[Game Thread] Ch. 12: They That Watch for the Morning

[Fillyjonk]

Whoopsie Her fire and Pal’s melts away so much of the stairs, and she sees Joachim teeter and start to go down. Nothing she could do about this, normally. He’s a foot taller, broader, bulkier, altogether Dwarfier, in fact, the Dwarfiest, in fact a Dwarf. But not today. Today they are long tall awful-evil owls, the same. As he starts to fall, she grabs him with her talons and swings him, her weight a perfect counter to his. Unfortunately, whirling him away from the edge means her body goes toward it. Stupid body! So fake and awkward! How many bodies has she been. Perfectly. Naturally. But she cannot be this one. She rides it like it is a terrible cart with janky wheels and a cracked axle. Her long ridiculous limbs flail and pinwheel fruitlessly. She plummets away from him with a shocked squawk, right down the hole, banging and bruising herself along the way. Willow, twined onto this stupid body with twigs of steel, rasps and squawks. Tru probably hurts herself more than she has to, taking the brunt of the fall to protect her little shrub. When she finally stops, she is almost laughing because, damn. Damn. I’m good, Brother Hooter, she calls up. Pal, look for more owls that aren’t us. Kill them all! Such a blow to the enemy! She doesn’t love the chanting, though. Surviving owls, calling a god who literally stops by her on her nightly Rime-Drop. Does she know the spell? Is it Guidance as she knows guidance, or some stranger, stronger group thing.

OOC Free Interaction: Reaction: Actions: Fail dex save to FALL IN HOLE, use crit SAVE JOACHIM lose initiative Dice DAMAGE FROM FALL: d6 5 Dice religion on chantinhg: d20 1 Conditional: Bonus Action: Move: Condition: Concentrating:   |Hin Druid | Level 5| Character Sheet HP: 34/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 18 Wild Shape: 0/2 DM Inspiration: SPENT! Favors owed the devil: One Ravisin Bone Viability 8/10 days Potions:1 Healing 1 Flying. Bloodstone Charge 0/1. Scrolls: 1 Blink. Ring of the Inevitable Charges 5/6 Spells: Save DC 15 Level 1: 3/4 Level 2: 2/3 Level 3: 0/2 Avarice’s Staff 2/10 Proficient Skills: Stealth +5, Perception +5 Deception +3 Nature +2 Sleight of Hand (when using Thieves Tools) +6 Attuned: Moonsickle, Ring of Ravisin Spell Info: Ability=Wisdom, DC 15, Spell Attack Bonus +5 Cantrips: Guidance, Druidcraft, Firebolt, Shillelagh Current Spells on DnD Beyond OSCO HP: 30/30 OSCO AC: 13

[lostcheerio]

Shivergrim Peak Tru, it's quick thinking that saves him and the shrub. Your arm shoots out, yoinks him back from the brink, but what felt like safe footing slides out from under you so your pulling him to safety actually drags you off the edge. He gargles out a surprised yelp. You fall down, twisting away from Willow, and whump into soggy linen and slush and cold. When you can reorient yourself to blink and look around, you are in a mess. Willow doesn't even whimper, just clamps down around you, burying her fronds in your neck. You see the hole above you, Ringelnatz' perplexed face appearing at the edge, dim blue light around you from the flickering torches inside the hallway, and then in your immediate range of vision you see nothing but the two ice bugs, their faces immediately next to your face, their sharp little legs tapping at your chest. You hear a click and crack, some kind of communication. The chanting was weird. Barbarian stuff. This click is alien, like an interrupted cricket, or the flicking of a beetle's wings. Sitting up is hard. You're wet and freezing, and the shrub is like a thorny girdle. You see the hall you were in before, now broken in and crushed, open to the air, but still with two corners you can see -- one to the southeast and one to the northwest. The bugs tap you, their heads tilting. If you blink or speak, they rear back. Then you hear a scream. Not of fear or pain, but definitely a call. The bugs react immediately, skittering backward off you, and running for the corner, from whence the sound came. There you see her. Huge. Much bigger than a horse. A four-legged monstrosity with thick, blue-white skin and heavy, clawed feet. Her body is saucer-shaped, with a long, powerful tail ending in a macelike club and huge jutting ribs of bone arching over her back. Her head is insectile and shelters between her forelimbs, protected by her bony carapace. Four long clawed arms sprout from her back, ending in claws that look like razor-sharp icicles. They are coated in frozen blood and matted with clumps of torn linen. The babies run for her, clicking over the ice, and as she launches herself straight toward you, springing off her back legs, they leap onto her back. Now the scream changes. Instead of a call, it's rage. Intense cold strikes you as she comes near, and her spiked arms drive deep into you -- one into your shoulder and one into your thigh. She moves jerkily, seeming poised to tear you in half while her strange children watch from her back, but then her head thumps forward. Ringelnatz roars, rapier out, trying to straddle the neck, between the thing's huge head and the ridge behind it, but he falls off and slips around, hanging off that pointed ridge by one hand. He slashes at one talon that's piercing you with his rapier, hacking off a small chunk of ice. Enough to prevent her from pinning you. Enough that she withdraws her spikes from your body, now dripping with your blood. OOC I did an action for Ringelnatz but will leave his movement to you. Currently he's hanging off the chilblain's neck by one hand, pretty much directly over you. Name Health AC Damage Conditions Concentrating Gumri 27/38 14 Yselm 67/67 13 Lyle 37/37 14 Storm 37/37 14 Polar Bear 42/42 12 Ringelnatz 33/33 14 Tru 14/38 18 -11 -9 Osco 30/30 13     Palavatar 178/178 18 Ma Chilblain Healthy 22 -8   Baby Jane Chilblain Healthy 18 Baby Joe Chilblain Healthy 18

[Fillyjonk]

MOTHERBUGGER Tru stands up on her long dumb legs. She is so hurt; her blood is red against the ice and fallen powder, spattering bright across the strange ice-colored hide of the massive creature who has pierced her. She is dizzy from pain but---It is a mother. She can’t blame it. She would do the same. What the Fifth Hell is Joachim doing, though? She did her best to twirl him away and make him not be down here! Why is he dangling and whanging at this bug like some kind of Big Damn Hero who doesn’t care if he lives or—oh. Right. Well, she cares. She grabs the fly potion and chugs it one-handed, then zooms straight up. She is flying. For the first time, really. It is awkward in this unforgivable hybrid mess of a body, but hey, unlike real flight in a good animal body — it works. She was an owl before, once, a small puffy white perfect darling snow owl, and she only battered herself in a flappy bluster against the walls of the cavern and then splatted. She still can't work a flying animal; if she put herself through Ravisin’s ring and became a flock of owls, then all the owls of her would simply smash into the nearest ground or tree or wall. She zooms right to him and wraps her long weird arms around his long weird waist. This is Brom, but not. She knows his body as a warm wall, grounded and steady, his heartbeat a deep reverberation pitched low like the notes of his creation song. This body is a thrashing bunch of sticks she is clutching with her own dumb sticks. She clacks her beak near his ear-hole to make him be still, then jams her face into the feathers of his cheek, trying like the mammal she is under this mask to smell her friend inside the feathery wrongness. They haven’t been this close since the garden. She lifts him, clasping him to her breast, knowing he will have to take the brunt of it if the mother lashes out as they are leaving, as the hold puts him in front of her. She hates this, and wishes she could take it. With the potion coursing through her veins, she has no need to concentrate on this spell, but even so, a parting blow might knock them both to the ground, her unconscious, so she lets him Big Damn Hero this part as her living shield. They BDH this together. They soar up out of its reach, angling for the edge, her dumb long limbs wrapping to hold him at least as tight as Willow is clutching her. Even if they reach the edge, she is weirdly loathe to let him go. She is so ripped open and so dizzy, and she hurts. Can she get up and out? Maybe we don't have to kill her. She is a mother. She is only---Pal can you try to drive her back into the tunnel? Pal is already moving down to whang at her with his claws and teeth. Osco zips to the edge to spit his seeds down, too.

OOC Tru Bonus Action: Drink FLY potion Free interaction: Grab Brom. MOVE: 15 feet to stand. 5 feet of flying up to Joachim. 5 more feet of flying carrying Joachim (Movement halved) Action: SPRINT, 15 more feet of flying straight up, so now 25 feet above the ground/hole (We will land at the top part if this is enough movement to get us out of the hole -- if it is more than enough we will move away from her.) OSCO: Run to edge and spit seeds at mom-bug. Dice attack: d20+5sh22 (16)+5 ✘ Total = 21 Dice dex save: d20+2sh14 (4)+2 ✘ Total = 6 Pal action: Fly down to pit and whack at mom, trying to drive her back into the hall./tunnel Dice BITE: d20+10sh22 (3)+10 ✘ Total = 13 Dice claw 1: d20+10sh22 (2)+10 ✘ Total = 12 Dice claw 2: d20+10sh22 (3)+10 ✘ Total = 13 Pal BREATH RESET? Dice Roll: d6sh5 3 ✘   |Hin Druid | Level 5| Character Sheet HP: 14/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 18 Wild Shape: 0/2 DM Inspiration: SPENT! Favors owed the devil: One Ravisin Bone Viability 8/10 days Potions:1 Healing Bloodstone Charge 0/1. Scrolls: 1 Blink. Ring of the Inevitable Charges 5/6 Spells: Save DC 15 Level 1: 3/4 Level 2: 2/3 Level 3: 0/2 Avarice’s Staff 2/10 Proficient Skills: Stealth +5, Perception +5 Deception +3 Nature +2 Sleight of Hand (when using Thieves Tools) +6 Attuned: Moonsickle, Ring of Ravisin Spell Info: Ability=Wisdom, DC 15, Spell Attack Bonus +5 Cantrips: Guidance, Druidcraft, Firebolt, Shillelagh Current Spells on DnD Beyond OSCO HP: 30/30 OSCO AC: 13

[Yoshimi]

Gumri Melnagroth Everything had been white and painfully hot before the shockwave hit, after which everything had become black and painfully cold. But the dauntless pebbling had jumped to his feet despite a tongue that felt desert-dry and a head that was swimming in circles. He mumbled thickly, "'m coming," and charged up the stairs. He stabbed the remaining enemy, when suddenly there was...a giant lizard that swallowed the owl in one bite? No...he was still face down on the ice, with his parched eyeballs arguing firmly that they intended to keep the lids drawn. But with his friends in danger, he had pushed himself to his feet and this time he actually mumbled thickly, "'m coming," and charged up the stairs. He stabbed the owl priest, while Yselm was calling out something about a polar bear from behind him. Again, no. Gumri's woozy brain points out that he is, in fact, still lying in relatively peaceful darkness. With his whole body feeling like it had been flash-dehydrated, remaining prone seems like the soft option. Then comes the scream...like a frozen spike through his fevered imagination. His eyelids unstick slightly, and he peeks out from the slits to a closeup view of the ground. There were other sounds...the sounds of friends in trouble. With a raspy groan he manages this time to truly and actually stand on his stilt-like owl legs, just as the true and actual Paldark avatar descends into the gaping hole before him, and Tru flies out holding Ringelnatz. "That was weird." Beside him, Yselm barks some orders. The polar bear and the two dire wolves charge toward the hole, Lyle and the bear slipping on the ice about halfway there and gliding the rest of the way to the rim before standing and jumping in. There is a strange noise, and when he turns his head, he sees an owl hovering above the spot where Yselm had been just a moment before. The bird flies up and over the hole, and the swashbuckler mumbles, "Hmmm." He looks behind him, on the off chance that he might see his body still face down and semi-conscious. But that did not seem to be the case. So the curious pebbling ambles wobbly-kneed but still sure-footed to the edge of the hole where he beholds Yselm's animal companions attacking an extremely large version of the little chillblains the party had seen earlier. "Umm..." A memory arose of his little chwinga riding one of the chillblains about like a cheerful little cavalier. It was then that Gumri finally noticed a lack of small, cold pressure on the nape of his neck. "Huh...uh oh." He looks this way and that before calling groggily, "Where's Chwaldo?" He scratches the back of his neck and frowns. The chwinga were from Hleid, Tru had said, who was a kindly snow fairy or something. He wished he'd been listening a little more closely to her story. But one thing was clear: Chwaldo had tried to tell him that these creatures were good. He waves his hands at the wolves and cries hoarsely. "Hey stop that! Stand down!" Gumri steps lightly down into the hole, rummaging frantically in his pack and extracting a small, salted fish from his rations. He comes to a halt right beneath the massive scorpion-beast and waggles the fish enticingly. With his head still throbbing, he can't seem to piece together anything very coherent to say. So he settles for, "Fishy, fishy, fishy! Good, eh? Fishy, fishy fishy." He watches the monster hopefully.

Gumri’s Actions Out Of Combat: Reaction: Actions: Peace offering to chillblain (Persuasion) Bonus Action: Cunning Action (Dash), enter hole and approach adult chillblain Free Action: Object Interaction: Get dried fish ration from belongings Move: To edge of hole Condition: Yselm orders the polar bear and the dire wolves into the hole and Wild Shapes Into an owl, flies to 30' above the bottom edge of the hole. Polar bear jumps into hole and attacks chillblain. Lyle and Storm enter the hole and attack the chillblain. Effects: Displaced Concentrating: Rolls: Gumri rolls a 10 for Persuasion Lyle and Polar Bear fail slippery ice save, Storm Makes it. Polar Bear drops successfully from higher lip of hole. Lyle Misses His Attack on a 14, Storm crits with a 25 for 10 damage, Polar bear bite hits on a 24 for 12 damage and misses the claw on a 13. Total damage = 22

 

Gumri Melnagroth|Pebbling (Earth Genasi) Swashbuckler Rogue| Level 5
HP: 27/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 14
Saves: STR -1 | Dex +6 | Con +2 | Int + 2 | Wis +1 | Cha +3
Attacks: main hand Shortsword+1 +7, d6+4 | offhand Shortsword +6, d6 | Shortbow +6, d6+3
DM Inspiration: No
Spells:
Cantrips: Blade Ward (Merge with Stone) -Racial- (3/LR), Booming Blade -Feat-, Green Flameblade -Feat-
Level 1: Earth Tremor -Feat- (1/LR)
Level 2: Pass Without Trace -Racial- (1/LR)
Proficient Skills: Acrobatics +6, Perception +6 Insight +4 Persuasion +9 Sleight of Hand +6 Stealth +6
Thieves Tools +8
Feats and Abilities: Magic Initiate (Sorcerer), Darkvision 60', Sneak Attack 3d6
Attuned: Cloak of Displacement
Languages: Common, Gnomish, Undercommon, Thieves' Cant
Spell Info: Ability=Charisma, DC 14, Spell Attack Bonus +6
A Pair of Hungry Caterpillars: 5 charges (Red, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet)

[lostcheerio]

Shivergrim Peak Tru, you rise above. The monster slashes out with one of her sharp front legs and rips through Ringelnatz' robes and into his body as you lift him past. But, he jumped himself in here, after you scooped him to safety! And, he isn't mad. He gurgles a little as the talon goes in deep but then takes a big inhale and then says, "Alright, fire bright, no limbs left behind if you please," in a cheeky, beaky way as you ascend, leaving a spray of blood and strip of robe behind. The dragon drops past you into the hole and swipes at the ice scorpion. The wolves attack, and Yselm brings a bear. Up in the air, you see three priests coming out of the cathedral. They are shoulder to shoulder, owlfaces raised to the sky, and when they reach the doorway they begin to chant again. Deep and loud, reverberating through the ice, it seems to shake the very mountain. Another prayer, but a different kind. The temperature begins to drop. It's been cold, and dark, but now the darkness seems to thicken, the blue and yellow torches around the cathedral dim, and the wind dies down to a whisper. Chill creeps into your owl chest and ice begins to rime your owl eyes. Their singing rises from the low deep tone to a rapid staccato, like ice breaking, and harsh bells inside the cathedral begin to ring. Gumri, it's complicated in this melty, freezy hole, full of broken ice stairs, and dead bodies, and a righteous dragon proclaiming the glory of Bahamut, and two dire wolves who do not mess around, and an ice mother with her ice children, oh, and also a polar bear. Into this you descend. Because, there's a thing that you want. The baby chilblains climb on and ride their mother's back easily, their icy little limbs finding places to grip. They regard you flat, like pebbling toddlers strapped to a parent's back with swaths of wool. The safety of proximity to her. She is all rage. The dragon can't hit her, and the sweeter, goofier wolf doesn't go in hard enough to catch her waving limbs, but the wolf Yselm calls Storm is not here to play. He and breaks off a talon in his mouth, crunches through the frozen blood that covers it, and rips it from her. Impressive. The bear tears at her with sharp teeth. But you have other ideas. You want this. To move into and out of stone, becoming. You aren't stone. You're flesh and you bleed. You eat and breathe. But this creature is ice. Pure, like stone. Another force binds her, that is life but isn't life. Life that comes from the weave, like your mother summons when she glides into a mountain face, and disappears. Still alive, but stone. It's not the same creature, when she does that. She becomes. But here is a creature that just is. You offer a fish. It's a friendly offer. But it's a busy hallway. The dragon, the wolf, and the bear. There is a flash of intelligence behind her beady icy eyes, and a bit of curiosity. She is aware, and not entirely untamed -- you know that she's been living here, in the custody of these owlfaces, whatever that means. The fish is not unacceptable. but she's beset by enemies, and she won't take it. The moment's consideration turns to rejection, turns to suspicion, to fear, and she backs away. Squeezing between the bear and the wolves, she skitters back into the hallway, babies hanging on. Before she turns to run, she spits out an attack. A spew of icy air shoots out of her mouth and fills the hallway. Ice covers you. OOC   I created a secondary map for "downstairs" in the hallway, to the left of the current map. Everyone in the hallway can have a melee attack of opportunity on the chilblain as she flees backwards away from the hole BEFORE rolling their save. Everyone in the hallway needs to make a constitution saving throw with DC 14, or take 34 points of cold damage. Then make a second constitution saving throw with DC 14, or be blinded by frostbitten eyelids and frozen eyes for 2d6 turns. If Gumri is down from the first one, he doesn't have to roll the second one. On the table, the "I made the save" damage numbers are in parentheses. Name Health AC Damage Conditions Concentrating Gumri 0(10)/38 14 -34(-17) Yselm 67/67 13 Lyle 3(20)/37 14 -34(-17) Storm 3(20)/37 14 -34(-17) Polar Bear 8(25)/42 12 -34(-17) Ringelnatz 13/33 14 -20 Tru 14/38 18 -11 -9 Osco 30/30 13     Palavatar 144(161)/178 18 -34(-17) Ma Chilblain Slightly Hurt 22 -8 -22   Baby Jane Chilblain Healthy 18 Baby Joe Chilblain Healthy 18 Owlbear Link.

[Fillyjonk]

MOTHERBUGGER 2 She sees Gumri slump into a heap as she is rising, and she hurls healing toward him, a warm red energy that stirs the small cold form in the ice. She calls down, She's leaving! She didn't take your fish, but I think she gets the message, Gumri. She has her babies on her now, so she'll bug out if we let her. Or so she hopes. Pal, leave her be, come get these ****ing owls! Oh Dawnflower, but the dogs look bad. Storm, you and Lyle evacuate ! she stops and changes to Druidic, which these Awakened speak but will sound like so much mooing to the owls: Meet your druid by the secret trail.. All the while, she feels more than she hears the deep reverberation of Joachim's low note, that hum that drives pain from her body, mends her, makes her cling to him like Willow is clinging to her, practically wound around him with her dumb long arms and legs. The real Paldark Burnbinder would have used his inner-furnace to shrug the bug-breath away. This Bahamut-praising-puppet-Pal just eats it right in the face, frost lining his golden whiskers. He also doesn't seem to be able to use Pal's fire breath more than once, but he does flap up over the hole edge and settle himself in front of the chanting Owlfaces. But he does fly to them and rip one nearly in half with the triple whammy of Claw, Claw on one, then Bite on the center fellow. She screams to them, You idiots, you saw Malor's amulet---he betrayed you! He was a Warlock of the Queen of Air and Darkness. She hurls a blast of fire as punctuation and hits the third, trying to interrupt the flow of chanting. If Auril is secretly that Fey Queen, then her words will have no effect, but maybe--even if she is -- maybe they do not know.

OOC Tru HERE ARE MY ROLLS NO ONE that I control will take an AoO on motherbug, hoping to let her to keep on peace-ing out with the babies Bonus Action: HEALING WORD ON GUMRI for 9 MOVE: over lip and hover 9 feet above the ground, not going closer, staying by Gumri, toting Brom. Action: Firebolt for 6 damage OSCO: Run around the edge toward owls for next round. Joachim: CURE WOUNDS ON TRU for 18 Pal FAILS CON SAVE FAILS TO GET BREATH BAC:K action: Hits owl one with both claws for 21, middle owl with bite for 10   |Hin Druid | Level 5| Character Sheet HP: 32/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 18 Wild Shape: 0/2 DM Inspiration: SPENT! Favors owed the devil: One Ravisin Bone Viability 8/10 days Potions:1 Healing Bloodstone Charge 0/1. Scrolls: 1 Blink. Ring of the Inevitable Charges 5/6 Spells: Save DC 15 Level 1: 3/4 Level 2: 1/3 Level 3: 0/2 Avarice’s Staff 2/10 Proficient Skills: Stealth +5, Perception +5 Deception +3 Nature +2 Sleight of Hand (when using Thieves Tools) +6 Attuned: Moonsickle, Ring of Ravisin Spell Info: Ability=Wisdom, DC 15, Spell Attack Bonus +5 Cantrips: Guidance, Druidcraft, Firebolt, Shillelagh Current Spells on DnD Beyond OSCO HP: 30/30 OSCO AC: 13

[Yoshimi]

Gumri Melnagroth "...Fish?" "Stone Cold" was a surface idiom that had never made sense to Gumri. Stones were the temperature of the world around them. Some were even molten hot, and in those cases they flowed like a lazy river. But he had never encountered any stones that were colder than air temperature. Ice cold makes sense, however... is the very last thought the pebbling has as the blizzard envelops his body. The burst of agony numbs almost as soon as it flares, and for a brief moment there is a frosty statue of an owl cleric holding out a fish offering, before Gumri collapses to the ground. The next sensation is that of hot needles in every limb as Tru's spell returns him to consciousness and sends warmth through his veins, followed by the hot breath of Lyle in his face and wet snuffling in his ears. He croaks, "All right, my friend," and pulls himself stiffly to his feet with one hand on the great wolf's head. The giant frost scorpion is nowhere to be seen. From the world above, sinister chanting and the sounds of combat. Yselm's polar bear tries futilely to jump and haul itself up to join the battle, but clotheslines itself on the rim of the hole and falls back to the floor. Gumri sees Storm visibly limping, his fur matted and frozen. "Storm! Go find somewhere safe and wait. You can't do more good here." The wolf may wish to argue, but ends up hobbling up to the bottom of the stairs and crouching, alert for danger. But the polar bear has given Gumri an idea. He mounts Lyle. "Let's go, Lyle! Up and out!" He urges the dire wolf into a run, then spurs him to leap up toward the high end of the hole. The wolf's paws reach the lip but scrabble frantically for purchase, and he lands on his paws back in the hole. Meanwhile above, Yselm the Owl flies closer to where Paldark is battling the clerics and hovers warily, preparing to evade any attacks.

Gumri’s Actions Out Of Combat: Reaction: Merge with Stone (Blade Ward) cantrip if needed Actions: Bonus Action: Free Action: Object Interaction: Move: Stand and Mount Lyle Condition: Polar Bear and Lyle try to jump out of hole to upper side. Storm walks out of hole on lower side and takes Dodge action. Ysowlm flies 45 feet toward priests (stopping 30 feet from them) and hovers, uses Dodge action. Effects: Displaced Concentrating: Rolls: Gumri and Storm fail Con save vs cold damage, Lyle and Polar Bear succeed Polar Bear and Lyle fail to jump out of the hole

 

Gumri Melnagroth|Pebbling (Earth Genasi) Swashbuckler Rogue| Level 5
HP: 27/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 14
Saves: STR -1 | Dex +6 | Con +2 | Int + 2 | Wis +1 | Cha +3
Attacks: main hand Shortsword+1 +7, d6+4 | offhand Shortsword +6, d6 | Shortbow +6, d6+3
DM Inspiration: No
Spells:
Cantrips: Blade Ward (Merge with Stone) -Racial- (3/LR), Booming Blade -Feat-, Green Flameblade -Feat-
Level 1: Earth Tremor -Feat- (1/LR)
Level 2: Pass Without Trace -Racial- (1/LR)
Proficient Skills: Acrobatics +6, Perception +6 Insight +4 Persuasion +9 Sleight of Hand +6 Stealth +6
Thieves Tools +8
Feats and Abilities: Magic Initiate (Sorcerer), Darkvision 60', Sneak Attack 3d6
Attuned: Cloak of Displacement
Languages: Common, Gnomish, Undercommon, Thieves' Cant
Spell Info: Ability=Charisma, DC 14, Spell Attack Bonus +6
A Pair of Hungry Caterpillars: 5 charges (Red, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet)

[lostcheerio]

Shivergrim Peak Gumri, Lyle is a good boy, basically. He is not the smartest though. He yearns, but does not fully understand. He's not the alpha or even the beta, he's more like the lambda. He worries about you, and worries about Storm, and is trying to jump carefully, and he keeps glancing back toward Storm, or over at Yselm, and he's kind of trash at jumping. The bear has no excuse, except maybe being a recent summon. But still. The ice hole is so 12 seconds ago. The ice hole is dark and getting darker as the torches in the hallway you've crashed into are dimming. A mist rises from the crushed, melted ice as the temperature drops around you. The bug scuttles away, her babies glancing back. You see Chwaldo there in the hallway, trying to strike a devil-may-care Gumri-style pose. He shrugs his shoulders. Who cares? Maybe the devil? If you want, you can send Chwaldo with the bugs. He seems like he wants to. Tru, you did a dad joke. Ringelnatz puts a talon into your ribs. "Bug out?" he repeats, long arms still around you. "Now bee-have. I'll have no more of these ant-ics!" Then he heals you. Then he throws up some blood and egg sandwich. Fortunately onto the ice. Which you can barely see, as it's getting so dark. The torches have faded from dim blue to a deep violet blue, barely flickering. You slam a firebolt into a cleric, and his voice halts and chokes. The dragon bites and claws into the other two and they also go silent, dropping down on the ice. They quail in the face of this golden creature, whose bright scales pick up the slightest reflection of the mistiest light, and seem to radiate it back. (For Bahamut!) There's a pulse as they all creep back into the cathedral, into darkness, and then WHOOSH you see one of them fly out toward you, and land crumpled on the ice. WHOOSH there is another one, and a clip-clop hoof against the smooth ice. The other cleric comes hurtling out of the dark passageway. It's so cold you can barely breathe, it hurts. In you head, her voice is insidious and cutting, like icy wind: Insolent b****. Dirt troll. Dead dwarf. And rebel cur. Here, let me help you stop their howling prayers. You think you can come to my altar, and kill my servant, and I won't smell it in the ice? "Damn," whispers Ringelnatz, from which you can assume he's hearing the same. And Gumri is too, and Yselm. "Dead dwarf, that's just so low." A creature comes into view, outlines barely visible in the darkness: hunched, covered by a shawl, with goat feet, and devil horns, and an owl face, taloned feathered arms. It hulks and seethes toward you slowly, slowed by the sight of the dragon. Then, aloud, it shrieks, "Here you will die!" Tru, you remember Ziusudra reading from the book you found in Icerazer, The Frostmaiden's Kiss by Garlen Cain. In it you learned of the three avatars of Auril on this plane, and particularly this: "The first is a massive beast that walks on two legs, with the head of an owl, the fur of a wolf, horns like a sheep, taloned hands, and cloven hooves. This form has a cloak of pure white snow that can transform into owl's wings when she chooses, and is known as the Cold Crone." Also of interest, the memory that they can be destroyed, and if all three are destroyed, the goddess herself can be banished to her Winter's Hall in Pandesmos until the next Winter Solstice. The Cold Crone stretches out her taloned hand and calls in sharp clear words that echo down the mountain, and ice falls from the sky in hard, sharp lumps on the dragon and the druid. OOC   Palavatar and Yselm both need to make a Dex save, DC 21, against Ice Storm, taking 21 damage, or 10 on a successful save. Yselm will pop out of owl form and drop on the ground, starting her turn prone. One point of the damage will be absorbed by owl form. Owlbear Link Name Health AC Damage Conditions Concentrating Gumri 9/38 14 -34 +9 Yselm 47 (57)/67 13 -20 (10) Lyle 20/37 14 -17 Storm 3/37 14 -34 Dodge Polar Bear 25/42 12 -17 Ringelnatz 13/33 14 -20 Tru 32/38 18 -11 -9 +18 Osco 30/30 13     Palavatar 123(133)/178 18 -34 -21(10) Ma Chilblain Slightly Hurt 22 -8 -22   Baby Jane Chilblain Healthy 18 Baby Joe Chilblain Healthy 18

[Yoshimi]

Gumri Melnagroth Things were suddenly quiet up beyond the lip of the hole. Then a very loud and -Gumri has to admit- objectively scary voice shrieks, followed by the altogether violent sound of ice pelting the surface above. Realizing that leaping out of the hole was fruitless, he slides off of Lyle and looks around desperately for anything that might help him get back in the fray and help his friends. And that's when he spots another friend, standing partway down the hall through which the mama chillblain had departed. "Chwaldo! What a relief." His pale yellow eyes light up, as if this insubstantial and -Gumri has to admit- tiny water spirit could do anything to turn the tide. And yet, there is something about the way Chwaldo is just kind of standing there, expressionless and shrugging casually, the six-sided die in his translucent head aiming its snake eyes at him. Gumri thinks he understands. "Really, my friend? We should follow that monster that nearly just killed me?" Chwaldo says nothing, continuing to watch him impassively. Gumri frowns. "I know this. Tru said you are probably from the kind-hearted goddess Hleid and that I ought to take the blessing seriously." Chwaldo's face does not betray his opinion on this, but he continues to stand there very meaningfully. Gumri shakes his head and says a little pleadingly, "But this is a terrible idea, you see! I must get out of this hole and help my friends. Anyway she did not want my fish!" The chwinga's gaze does not shift from Gumri's face. The pebbling sags, defeated. "All right! I do not see the point, but there is no arguing with you I can see. Come! Let us go." Gumri hurries down the tunnel, scooping up Chwaldo in his hand as he passes by and placing the elemental back on his old perch. "Safe and sound. Now, which way did they go?"

Gumri’s Actions Out Of Combat: Reaction: Merge with Stone (Blade Ward) cantrip if needed Actions: Bonus Action: Cunning Action (Dash) to keep following Waldo Free Action: Object Interaction: Move: Dismount Lyle, Follow Chwaldo Condition: Effects: Displaced Concentrating: Rolls:

 

Gumri Melnagroth|Pebbling (Earth Genasi) Swashbuckler Rogue| Level 5
HP: 27/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 14
Saves: STR -1 | Dex +6 | Con +2 | Int + 2 | Wis +1 | Cha +3
Attacks: main hand Shortsword+1 +7, d6+4 | offhand Shortsword +6, d6 | Shortbow +6, d6+3
DM Inspiration: No
Spells:
Cantrips: Blade Ward (Merge with Stone) -Racial- (3/LR), Booming Blade -Feat-, Green Flameblade -Feat-
Level 1: Earth Tremor -Feat- (1/LR)
Level 2: Pass Without Trace -Racial- (1/LR)
Proficient Skills: Acrobatics +6, Perception +6 Insight +4 Persuasion +9 Sleight of Hand +6 Stealth +6
Thieves Tools +8
Feats and Abilities: Magic Initiate (Sorcerer), Darkvision 60', Sneak Attack 3d6
Attuned: Cloak of Displacement
Languages: Common, Gnomish, Undercommon, Thieves' Cant
Spell Info: Ability=Charisma, DC 14, Spell Attack Bonus +6
A Pair of Hungry Caterpillars: 5 charges (Red, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet)

[Fillyjonk]

THE COLD CRONE Is Palvatar too busy hooting praise hymns to Bahamut to recharge his fire-maker? Apparently. He steps in closer to the goddess and smacks at her with both feet and then his teeth with such vim it almost makes up for it! Ringlenatz, wiping blood away from his beak, tries to keep it light, calling out insults—he is so game. Osco dog dances forward, spits his little seeds, then dances back, also game. But this is Her. She is here. Auril. The goddess who has Osco. Tru is praying. Not out loud, but in her head it's a stream of hope and terror and foxhole desperation: Sarenarea, be bright and fire and warm and with us, Yondalla, be in my pocket, Hleid, feed us hope, and oh, hey, Levistus, you terrifying evil ice cube, just a drive-by to point out that I share your enemies and who else have you got here, on this mountainside, just now, to spend like a coin? Maybe throw some hellish luck my way? She’s squeezing poor Joachim so hard she isn't sure how he has breath to speak his insults. Or maybe she is holding all his blood in. All the blood he has left, anyway. They hover together, and she keeps her mask on, even though Auril sees fully through her; she needs to be this size to keep him lofted, keep him with her. Keep him safe. Keep him the same as her. Owls to owls, bound up in each other’s arms, flying. Gumri scuttles off down the hole after the bug, and that seems good, that seems wise. She hopes he will be safe down there, that Hleid will help him with whatever insane thing he;s doing. She know shim too well to think he has scuppered. No, he has a plan, of some sort. That’s…good. Right? She drops the light of the good moon, Sarenrae's reflector, onto the Crone, and then she makes her rusty voice call out to her---something. Is this the Queen of Air and Darkness herself? Hin call her Mab. Is this Mab, or is it Mab's ally, Or was Malor playing Auril and serving the winter court? So she tries to incite an answer that might give a clue, calling out: All your owls saw Malor's strange Amulet, kept close to his unbeating reborn heart before we burned it clean out of his chest. Your sign, but bound in Mab's dark diamond. They all saw---and what will the few left alive think, next time they want to pray to you, eh? As she asks, she is also watching Yselm, who saw it, just the same as they all did. She hopes the druid is still with them. But here is her god---though she spares her own damn druid not a word. Though she tries to kill that druid. She has a finger bone in her pocket that suggests Yselm is on for more than the same...

OOC Dice insight: D20+3 (17)+3 Total = 20 Dice religion: 2d20kh1 16, 13 (keeping 16) Total = 16 Dice Roll: d4 2 Tru HERE ARE MY ROLLS TRU - DROPS moonbeam for 16 raiant, (con save 15 for half) and then backs AWAY 15 feet carrying ringlenatz and flying 9 feet above ground. OSCO: run forward 10 feet to get in range, spit seeds then dance back 20 feet around edge of ice hole to stay as far as possible. 17 to hit for 7 Joachim: vicious mockery for 5 (13 wis save for none) Pal : hits with all three blows if AC 25 or below for 38 damage!   |Hin Druid | Level 5| Character Sheet HP: 32/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 18 Wild Shape: 0/2 DM Inspiration: SPENT! Favors owed the devil: One Ravisin Bone Viability 8/10 days Potions:1 Healing Bloodstone Charge 0/1. Scrolls: 1 Blink. Ring of the Inevitable Charges 5/6 Spells: Save DC 15 Level 1: 3/4 Level 2: 0/3 Level 3: 0/2 Avarice’s Staff 2/10 Proficient Skills: Stealth +5, Perception +5 Deception +3 Nature +2 Sleight of Hand (when using Thieves Tools) +6 Attuned: Moonsickle, Ring of Ravisin Spell Info: Ability=Wisdom, DC 15, Spell Attack Bonus +5 Cantrips: Guidance, Druidcraft, Firebolt, Shillelagh Current Spells on DnD Beyond OSCO HP: 30/30 OSCO AC: 13

[lostcheerio]

Shivergrim Peak Gumri, Chwaldo waits for you as you argue with yourself, but when you reach him and scoop him up, the little guy disappears from your hand. Then he's back again, a few feet onward. Onward the chwinga moves in little poofs, bamfing forward down the hallway instead of running. He appears, then disappears with a little crackle in a puff of ice crystals, then reappears out of reach. If this is Hleid's creature then Hleid must be just a little bit silly, because between each leap as he bamfs down the hallway he's striking a pose. Now like a Gumri, making finger crossbows. Now like a Ringelnatz, broad shouldered. Now like a Tru, with an icy shrub around her shoulders. Each time he disappears and reappears again, it seems like the lights in the hallway, pale blue, get darker and dimmer, You the player know this is Auril's effect "upstairs" from you.until they're murky teal, and nearly gone. You have darkvision. The world shifts to mostly greyscale, with a shadow of dusty blue. Poof! Crackle. Then Poof-poof! and then p-p-p-POOF-off! Crackleackleackle! Where there was one chwinga, with every little teleport, there are more. Bursting out of the icy walls, diving into the floors. You feel this presence, in the ice. This is her place. Hleid's. These are her spirits. She's not warm -- she's the opposite of warm. She's winter, and deep, and cold. But she's the white fox curled in a snowbank. She's the sun on a row of frosted pines. She's crystals of ice on eyelashes, and a frozen pond where frogs are life-suspended and wait. Do such things exist down in the Underdark? Maybe it's a struggle for you to put in context. And here, in a dark tunnel, where the temperature is dropping by the second, it's even harder to envision just what it means. But it grows, in the form of these little sprites, energetic and bold, and cold. They swarm down the hallway, now in the hundreds. At the next bend, if you still follow, you come upon the chilblain. The hallway is almost completely dark. Her tiny eyes are blue and her pincers and talons are shining in this faint light. She turns quickly to face you. Then the swarm is on her. The chwingas jump casually aboard, and sink into her, ice into ice, as she writhes and slaps at them. When they have all sunk into her form, and a few into the babies, she turns to you, stilled. Upstairs, who knows. Maybe a battle rages. Down here, a voice speaks, with some primordial intelligence, even though it's not, to you, intelligible. It sounds like a door's rusty creak and a handful of gears falling down a metal stair, glass breaking, a whine. It echoes in the icy dark hall. Maybe this sentience is new, an effect of the infusion of chwinga. Or maybe the chwinga infusion has just now made it willing to give voice. Chwaldo is gone, you are alone now here with the monster. Tru, the dragon savages the owl goddess in the dark. Feathers and fur fly and icy blood arcs through the air and falls in crystals on the plaza before the cathedral doors. Then, when it seems he might tear her in half, she's gone from his clutches, and suddenly in the air, flapping toward the fallen druid. Yselm, returned to owl form and tumbled onto the ice, puts an arm up to shield herself. As if she could. She reaches for her weapon, groping in the dark, cries out in her Reghed language, sharp and strong. Angry. But Auril dives, talons outstretched, and shreds into her where she lies on the ice. Hard to see. Grunts and screams. And then the goddess speaks, through your head, through the mountain, the ice, through every iceberg, executing two more slashes through Yselm's chest, leaving a sudden, fungal growth of ice crystals where her talons slashed, and the druid lifeless. This X is familiar, from the bodies of Angajuk and Ravisin. You had ordered the wolves away, and Storm was too hurt and Lyle to good to disobey. They didn't see this. But you hear a howl from down the mountain, and then another. You call for Sarenrae. For Yondalla, Hleid, Levistus. This is bad. You need the biggest god, the most gods, all the gods. This is exactly what you came to do: fight a goddess. You have never faltered in that. But Auril's dark presence, her strength, her brutality, the specificity of what just happened, the body crinkling with frost, covered in the spread of white. And the hulking horned owl, unsatiated, ready to kill again. You aren't afraid to call in favors from anyone who will listen. And who does listen? Sister Eglantine. Clad in leather armor, tooled with ornaments in the shape of the little flowers of the bell heather. This is a spring flower. These signal the end of winter. Sister Eglantine has all her fine downy white hair pulled up into a bun, and stuck through with a pair of wooden skewers. She wears leather boots and gloves, and gone is her flower crown and gauzy dress. She comes pounding out of the cathedral as if she owned the place, and leaps up on the dragon, grabbing it around its neck, and grappling with her knobby old knees. "This is how you shoot fire!" she yells, her little wobbly voice echoing like little bells in the wake of the horrible thunder of Auril. She opens her mouth and shoots fire out of it. It's a sweet little fire. A campfire that flickers, with warm embers under it, like you might use to bake a potato or cook a sausage on a stick. But the dragon, ever respectful, inclines his head to listen and look. OOC   Yoshi, if Gumri wants to roll another social roll on the chilblain, he can do so with advantage from Hleid. The DC is 15. If he succeeds, he can mount her. Fillyjonk, when you roll to see if Pal gets his breath weapon back, do it with advantage from Yondalla (she was #2 on the d4). Auril makes her Con save against Moonbeam. The polar bear dissolves when Yselm dies. Owlbear Link Name Health AC Damage Conditions Concentrating Gumri 9/38 14 -34 +9 Yselm 0 /67 13 -20 -40 -11 Dead Lyle 20/37 14 -17 Storm 3/37 14 -34 Dodge Ringelnatz 13/33 14 -20 Tru 32/38 18 -11 -9 +18 Osco 30/30 13     Palavatar 123 /178 18 -34 -21 Auril Somewhat Hurt 13 -8 -38 -7   Ma Chilblain Slightly Hurt 22 -8 -22   Baby Jane Chilblain Healthy 18 Baby Joe Chilblain Healthy 18

[Yoshimi]

Gumri Melnagroth Gumri moved through life secure in the knowledge that he was a Good Son. He knew it because whenever he'd given Melnagroth a gemstone he'd found, she would reach up to place a hand on his shoulder and say in that voice that seemed to come up through his soles rather than in through his eardrums, "When the clay dries and flakes away to dust, the heart of rock abides." And he knew it because when Odrum of Blingdenstone was done scolding him for whatever mischief he had raised, he never refrained from bursting out with, "Aw keek at that coupon! Howfur kin ah bade mad at ye?" Then he'd grab his boy in a headlock and ruffle his hair, from which Gumri could have easily escaped but had never once tried to do. Studying the unmoving face of the monster that only minutes before had sent a shockwave of frost into his body and left him for dead, he wonders aloud, "Do you think this is why Hleid took an interest in me, my friend? Is that why you have led me to this place?" For whatever else this creature was, here and now she is a Mother. But the only answer is the echo of his own voice in the darkness. Chwaldo wasn't actually visible, of course, if he were even still here. And regardless, his response would likely have taken a good deal of imagination to interpret. He pulls off his mask, shuddering at the sudden reforming of his gnome-sized body. The chilblain's glittering ice-blue eyes were even farther above him now. But mustering all of his courage and compassion, he calls up to her. "This is me, Gumri Melnagroth! If you are able to share your name, I would be interested to learn it! I understand they wanted you to spend your lives as mounts for people to ride around on. But they are all dead now. My friends and I killed them. So you and your young ones can be free, as you should be! Only one thing more stands in your way, I think. And that is Auril, who is very important around here. She wants to keep you in her control and she wants to kill me and my friends. Let us work together, yes? For now. Next time we meet, you can try to eat me, but I am not so easy to catch I think!" He stands uncertainly for a moment, wondering if there were something else that might seal the bargain. You had to earn an animal's trust, so he had heard. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he had a feeling that leaving oneself vulnerable might show some good faith. "Okay, let's try this then." He takes one big, puffing breath in the frigid air, then turns his head away from the massive beast and closes his eyes. He slowly reaches one arm out to the side, extends his fingers to expose his palm and waits, wondering if another blast of ice particles would flay him alive and then all would end right here. After a few tense seconds he does feel painful cold, this time in his extended palm, but he forces himself to avoid flinching. He turns his head, slowly opening one eye, and beholds the chilblain with its body bowed to the ground, its chitinous forehead pressed to his hand. A small smile of triumph plays across the pebbling's lips. He drops his arms and bows back to her. Then he places a hand on a protuberance alongside the chilblain's neck and hoists himself up to where he is straddling her and looks around at the baby chilblains that are attached here and there. "All right, we are all in this together now, it seems! Eh...charge!"

Gumri’s Actions Out Of Combat: Reaction: Merge with Stone (Blade Ward) cantrip if needed Actions: Tame the Chilblain (Persuasion) Bonus Action: Free Action: Object Interaction: Move: Mount Chilblain, start riding back toward the exit hole Condition: Effects: Displaced Concentrating: Rolls:Persuasion 20

 

Gumri Melnagroth|Pebbling (Earth Genasi) Swashbuckler Rogue| Level 5
HP: 27/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 14
Saves: STR -1 | Dex +6 | Con +2 | Int + 2 | Wis +1 | Cha +3
Attacks: main hand Shortsword+1 +7, d6+4 | offhand Shortsword +6, d6 | Shortbow +6, d6+3
DM Inspiration: No
Spells:
Cantrips: Blade Ward (Merge with Stone) -Racial- (3/LR), Booming Blade -Feat-, Green Flameblade -Feat-
Level 1: Earth Tremor -Feat- (1/LR)
Level 2: Pass Without Trace -Racial- (1/LR)
Proficient Skills: Acrobatics +6, Perception +6 Insight +4 Persuasion +9 Sleight of Hand +6 Stealth +6
Thieves Tools +8
Feats and Abilities: Magic Initiate (Sorcerer), Darkvision 60', Sneak Attack 3d6
Attuned: Cloak of Displacement
Languages: Common, Gnomish, Undercommon, Thieves' Cant
Spell Info: Ability=Charisma, DC 14, Spell Attack Bonus +6
A Pair of Hungry Caterpillars: 5 charges (Red, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet)

[Fillyjonk]

THE COLD CRONE The words that come out of her dumb beak while Pal tears at the Crone are so stupid and so bad. Mind-bogglingly stupid and close enough to evil that she’s surprised Levistus doesn’t answer, after all. What she says to Joachim, what she actually dares to whisper, is a blasphemy: We can’t kill her! Not here, not now! Because they aren't at Grimskalle, she means, and she only has eight pieces. If they banish her here, now, Osco dies in the ice. Her own selfishness takes all her breath. Who is she to say, Hold on, starving children, lose a few more of your own dear brothers to the Rime, so I can unfreeze my heart. Not to mention? Auril is not a bug under their boot, to kill or not kill at their leisure. And in the wake of Tru’s wrong words, The Cold Crone leaps or BAMFs or —something, and there is Yselm, utterly destroyed. Just that fast. Tru cries out, glad for the owl mask because she is so deeply ashamed and at the same time, she is shocked down to her core. She thought it was Malor, killing the druids. Thought, maybe, when she saw his amulet, it was even a betrayal of Auril—work done on behalf of his secret patron. But no. It was Auril herself who orphaned first Angajuk and now those dear wolves, who tore Ravisin open and left her to leak out all her life alone beside the ruin of her sister. Is Auril Mab? Or working for Mab? With Mab? Levistus is too selfish to clock Tru's smaller selfishness, but perhaps it is why her own god doesn’t come, and perhaps Hleid saw this weakness in Tru all along. But Yondalla stays in her pocket, her beautiful white hair so fine and flossy and covered in blooms. As the dear shape of Eglantine instructs the dragon, Tru calls her moonbeam to shine again on the Crone, and she tries to nullify the bad words, dragging Joachim through the air and down, past the ruined stairs: Of course we kill her. If we can. If we can. When you are a god, and you are in your own lands, you do what you want, and what Auril wants now is to smash this too small party. The time is now, the place is here, and if Tru loses, they’re dead and if she wins—what happens to Osco? But the world is bigger than the way one small Hin loves her brother, so she prays to all those gods, again, prays only acceptance: So be it. So be it. She is less honest with Joachim, though surely he knows that she is lying when she says, I didn’t mean it. More truthfully she adds, I take it back. Here they go. And yes, she always meant to fight a goddess. Always believed that she was called for this, charged to gather with a fellowship that would ride the whale and end the Rime in the name of light and fire and life, to the glory of her big, big, bright, wild god. Dead Yselm shows her that she is so small, though. She’s never felt small before. Not ever. Not even when he was a wall of man and she was in his arms. Even then, she felt right-sized, and this dumb face she has, this dumb owl face can’t make the right expression, but she tries to say all this Joachim in a look, anyhow. He is gravely hurt, but still game enough to call an insult over his shoulder as they go. Osco runs too, sideways, away, barking furiously, trying to call Auril's attention off of Tru by spraying the Crone with tiny fire. GOOD! DOG! As soon as they touch down, Joachim takes over, and now he is half carrying, half dragging her, and look, Pal has it! On the crest of the ruined stairs above them, Eglantine has showed him how. Pal flies to face Auril again, putting his big body between the goddess and Tru and Joachim. He blocks out the sight of Yselm, and that’s a mercy, and then he blasts the Crone with good, bright, righteous fire. Now Auril will answer. Joachim works hard to get them as far as they can go away from her, and to Tru, his feet ring on the ice like a chant, a single word repeated: afraid, afraid, afraid. Is it Mab? she asks Joachim. She half hopes they are one and the same because---if they are allies. If they are allies. They might soon have more than two gods on this mountainside. Did Auril react at all when she accused her?

OOC HERE ARE MY ROLLS TRU - MOVES moonboom to Auril for 6 (con save 15 for half) and then keeps carrying Ringlenatz away another 15 feet, DOWN to the ground, and then he will run 15 more feet carrying her. OSCO: run after Auril and spit seeds then dance back to stay as far as possible. 22 to hit for 5 Joachim: Says another vicious mockery for 6 (13 wis save for none) Pal: moves between Auril and Tru/Brom and fire breathes fire for 64, 17 dex save for half   |Hin Druid | Level 5| Character Sheet HP: 32/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 18 Wild Shape: 0/2 DM Inspiration: SPENT! Favors owed the devil: One Ravisin Bone Viability 8/10 days Potions:1 Healing Bloodstone Charge 0/1. Scrolls: 1 Blink. Ring of the Inevitable Charges 5/6 Spells: Save DC 15 Level 1: 3/4 Level 2: 0/3 Level 3: 0/2 Avarice’s Staff 2/10 Proficient Skills: Stealth +5, Perception +5 Deception +3 Nature +2 Sleight of Hand (when using Thieves Tools) +6 Attuned: Moonsickle, Ring of Ravisin Spell Info: Ability=Wisdom, DC 15, Spell Attack Bonus +5 Cantrips: Guidance, Druidcraft, Firebolt, Shillelagh Current Spells on DnD Beyond OSCO HP: 30/30 OSCO AC: 13

[lostcheerio]

Shivergrim Peak Tru, the dragon's fire, when it finally comes, is mightily hot and deadly, and decimates another huge swath of the ice palace. When the flame clears, Auril is smoking, her robe charred, her horns blackened and her fur seared off in places. Sister Eglantine, like some kind of mad, leather-clad knight, cackles in unapologetic gladness and lofts a wrinkled fist. Osco spits his seeds and strafes right, light and sizzling where he steps. But without hesitation, the owl-faced goddess breathes out cold right back at the dragon. Where there was smoke, there comes frost. Where there was ash there is ice, and it covers Pal's avatar, stiffens the nun's puffy hair. It even chases you, this cold cone, as you flee, first dragging Brom, then him dragging you. "Is it Mab?" he shouts back over his shoulder, "Naw, if that were queen of the fey, I guarantee it wouldn't be so Vicious Mockery.FREAKING UGLY." But she pays him no mind. As the dragon shakes off the ice, white shedding from his gold scales in rippples, bellowing, "Beyond the East Wind, there the true scales of silver-white!" once again, the goddess disappears in a puff of dark snow, bamfs away from the dripping, roasted terrace, and reappears at the top of the messed-up steps, where her ice cone had paved a new platform for her to stand on. She is still burned and bleeding, but she raises her hands as if addressing a vast army. "Come now, my cold lights. Rise and walk, and let my enemies stare into their death." She is calling to the dark forms that were dropped on the icy bridge out to the Teleportation Circle. You saw them, coming in, when the lights were brighter. Now that the torches around the palace are all dim, it's hard to know whether the battered clothing on these bodies is blowing, or whether they're rising. There's movement, a scraping sound, and then, four bright lights switch on, with that awful radiance you saw in the fight near Macreadus' cabin, in the blizzard. They're rising, and when they have risen, Auril laughs a hard, broken laugh that echoes down the mountain. Followed by a whisper in your head, I will dip them in the pools, everyone you ever loved, and they will rise in ice, and smash your body until it dies. Then I will dip you in the pool, and-- But she doesn't get to finish what she is going to do after she dips you in the pool, because something quite surprising comes bursting out of the hole in the stairs. Something surprising, being ridden by someone surprising. Of course, it's very surprising to Auril, but not one bit surprising to Ingetrude Frostblossom. You knew he would come. Gumri, what the pickaxe kind of hero s**t is this? A goddess, a tall blonde one with a fur robe and a mournful cry, has you, of the ropey arms, and exploded hair, and black eyes, quick fingers, casual lean, up and riding on a gigantic ice bug to do her bidding? It's portrait ready. Legend level. The statue of Gumri Melnagroth riding a chilblain should be executed in the finest granite. You plea. You reach. You trust. And then you're speeding down the hallway. The chilblain doesn't move like any kind of four-legged creature. Have you ridden a goat before? a wolf perhaps? A stolen spider? Or, no never? Now you mount, you ride. The babies are bumping along behind you. Pals almost. A tentative talon hooks over your shoulder. The mother's legs move skittery-scat, so the beast nearly hovers down the passage. It screams! You know, this is its name. Her-cold. You can pronounce it. You can, right now, make the grinding hinge sound, the shattering crack-crack-crrrrrrkkkk, the octaves beyond ears. And you can understand her say a name, and tell you yes. You understand her desire to kill anything that belongs to the owlfaces is powerful. What happened when the Chwinga poured out of the ice walls and into the monster must have been some kind of language translator, or prejudice buster, wall-transcender. You sit on this ice, and it stings you, but you feel this cold differently now, how perfect it is, how in the elemental plane of ice, even light freezes, and the joy and liberation of that frozen air that seems to radiate off her, when the aura isn't harming you. She is yours to command, and when you burst out of the hole in the stairs, and take in the scene -- the rising coldlight walkers, the dragon and the goddess locked in a battle of fire and ice, and your friends -- she will do as you say. OOC   Yoshi, here's the Chilblain's stats. Yes, somehow she can fly. Chilblain Chilblain HP: 130/160 AC: 22 Speed: 30 feet walking, 60 feet flying Talon (2 per turn): +10 to hit, d8+4 piercing and 2d6 cold Tail slap: +10 to hit, 4d6+9 bludgeoning plus 4d6 cold Ice breath: Constitution saving throw with DC 14, or take 10d6 points of cold damage. Then make a second constitution saving throw with DC 14, or be blinded by frostbitten eyelids and frozen eyes for 2d6 turns. Frozen Stare: As an action, a chilblain can turn a creature within 30 feet to ice permanently with a look. The target must succeed on a DC 14 Charisma save or be turned to ice. Immune to cold. Can bonus action grapple with a +5 for one creature. Fillyjonk, Palavatar takes 38 cold damage from the Cone of Cold, unless he saves on a DC 21 Con saving throw, in which case he takes half (parentheses in the table are for a successful save). Auril makes her Con save against Moonbeam (29) and Vicious Mockery (25). She fails her Dex save vs. Pal's breath weapon but burns one legendary resistance to succeed instead, taking 32. Owlbear Link Name Health AC Damage Conditions Concentrating Gumri 9/38 14 -34 +9 Ringelnatz 13/33 14 -20 Tru 32/38 18 -11 -9 +18 Osco 30/30 13     Palavatar 85 (104) /178 18 -34 -21 -38 (19) Auril Hurt 13 -8 -38 -7 -3 -32 -5   Ma Chilblain Slightly Hurt 22 -8 -22   Baby Jane Chilblain Healthy 18 Baby Joe Chilblain Healthy 18   Walker 1 Healthy 13 Walker 2 Healthy 13

[Fillyjonk]

pal The Crone wakes the coldwalkers, and Tru can’t even hate them, because she knows what they are. People. Murdered people. Watching them lurch and glow can only make her hate Auril more. The goddess threatens her with death and worse than death. Dipped? What is dipped? It happens at Grimskalle, she thinks. Are these lamp-faces dipped? Or is this what She has done to Osco, who has a spark of hope and self in his small tomb, or more like what was done to poor, dear Speaker Huddle, who was and is wholly safely dead and with the dear kind goddess who cheers them on and helped the dragon find his fire. Not that last, she thinks, because dead is just too easy. Malor threatened this too — to make her be die and yet still serve Auril and kill all she loves. Whatever it is, she doesn’t want it, and she can’t stay here as those creatures begin to spill over with dreadful stunning light. She has to hurl herself at Auril now, because dead is better than dipped. She is willing. But Joachim Ringlenatz ---she wants him safe. He is the bard. Someone has to live and tell the story. Brom, she says, Brom, you have to run. Fifty feet away, there is a corner he can get around and be out of the beam from their terrible search-light faces if he sprints. She pushes at him, but she can see from the set of his shoulders that he isn’t going to do it. She tries again. I need you to lead the coldwalkers away. Gumri and I can’t fight them and Auril, too. You'd be giving us a real shot at — Ah, but this is bull-****, and he knows it. Is he laughing at her? She thinks so, but it is hard to tell, when all he is is big eyes and white feathers and a beak with a crimson beard from where he threw up bloody foam. Oh you great, big enraging idiot, she says, so fondly, I suppose you want to stick with me then, and get killed? The valiance. This is a prince, she remembers. Tru isn’t a big believer in monarchies. She likes small villages that govern themselves via a kind-hearted council of older folk who know everyone and can be fair and kind when they settle disputes about where to put the new well. At the same time, she was raised on adventure storybooks chock full of princes, and they soaked in enough for her to have some swelling-orchestral-music type feelings about a real prince acting like a storybook one. She puts her arms back around him because she has to in order to fly him up and away from the coldwalkers, but she doesn’t have to bury her flat, blank face in his ruff of neck feathers, now does she? She can’t help it, though. As they rise, she finds herself preening him as if she were a real, good, actual, tidy, nice owl and not whatever this abomination is. Okay then. Okay! They go back up, flying, clasped together, and she thinks it’s more important to get out of range than move the silly little splat of Moonbeam Auril can shrug off so easily, so she concentrates all she has on lift, moving upwards toward the ledge, toward the fight. She drags them plenty high enough for them both to have a good view of Pal, spinning in midair to roar another blasting breath of perfect lovely fire at the Crone, to see Osco running toward her and spitting his tiny seeds, and for Joachim to hurl another insult at the here-to-fore unheeding goddess. It isn't high enough to get out of the coldwalker gazes though, she fears. Pal! She calls. Pal! Come get us! He comes for them, closing the gap of forty or so feet between them with a few flaps of his huge wings, and then he is under them, and rising, so that they land on his neck. They catch and cling and up he goes, higher and still higher. Auril can turn her cloak into wings in this form; Tru knows from the lore Ziusudra read to her, but it is still a cloak just now. And She can teleport—but to what? Thin air? Up seems good to her. They rise higher until his big gold body is between Auril and them, and Tru is now facing forward, leaning back into Joachim who wraps his arms around her in case she has to fly again. If Pal breaks. If they begin to fall out of the sky. The arms around her are dumb thin long owl arms and she has a weird dumb long owl body, and this isn't truly her friend, noble perfect Pal—but it is still a dragon, this puppet, a dragon's avatar of himself, and scared as she is, mad as she is, sure as she is that they will be both be dead soon, her breath still catches because--- Ingetrude Frostblossom and Brom are riding a dragon. If the dark, Rimed sky had stars, and if they weren't about to be killed here and maybe dipped, and if they weren’t in weird fleshy transformed shapes—why, this moment would be just about the most perfect moment of her life. She cranes around to grin at him, her round, owl-eyes bright, and says,Yeehaw, quietly to him, just to him, the one person on the plane who might understand the joy she feels even in this moment. Because who can be as cool as this---as dragonriders? Of course, Gumri has the only possible answer, as he comes out absolutely cowboy on on the Chillblain, but still. But still. If she dies, if they die, this ride still happened. And it's so, so very good.

OOC HERE ARE MY ROLLS TRU - take off and action = SPRINT to fly NORTH and UP 30 feet at an angle OSCO: run after Auril and spit seeds then dance back to stay as far as possible. MISS Joachim: Says another vicious mockery for 3 (13 wis save for none) Pal: fire breathes for 54, 17 dex save for half then flies 40 feet to pick up tru and brom and then flies another 40 feet to lift them ABOVE Auril so he is between her and them --- his belly is toward her and they are on his back.   |Hin Druid | Level 5| Character Sheet HP: 32/38 Hit Dice: 5/5 AC: 18 Wild Shape: 0/2 DM Inspiration: SPENT! Favors owed the devil: One Ravisin Bone Viability 8/10 days Potions:1 Healing Bloodstone Charge 0/1. Scrolls: 1 Blink. Ring of the Inevitable Charges 5/6 Spells: Save DC 15 Level 1: 3/4 Level 2: 0/3 Level 3: 0/2 Avarice’s Staff 2/10 Proficient Skills: Stealth +5, Perception +5 Deception +3 Nature +2 Sleight of Hand (when using Thieves Tools) +6 Attuned: Moonsickle, Ring of Ravisin Spell Info: Ability=Wisdom, DC 15, Spell Attack Bonus +5 Cantrips: Guidance, Druidcraft, Firebolt, Shillelagh Current Spells on DnD Beyond OSCO HP: 30/30 OSCO AC: 13