Between Nomerendal and Dorak they know they could duplicate the ritual on a full moon, and summon something from The First World through. If they knew what to call.

The gnome was thoughtful, deep in his musings. "Leaving this altar here would be asking for trouble. It would be like when my father would leave a pot of his wonder glue out where I could get my hands on it. Eventually the cat was stuck to the ceiling and the harness on the neighbor's mule was permanent! It will be discovered and it will be used. But here's the rub, when my father needed his wonder glue to fix something, it was a terrifically useful thing to have around. Should we need to summon something - for whatever reason - it would be very useful to have this altar here and not have to rebuild and reconsecrate it." That last thought left a bad taste in Nom's mouth.

"It's utility versus safety the way I see it, and unfortunately there are probably too many folks out there like I was as a kid and just won't be able to resist messing with it."

"Aye, I think this altar has too much potential for twisted usage. Now, as an alternative, I suggest we take detailed notes on how to rebuild a similar altar, copy the runes involved, and take note of all the other elements needed to make such a summoning. Therefore no risk is left behind when we destroy this site, yet we can recreate it in the unlikely situation where we might need such access." Dorak concludes.


OOC: What is the First World?

The first world is where our kind came from. I would rather not destroy something that may some day get me back to the first world. If some thing can come from there, perhaps there's away to reverse it and go there. After a short pause she turns to Nom and adds. We could be destroying one of the last gates home.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:20, Fri 23 Nov 2018.

Sara seemed off after the spider went down. Distracted. Stunned. Like she wasn't quite all there.

She staggered a little as the others explored the portal, then put her hands to her head shouting, "Get out of my HEAD!" before collapsing to the ground.

She was conscious but seemed to be in a world of her own, talking to herself in words that didn't quite make sense.

When fidget saw Sara fall she gave up on the alter and ran to her side. Nom, Dorak get over here we've got a problem.

Dorak rushes to Sara's side. He says "that monster spoke to our minds directly. It may be that it was able to 'sting' Sara mentally, injecting her with some sort of Mental poison. I will try to treat it."

Heal check, treat Poison.
Heal check 13 on d20+9.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Sat 24 Nov 2018.

Sara lays on the cavern floor breathing shallowly and quickly her eyes flickering in her head. Checking her out Dorak realizes she's under some sort of psychic attack. Nomerendal states singing to try and draw her attention to the world of the living...long seconds go by and then she gasps and sits up...looking around, before settling down.

Seeing she will survive they turn to dismantling the altar and packing up a few key portions of it before preparing to leave.

Sara stood up unsteadily, on wobbly legs. She could stand and walk, though it looked awkward for her, like she had to think about each step. She didn't move with her previously characteristic grace, but rather more stiffly. She was still able to walk and move more quickly than most of her companions, just not as quickly as before.

She was talking to herself as she moved, carrying on half a conversation with an unseen companion. Phrases like "Do I look like a spider to you?" and "Get out of my head!" punctured with profanity in several languages, were common.

---

To explain the mechanics I'm trying to roleplay a little, Sara took a level as a dual-cursed oracle with curses



and



I'm fluffing Lame to be uncoordinated due to the voice in her head, rather than with a permanently twisted ankle. Since she was a barbarian at level 1 she still moves 30' (20' in medium armor)

Arell was feeling particularly useless at the moment.

Sure he'd just killed a giant spider, but that meant nothing in the face of mental scarring.

He couldn't exactly go in there and stab it with a sword after all.

So he stands back, letting Dorak and Rendal do what they were good at and keeping out of the way.

When Sara finally stands, looking grievously shaken but still--relatively--in her right mind.  Arell can't help but open his mouth.

"Sara?  Talk to us." he says, unable to keep his usual gruffness away, "What's going on?"

Nom was quite alarmed, and somewhat at a loss as to how to help Sara. The song he sang just came out, without much thought on his part. The melody was in a minor key, the notes somewhat discordant. He hoped that somehow the old magic would pierce her mind to help her fight whatever it was that had taken its hold on her!

"Sara?"

Dorak stands and shakes his head. " 'Tis outside my experience. I've a notion of what has happened, but as yet I've no idea how to cure it. Perhaps Torag can give me the power to cure her malady. I can but try." Dorak pulls out his Holy Symbol and some incense from his belt pouch. He casts a Spark on the incense, and in solemn tones invokes his deity. "Torag, I ask for wisdom and Knowledge. My companion suffers by the dying action of a horror from the First World. I ask that you grant me the power to cure her. I know such boons require a price to be paid. I choose to pay that price to give my friend peace. Torag, grant my prayer." He stays hunched over the incense, breathing in the vapors in hopes of an answer.

After the prayers, her eyes see a little clearer and her strength a little more, but Dorak can tell that theres been a change in Sara...he can almost sense a bit of the divine in her...somehow.


the altar dismatnles the party makes their way back to the surface and into the afternoon light. A decision on where to head to next needed to be reached. before it got too much darker.

Feeling a little better after Dorak's sincere prayer, Nom promised Sara, "We'll get you some help as soon as we can, I'm sure we'll find someone who can help you."

Grateful to be out of the gloomy cavern and away from all the pesky cobwebs, the little bard put his hands on his hips and considered their options. "I think we better take Rolf back and check in with Conrad. We'll need to let him know what we've found and taken care of here. If he intends to continue his vigil over this part of the forest, he should be aware of the efforts afoot to stir the pot... Then I suppose we'd better get back to the Hollow and let the Boss know we fixed his little problem. And I've got a few new tales and tunes to knit for the folks back at Jak'a'napes'."

"I can hear him. In my head. He's in here somewhere, somehow. Whatever it was that was in that spider is in my now. He's not in charge though. He can't take over. No! No you can't you can try all you want but I'm in control. That's right! So just stay there and shut up and let me think!" Her words degenerated into talking to herself again.

She followed the group, still not all there, muttering to herself. Whether to Connor or the camp didn't matter to her. Though she'd hate to see Rolf go.

During the trip back to Conrads Camp, Rolf seems to walk calmly by Arell's side. seemingly bonding with the clerk turned warrior.

It doesnt take long arriving late in the day, with the sun setting on the horizon. Conrad is nowhere to be found.

"Well, surely he'll be back soon, right? I'm not sure if Rolf will stay here by himself if we press on to the Logger Camp, looks like he's taken quite a liking to our grouchy clerk."

Nom looked around as a thought occurred to him, "Uh... um... It's not a full moon tonight is it?"

"I don't think that's how wererats work..." Arell replies, reaching over and scratching Rolf's ears absently.

"Let's make for the camp.  I've about had it with these woods."

"Agreed," she replied to Arell, ready to leave. Then she continued, "No! You don't get a vote! Shut it."

She looked for a spider, a harmless insect, crawling on the ground and stepped on it, grinding her heel into the dirt. "I'll find more, don't think I won't!"

The Party Sets upp camp, near Conrads Tent and soon fatigue sets in and  after posting a watch schedule, they gradually fall off to sleep. In the Middle of the Night Conrad returns from hunting and joins whoever is on guard. He keeps company with the watch until dawns light where he goes off to his tent to sleepp

You notice several Rats take positions around his tent to keep watch.


Your next post should indicate your levelling up. then Ill post after each has done their level up post reflecting practice/training/a few changes in your character. After all have posted Ill get you back to town

Arell had first watch, which he kept dutifully.  Pacing the borders of the camp, and keeping his eyes trained on the darkness without rather than the fire within.

Rolf followed, unsure the what man was doing, but happy to be included.

Still, Arell's thoughts were clouded.  He had seen more combat in the past few weeks than he had in the last fifteen years combined, he had almost died several times, and he'd faced more monsters than he'd seen in his lifetime.

And yet, he felt more alive now than when he arrived in Falcon's Hollow all those years ago.

What was he doing wrong?

Abadar was a god of civilization.  Of laws and weights and standards.  Service to Abadar was service to the city, good deals, fair trade and earnest accumulation of wealth.  Arell had served as best he knew the town of Falcon's Hollow.  He made and enforced fair deals.  He traded honestly with the townsfolk, and he quietly collected his salary for his rightful service.  And yet, he had stagnated.  What did he have to show for his trouble?  Grey hair and a craggy old face.  Didn't that fifteen years mean something to the Lawgiver?  Shouldn't he have more money than he knew what to do with?  Shouldn't he have friends and allies in a network that stretched back to Absalom at least?  Shouldn't he be married with a pile of kids by now?

Shouldn't he be happy simply being part of civilization?

Arell paused in his patrol.  He did have more money than he knew what to do with...even before all this.  What excess he had got socked away for a rainy day, or spent on frivolities (although, he was sure the tavern and especially Ralla appreciated his patronage).  He...enjoyed those things.  But they weren't fulfilling.  He could have spent that money on any other vices and it would have had about the same effect on him.

Rolf whined and nuzzled at his hand, wondering what was wrong.

Arell leaned over and scratched the dog's ears absently.

"Abadar," he prayed quietly, "How can I ask you for what I want if I don't know what I want..."

---

Arell awoke with the sun.

He cleaned his camping spot, packed up his haversack and went off on his own for his daily exercises.

Well, he tried...Rolf was still following him.

The dog was playful, and eager to figure out this new game with the metal bar The Person kept with him.  Which made Arell's sword drills difficult to say the least.

After about five minutes of getting nowhere, Arell snapped and Commanded the dog to sit and stay...which Rolf did, reluctantly.  Arell tried to start again, but somehow, the dog's pleading eyes on the back of his head were worse than any physical distraction.

The paladin stopped his exercise, and sighed.

Was he doing the right thing?  No.  No he wasn't.  He was ignoring the good Abadar had placed in his life in favor of cold hollow ritual.

He sheathed his sword and turned back to the dog.

"Come on boy...let's go for a run."

Half an hour later, with Arell far more winded than he expected and Rolf panting happily on the grass beside him, the paladin took up his sword for his drills again.

And somehow, despite his exhaustion, the motions of the kata flowed smoother and cleaner than they had in years.  He was...better now.  Somehow, that little bit of frivolity with Rolf had deepened his connection to the divine will of Abadar.  He could feel the wellspring of power that the Lawgiver had waiting for him, had he ever actually found something worth using it for.

Apparently Rolf counted.

And Arell found himself smiling as he practiced.  Possibly for the first time ever.

OOC: I kind of jumped the gun on leveling up with my diva posts. I'll be good now :-)



Sara was up with the dawn as well. It had been a long and not particularly restful night for her, with a strange voice in her head tormenting her all night long keeping sleep at bay for most of it. She was beginning to get used to it though, able to tune it out enough to drift off eventually.

While she was awake she started to notice new things. New abilities. She seemed to have some control over luck itself, able to make unlikely and unfortunate things happen. So far only knocking down delicately balanced branches and the like, but she was confident she could harness this power of misfortune against an adversary. And then she felt stirring of divine power within herself. Not from the fey being that shared her skull, she was pretty sure. She wasn't sure where the power came from, but she found she could cast spells! Basic ones to be sure, but it was instinctive. Divine power flowed through her.

She stood quietly and watched Arell practice and play with Rolf and smiled. Maybe things were going to work out after all.

Before bedding down for the night, Dorak expends some divine power to bind the wounds his companions have suffered. The results were lackluster, making him believe he had found disfavor with the Builder, somehow.

Channel 1d6, ×2, heals 2 on 2d6 (1,1).

With divine power exhausted, he forces himself awake as he tends to his charges whilst they sleep, changing dressings and making sure they stay comfortable. After 4 hours of this, he has done all he can for his friends including Rolf.

Heal check DC 15 (long term care). Rolled 16 on d20+9.
Everyone still down hp gets back 2 hp per HD for resting through to night. Rolf also gets back 2 hp per HD.

Dorak, feeling a hint of Exhaustion, lies down himself. Hardly any time has passed before he starts dreaming, and in that dream he sees himself building a base of operations for his company, including a shrine to Torag. In the midst of the dream he hears a powerful voice saying The shrine is a nice touch. Thank you for thinking of ME. It warms me that you still think of building when your actions recently were of Destruction. But Evil is not a thing that civilizations can abide and still be viable communities. Remember that as you move forward. I granted your friend some stability after your heartfelt prayer, but I dare not eradicate her connection to the Divine that the hive mind awoke in her. It would destroy her sanity. Go forward, my son, and know that you have MY APPROVAL.
The dream ends and Dorak sits up abruptly, wondering if that had truly been a Visitation, or merely his own hopes of approval worming their way into his sleeping mind. He gets dressed and checks on his patients, some of whom have awakened already. He does some morning exercise and shadow spars with his warhammer. He feels he is getting better, but actual fighting is the best method of testing such assertions.
He prays for divine power to face the day with, and is astonished that he can feel more divine energy flowing through him than ever before. As he waits for the others he takes some time to work on his fittings and straps for the shield he plans to build for himself.

[Excerpt from the journal of Nomerendal the "Tunespinner"]

The days lately feel as though they've run together. Since we left Falcon's Hollow to discover the fate of a delayed shipment of logs from the Consortium camp, I've gotten little in the way of good rest. Last night I collapsed in exhaustion after putting forth my best effort so as not to discourage my most trustworthy and trusting companions. They, like myself, have faced much, and though we've tasted success once more, each has given something of his or her self to the undertaking. I feel grateful to know these folks, to fight along side them and to learn from them.

I begin to see, after some actual and meaningful time treading the dangerous path of adventure, that songs and tales can never fully relate neither the heroics nor the suffering which the characters in them actually experience. Words and notes can certainly embellish, but after seeing and doing first hand just a minor amount of what famous heroes have faced, I lament that neither my tongue nor my quill can truly capture that which has taken place these last several days! That I may one day have that skill is my private and sincere desire. It shall be the goal which shall guide me going forward.

Forward. It's odd that when looking back through the pages of this journal, and noting the various and sundry lists of preparations I've jotted down with the purpose of one day experiencing adventure of my own, that nothing really prepared me for what's taken place in the last few weeks. I suppose it all started with the poisoning of the town's well, but I guess I never accepted our search for a remedy as a true adventure! It wasn't until I thought to spin a tune of the undertaking, as a lark of course, that I realized the elements similar in all the greatest of tales! And now... I've seen creatures, have pierced them with my arrows even, things that are right out of a child's nightmare - even giant spiders, a wererat, a darkling druidess - finally I have first-hand experience to draw on when sharing my tales at Jak'a'napes!

It is with a saddened heart that I write that which follows. I've long enjoyed squeezing words from a quill and summoning scenes with my lute. And though my studies and works have helped greatly in the aforementioned outings, I feel that I need to spend more time with bow in hand if I am to help pull my weight in the battles we may yet engage in. It is therefore my intent to practice insomuch as to strengthen my bow arm and increase my skill.

Toward that end, I plan to lay my quill and lute aside for a time. Having seen dear Arell laid low more times than I can count in the last few days, and = rather embarrassingly - having inflicted more than one wound upon his person by my own mistakes, I realize that such practice will not only keep him from throttling me - justly deserved I freely admit - but may keep his cranky old self upright and breathing. I'd be remiss not to put in writing that I really do care for my dear friend, and I see it doing him well to get out from behind his desk. It's been wonderful to spend time with dear cousin Fidget and see her wonderful magic made manifest! I'll always cherish the zeal and bravery of Dorak Fellhammer. Sara, tall and wild, has grown on me considerably to the point I secretly admire her courage and skill!

I was saddened - unexpectedly I suppose, but not so much as I reflect upon it now - when Francis decided he must leave us. Such knowledge and intelligence must be tempered with experience and wisdom, his journey much like my own, but he's so raw and young. Some years of just... living... will do him much good. I do hope our paths meet again one day. If for no other reason, I'm curious to see what inventions will spring from that fertile mind!

I close this entry now as I take up my bow and quiver. May my arrows find their marks - and not Arell's rump! - and may my abilities benefit my companions and our future quests, for I am inspired to believe there will be more...

---

Nomerendal closed the journal, shoved it deep into his knapsack, and proceeded to worry a target at the far side of a small forest clearing. When his last arrow flew, he padded softly across the grass to gather them. Several of the arrows had hit the rotted stump he'd poked sticks into to represent the legs of a large spider. The small arrows had barely penetrated. Somewhat dejected, Nom walked back to his mark.

"I need a better bow." He knew that was only the half of it. He needed to build up his arm as well...


OOC: Nom is taking a level of Fighter this time. Hopefully it will help! ;-)

Fidget stood her watch like the rest, most of the time spent in thought trying to figure out what her next move was. She really was way out of her element here, she had know idea who or where the Fellknights were. She also had no idea how to get the ear of the consortium so she could speak to them about controlled planting and harvesting. If they would just listen she could teach them about living with the forest not living on it.

While on guard Fidget slip into the tree line, after re leaving herself she made a quick report of what she had been doing including finding the gate way to the first world. Then she returned to camp and Kept the fire going until her watch was over.Then returned to her bed to finish her nights sleep.

In the morning Fidget spent a couple hours practicing with her crossbow and hook hammer, before finding a spot beside a small creek. Where she spent the next two hours meditating focusing on the magic within her. finding she had slightly more grasp on her magic when she was done.