is the nature of Blyne’s ability?
That one would be tricky. For as verbose as Blyne was, she was also evasive and incredibly tight-lipped when questions shifted in her direction. He put an ellipsis at the end of this question, then wrote ‘Isandril?’ after it. I’ve never seen anyone like her, but if anyone knows anything about anything, it would be our resident magus. He tapped the quill against his chin in thought.
Code:
-The Dawnstar: just what the hell is Talia talking about?
He immediately put a grumpy face at the end of that question. Talking to the kender was always a mentally and emotionally taxing experience. She’d gotten “better” in recent days, and he had to admit, he much preferred her blathering on about being the Dawnstar to ragging him for his virginity. That thought made him instinctually think of Dove – Kishra – and he immediately felt his cheeks flush. He still remembered the curve of her legs, the swell of her-Stop it! he growled, and the thoughts were chased away as though splashed with cold water. He focused on making the grumpy face look angrier and tried to ignore his desires for the half-elven woman. I don’t even know if I’ll ever see her again, he thought glumly. They’ll kill me on sight if I show my face near Pashin – and who knows how the city is even doing now, after Blainneth and Veralyne – sorry, Devari and Blyne – left. Didn’t Devari say there was some kind of uprising? The thought made his heart grow cold, and he tried not to picture what might have happened to the fiery-haired temptress that had so taken his heart. I hope you’re alright, Kishra. I hope you were able to get down to the sewers and hide with the elves. He added another note to his list.
Code:
-Ask Devari more about what happened when they were leaving Pashin.
He wrote the word ‘carefully’ after this question. He recalled that the beautiful woman had been pretty shaken up when she’d rejoined the party in the aftermath of their assault on the bandit encampment. He was concerned about Kishra, yes, but he wasn’t about to go about bludgeoning Devari with questions simply to assuage his own fears. He circled ‘carefully,’ then put a line underneath it. She seemed okay, but then so many people put on a brave face while they were crumbling inside. And he certainly didn’t dislike Devari, not by any means. She didn’t have fists of steel like Xihue, or a magical spellbook like Isandril. She didn’t have a big honkin’ sword like Tegan did, or even Talia’s weird little… sling… thingy. She had her wits and her beauty, and when the damned Nerakans couldn’t – or wouldn’t – take her life, they tried to settle for taking her hair. He remembered the hurt look in her normally bright brown eyes, and that hurt look made him ache for her. She was still beautiful. He jotted that down.
Code:
-Tell Devari she’s beautiful again. Tell her every day until she gets her smile back.
He’d tried to say something similar
Quote:
”I don’t really believe in new beginnings, but I think things will be better moving forward. We understand one another more than we did yesterday, and I’m sure tomorrow will be better than today. Just like you and your hair, Devari. They may have taken your locks, but…” He closed his eyes, thinking of the words he had only so recently come to know. He slowly moved his finger in a slow, dancing arc in the air and quietly whispered ”Corona florum.” ”Just because they took your hair doesn’t make you any less beautiful.”
the day before , but didn’t know if it had registered with her in the midst of her shock and grief. He could understand. He’d spent the last decade or so feeling numb. He’d actually embraced it, if he was being honest. The numbness was like a shield, a defense against all the hurt his father tried to lay on his only child. Just because his father hadn’t been able to process his own pain of loss and betrayal, that didn’t mean that Aric should have had to suffer for it. But that was what had happened, and there was no changing it. There was only forward. He thought quietly, tapping the quill against his chin again. This one was a toughie.
Code:
-Standing stones. So: are the dead really trapped? If they are, is it because of the stones? Or are
the stones just… some sort of ‘thinness’ to the world where their voices can be heard more easily,
like putting a drinking glass against the wall? Would breaking the stones free them?
He put a half-dozen question marks at the end of this, then, just below it, he added:
Code:
-Is my father’s soul trapped? And how do I free him if he is?
He looked down at where his pack lay still on the earth and stared at the rusted and weather-beaten axe that had bore the brunt of hundreds of hours of abuse, felling trees in the forest in the gnarled hands of Robert Armitage. Oakgrove had been a logging camp that turned into a village, and, until he’d turned into a desert nomad, it had been the only home Aric had ever known. His father had built their little hut with his two hands. Aric tried to picture his father’s face, how the man had looked before he’d been maimed while trying to defend his wife, but every time he thought he was close, it slipped away as though it were cloaked in shadow, the lines and features blurred like grease on a lens. Had his father ever even smiled before? Aric sat there quietly, trying so desperately to remember. It was like… it was like trying to distinguish something obscured by fog. He had been so young, only five when his family was destroyed. He closed his eyes, willing the memories of youth to appear before him, as though they could be whipped into shape like a farmer might drive his ox to plow. He pressed his fists against his temples, feeling the pulse beneath his scalp. There was nothing there now; every grab only made the image pull further away. He let out an exasperated sigh. He knew there must have been happy memories buried in there somewhere, but time and trauma had buried them with the same grim efficiency as a gravedigger. Maybe in a dream, I might remember, he thought with a faint hope. Next to the question on the page, he drew a little picture of his father’s axe.Eavesdropping is impolite, he remembered his mother saying once. He had snuck out of bed and had been listening in at his mother’s bedroom door. Why do I remember her so easily? he wondered. She had been humming something, and it had awoken him and made him feel happy, but apparently, he had broken the moment. He thought back to that warm memory, and it made him recall one last question for his journal.
Code:
-Ask Xihue about the song.
He drew a little quarter note next to this last line, then blew quickly on the page so that the thin lines of ink would dry faster. When the words were dry, he closed the journal, capped the small vial of ink, and gently placed his writing accoutrements back in the safe confines of his pack.”This seems as good a place as any to rest,” he said quietly when the rest of the party had all rejoined him.
Even if we did, we’re still on the run. A fire would only draw our foes to us like moths. He picked at the small, tart cactus fruits that Xihue had gathered on his travel across the desert. It was a wonder anything could be this moist in such an arid landscape. The sun had sunk low, shrouded behind the distant mountains to their west, and now the stifling heat of day had been replaced by the biting chill of evening. The sand doesn’t hold heat the way the waters do, he repeated to himself. The shock of cold at night was a surprise every time it snuck up on him, for it was such a dramatic swing from the unforgiving heat. He drew himself further into his leathers and shut his eyes, waiting for the dawn. I’ll sleep at some point, but not yet. They had wanted to get as far from the grim darkness of the black mirror, and Aric had not faulted them for this, but there were still miles to go yet. We’ll have to press on far into the night if we want to make the mountains, he thought dolefully. He hadn’t been wounded per se in the battle, but the memory of his poisoning was still felt very fresh. He was feeling better-ish now, but his appetite was touch and go. It was the thirst more than anything else that was getting to him, like his body had sweated out all the liquid in his body while trying to expel the poison, and now he was wrung dry like a sponge. Of course, having drank all that liquid…”I gotta go write my name in the sand,” he said to no one in particular, and headed off in search of a private dune to relieve himself. He could have sworn he was getting even colder, as though moving away from his imaginary fire had somehow chilled him. He quickly did his business and was turning to head back to rejoin the others when the sound of voices and the pounding of hooves or feet broke the tranquil quiet of evening. Aric felt his blood go even colder somehow. Not now! We just fought something! And, on the heels of that – Xihue! His friend was still hurt – not mortally, but he certainly wasn’t about to go toe to toe with a minotaur anytime soon. He sprinted back to the others and was about to alert them of what was coming when a man crested over the dune, charging straight for Tegan. Or… no. No, it was a horse. No, not a man or a horse, but a centaur . Aric didn’t give a damn what it was, it was still charging his friend. Only…What? He looked around. Unlike the fight with the bandits, few of his companions seemed to be viewing the centaur as all that threatening. In fact, was that a ghost of a smile on Xihue’s face? Aric didn’t understand. He knew Tegan was tough, but this thing was charging at quite a clip. Aric had his bow out… but no one else seemed to be setting up to fight. He looked around blankly. Is this a game of some sort? If it is, I don’t think it’s all that funny. He watched the centaur move ever closer to his friend. An idea came to him, and he reached his hand out to point at the encroaching beast-man. His finger moved with a sort of cast True Strike magical precision , as though it were somehow mapping out the best point for him to put an arrow. If it comes to that, he thought worriedly. He hoped it wouldn’t, that this was just some sort of prank he didn’t understand. If it was a prank, he sure didn’t find it funny.
Actions Action: A cornucopia of rolls . True Strike at the charging centaur to give me advantage against him, should it come to that.Reaction: Bonus: Move: Object Interaction: Effects: Concentration: Banishing Shot, Grasping Shot Arcane Shots remaining
Stat Block Name: Aric Armitage Armor Class : 15| Hit Points : 28/28 | Speed : 30ftMelee Attack: reflavored scimitar. Finesse, Light Fire Poker and reflavored shortsword. Finesse, light Butcher Knife +5/+5, 1d8+3/1d6 | reflavored battleaxe. Versatile (1d10) Father's Lumber Axe +2, 1d8 (1d10)Ranged Attack: Longbow +7, 1d8+5 (main weapon)Str 10 (+0) | Dex 17 (+3) | Con 15 (+2) | Int 14 (+2) | Wis 12 (+1) | Cha 10 (+0)Saving throws : Str +2 | Dex +3 | Con +4 | Int +2 | Wis +1 | Cha +0Proficient Skills : Acrobatics +5 | Arcana +4 | Nature +4 | Perception +3 | Stealth + 5 | Survival +3 | Skills
Skill Mod Skill Mod Acrobatics +5 Medicine +1 Animal Handling +1 Nature +4 Arcana +4 Perception +3 Athletics +0 Performance +0 Deception +0 Persuasion +0 History +2 Religion +2 Insight +1 Sleight of Hand +3 Intimidation +0 Stealth +5 Investigation +2 Survival +3
Skill Table Save DC 12 Spells Transmutation cantrip Druidcraft | Evocation cantrip Light | Divination cantrip True Strike | 1st-level evocation Thunderwave Passive Perception : 13 Initiative: +3 | Hit Dice: 3d10Languages : Common | Abanasinian | Solamnic
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Posting status: Delayed by life/brain stuff. Will post when I can. Skip/NPC as needed.
Nov 1st, 2023, 10:27 PM
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