Edrie rolls her eyes and mutters to herself about a "free society."

"It is good that you have remembered your honor.  We shall guarantee your safe conduct."

The Bladesinger had was a free spirit, but seemed to have a distinctive sort of wild honor that she would not compromise.  "The Lady may ride my mount."

"Celadhel has the right of it.  It's not for common herd to in the barn while the stud pulls a plow."  He brings his horse up to the Baron and smiles in his simple way and helps him up. "That's right milord, easy does it."

Celadhel, Lady Bronwyn, and Baron Agwain all look at each other, then again at Olaf, then each other again.  The problem was clear--priests possess a similar status to nobility, but the Chauntean's agricultural metaphors were beginning to display a certain coarseness that ruffled their feathers.

The ride back to Daggerford is slower than the frantic pace set during the night.  Folk are weary of travel, battle, danger, and the fantastic.  The road--more a trail--follow right along the sparkling waters of the River Delimbyr with its ripples and rills lapping and laughing on the stones.

It is then that you realize that it isn't merely metaphorical laughing--but actual giggling that you hear somewhere down in the tall grasses and reeds along the bank.

What do you do?

Tolantra glanced at Heluvianal. "This is your turf, and I'm something of a blunt instrument. Do you want to check that out? We'll cover you."

In reply to Tol (msg # 45):

As Heluvianal was in mouse form riding on the front of the front saddle by now, not having a care in the world and enjoying recounting to himself in squeaks how he had met a God and his Kin and his People all at the same time and how he was very grateful for the Baron and the Lady for leading them back to his home.

He was jerked out of his reverie when he heard Tol's words and so he jumped off the horse towards the river and seemed to appear out of the air as he enlarged back to his normal height, looking at the reeds for movement.  He then rolled as he landed and walked nonchalantly towards the water in a non-threatening way.

Speaking in his native Fae tongue reyhg graghyu ewsoifh, wetrgjghr dsjgf rgerg?

Heluvianal moves closer to the giggling sound which draws him closer to the rippling water's edge.  Here the roots of the trees are constantly fed by the clear deep waters of the River Delimbyr, and their branches extends tens of feet out over the water leaving portions of the river perpetually shaded.

The giggling seems to come from a rocky area where the current of the river backwashes and circles in on itself. Closer now, Heluvianal can hear that the giggling is interspersed with surprised gasps, and soft feminine moans.

When you finally achieve the proper vantage to ask your question, you see a pair of what appear to be female elves. Their skin is a sort of sage green and delicate membranes join their fingers together. Their hair is a lustrous deep forest green.  The water sparkles like laughter on their nude skin and delight forms their lips into bright and playful smiles.

You watch unnoticed as splash playfully and their dextrous fingers titillate one another.

Your introduction interrupts them just as one had started to nibble at the nape of the other.

"Meerseta. Qweta Yet deeply Fren Uise cup Fren Treui. Qui Zu nijo?"


How closely are the rest of you covering Heluvianal?
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:45, Sat 28 May 2022.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 47):

They looked more like Nymphs than Wild Elves, so he waved to the others in a cautious beckoning.

SRetiss,qui Zu nijo ee? Ginbr, use treui.
Sisters, will you join me? Bring life drink.

He cautiously moves closer, keeping in view of the others.

Tolantra kept back, watching Helu carefully as he made his way forward. She couldn't see who he was talking to, but when he waved her forward she slowly began to advance.

Tolantra and the remainder of the party wait about thirty feet back, but crane their necks to get a look at who Heluvianal is speaking to. At his beckoning, they draw closer. The language eludes them all, but the sounds of their melodious voices are enchanting. The languid bodies glisten with promise in the rippling waters.

"Dyn gwirion, ni allwn adael y dyfroedd. Mae bywyd yn y dyfroedd. Bywyd melys. Ymunwch â ni. Gallwn wneud eich bywyd yn felys hefyd. Os na wnewch chi, efallai y bydd un arall yn yfed o'n cwpan ni?"


Two more sage-green faces emerge from the waters.  One licks her lips, and the other tosses her hair so that water droplets sparkle in the air.

Olaf turns bright red, but his eyes are fixed intently on them.  His jaw works silently, for once lacking pastoral observations.

Celadhel raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "I wasn't aware that our seaborne cousins were so... ahem... passionate."

Edrie can't seem to figure out where to put her eyes, or her hands. Every time she thinks of her hands she thinks of where their hands are and what they are doing with them.

"Are we interrupting? Well, I suppose they're not nymphs. None of us are blinded or dead. Not dead."

Her cheeks seem to flush, but it seems a very different sort of coloration than Olaf's.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:19, Thu 09 June 2022.

Tolantra chuckled. "A pleasure to meet you, ladies." She bowed. "They did not speak of ones such as you back home under ground. But the day grows short and we have a long way to go, so with your blessings we shall depart."

She didn't particularly like the water, especially when she was wearing heavy armor. And while as a priestess of Haela she was sworn to fight monsters these ladies didn't seem to be any threat to anyone who didn't blunder into them. So she figured it was time for them to blunder away.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 50):

He focused on their green skin and the reflections on the water, he held himself enough to not blush until he looked back and saw Edrie all flustered, this brought home to him his cousins state of undress and the discomfort his friends were displaying.

cymaint ag y mae'n swnio'n syniad braf o fywyd, nid fy mywyd i ydyw. Diolch i chi ferched, byddwn yn parhau ymlaen. Mae goblins o gwmpas, byddwch yn ymwybodol.

A oes unrhyw un arall rhyfedd sy'n mynd heibio wedi bod yn agos yn ddiweddar?


He waved the other on before the succumbed to the luscious beauties in the waters.

Bronwyn's eyes go wide--but not in the same sort of moral shock as the rest--"Nixies!  Close your eyes!"

Olaf is struck by the beauty of the Nixies and begins walking--shuffling really--forward.  He begins pulling at the straps of his armor as if trying to disrobe. "The Cup of Life."

Bronwyn rolls her eyes and warns, "No harm really will come to him, but if you let him go you won't see him again for a year.  There are social consequences to that kind of behavior."

Baron Agwain laughs with a rich baritone. "What will they do with him?"

"Not what he hopes," Bronwyn continues. "But he's under their spell now--he'll have to be physically restrained."

"Oh, no you don't," Tolantra told Olaf as she went trotting after him. "You're needed here." Needed to provide the group a visible cleric, and her better camouflage. Getting in front of him, she tried to pick Olaf up and carry him away from the nixies. If she could get him to his horse, she could tie him to his saddle.

((ooc: Not sure how you want to handle this; what should I roll?))

In reply to Tol (msg # 59):

Sisters, it is no time to mess with our troupe, the Lord of the Forest has given me leave to take these to the city, ALL of them. Would you go against his will too?

STOP this  He didn't know where his voice came but came it did.  With such command that only magical words would out match it.  He almost blushed but knew his cause and raised his bow to emphasis his meaning.

2E rules are fairly hazy on grappling.  If you have multiple people that are trying to restrain him--you can.  If you want to deal subdual damage to knock him out, you can.  So far, only you are restraining him. As long as its just you, he'll make gradual progress towards the river because he's fighting quite a bit harder than you.  That's several rounds away though.

"Mae'n dymuno cwpan y bywyd, frawd. Onid yw efe yn haeddu ein pleserau ? Nid ydym yn gorfodi, dim ond gwahodd!" the Nixies respond in seductive voices.


Tol begins struggling to restrain, the weaker but much larger Olaf. Who howls in protest.

"Sorry is the man that will see a field ready for plowing and turn aside from the labor! Sorrier is the man that will entice him from his labor! They call me Tol! They call and I must answer!" The priests limbs are energized by his vast desire, and he drags your tangle ten feet closer to the riverbank and the pleasures that entice him.  He is so taken that he does not really consciously contest you--he only tries to get closer to the river's edge.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:59, Thu 16 June 2022.

"What's a year? We'll be rid of his sermons and demeaning metaphors for a short four seasons, and he may come back with a more interesting perspective."  Her laughter tinkles like the rippling of the water.