Game Thread Shadows Over the Plains - Chapter 1: The Swamp - RPG Crossing
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Old 07-27-2018, 03:18 PM
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Shadows Over the Plains - Chapter 1: The Swamp

The Long Night
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Lunn and Dain fled into the darkness, leaving the broken bodies and monstrosities behind them. The night sky began to drizzle and eventually opened up into a full downpour. Even with the innate darkvision of their people, Lunn and Dain could barely make their way in the sheets of stinging rain, occasionally losing their footing and falling to the muddy ground, where the other would reach down and help the other back to their feet before continuing on.

Despite the conditions, the pair knew they had to put as much distance between them and the monstrosities that had devastated the Waroc encampment, for the rain likely did not bother such abominations. Lun and Dain ran until dawn came, but the rain remained--constant and wearying. However, the light of the dawning sun provided some guidance and it was only then that the pair realized they must have lost their sense of direction in the pelting rain, running more to the west than they wanted, and still had not yet reached the swamp. Even worse, as both had taken a turn on watch before the appearance of the monsters, neither had slept much the past night. Finding a small dipping valley with a small pond, the two refilled their skins and ate a quiet, wet, sullen breakfast before taking a light rest to stave of exhaustion. Even a few minutes of resting and rubbing the stiff legs did wonders.

Before the sun had fully crested the horizon Lunn and Dain were on their feet again, knowing they would have to press on by day and dark to carry the vital information they shared to the other Waroc. With the speed of the stag and endurance of the bear the two ran wordlessly, legs pumping and slapping against the dirt, pressing on through the high grass, climbing and descending the shallow, sloping hills of the Sevran Plains with a single minded determination. Soaked to the bone, the two shivered despite the lack of cold, but pressed on.

The ancestors blessed them with a reprieve of the rain in mid morning, and both took a moment to gauge their position, re-orient and estimated they would arrive at the edge of the Forktongue just after mid-day.

With the sun out and the rain gone the two proceeded a bit more slowly, climbing slightly taller hills in an attempt to catch a vantage point over the endless sea of golden wheat and high green grass. Long, careful glances from Lunn and Dain’s sharp eyes revealed no pursuit—for the dark clad Stoneskin monstrosities and their shambling gait would be easily spotted in the light of the sun.

Shortly after the sun had reached its zenith, Lunn and Dain crested yet another long sloping hill, but instead of being greeted by the familiar sea of the plains that stretched out forever they were were face with a dark, shallow body of water, nestled against tall brown grass and weeds on both banks. On the far bank rose a dark swampy forest with spindly, sparsely leafed trees. They had reached the Forktongue.

Carefully picking their path down the last hill before the swamp the two approached the water’s edge, gauging that even at the shore the water was likely be knee to waist deep on Dain, but Lunn may be up to his neck at some points, and assuredly even deeper as two moved father into the water—and who knew what manner of beast lurk in that murky water. A careful look over the swamp’s horizon and the muddy, dark body of water, Lunn and Dain notice several hundred yards up the shore there were a series of small islands that barely broke the water’s surface, providing a path of sorts across the water. The two could follow the chain of islands and reach the interior of the swamp with relative ease.

The neigh of a horse carried on the wind caused both Waroc to swing around, where they spotted four horseriders at the top of the hill, dark shapes outlined against the sky. Humans. And armed ones. A man in armor wielding a great spear, two women with long hair, and a man wearing a strange ensemble that made him look like the leopard—he at least could pass as a Waorc. Lunn and Dain had their back to the perilous bank of the dark, swampy lake and could not flee back into the plains—even if their stout Waroc legs were not exhausted from their run, they could not outride horses. And the humans had clearly spotted them. There was no place to escape.

Lunn and Dain's hands immediately went to their respective blades, eyes carefully watching the figures. Questions tumbled through their minds, what were four strange human outriders doing at the Forktongue? Scouts for a larger force? Maybe they had been driven here too by the Undead. Maybe they knew something of the Stoneskin Undead, or maybe they were the Undead’s Masters and had tracked the two here. Or maybe it was happenchance. It was impossible to tell…


The Pursuit
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After re-mounting their steeds, the four brave souls began to follow the trail of deep footprints heading north. A quick search of the massacred caravan revealed no clear tracks showing the approach of the attackers--they were probably weighed down by the weight of their plunder, hence the more pronounced tracks.

As the group followed the tracks spread out, and even inexperienced trackers like these four could tell there was at least twenty to thirty distinct tracks, and each seemed to be a humanoid. Most the tracks were booted, but a few were distinct in that the toes pressed down into the still damp dirt of the Sevran Plains--maybe some sort of savage people? Maybe it was the Waroc.

With the trail clear, and following Bran's lead, the four of them opened up their mounts back to a full gallop. In not even three-quarters of an hour the landscape began to change. The began to close in on a shallow Vythica knows from her studies of maps this is the Drathún Marsh, while both Bran and Liam know of this through reputation, a marsh that dissipates into a fetid wetland that is avoided by all trading routes and sensible travelers. Rumors of savage beasts and savage sub-human creatures dwell in the marsh--maybe one of those crude savages are responsible?marshland, standing stagnant water with buzzing insects and long cattails. The Greentongue river that flows all the way to Vorsovren reaches to here, draining into this murky swampland. Cresting a final hill, the four see that the Marsh is much more extensive than any of them thought and stretches out for as far as one can see--which is less then expected given the thick misty fog that seems to blanket the area.

But more immediately, all four of the brave souls spot two stark figures--one tall and broad, the other short and lean--standing at the bank of the swampy, dark lake like body of water, nestled against tall brown grass and weeds on both banks. On the far bank rose a dark swampy forest with spindly, sparsely leafed trees. The two figures were staring out across the lake, pointing to a series of islands several hundred yards up the bank. The deep, heavy tracks disappeared off the bank and into the lake just thirty or forty feet shy of where the figures were standing.

Neiiiiiigh Vythica's mount reared slightly and brayed out loudly, and the two figures spun around. As they did, it became clear that the two figure were savages. Waroc. One had a reddish dull skin and was dressed in mish-mash of metal armor with a great, delicate sword on his back. The other was a true savage, with bone piercings and a hide shield and crude weapon to accompany its vicious face--a goblin.

Why were two Waroc warriors alone out here? Maybe the Waroc *did* have something to do with the ambush, or maybe the Waroc are hunting the same prey? Maybe the Waroc were denizens of the swamp who could provide some more information and act as guides? Or maybe it was happenchance. It was impossible to tell…
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Old 07-27-2018, 05:44 PM
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Dain Bladewalker
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Dain curses softly under his breath as he spots the four figures atop the hill. "Damn Wardhyr, is there no place in Haryn where their kind will not hound us?" He tries to assess the situation before him, but his mind is muddied by exhaustion and he can find no good path. The swamp is behind them. Even if his legs would allow it, even if his pride would allow it, he would not be running again. He casts his eyes around for any form of shelter or defensive ground, but find himself starkly exposed before these human intruders.

He starts taking a few step away from Lunn, to provide himself room to swing his blade and to divide the front the humans have to face. Although his fingers twitch and he reaches involuntarily for his blade, he does not yet draw it, unwilling to fully commit to a confrontation he doesn't quite feel confident about. If they were fully rested, he and Lunn were each the match of any two Wardhyr, but in this state? Following their fight with the stoneskins, and their trek through the swamp, he was not so sure.

Glancing quickly at Lunn, he turns back to the humans. Perhaps these four did not know they were in Waroc territory. They had no way of knowing how many they faced. He took a step forward and, switching to Harcomyn, he spoke loudly and clearly as one would to a child or one of the moon-touched.

"Go. Away."
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Old 07-28-2018, 12:38 AM
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Lunn Bonerattle
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"They are an infestation. Where one dares to go, more follow." Lunn growled his response. Their long flight from the field of slaughter had taxed the strength of even his legs. Restlessness and ire lay upon him like a cloud, along with the shame of having abandoned his clansmen to rot where they lay. This had left him in no mood to parlay with trespassers upon Waroc grounds. Without further word, he took his bow in hand.

The weapon was short and deadly, shaped like a ripple so as to produce as much force as possible. It had been his father's before it was his. Now it might stall one of the intruders should they elect to charge. He drew a broad bladed, flint tipped hunting arrow from a quiver on his weapons belt. The beast would be his target. Easier to hit by far on the move, and the momentum would throw the rider once it fell. Gauging the distance between them, the goblin knew he would have few shots if the four launched an attack. He would be fortunate to drop one of the beasts, let alone a pair. It would have to be enough. He knew that Dain was as tired as himself. They could not afford to allow the Wardhyr to set the terms of any engagement.

The women did not strike him as warriors, and the one play-acting the predator only slightly more so. The spear wielder was the one to eliminate, the only one of the four who appeared totally at home in his saddle. With that one removed from the battle it might be possible to rout the remainder. They were not Waroc. They would not fight with honour the way the people of the plains did. There was no reason to afford them consideration that would not be returned.

The arrow was nocked, but not yet drawn to full. He would wait until the shot was certain, and who could know, perhaps the four might yet heed the hobgoblin's warning.

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Old 07-28-2018, 02:49 AM
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Iovyth
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So this is Darthun Marsh? It certainly has that gloom-doomy atmosphere…Vythica’s face twisted, having run afoul of the smoggy, stagnant air. Surveying the terrain, crossing paths with their prey amid the marsh may not be strategically sound. The encroaching water and mucky terrain could easily hamper their escape. Her silver eyes had been glued to the ground for most of the ride, wishing this harrowing hunt would come to an end—if only to gratify Vy’s jitter-fly mind of her main suspicion. Dark magic is afoot! Not knowing this enemy was decidedly worse than the gut-churning idea of hurling fire at them. Judging from the tracks, perhaps the prisoners were being forced to haul their captor’s spoils?

“Sweet Darwyth, how fast are they moving? Surely we should have caught up by now…” How perturbing! Glancing sidelong at the Leopard, she was more than a tad curious how he could manage to comfortably travel while wearing that stuffy mask. There was definitely something tickling the familiar about this fellow, but Vy had been too focused elsewhere to give him much thought. It was eerie how quiet the journey here had been, everyone stuck in their own minds amid the drifting veils of mist. Vy tried to
Dice Survival:geography:
1d20+1 (14)+1 Total = 15
Dice History: Darthun Marsh:
1d20+5 (19)+5 Total = 24
recall anything remotely helpful.

From the top of the hill, the endless expanse of marsh unraveled before them. Just miles and miles and miles of bug-infested, plague-ridden swamps. Gods know what diseases one could catch just trundling through! Even worse, they lost sight of the tracks! Why, they simply disappeared off into the stagnant water! How can that be?! Vy was just about to make mention of the fact, when her horse released a frightened whinny, rearing up without warning.

“WhOoOoOAAAAH!The frazzled girl shrieked, easily dislodging from the saddle. The reigns alone saved her from tossing backwards and falling onto her rump. The moment the Mare was back on all fours, Vy buckled forward, dangling halfway off the saddle with one twiggy leg back in the spur and the other awkwardly sticking up in the air. Kicking back up straight, red-faced, shaken, her blond hair in disarray, Vy released a shuddering sigh, hearing then a dour, deep voice spit.

“Go. Away.”

When Vythica’s gaze first regarded the strange warriors blocking their path, her glare went perfectly buggy for a moment. The little one holding a knocked bow had a bulbous head and sharp teeth, the very first goblin to grace the wizard’s eyes. Cocking her head, Vy’s glare bounced to the second, burlier creature, clad in armor, his skin a glorious shade of red. Any sane person would feel trepidation, especially with their reputation as savage cannibals that rape and pillage without discretion. Luckily, Vy had a sense to know that all books, for the most part, are extensions of their authors--and their biases. Surely there was plenty of exaggeration sprinkled throughout the pages of those adventurer's texts. Glancing at Mel, still a complete mess, Vy flew her a cheeky smile. To think Thranduin did nothing but scoff when she chose to study the Waroc language. Said the odds of meeting one that wouldn’t rip her face clean off, and cook her over a spit, was next to nil! Well look here, two in the flesh! Two are decent odds. They appeared rough around the edges, haggard, damp and covered in grimy clay.

Vy felt emboldened to speak first, to break the wary stalemate. Clearing her throat, the wizard gave a reassuring look at her companions before raising her own voice in the Waroc tongue.

“Hail, strong ones! We mean no harm to you, or your tribesman.” Pausing there, Vythica switched to Harcomyn. Hopefully the Waroc would listen, as it was unlikely that they had ever heard a Wardhyr speak their native tongue. “We are trying to find our lost people, attacked by an unknown threat that left many dead. We’ve been following these tracks, but they’ve led us to a dead end. All we have as proof is this sigil left behind by our prey.”

Slowly reaching into her satchel, Vy pulled out the black tabard, holding it aloft for them to see.


Stat BlockIovyth Tor'Valeon * Phaedashyn Evoker* Level 3
HP: 20/20 AC: 12 Saves: Int (+5) Wis (+3) Speed: 30ft
Stats: STR 8 (-1) DEX 14 (+2) CON 14 (+2) INT 17 (+3) WIS 12 (+1) CHA 8 (-1)
Languages: Common, Waroc, Elvish
Relevant Equipment:Burnt Spellbook, light crossbow (1d8+4) , dagger
Slots: L1: 3/4 L2: 2/2 Spell Bonus: +5 Spell Save DC: 13
Feats: [1]Arcanist: Increases Int by 1, gain proficiency in Arcana skill, or doubles your proficiency modifier if you already have it, and gives you prestidigitation and detect magic spells. Can cast Detect Magic once without a spell slot per long rest. Arcanist, Prepared Spells (6): Burning Hands 1 action, Self (15ft cone) Instant, 1st lvl evocation Each creature in a 15-foot cone must make a Dexterity save. A creature takes 3d6 fire damage on a failed save, or half as much on a success. The fire ignites any flammable objects in the area that aren’t being worn or carried. At Higher Levels: The damage increases by 1d6 for each slot level above 1st.Burning Hands, Mage Armor 1 action, touch Duration: 8hrs / 1st lvl spell Touch a willing creature who isn’t wearing armor. The Target’s base AC becomes 13+ its Dex mod. The spell ends if the target dons armor or if you dismiss the spell as an action.Mage Armor, Chromatic Orb 1 action, 90ft Instant, 1st lvl Evocation Make a ranged spell attack against a creature you can see. You choose the damage type: acid, cold, fire, lightning, poison, or thunder. If the attack hits, the creature takes 3d8 damage of the type you chose. At Higher Levels: The damage increases by 1d8 for each slot level above 1st.Chromatic Orb, Grease 1 action. 60 ft Duration: 1 min, 1st lvl conjuration Grease covers the ground in a 10-foot square within range. It's difficult terrain for the duration. When the grease appears, each creature standing in its area must pass a Dexterity save or fall prone. A creature that enters the area or ends its turn there must also make this save.Grease,Mirror Image 1 action, self Duration: 1 min, 2nd lvl illusion spell • Three illusions of yourself appear in your space. You can use your action to dismiss the duplicates. • Each time a creature targets you with an attack during the spell's duration, roll a d20 to see if the attack targets one of the duplicates. If you have three duplicates, you must roll a 6 or higher for the attack to target a duplicate. With two duplicates, it's an 8 or higher. With one duplicate, it's an 11 or higher. • A duplicate's AC is 10 + your Dexterity modifier. A duplicate is destroyed by an attack that hits it. It ignores all other damage and effects. The spell ends when all three duplicates are destroyed. • A creature is unaffected if it can't see, if it relies on senses other than sight, or if it can see through illusions. Mirror Image. Expeditious Retreat. 1 bonus action. Self, Conc. Up to 10 min
When you cast this spell, and as a bonus action on your turns, you can take the Dash action
“Expeditious Retreat”

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Old 07-28-2018, 12:30 PM
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The Leopard
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It hadn't been a full day, but the Leopard's legs were sore in places he hadn't even known they could be. Gritting his teeth, he buried the pain in the same box he put Liam's weakness, far in the back of the basement of the predator's mind.

When they crested the final hill before the swamp, The Leopard let out a haggard sigh. His eyes followed the tracks down to the water and then beyond. "It seems our journey has reached a fork. Darthún Marsh is a place best avoided - there are stories of evils within the swamp, greater and more savage than any roving Waroc band. That must be where answers lie."

Any further thought was interrupted by a whiny from Vy's horse as it tried to buck her and then took off at a run. He spurred his own beast on to catch up, only recognizing the two figures at the edge of the swamp as Waroc as he drew closer to the water's edge. He pulled up beside his wizard companion and swung his right leg up and over the horse's rump. The Leopard dropped from the saddle with surprising grace, coming to stand protectively in front of the still mounted Vythica.

Eyes glowing yellow, he took in the pair. They were tired, worn down by the fearsome nature of the plains. While the brutal races of the tribes were stigmatized by most of Wardhyr society, The Leopard had always kept reservations. These were a strong people, scratching and clawing for everything that life would give them. There were no ivory towers or golden baths on the Sevran Plains. They and the Waroc that traveled across them were real.

Mimicking the postures of the red-skinned hobgoblin and the decorated goblin, The Leopard was prepared but not yet openly hostile. His hands fell to his claws: long, curved blades that allowed him to move in a whirling vortex in battle. He eyed the two of them, their ragged appearance, and the sag in their shoulders that he had seen in many an orphan who had gone without rest or sustenance for far too long.

"We cannot go away," he added simply and as fact. "Our quest leads us into the Darthún Marsh."

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Old 07-28-2018, 02:35 PM
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Bran
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Their pursuit was quick, but as he saw how close they were getting to marshlands Bran's face dropped steadily. The Drathun Marsh known as a harrowing and unwelcome place, enough to keep him from it by word alone. But he wouldn't be turning back now. The thought of letting these foul beasts slinking back to their swamp home to rest in their pillaging and satisfaction brought him to only drive Chantilly on faster. If he could reach them before they lowered into the murk...

But it was a hope dashed. As the four of them passed over the top of the final hill Bran was able to see the marshlands open before him, filled only with swamp flies, mud and fog. Their assailants were nowhere to be found and the trail he'd been following hit water, dashing any means of tracking them. Bran brought Chantilly to a stop, eyeing the waters and spindling trees in the distance. Giving her a light nudge the pair headed for the water's edge anxiously, Bran holding his chin and frowning.

Neiiiiiigh It was then that Miss Vythica's horse began to buck and bray, having gotten too close to the sure-hidden dangers of the water for its liking. Near enough, Bran lunged for its reins. Beside him Miss Vythica held on tight to them, screaming out and popping up awkwardly by the kicking and fretting of the horse. It was then that he heard a voice call out to him.

"Go. Away." It came from his other side, a bit distant, but deep and in the direction of the swamp. Already high from the sudden surprise of the horse, Bran's pike was already unlatched from Chantilly and held out before he had turned around. He quickly identified the speaker as one of a pair of Waroc, two goblinoids. They were both armed. 'They're too small a party for an ambush', he reasoned, but the thought didn't stop Bran from looking about for any among the reeds and murk behind them either way.

Seeing nothing, Bran's grip tightened. 'What are they doing here?'

The little one muttered something, nocking a hunting arrow in its bow, and Bran readied his pike to charge. He could tell already they were angry and distrustful simply by their stance, and held onto caution for it, testily holding the pike forward and watching the goblin's bow fingers carefully. He would be able to reach the goblin before it landed a decent shot, but he would need a killing blow in the initial charge to keep from leaving himself open to both it and the hobgoblin. He would need to trust the others could handle the hobgoblin in that case.

Ready to propose this, Bran was instead surprised to see Miss Vythica trot forward, broaching peace in the Waroc tongue. Curious and hair-trigger, Bran watched the two Waroc closely as he followed behind and then beside the mage. As much as he wished to trust they would act agreeably Bran made sure to hold his pike in front of Miss Vythica protectively. Waroc had a tendency to shoot at speakers they didn't like.

He knew this from experience.
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Old 07-30-2018, 12:03 PM
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Melisende
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Melisende rode silently with the others as they tracked whatever it was they were after through the plains. As the plains turned to marsh, Melisende frowned. She didn't like marshes. They were like graveyards for the earth, holding only foul, death, or both. She kept her misgivings to herself, however...the others seemed content enough, so she kept her personal views personal.

She didn't see the Warocs, at first. As Vy's mount bucked beneath her, nearly throwing Vy to the ground, Mel had groped for the horse's reins in an attempt to control the beast. Vy managed to stay mounted, however gracelessly, and Mel managed not to either upset her own horse, or get yanked off her saddle, and by the time they'd both recovered, one of the Warocs had shouted his challenge.

"Go. Away."

Mel blinked, searching the marsh for a moment with her eyes before finding the pair further ahead. Oh, this is not what we need, she thought in a moment of panic, we're already tracking one danger, and now this? She determined fairly quickly that the two Warocs were likely not the responsible party they sought. Though the band that had attacked the caravan might indeed have rear guard, such a guard would likely either have attacked them already, or rushed ahead to warn the others.

Bran and...Leopard Man?...looked ready to charge the Warocs, and Mel was searching for ways to prevent them from picking an unnecessary fight, when suddenly Vy called out to the Warocs in their own language! Shocked, and impressed, Mel stared at her friend as she parleyed with the barbarians like a pro, as if she hadn't been flailing about on a horse, limbs akimbo, just a minute before. Hidden depths, indeed, she thought, regarding her friend with a small smile.

She had nothing to contribute to Vy's diplomacy, at the moment, so she merely signaled Bran and Leopard to stay their hands. If there was a chance to avoid conflict, Mel would take the chance, though she worried inwardly about the risk her friend was taking. Diplomacy was a tricky thing, and out here, consequences for a misstep were deadly.

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Old 07-30-2018, 12:59 PM
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Dain Bladewalker
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Dain watches the four figures carefully for signs that attack was imminent. He would not be caught sleeping this time! However, their response is not what he has come to expect from the Wardhyr. They neither charge nor flee, instead they sent the soft one forward to speak for them. No weapons or armor were visible, but she moves forward and speaks ahead of their warriors.

As her words carry down the hill to reach Dain's ears, he understands a little more. She is some kind of translator, perhaps? Her accent is terrible, but understandable. Her words of peaceful greeting ring hollow, as so many Wardhyr promises have in the past, and Dain prepares to spring forward as she reaches into her pouch. But her next words bring him to a sharp stop, as does the scrap of fabric held up in front of her. `Is that...`

Stunned for a moment, he drops his own hand from his sword hilt and holds out a hand towards Lunn suggesting the goblin lower his bow, for now. His eyes fixated on the scrap of cloth, he reaches down to his own belt and pulls out his own piece of fabric, dirt and torn, but familiar. Black, with four rings emblazoned on it. Holding it aloft in a mirror of Vy's gesture, he begins walking up the hill side so that each group can get a better look at the tabards.

In the name of knowledge, he walks forth into the jaws of this new threat. "What do you know of the stone skinned ones?"
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Old 07-30-2018, 07:16 PM
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Iovyth
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Vythica dropped a weighty sigh of relief. Thankfully, not only did they understand her clumsy, warbled attempt of the Waroc language, but these two clearly knew something. What incredible luck! The Waroc seemed to recognize the symbol, and in like fashion the Red warrior withdrew a tattered black cloth from his belt, piquing the wizard’s interest. Gods, another tabard! Leaning forward in her saddle, heart aflutter, Vy squinted quite hard to make out the sigil mark…but it was no good, she would have to get a closer look!

She thought nothing of it, gingerly descending from the saddle, eager to once again be standing on solid ground. Taking a moment to bat the wrinkles from her flowing blue poncho, feeling that she should appear somewhat presentable, Vy turned to face the Red Waroc with a meek little smile. Fear never once interrupted her thoughts, knowing Bran and Mister Leopard would be quick to protect her should things go array…but how could it, in light of their mutual curiosity? Hands empty except for the tabard, Vythica approached, leaving a comfortable distance between them. Though the Wardhyr were at the ready in the wings, even the ever-practical Mel, Vy truly exhibited a harmless mien, presently overcome by a child-like fascination—her lust for knowledge certainly blinding.

“Oh my, look at that…indeed it is the same!” Vy mused aloud, tapping her bottom lip with a finger. The Waroc’s words snapped her to attention, eyes wide and surprised. Stone-skinned ones? Taking a step or two forward, not wishing to aggravate the situation, but genuinely curious, Vy’s gentle gaze wandered over the pair. Caked in layers of mud and grime, the Waroc were visibly on edge. Surely it wasn’t solely their doing? Clasping her hands together, Vythica dropped the honest truth. “We know very little. From what we’ve been able to glean, the foe has a penchant for gold and silver—they've took innocent folks to haul their spoils. We were hoping to intercept them, but as you see, the tracks cut off over there.”

Vy pointed at the water’s edge, their way now lost within Darthun’s dank and misted scape. "Have you, by chance, met the adversary?"


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Stat BlockIovyth Tor'Valeon * Phaedashyn Evoker* Level 3
HP: 20/20 AC: 12 Saves: Int (+5) Wis (+3) Speed: 30ft
Stats: STR 8 (-1) DEX 14 (+2) CON 14 (+2) INT 17 (+3) WIS 12 (+1) CHA 8 (-1)
Languages: Common, Waroc, Elvish
Relevant Equipment:Burnt Spellbook, light crossbow (1d8+4) , dagger
Slots: L1: 3/4 L2: 2/2 Spell Bonus: +5 Spell Save DC: 13
Feats: [1]Arcanist: Increases Int by 1, gain proficiency in Arcana skill, or doubles your proficiency modifier if you already have it, and gives you prestidigitation and detect magic spells. Can cast Detect Magic once without a spell slot per long rest. Arcanist, Prepared Spells (6): Burning Hands 1 action, Self (15ft cone) Instant, 1st lvl evocation Each creature in a 15-foot cone must make a Dexterity save. A creature takes 3d6 fire damage on a failed save, or half as much on a success. The fire ignites any flammable objects in the area that aren’t being worn or carried. At Higher Levels: The damage increases by 1d6 for each slot level above 1st.Burning Hands, Mage Armor 1 action, touch Duration: 8hrs / 1st lvl spell Touch a willing creature who isn’t wearing armor. The Target’s base AC becomes 13+ its Dex mod. The spell ends if the target dons armor or if you dismiss the spell as an action.Mage Armor, Chromatic Orb 1 action, 90ft Instant, 1st lvl Evocation Make a ranged spell attack against a creature you can see. You choose the damage type: acid, cold, fire, lightning, poison, or thunder. If the attack hits, the creature takes 3d8 damage of the type you chose. At Higher Levels: The damage increases by 1d8 for each slot level above 1st.Chromatic Orb, Grease 1 action. 60 ft Duration: 1 min, 1st lvl conjuration Grease covers the ground in a 10-foot square within range. It's difficult terrain for the duration. When the grease appears, each creature standing in its area must pass a Dexterity save or fall prone. A creature that enters the area or ends its turn there must also make this save.Grease,Mirror Image 1 action, self Duration: 1 min, 2nd lvl illusion spell • Three illusions of yourself appear in your space. You can use your action to dismiss the duplicates. • Each time a creature targets you with an attack during the spell's duration, roll a d20 to see if the attack targets one of the duplicates. If you have three duplicates, you must roll a 6 or higher for the attack to target a duplicate. With two duplicates, it's an 8 or higher. With one duplicate, it's an 11 or higher. • A duplicate's AC is 10 + your Dexterity modifier. A duplicate is destroyed by an attack that hits it. It ignores all other damage and effects. The spell ends when all three duplicates are destroyed. • A creature is unaffected if it can't see, if it relies on senses other than sight, or if it can see through illusions. Mirror Image. Expeditious Retreat. 1 bonus action. Self, Conc. Up to 10 min
When you cast this spell, and as a bonus action on your turns, you can take the Dash action
“Expeditious Retreat”
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  #10  
Old 08-01-2018, 10:22 AM
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The Leopard
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The Leopard was glad for Vythica's diplomacy here. Otherwise, it would be two Warocs worn from who knows how many days running the plains against four armed and armored Wardhyr, and Bran looked ready to run them through at the first sign of trouble. The Leopard was prepared as well, but did not wish for such an uneven fight against the proud goblinkind.

Still, when the red skinned Waroc began his approach, it was hard not to move in closer to Vythica. Something about her - he couldn't quite place it - made him want to protect her. The consciousness that was Liam, jammed far back behind the mask, might have had a better explanation. For the Leopard, it felt like instinct.

He stilled his steps, eyeballing the tabard held aloft by each groups' diplomat. He had seen thousands of symbols in his years at Far Thesura, Insight: 9so why was this one so hard to place? His gaze floated past the sigil and down the length of the hobgoblin's sword... Katana? The design was even rarer than the scimitars that tap-tapped at his waist. How fast could he draw that blade, The Leopard wondered, And would we be able to stop him if he did?

He turned his head to the right, looking at the more feral of the two warriors. The goblin's bow hadn't dropped an inch despite the hob's order. "Perhaps there is a greater threat that wanders the plains this day," he voiced to all, though his eyes were fixed squarely on the bedecked bowman. "One more dangerous than an unarmed woman."

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Old 08-02-2018, 12:12 PM
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Dain Bladewalker
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Dain quirks a single eyebrow at the Leopard-man's comment to Lunn. Glancing back at the goblin for a moment, he judges the angle of the trajectory in his mind back to the masked man. Leaning forward almost conspiratorially, he offers his analysis. "I do not believe he is aiming at her..."

Returning his gaze to the human woman, he weighs his options for a moment. It was difficult to know how much to reveal to these intruders, but for now it seemed like sharing information would hinder their shared enemy more than Dain's own causes. He starts slowly as he attempts for the first time to put to words the events of the previous night.

"Our camp was attacked while most of us slumbered. Figures, no larger than you or I, walking on two feet like a person. But they had no shred of intelligence in their eyes. Grey, mottled skin like the boulders that lie upon the plains, and just as hard. Stones that walk. Their flesh turned aside our strongest blows, and their own fists fell like hammers. There was no skill, honor or passion in their warfare, just a wave of destruction that washed over us in mere moments." He shakes his head to clear it for a moment, contemplating the description Vy offered. Then he continues, his voice strong once again. "They showed no signs of interest in prisoners or plunder. It would not seem that they are the same foe at all, except that each of them wore a tabard bearing that sigil." He points to the scrap that Vythica still holds.

He pauses again for just a moment, glancing at the Leopard and the Spear-carrier as he slowly pulls a single arrow from a quiver in as non-threatening manner as he can. Squatting down he quickly sketches out a map of the area as he understands it, pointing out what few landmarks he can as he draws. "If we are here." He marks a rough 'X', "then our camp was here", a circle is drawn and he drags a line between the two points to represent the path that he and Lunn took in their flight. He turns the arrow around and offers it feathers first to the woman. "Where were your people attacked?"
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Old 08-02-2018, 12:26 PM
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Melisende
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Melisende frowned and nodded slowly at the description of the creatures they hunted. Well, perhaps 'hunted' wasn't the correct word, considering the destructive force of these 'stone men'. More like 'trailed'. It was certainly consistent with the injuries she'd seen, however.

Looking at the Waroc with compassion, she asked, "Are there any others at your camp? Injured, perhaps? Once we've dealt with the stone-skinned, I might be able to help. I'm a cleric."

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Old 08-02-2018, 07:43 PM
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Lunn Bonerattle
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He who stretches out his neck among foes should expect to find a knife at his throat. Dain had taken a great risk in going among the Wardhyr as he had. Lunn would not have done the same, and still expected treachery at any moment. His bow remained leveled, only the half-drawn arrow relaxed slightly. This was, for now, his one concession to the parlay. It could still be drawn in a heartbeat, but trust could not come easily in the company of strangers.

The goblin's eyes flicked sideways at the masked-one's comment. He discarded the sentiment as worthless. The pit snare does not threaten overtly. The crocodile does not hunt his prey where they can see. To trust the illusion of safety is to die in the moment the disguise is cast away. Besides, the hobgoblin was correct. He was not aiming at the woman.

The second female's claim to be a cleric gave Lunn a moment's pause. He knew the word she had used, had heard it from his grandmother. Badb had described their abilities as similar to those of a Legendteller, though drawn from different sources. Their spirits were not the spirits of the people. They did not know the names of their ancestors in the fashion of the Waroc.

She appeared to be suggesting aid. Charitable, but naive. "Were there injured where you have come from? None remained alive. Had there been any we would not have left them at the mercy of the dead-things." Lunn did not mention Garan. If he had survived there was no reason to betray him to the Wardhyr. If he was dead there was even less reason to speak of him to them. Dain, for all that he appeared willing to deal with these intruders, ought to know well enough to exercise the same discretion.

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Old 08-02-2018, 11:32 PM
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What Lies Beneath
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As Dain and Vy closed the tense gap between the two races, Dain leaned down and drew a crude map of their journey. Lunn remained tense, eyes hard on the still mounted Bran and Melisende on the hill. Liam, clad in his Leopard guise and mask, peered over the shoulder as Dain explained what had happened to his Waroc brethren.

Unfortunately, with their attention squarely focused on the perceived threat of each other, none watched the swamp waters--nor would it have mattered, for they murky waters were the perfect hiding spot for the fast moving predators.
Without warning the murky water swirled white with foam as a frenzy of motion. Along the edge of the swamp, in unison, appeared nearly a dozen creatures that neither the Wardhyr nor Waroc had ever seen before. Rising from the obscured water, covered in long grasses and weeds were creatures with dark green, leather-like skin. With a warbling roar and cry to each other, they surged onto the grass, their intentions clearly hostile towards both Waroc and Wardhyr alike.

These finned and webbed creatures were humanoid in basic shape but with horns and colored frills on the sides of their hands, down their spine, extending along the edge of lashing tails. Despite their webbed feet and large gills, they appeared to be agile and accustomed to land. Their clawed hands grasped intricately spears--some intricately carved wood, while others were crude bone-- and the creatures' wide mouth gnashed with multiple rows of sharp teeth. Although the six knew little of these creatures, it was clear they were formidable and hostile opponents.


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Last edited by DarkPaladin; 08-03-2018 at 10:12 AM.
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Old 08-03-2018, 03:17 AM
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Bran Marreman
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Bran kept to Chantilly as Miss Vythica and the Leopard parleyed with the Waroc, keeping his pike ready and his eyes watchful. He held no trust towards the pair of them, he would be a fool to. Even if they seemed to have a shared foe in these stone men that did not change the fact that they remained foes themselves.

'But... what if you could use this?' The thought, sudden in its appearance, was the first thing to draw his eyes from the pair. He looked down to his pike instead, eyes widened with sudden inspiration. He could use this. Two Waroc, allied in a cause with them. Certainly he couldn't trust them, the gods knew what that would get him, but if he could simply get them to see he wasn't out to kill them. If they brought it back to their people that the Wardhyr had helped them...

It was then that Bran saw the ripple in the water and the brushing of the swamp weeds. Something was lurking there. It was near unnoticeable, certainly the Waroc didn't see it, or Miss Vythica and the Leopard who were focused on what was before them.

"Everyone, I-" was all he was able to say before a great wave of cries drowned him out, the reeds splitting for a host of strange gilled beasts with wicked spear-like weapons. Chantilly skittered under him and, feeling her nervousness, Bran threw himself off the horse without a second thought. She wasn't meant for battle and he wouldn't have her getting hurt. "Chantilly! Back!"

The armored knight's chain rustled as he rushed behind Miss Vythica, intercepting one of the fish creatures before it was able to get to her. "Miss, get back! I'll hold them off!"

As soon as he felt purchase in its scaly hide, the tension assuring him of where it would be, Bran chanced a look at the Waroc. Would the two help or would they use this opportunity to run while they were preoccupied?
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Last edited by Anthrueser; 08-03-2018 at 02:25 PM.
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