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  #121  
Old 09-06-2018, 11:23 AM
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Melisende
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Melisende's relief had been immense when the Leopard had dropped dramatically into their midst, unharmed. After that, it was simply a matter of calming and collecting Vy, and following the others away from the ruin.

Now, as they stood on the dreary-looking island, discussing their choices, Mel's weariness began to take its toll. "It looks like there may be a camp or structure up ahead," she noted. "However, if it's not a friendly party, I'm in poor shape to be of much help. I can probably manage one more minor spell, and then I'll be done until I can pray for further aid. Perhaps we should take the rest we had hoped for at the tower, and hope that we don't disturb any more animals?"

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  #122  
Old 09-06-2018, 12:19 PM
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Dain Bladewalker
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Dain stares levelly out over the bridge at the light beyond, it didn't give him the same warmth as the campfires he was used to. But something was certainly there. Eventually he gives up on his staring contest with an inanimate object, breaking his gaze and glancing downwards.

"If we can see it, then it can see us. We should move into the trees more before we rest."

Off his feet and out of the mud and mire for the first time in hours, he sits cross legged on the firm earth, lays out oil and whetsone, and then places his drawn sword across his lap in a timeless ritual. He has not slept since the stone walkers attacked their camp. He has trekked through miles of inhospitable terrain, waded through foul, stagnant water and fought against both fish-men and giant snakes. He is bone-tired, weary beyond comprehension, but still his weapon comes first. If he does care for it, it will not care for him in return, and he will be truly lost.

The sound of whetstone on smooth elven steel creates a quiet ringing rhythm as he sets about his task. "We do not know what surprises the Forktongue yet holds. We must remain vigilant."
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  #123  
Old 09-07-2018, 06:46 AM
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Bran Marreman
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The party took a moment to recuperate and plan now that they had the comfort of dry land and relative safety. Bran himself sat upon a good-sized rock flat enough for a proper seat, silently watching the ministrations of a whetstone upon a sword and idly spinning a small stone in his hand.

Upon Dain's recommendation they had moved away from the steady light, distant enough now that if they lit a fire of their own it would be unseen without approach. In lands such as these such caution was needed he decided.

"If we're to have a watch, I shall take the middling. It is what I'm used to." Ever since he and Sir Brackian had left for the open road the younger paladin had more often than not taken a midnight vigil. At first it had been so his mentor could pray upon the dawn, but after a time he had grown used to the night, staying awake for the moon even when he had no need to.

He was not quite sure why, but it felt comforting.
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  #124  
Old 09-07-2018, 11:11 PM
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IovythVythica sat down her pack on a soft patch of moss, plopping on top of it with a happy sigh. What a day! Sure there was something mysterious and potentially edifying across the bridge…but clearly everyone is haggard and in no mood for more violent whimsy.

“Mel is right, of course. We’ve certainly had enough adventuring for one day, but perhaps in the morning we could explore the yonder side of the bridge to check out what that ambience mayhaps could be? I AM rather curious.” The wizard flew an apologetic grin, resting her chin on a flimsy fist. “There’s yet a pinch of gusto in me…so I’ll take first shift.”

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  #125  
Old 09-08-2018, 12:09 AM
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The Uneventful NightOn edge the entire night, the group make cold camp. Little is spoken as each member of the party beds down, but upon laying down sleep comes quickly for all due to the long day beforehand. Despite the constant noise of the swamp environment, nothing malicious or larger than a curious toad comes into the camp. Dawn breaks the horizon and greets the rested adventurers.

Aided by the newfound light, a quick scout of the island reveals the same information. Everyone can see another island in the far distance to the northwest. The water between the two islands was too deep to wade, and would require a far swim through unfriendly and murky waters.

The wooden bridge still stood, leading to another patch of dry land to the northeast. Unlike the tower before, the bridge was in good condition, but was far from new. Some fifty yards beyond the bridge mist and trees still partially blocked sight, but it was clear that the light from the night before was coming from a small house, elevated from the water and muck by stilts.
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  #126  
Old 09-08-2018, 12:23 PM
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The Leopard
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The Leopard found a spot at the far side of the group's camp. Though a part of him was curious, he left the locket with Vythica. There is little he could do with it now. Resting his head back against a bent tree, his face shrouded in darkness, the warrior-bard finally allowed himself to relax.

Only when he is sure none could see him, he lifted the mask from his face. It pushes back his thick dark hair up and back to reveal the haggard face that had stayed hidden through the adventure so far. Liam's thin mouth twitches into a smile. Dain's whetstone ran along the elven blade, a scraping metronome that brings to mind the first hints of a melody.

Liam set his pack beneath the curl of his legs, rummaging around in the dark until he grasped the flute wrapped safely within. He brought it to his lips. There was no need for light. Sinking into his surroundings, using Dain's practiced scrape as his anchor, he began to play the refrain of the night. His notes slid through the reeds, among the branches of the bent and broken trees and along the backs of the creatures of the ancient swamp.

The song ends, carried away by the night's natural tones. He is content. The pressure of the day is relieved. Exhaling, he slid the mask back down over his face and slept.

* * * * *

The Leopard rises with the sun, pushing off from the crooked tree that served as his bed the night before. In one smooth motion, he slung his traveling sack across his back. "It seems there is only one way forward," he stated, sinking back into his role as a warrior. "Dain, Lunn, these lands are more of your people than ours. Do you know what awaits us ahead?"

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  #127  
Old 09-08-2018, 02:58 PM
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Melisende
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Melisende woke the next morning well before dawn, stiff and cold, unused to sleeping outdoors. She had a crick in her back that seemed as though it were permanent, or perhaps in need of a healing spell, and she was sure that insects had stolen most of her blood. In short, she was miserable, and had never before so longed for the relative comfort of the temple. Despite the fairly spartan conditions of the sleeping quarters, it beat a rock for a pillow with a tree root lodged in your spine.

Still, her training kicked in after a few moments, and she prepared for her morning prayer ritual. She removed candles, incense, and a small censer from her pack, and set them about herself in a specific pattern, or as close as the terrain would allow. She then pulled a small, leatherbound prayer book from an inner pocket, carefully wound with a cord. She didn't really need the book, as years of practice had firmly placed the words in her memory, but it felt good to hold it. It was comforting, and helped her focus. Lighting the candles and incense, she knelt on a blanket and began her prayers, her body swaying melodically in time with her quiet chanting. The ritual did more than empower her with the day's spells she would need...it also focused her, and centered her spirit. The crick in her back seemed to face, the chill deep inside began to warm. Lost in the ritual of her faith, she felt renewed, positive, and hopeful, as if the earthly cares they were mired in were only secondary concerns.

Once she was finished, she opened her eyes, smiling slightly, and extinguished the candles and incense, replacing them within her pack. Tucking the prayer book and blanket away, she stood, stretching a bit to ease tired muscles and joints, then looked around to see who else was ready.

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  #128  
Old 09-08-2018, 07:41 PM
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Lunn Bonerattle
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"The swamp dwellers do not roam as do most of the people. The Forktongue is their territory, and the nearness of the stone walls makes them jealous of it. Their secrets, and their home, are better guarded than you suppose, Leopard" Lunn had slept poorly. The scrape of Dain's whetstone had not compared favourably to the telling of tales from the previous night and, when he had slept, his dreams were plagued by images of the slaughter that had followed.

Of the past day's events, all Lunn was remotely pleased by was the knowledge that the great serpent had been left to its nest in peace. It still rankled that the retreat had taken so long once the creature had made it presence known. And for what, a pair of trinkets, curios, of uncertain value? It had been honourless plundering, and nothing more. Badb's mistrust was alive and in full bloom within her gradson's mind. Apart from the skirmish against the fish-folk, the Wardhyr had showed little of what he considered redeeming qualities. A common foe remained the only thread that bound him to them.

The goblin gestured toward the deeper waters. "It would be unwise to chance crossing there. Any number of predators might lurk beneath the surface, and we haven't time to fashion a raft. Unless," he cast an eye in the direction of the blonde witch "your magic can conjure one whole from the swamp." His tone made it clear that Lunn found this prospect unlikely. "Which means the bridge is our safest route forward." Lunn moved to the anchoring posts,
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d20+3 (20)+3 Total = 23
examining them critically. By the time he returned, he had a plan in mind. "I will go first, to test the span. My weight is least likely to buckle it. I will run a rope with me, and tie it on the far side. Keep hold of this in one hand as you follow. If the bridge falls you will still be able to pull yourself out of the mire."

OOCDoing a bit of scouting while the casters get ready for the day. Depending on the length of the bridge we may have to tie a pair of ropes together.

 

 
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  #129  
Old 09-08-2018, 08:37 PM
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Dain Bladewalker
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Dain shakes his head in response to the Leopard's question. "My travels have never brought me this way before. The map says the Tribe of Ulruk camps further along the island chain, this hut isn't shown. Perhaps an individual or an outcast resides there, perhaps it is a guard post of sorts. Or something else entirely." He shrugs and finishes arranging his equipment around him for travel. Dain shifts restlessly during Melisende's rituals, still uncomfortable with the idea of drawing attention from the Wardhyr gods, but he remains silent.

As they prepare to go Dain finds himself nodding in agreement with Lunn's plan, offering his rope for use. As they wait for the goblin to cross, he finds himself next to the human mage. "Do you still have the blade we found in the tower? I wish to test its edge on the next stone walker I see."
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  #130  
Old 09-09-2018, 06:23 AM
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Bran Marreman
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Having prayed the night before, under the light of the moon, Bran simply put a whetstone to the head of his pike as the rest of the party roused and prepared. As with the day before, he knew it would be a long day today. One rife with dangers. He would need the blade clean and sharp for them.

It was the only thing he felt thankful for in their sudden retreat yesterday, having the sleight of hand to gather the weapon as he and Miss Vythica had been ripped from the tower. Aside from the breath he and the rest of the group took now of course.

It was no weapon of grand make, but he'd had it for years. There was a great deal of sentiment between him and the weapon. Sentiment he poured into every stroke of the whetstone.

Later as the goblin, Lunn, tested the bridge, Bran took slow bites of a hardened travel biscuit and watched for any interloping danger with the freshly-sharpened pike in his off-hand. Every few minutes he would take glances toward the building across the bridge, unsure of what to make of it.

Hopefully it, unlike the rest of the Drathún, was left of danger.
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  #131  
Old 09-09-2018, 07:18 PM
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Iovyth
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Vythica’s eyes snapped open, springing up like a corpse. Her hand flew to the locket around her neck, gripping it dreadfully hard. Heart madly aflutter, for a moment there she had no idea where this was. Who she was. Iovyth. Vythica. Two very different sides of the same coin. Slowly the wizard settled back into the present as she calmly took out Thranduin’s charred spellbook. The scent of balefire still permeated from its pages. Breathing in the acrid fragrance of death did well to sharply wake her. No time for dallying around.

While Mel prayed and the men prepared, Vythica took to logging the previous night’s events in her spellbook. After detailing key points in Thranduin’s code, she drew a rough sketch of the monstrous snake…it was a decent depiction, but hardly lived up to its terrifying glory. Then, she went to work sketching the locket down to the minutest detail. The ruby embedded in the item was certainly real, but she hoped by slowly familiarizing herself with the locket, eventually the secret to unlocking it would become clear. With that in mind, Vythica pressed on the ruby to see if that might activate the locking mechanism.

Stiffly rising, Vythica staggered around until enough blood adequately fed her beleaguered brain. Mister Lunn? Why, he was curious about her magic? The wizard perked, though clearly she was no transmuter. “Well no…but I can do this!” Twiddling her fingers in a wizardy-way, Vythica tapped her muddy poncho with a magical zing. The stains that deeply speckled the fabric magically disappeared, the shade brightened in hue, and ultimately appeared good as new! “Nifty aye?” She couldn’t tell if Mister Lunn was generally impressed or a fraction closer to satiating his murderous inclinations. His goblin face wore a perpetual toothy grin, but Vy preferred to assume that he was indeed in awe of prestidigitation.

Spinning around happily, now that she was free of muck and grime, Vythica nearly fell over as Mister Dain caught her by surprise.

“Why uh…yes, let me see…” Vythica scurried over to her bag, digging through it, checking over her shoulder now and again to reassure him that it was indeed there. Somewhere. Vythica pat her back pockets, then, looking between her legs, the silver hilt plainly stuck out from her boot. Clearing her throat, she casually handed the Waroc the dagger—but not before magically cleaning the weapon of every speck of ancient filth.

“Here you are, one pristinely clean dagger…but hopefully we won’t run afoul of our stone-skinned adversary. I wager the true mastermind can see through them, and I’d much rather that we stay hidden until the finishing blow, yes?” With that, she gently added. “Thank you. It may not mean much coming from silly me, but we do appreciate your help. Without you and Mister Lunn, we’d be much worse for wear.” Smiling warmly at the Waroc, Vy joined everyone by the bridge.

Tapping Mel on the shoulder, she gave her a bearish hug…because who doesn’t need hugs in the middle of a treacherous journey, where they could die at any foreseeable moment?

“Be careful Mister Lunn,” Turning back, Vythica blurts, “I volunteer to go next!”

Across the bridge a curious house and its denizen awaited them. She hoped they were hospitable. Tapping her lip, Vythica tried to
Dice History vs Waroc dwellings:
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recall what she had read of Waroc dwellings and their customary rituals. Perhaps the architecture might tell them something of the kind of inhabitant they could expect.




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  #132  
Old 09-11-2018, 07:52 PM
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The Swamp Elf
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The strands of rope connecting the planks of bridge together are soggy and wet, but the hemp holds tight in the wet conditions. The planks rest several feet above the water's surface, but occasionally dip below into the water. The oak planks are roughly hewn, but are solid and show no signs of rot. Lunn taps a toe, then places his full weight onto the first few, bouncing a few times, but finds it to be sturdy. As he crosses he notices several of the planks are a brighter color than the others, indicating they are newer and younger wood—someone keeps the bridge in good repair.

Vythica quickly follows, bouncing across the steps with hops. While the others make their way across the out of place bridge, Lunn pads ahead and gets a clear view of the structure up ahead through the mists.

A thatch-roof hut rests on thick tree trunk stilts, standing approximately ten feet from the ground. A ladder with knobby wooden steps is used to reach the main entrance. A wooden chair, well worn and used, sits on the small porch outside the hut.
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On the chair sits an attractive maiden with decidedly pointed She may be a full elf, or just a half-elf who favors her elven heritageears, green eyes, and tussled true red hair. She wears nice, yet dirty, leather breeches and a green poet’s shirt. In her hand is a small paring knife she uses to delicately gut a large trout like fish hanging from a line stretching across the porch. The guts tumble out, spilling onto the deck and falling into the murky water below.

“No sense in skulking about,” the woman’s voice is thick with a comforting Imagine a southern Tennessee style accentaccent, “Y’lot made enough ruckus to wake the dead. I have some stew on the pot, iffa you don’t mind fishy bits.” Her voice is loud enough to carry, but not quite a shout. She turns away from the fish in her hands, looking at Lunn with a welcoming smile on her face. “I would have invited you in last night, but your friends seemed on edge and I thought mayhap a conversation during the day may turn out better.” Hanging the gutted fish on the line the woman stood and appeared that she was going to enter her home.
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  #133  
Old 09-11-2018, 11:58 PM
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Melisende
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Melisende arched her brows in surprise at the appearance of the woman. It seemed unusual for such a person to be dwelling in the swamp this way, especially considering some of the dangers they'd already faced. Taking note to be Insight roll belowwary, but not impolite, Mel glanced at the others questioningly, hesitating a moment before entering the shack.

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Old 09-12-2018, 12:29 AM
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The Swamp ElfAs Melisende approaches, along with the others, she notices red stains along the porch by the chair, as well as on the railing. While that could be explained largely due to gutting fish and other swamp game, it seemed quite a lot of blood.

Climbing up the ladder, Melisende peered in through the open doorway and window. The dusty and unkempt interior of the hut includes an unmade bed, a pot-belly stove with a simmering pot on top, a waved chair, and a closet. Several dried rodent skulls of various sizes dangle from the ceiling and sway in the breeze that slips in through the windows.

As Melisende gazes in, the red-haired woman looked out and smiled, gesturing for her and the others to enter. The woman's eyes darted away from Melisende's gaze, over the cleric's shoulder. The movement was barely noticeable, but it was clear she was looking at or for something out....there.

"My name is Hilla, what brings you fine folks to the dark confines of the Darthun? Only those foul Warocs and precocious scaled men usually come visit me, but their demeanor is far less friendly than yours. It would be good to have a proper conversation for once."

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Old 09-12-2018, 01:22 AM
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Lunn Bonerattle
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When it became apparent that the bridge bore no immediate threat of collapsing under their passage, Lunn tossed the borrowed coil back to the Bladewalker. That the hut on the far side of the span had an occupant was no cause for celebration, to his mind, even less so given the elf's description of foul Warocs. Rather than enter the hut directly, Lunn cut a quick circle of the islet's perimeter. While he did so, the goblin kept and
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d20+3 (5)+3 Total = 8
eye out for signs of predators that might be attracted to the fish entrails, and checked the windows of the hut as well for curtains that might have blacked out any fire from the night before.

Only when he had been satisfied that the unassuming domicile was not simply a front disguising an unannounce threat did Lunn finally enter after the elf. "This is an unlikely location for a home, and the scaled men you speak of are not peacefully inclined. How is it that you live undisturbed here?"

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