When everyone is ready, they gather just before sunrise. Lukas was given a copy of the map leading from the old Redfoot Camp to Muzzrink's village, Three-claw Point. On your way north, the woods are quiet. There is a new watchtower on a hill overlooking the path, above some goblin corpses that some of you may remember from a few days ago. There are no signs of scavengers. In fact, it seems the local wildlife haven't recovered from the commotion of the last few days, as you all make it to the abandoned camp in peace. Brom's skill in the woods means it only takes two hours to get there.

Verbannt was up an hour before first light, taking the time to tend to his supplies and gear.  Those of his Clan were well versed in such things, the Huntmaster drilling the cubs under her charge until they knew how to sharpen a knife and check the fur lining on their boots in their sleep.  Even a Bugbear could catch frostbite and lose a foot, especially if the range kept them out past sundown.  He cut a few strips from the deer he had brought down two days before, putting the rest back in his ice cellar.  Normally he'd smoke the meat, rather than chill it, but he had plans for it.  Securing both his heavy pelts about his shoulders, the ram's head on the left and the boar's on the right, he opened out the front door and made his way towards Tidelan's camp.

Thus it was that the first fires of dawn were just touching the Eastern horizon when the hulking Bugbear made it to the camp.

"Are you prepared, Tidelan Skinwalker?"

He called out, his hand resting on his shortbow.  It was not that he feared his companion, he had bled for the Genasi, and the Genasi had bled for him. There would be no words of anger between them that could not be settled with drink and a good fire. The Dwarves he was less sure of, but they had given him no gruff the night before.  He had treated them with respect, and they had met him with the same.

Tidelan was not present in his own camp that night, though he was not far.

In fact, he was fully visible, and could be seen further south on the beach that bordered the Triton Sea... Interestingly, he had no cover whatsoever. Be it from the flat, open terrain that allowed ambush from all sides, or his own lack of preparation, construction, nor camoflauge.

Lukas called out to the genasi, who was sitting cross-legged, facing the ocean, as the light salty breeze of the ocean's coast tossed his silver hair one way, and then the next.

Though he was not lying down, Tidelan was in fact asleep... this was a position that was decently comfortable for him, and it had always been easier him to fall asleep with a bit of meditation, which was harder for him to accomplish while laying down and suffocated by his own bedrolls.

Deep in Tidelan's unconsciousness, a voice pierced through, and dragged him back from the muddy depths of mortal rest. As he came to, his mind struggled to process the words that had been spoken to him... it had been his name that had grabbed his attention... the voice... it was coarse, and fleeting from his mind already as his brain rapidly tried to orient itself to his surroundings and recent activities...

Tidelan blinked once, and the memories had already faded... except one... the voice... it had been familiar... it was... Lukas' voice?

The genasi glanced over his shoulder, straining the fresh muscles and tendons in the soft places above his collarbone.

The dreariness vanished from his eyes, and they cleared up from any moisture... leaving an aggravating dryness. His vision clarified on a dark, hulking form by the treeline.

He spoke out as he stood up, "Greeting, Lukas.". The druid's face was still stiff from a long rest, so any emotions that could be drawn from it would reflect how his rest had been, rather than how he felt in the moment.

He seemed to think for a moment, before adding, "This is a good morning. Are you well?" perhaps his reference to the good morning was a statement on his own current emotional status, or to confirm that he indeed enjoyed the weather on the beach.

After Tidelan stood up, he grabbed his satchel, packed a few things he may need and walked towards Lukas, leaving behind the untouched remains of his second campsite.

"The sort of knife that only a long journey over the mountains can bring, when the sun cannot set on your lodge and your eyes."

Verbannt answered, before realizing that the words might not share the same meaning to the Water Genasi.  He was not used to these sort of social interactions.  It was not that his Clan had not shared their emotions, quite the opposite.  They were far more open about their feelings than this hodgepodge assortment of humanoids.  He straightened and corrected himself.

"Where are the others?"

Tidelan pointed to the north, "They are at my more early camp"

He quickly finished packing and began to head towards that direction, but not before he glanced over his shoulder one last time and took a deep breath of ocean air that ended with a sigh.

The wistful genasi steeled himself as he walked with Verbannt to gather the rest of their party for the initiation of their quest.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:08, Thu 24 Sept 2020.

In the early morning light, Santio sat in a nearby clearing, reading.
His book rested comfortably, by habit, in his hand, as he munched on an apple with the other.

The Mage’s hat* that had been delivered from the mayor yesterday, sat not far off with his travelling pack ... and he was simply waiting for his two dwarven companions to be ready.
Then they’d head for Tidelan’s camp in preparation for the quest they had all accepted.


* assuming that Erret Smith had followed through on his suggestion
This message was last edited by the player at 04:23, Thu 24 Sept 2020.

Smith's outfitter had loaned Santio a hat that contrasted nicely with the color of his clothes, feeling it gave a greater sense of power than a hat that matched them closely. It was tall, with a stiff, pointed top with a star shaped patch sewn on, and a flexible, but not floppy, brim. It fit comfortably. While not extravagant, it probably cost more than the clothes Santio was wearing, but Smith only asked that he try to bring it back in one piece, and made no attempt to extract a promise or price for it.

Verbannt and Tidelan approached from the South, trudging through the crisp outer layer of snow.  He spotted Santio as he drew within sight, and let out a noise that sounded like"Harruph!" to signal his presence.

At the noise, Santio looked up.
And with an innocent looking smile, and a wave, he began to close his book (which is stashed lovingly in his pack) ... rising with his stuff to join those who'd arrived.
"Good Morning", he said, cheerfully.

"It is." Tidelan agreed, before twitching his neck to look back and up at the southern skyline. He swallowed.

"I guess the dwarves are near?" Tidelan questioned. Any bad blood he may have had with Santio seemed to have resolved itself over last night's festivities, and his own reflection on the matter. It appeared he had a freshly opened mind to the new arrival.

"We will go... soon" Tidelan said, unsure if the last word was the appropriate one. Nevertheless, he seemed excited, and almost a bit hasty... as if he had a thirst that needed to be quenched. Quite different from his previous demeanor of worry and trepidation!

Brohm arrives, coming down from the direction of the town.  Dressed for conflict, and packed for a long trek.  His gear meticulously clean, and well cared for.  Over all this is a beautiful bkeack bear skin cloak, the bears head hood flipped back.  "Mornin'". He rumbles in a non commital tone.


The bearskin cloak is the "trophy" he has from his background equipment.
It functions just like a cloak.  If he pulls the hood over his head, it looks like the bears head.

Solva tromps into the clearing with her great-axe slung over their shoulder and declares, "Aye 'spose that I am the last one 'ere. Lets get on with this then. The sun's high and we will be wanting to get somewhere nice to sleep tonight."

When everyone is ready, you move along. Lukas was given a copy of the map leading from the old Redfoot Camp to Muzzrink's village, Three-claw Point. On your way north, the woods are quiet. There is a new watchtower on a hill overlooking the path, above some goblin corpses that some of you may remember from a few days ago. There are no signs of scavengers. In fact, it seems the local wildlife haven't recovered from the commotion of the last few days, as you all make it to the abandoned camp in peace. Brom's skill in the woods means it only takes two hours to get there.

(Is everyone leaving without Boneclaw ..?)

(Boneclaw could have come along with Lukas from town... Otherwise, maybe we should just skip the part where we come and get you from Smith's Gambit... Gathering the party has already taken three days)

After arriving in the abandoned Redfoot Camp, Tidelan doesn't take very much time to look around and inspect his work from the previous day. Soon after their arrival in the familiar ghost-town, he asks Lukas to bring them forward to Muzzrink's village, not caring to linger in this uneventful place.

Throughout their journey, Brohm had diligently been mapping the route.  The details on the map he kept were precise and clear.  As he came into the ghost-town, Brohm carefully surveyed the area, searching for track, traps, and potential ambushes.  Signalling the others forward only when he was certain that it was safe.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:47, Mon 28 Sept 2020.

"Hobgoblins are vain and proud."

Verbannt explained as they walked, nodding appreciatively as Brohm pointed out the best paths for them to take.

"You would be a fool to think them cowards though, they are warriors to their very core.  I am hoping that they are shaken by their strongest not returning, and that they can be cowed into returning with us.  It will be important that they see me clearly first, wearing the armor of their chieftain.  I wish we could bear some of their shields as well, but we took those with us."

He paused in his monologue as Brohm again pointed out some short cut he had not noticed before.

"You are a skilled Tracker, Brohm of Clan Stoneheim.  My own Woodslore does not compare, and the Matriarchs always considered me passable."

Brohm nods in acknowledgement of the compliment, but remains silent.  His senses alert to what the forest was telling him.  He would not forget the way back, that was certain.  No Wayfinder got lost on a journey they once travelled.  The others were too noisy for scouting, which was why he ventured far ahead, and fell back to them at regular intervals.    He paused once, as he listened to Lukas speak to reply in his gravelly, deep voice.  "I will scout the perimeter of their encampment before you initiate contact.". His words gruff, and short, but not disrespectful.

Santio travelled with this company, but never really seemed to fit in.
The others were gruff, and appeared strong and capable.  Santio ... well, just seemed to blend in, unassuming and reserved.
His eyes darted casually about their locale, his ears alert for other signs of threat.

Boneclaw showed the new shield he'd pillaged from the goblin camp to Lukas when he mentioned the goblinoid shields and patted it proudly.

Tidelan trudged along with the rest of the group. It was true he was by no means a stealthy individual, but he had no particular fear of anything he would find in these woods, especially with a large group of skilled fighters surrounding him.

He appreciated Brohm's work, it would get them all into the meat of things sooner.

Solva nods in acknowledgement. She wasn't exactly sneaky or subtle, so she might as well let the people better suited to such a task work out the dangers beforehand. There would come a time when they would need to thump some heads, and she was prepared.

Brohm, since you're scouting ahead, please roll stealth.

In reply to Conspirator (msg # 23):

19:45, Today: Brohm of Clan Stonehelm rolled 16 using 1d20+4.  Stealth.

Brohm scouts ahead, disappearing into the snowy woods.

In reply to Conspirator (msg # 25):
This message was last edited by the player at 10:01, Wed 30 Sept 2020.

Santio stood quietly to one side, watching.
He was new to this established group, and so he didn't want to ump to assumptions or second guess their way of doing things.

Tidelan continued to stomp through the white-layered trees and brush.

He had no idea how much longer they would need to travel to reach three-claw point, but it seemed Brohm had taken on a position of a guide.

Tidelan was feeling grim. He was still not used to this abhorrent weather.

PM

"We will wait until he returns."

Verbannt announced after many minutes had passed.

"If he does not by the setting of the sun, we will see what has happened to him."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Fri 02 Oct 2020.

Solva nods grimly. It had only been in retrospect that she noticed they hadn't decided on a signal for Brohm to use in order to alert them if he was in danger. He had seemed an alright sort last night, so she hoped they wouldn't be digging a grave for him tomorrow.

"You have traveled with him long?"

The Bugbear asked, pointing his chin towards where Brohm had disappeared.

"Nay, first aye saw of him was when aye met him in the town hall," Solva sighs before continuing, "Aye owe him a flagon of Foothills Fireball after he and Tidelan brought back a bear and elk last night. Be a shame if he died before he got to taste a real Umbretal drink." Solva scuffs the snow around her with a little bit of anxiety.

(Pm.)
This message was last edited by the player at 08:23, Fri 02 Oct 2020.

Santio was surprised:n although he didn't likely show it much.
So these folk were not as familiar as they had seemed?
Still he watched.

Tidelan quickly got bored of waiting in the cold, and spoke up.

"With respect to Brohm, he is away from our seeing. I think we go more. Many of us can too find a path to Three-Claw Point" Tidelan started, then he waited for a while after hearing his own words, and was clearly forming another sentence in this unfamiliar language,

"He is brave and strong, but he will die if we stop here. We go more, yes?" Tidelan seemed emphatic about continuing their journey.

He waited for a moment to see if anyone objected, but regardless of the response, he would step forward into the snow where Brohm had disappeared, following his trail.

(The goal of this roll is to look for Brohm, but if that fails, Tidelan will continue onwards to Three-Claw Point

I made this a survival check, but if you require a perception check instead, then Tidelan will burn a wild shape to turn into a Brown Bear to scent-track the dwarf)

Boneclaw scribbled on his chalk board.
"Lets all go into different directions. That always works out well".
He held it up.

Solva stared at Tidelan and Boneclaw as if each of them had grown a second head. Her jaw flexes without the words to convey her shock. How had these men survived so long? She shakes her head, "Aye trust Brohm to either start yelling loud enough for us to 'ear or come back to us when 'es got it scouted out. Worst thing we can do is go stomping in there like a pack of fools and mess up whatever scouting 'es doing."

Boneclaw scribbled on his chalk board.
He drew an arrow to his previously written text.
And wrote under it:"Sarcasm".
He held it up.

Please, does Boneclaw look like that portrait, or something else?

(ooc: he kinda does, he is a kenku and looks like a humanoid raven wearing winter clothes. One of his claws is bonewhite and atrophied)

Ok, thanks.   Does he have two legs, and then two arms (presumably with talons0?
Which is 'bonewhite and atrophied' please?  and how does that affect his writtin/drawing or movement?
And is he regular human sized?

PM

PM
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:13, Mon 05 Oct 2020.

"I agree with Solva, we should trust to the hollering of Dwarves.  Let us hope that he returns soon, and we do not wait overlong."

Boneclaw nodded to Lukas.

In reply to Conspirator (msg # 44):
This message was last edited by the player at 08:48, Tue 06 Oct 2020.

Boneclaw ran after Tidelan and held out a claw when he'd reach him.
"We will wait until he returns.", Bone claw said in Lukas' voice and then followed up with Tidelan's voice:"Alright. You're the boss".

As a two familiar voices range trough the snowfall, Tidelan's blue, slightly inhuman ears perked up. Hearing the sound of his own voice from outside of him made a shiver run down his spine more than any cold had ever done.

He felt a claw grab onto his tunic, and he stopped, recognizing Boneclaw. He turned around to face his expectation, and spoke to the bird-folk.

"All you have not followed me. I see that there is... um... caw shun, yes?"

Tidelan walked back to the group and stood with them. "This journey bores me much. I wish to move quicker." He took a long breath, and then sighed.

"But, we will wait more for the... guide" the genasi's shoulders shrugged as he resigned himself to patience and lingering with stillness in the irritating cold.

PM

Brohm finds a safe route forward, and can return to lead the party further ahead. After a few more hours of walking, you find that you are well ahead of schedule, and the camp is only a few hours away. Unless you wish to approach the village in the dark, it might be wise to find a place to camp nearby.

"We should find a place to camp.".  Brohm rumbles, in the low tones of a distant avalanche.  "We can wake early, and be at the village by sunrise.  Agreed?"

Tidelan responds to the gruff dwarf with a simple, evenly-toned statement, "I don't want to sleep in the cold again..." his voice seemed quieter than normal, and even more severe than was usual.

He continued after a moment of shivering and swallowing, "I will follow the group"... whether he was playing up his anguish, or the cold was getting to him, it wasn't clear.

When Tidelan spoke of being cold, and the even colder night ahead, Santio immediately began foraging about nearby looking for firewood.
He allowed their self-appointed guide to search out an appropriate space for them to make camp.

Boneclaw wrote on his chalkboard and presented it to Tidelan.
"Real bears sleep all winter in the cold, surely you can manage one night".

Solva nods, "We are trying tah shock and awe 'em with the 'ead of 'eir leader, so we shouldn't be telling 'em that we're 'ere. Otherwise they might get a wee bit curious and pay us a visit before we're ready." She makes a gesture at the moon that would illuminate the smoke from their fire.

Brohm is able to find a good place to camp where a fire would be hard to spot, and builds a low, smokeless fire.

Boneclaw pulled a bed roll from his bag and swept any debris away to create a spot to sleep.

Santio reheated some cooked and salted meat, for the company to have with other rations.
Then prepared for sleep with his allies.   As they all settled in, he pulled a small flute from his pack, and soft, quietly played a gentle tune for a while.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:57, Fri 16 Oct 2020.

"I've got first watch.". He grinds out, as he eats the rations and forage he easily found to supplement the groups food.  Truth was, he could have fed the lot of them without using rations, but the rations were a bit quicker.  Coupled with tubers and greens, they ate well.  Quiet that.. He rumbled in a whisper, like a shifting pile of stones.  "There will be time for music after we meet them.  We do not want attention now.

Verbannt had said little when Brohm had returned, or when he advised that they find a place to camp.  It was only once they were all settled that he said a word.

"What did you find in your ranging, Brohm of Clan Stonehelm?"

He scowled when Santio pulled out his flute, and was about to speak, when the Dwarf spoke up first.

Santio did as directed.

He put away his instrument; then sat then quietly observing these seasoned adventures and hardened warriors.
For surely, there was much he could learn from them.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:13, Fri 16 Oct 2020.

Boneclaw gave his chalkboard and a piece of chalk to Santio to give him a creative outlet.
On it was written: "Relax. Eat. Sleep soon. Early morning rise".
He threw his woolen blanket over his shoulders and wrapped himself into a ball: "Wake me up for last watch", he mumbled in the voice of a grumpy cityguard.

Brohm nods his head once, in approval of Santios' response to his statement, then replies to Lukas.  "Paths.". He says with dry humor.  "And stoats the size of wolves.". He continues after a moment, in a low gravelly voice, barely above a whisper.  "Good hunting for later, maybe.  Not good to be caught by them while travelling."

Santio, having packed away his flute, instead pulled out a small whittling knife that he had, wrapped in wax cloth with a small item he was currently crafting.  Anyone taking particular attention would notice that he was whittling another flute, just the same as the one he'd been ready to play.

As the evening set in, and dinner settled, he prepared to work his handicraft for a while before lying down for sleep.
He suspect that someone would wake him, at some point, to share the watch-cycle.

You all sleep undisturbed, and wake up before dawn. You are about 2 hours from the village. Brohm feels very tired, sore, and has a sore throat and a runny nose. He's struggling to think clearly, as well. Does he still want to scout ahead of the party?

Seeing their guide ‘under the weather’, Santio ventures, “Perhaps I should go ahead today?”

"We are moving in force."

Verbannt answered firmly.

"Brohm, cover your face with cloth or helm.  If they see weakness they will pounce.  Let us go, and show the Red Foot their new warchief."

He pounded his chest, his voice a dangerous growl.

"Sure", Santio said.     It wasn't like there'd be any sentries, or any need for subtlety.

Grabbing up his pack and staff, and placing the Wizzard's Hat on his head, to give the impression that he was a caster, he was ready to follow the great and dangerous warcheif.

Despite his illness, Brohm was still able to speed the party's progress due to his deep knowledge of forests. Within two hours, they have arrived at Three-Claw Point, the Redfoot village Muzzrink came from. So named due to the shape of a rock formation in the center of the village, which can be seen even over the walls. Approaching the walls, they see no sentries, but hear sounds of battle!

Brohm had pulled up a cloth to covers his nose an mouth.  Only the two sharp points of his eyes were visible.  As they approached the wall, he heard the sounds of battle echoing through the woods.  He held up I hand, indicating that they should stop.  Then turn and whispered in a gravelly voice.  "I will find the battle, and tell you the number of combatants."

Solva drew her great-axe with a foul grin. It seemed that the bloodshed had already began without them. She pondered for a moment before asking the team, "If that's the village, then we had best let 'em tucker themselves out before we kick whoever wins in the nads and demand their surrender."

(changing my spells after long rest)

As they approached the settlement, a broad smile appears on Tidelan's face... The dings and shouts of battle immediately got his adrenaline pumping, which helped ward the cold from underneath his paling blue skin.

The sounds of metal instruments being used in this fight sent a shiver of disillusionment up his spine though, he much preferred the sound of claw and tooth.

He began to brace his back and growl, but caught himself as his allies still lingered...

The genasi was anxious to get in to the fray, but he settled on patience...

As he took a deep breath and relished in the familiar smells of the forest, even while his inner nose was assaulted by the frigid cold winds, Tidelan felt connected to the earth herself, and green energies rapidly wrapped themselves around his lower half as emerald-green leaves seemed to appear before disappearing as a druidic spell was cast.

Tidelan casts Longstrider on himself

Santio sighed.   It seemed that bloodshed was not only imminent, but the preferred outcome for his companions.
He didn't bother offering to scout forward.  He was pretty sure of the response he'd be given.

So, adjusting the Wizard Hat he'd been given, he simply waited.

Verbannt froze when he heard the sounds of battle, ears twitching.

"They are without their warriors."

He said at last.

"Something strikes at them when they are weak, we need to know what."

He said at last, breaking into a trot.

"Solva speaks well though, let us ensure that we are not drawn into the fight until it is almost settled."

Brohm nods once in acknowledgement, then moves to scout the battle.  The burly Dwarf having less grace than usual.

09:05, Today: Brohm of Clan Stonehelm rolled 26 using 2d20+4 with rolls of 16,6.  Stealth w/disadvantage.

Stealth roll: 10

"'E's a'eal go'getta, ain't 'e?" Boneclaw commented in a heavy dwarven accent upon Brohm's departure.

Tidelan stared at Boneclaw blankly as he made that comment. His eyes blinked twice, as if processing a big revelation.

Out of nowhere two quick chuckles escaped from him, and then he shook his head to rid himself of whatever had caused him such momentary confusion and amusement.

Under his breath, he whispered with a small smile, "Copy bird"

As Tidelan quietly considered what his strategy would be, he seemed to come to a conclusion.

First, Tidelan stuck a hand to his chest and whispered something underneath his breath. A small green glow accompanied it on his fingers. He withdrew his hand.

Afterwards, he quickly caught Lukas' eye if possible, and gave a brief nod to the bugbear, with a straight face

The genasi's back hunched and a growl escaped his throat, he fell to his knees, but a sound of padded paws hit the ground instead of muscular hands.

As he raised his head, it was now covered in fur and with the features of an ursine creature. He stared at the group and let out a simple noise of acknowledgement, before shaking his entire body, causing snow to fly all around him and the fur to finish it's growth along his backside.

Where once the stocky druid stood, a mighty brown bear now rested on four legs.

Tidelan was eager for battle, just waiting for the sounds of war to dim to pathetic whispers before he could scavenge the last acts of violence.

Action: Resistace cantrip on self

Bonus: wild shape into brown bear

Santo watched with concern as Brohm moved off.
In truth, their guide was making (to Santio's ears) way to much noise.

Then again, the enemy were in the midst of battle ... so probably were not on their game for listening for additional approach of enemy.
But then again, it also meant that any enemy that Brohm encountered would react aggressively and swiftly; especially against a lone target.

And he slipped off after Brohm ...
- rolled 8 using 1d20+5.  Stealth.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:50, Sun 25 Oct 2020.

Tidelan could easily notice that neither of his compatriots were being particularly successful in their attempts to be stealthy, and with that awareness his reluctance to ruin their ambush was replaced by an eagerness to join in scouting ahead.

20:50, Today: Tidelan Wavyrus rolled 8 using 1d20.  stealth.

Solva chuckled quietly as she watched her fellows depart. She had watched each of them depart as they judged that their fellow before them hadn't been stealthy enough, and the resemblance to the ducks that her clan had kept was uncanny. She knew she wasn't stealthy enough to try and follow them, so she contented herself with waiting here.

'They're just like ah line o' ducks out there. Aye think that Aye'll be getting mah axe bloody soon enough.'

Lukas arrives first, seeing what appears to be, from a distance, the snow itself cutting down the few defenders left in the village. A hobgoblin's head, likely that of Muzzrink's lieutenant, dances around on a pike, which jabs any goblin that gets too close. By the time the "stealthy" part of the party arrives, the fighting is over, and the morning snow, where it hasn't been trampled into mud, is more red than white. At the center of the carnage, a half-dozen goblins with snow-white skin and hair let out a  howl, similar, yet not quite like a pack of wolves. In the distance, a similar howl, but with more voices, answers them. The one with the pike looks directly at Lukas, and shouts, [Language unknown: "Iltali esurun any ekwa dinhattiokor, mo re ter winina presomart. Whtiin Tinvirardore terwithas nd icatiower sonac o pafiar whe illsetkor o der and. Si mi Formaniou, peeidilo ha thu Ioenwa Ristou. Roanmi ou Setwhithushe, naof e acund unek?"]

Verbannt beat his chest, answering with a roar.

[Language unknown: "Ei on Sheateome il t Pre"]

For that was what his name meant now.  Verbannt, banished.

"Muzzrink and his warriors died to my blades, and those of the Clanless behind me."

He switched to Common, not caring if the Goblins couldn't understand.  Though he hoped the Dwarves would not object to the title.

"What grudge did the White Wargs have with the Red Foot, to strike when their warriors were on a raid?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:35, Fri 30 Oct 2020.

Tidelan growled angrily as his animal eyes surveyed the battlefield with severe disappointment.

His eyes settled on the surviving group of pale goblins... and then they darkened... The druid seemed to be moments from ravaging on those who had stolen his kill and caused his eventless hours to be without the cathartic respite of violence and victory.

Question: How many live goblins are there? How close together do they stand?

Gruznak said, in common, "Well met, Lukas. The Redfoot have been trying to destroy all white goblins, for we do not fear the cold, and they see us as a threat to their plans to dominate the entire Rimewood. The White Wargs are made of scattered survivors, those who escaped the purges. We have waited long for Muzzrink to take his warriors from here, so we could take Three Claw Point for our tribe. We have met in secret with some in the village who wished to be free from Redfoot tyranny. They opened the gate for us and we will let them stay or leave as they will. We hope, word will spread across the Rimewood that the Redfoot can be resisted, can be beaten, and others will help drive the Redfoot to the far corners of the woods!"

OOC: There are six white goblins you can see. Your keen nose picks up a large number of other goblins hiding in the huts. They smell afraid.

Beneath his masks, Brohm scowls.  Clanless!. He thinks angrilly to himself.  He knows damn well my Clans' Name!. His face reddens with anger, but he is intelligent enough to wait till a more condussive time.  He scans the area around, his eyes seeking for any hidden enemies.

Solva grumbled when she heard Lukas declare them clanless. Clearly this had been a hobgoblin greeting, and he had no way of knowing that she had left her clan behind when she had crossed the Umbretal foothills. She rocked her axe as she leaned forward and backwards on her foot in nervousness. She had come prepared to smash some skulls, but was woefully underprepared for the intricacies of tribal negotiations. She was prepared to back up Lukas though, but it seemed as if their problem with the Redfoot clan may have solved itself.

Ursine-Tidelan raised his head to the sky and let out a long, angry roar... It was almost like a howl, but it was only similar due to it's nonviolent nature rather than the emotion it expressed.

The genasi's body snapped back in an instance, and he caught his spear in a clenched fist, which was bursting with newly-formed muscles as it appeared in the air inches from his grasp. His other hand caught his shield, and leathers appeared and wrapped around him.

The fury vanished from his eyes as he stared down the six White Wargs, and he let out a resigned sigh.

"So. You many are not enemies? I was joyful to kill enemies..." his heavily-accented voice spoke in Common to the goblin leader Lukas had spoken with.

The genasi's shoulders slumped and he fell to the bloodied ground in a cross-legged position. He placed his heads in his hands for a few moments and was silent and still, before he took a deep breath began to rummage through his bag.

He pulled out a Herbalism Kit and began working on crafting healing a potion in the middle of the battlefield.

This may have been the most down any of the group had seen Tidelan Wavyrus before.

IIRC, I can spend 1 downtime unit per adventuring day. Do I have to mark this downtime off from the stuff I've gathered from AFKing and quest rewards, or did I gain it from the adventuring day itself and thus it's basically a freebie?

Tidelan will begin to do this in the walls of the camp, unless something else comes up before he's finished

Gruznak raises an eyebrow at Tidelan, and then says, "No doubt, you will find no shortage of enemies if that's what you're looking for. Perhaps I could introduce you to some of mine."

"We had come to claim what was ours by blood, the spoils of having killed their warriors.  You have taken that from us, Gruznak of the White Worg Tribe.  You have claimed what should have been ours.  Yet I hold no anger in my blades or in my heart for it, for we have already claimed fine spoils."

He slammed his fist into the armor which he now wore.

"The Redfoot are Clanmates to many Tribes.  What do you plan. to do with them, when they hear of what you have done here?

Gruznak raises an eyebrow, and says, "Curious. We've taken no spoils, and you've killed no warriors in this village. We have planned this for months. We could say you took Muzzrink from us! But why bicker? If you want want now belongs to this village and all who live here, we might work something out. As to your question, no tribe serves the Redfoot willingly. We have shown that resistance is possible. We have started the snowball down the hill, and now, as we gain allies, we will see it grow. We will ally, not just with other goblins, but with orcs, humans, even elves. All who suffer the raids of the Redfoot. Word will spread that a strong warchief has fallen, his entire warband, destroyed. Word will spread of what we did today, and warchiefs will think twice about leaving their villages in force. It took only six of us to take this village, once the gate was open. How many did you take with you when you killed Muzzrink?"

Those outside the gate begin to notice, as the conversation continues, a group of maybe thirty more white goblins, mostly women and children, come quietly toward the gate. A dozen white goblins warriors make up the flanks. They hold javelins and shields, but they are not holding them threateningly, though some give the party wary glances.

Tidelan didn't seem to be paying very much attention to the conversation (no signs of listening, but he was doing so closely), though he had nodded to Gruznak when the warchief had addressed him.

At this point, Tidelan stood looked up from his work and to his group. "Our... job is... fulled" he started, "We may go back to Smith's Gambit, now" he continued, "The enemies are killed by White Wargs. They are not enemies."

Though he had pointed out that their diplomatic mission was a success, it didn't seem that Tidelan was as excited to return as he had been before.

Santio stood quietly, nearby.  But his attention was on the locale surrounding them ... watching casually, yet carefully, for any signs of threat from other quarters.

Boneclaw repeated in the goblin's voice: "Word will spread that a strong warchief has fallen, his entire warband, destroyed. Word will spread of what we did today, and warchiefs will think twice about leaving their villages in force. ".

Boneclaw continued in Erret Smith's voice: To the north and west, goblins and wolves have been most commonly sighted, and the occasional ogre .. We could, of course, begin searching out their warcamps, and wiping them out one by one, if there are enough capable warriors willing to engage in such a lengthy, bloody task".

He pointed out his own group and then the goblins made a gesture as if gathering them all.
"The best defense is a good offense".

Verbannt had been alternating between staring at the Goblin chief and Tidelan, his expression grim.  He had half expected the Genasi to attack the Goblins, consumed by the blood rage that had taken him.  Boneclaw's words drew a scowl, as he was not sure how well the Goblins would read the Kenku's intentions.  Most that he had known had not been particularly clever, but these White Wargs spoke with keen intelligence.

"I stopped counting after the ninth Hobgoblin fell."

He said truthfully, as he was pretty sure that was how many they had slain.

"We had come here to claim his people into our new tribe, the warband that has formed under the Banner of Smith.  We had come to give them a choice, and to free what Goblin slaves remained.  You have taken that choice from them, unless any remain alive?"

"We only killed those who fought! As I said, the others are free to stay or go as they will. See for yourself. These people are free! [Language unknown: Iveherpre ek Ntilsa Urund Tatrch! Estnteyin omepro'ainher plus onthe t ove! Fiven ekshe Ofom'mito, set toeras tednc haste atek tic statedand ie terro forbleles somameout! Maek ckos, unng trnipo moes hatlarwhiderund."]

At that, dozens of goblins, including three or four who looked like they could fight, came out of the huts. Many pointed and whispered amongst themselves, particularly toward Tidelan and the dwarves. It occurred to Solva and Brohm: no Dwarven clan calls this region home. Here, their appearance is as strange as that of the Genasi.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:05, Mon 02 Nov 2020.

"Boneclaw, do you seek to add these to your Temple?"

Verbannt said with a low growl, before raising his voice to greet the Goblins.

[Language unknown: "A u Waulac o p Th, Thereaevelin om.  Ssmi ugh it isou Linearrat e saet, sepro k iltr ons poil iouticive.  Wh sheeveand ichha entwitour ri oread Oveallyin la Ofwean, ckol osiefo vorac reddayshe usher eenameday tius ndllac u wa te eeanri.  O usis to riinon wh tama, prtha rowi il chie be men of ecteresonkor illwasous antece thho oerhasall.  M ers tiacei, ac ha shekorwhi, elinit un evena atisonles atiiveverman."]

He threw them a grin then, though to any not familiar with a Bugbear it looked like an angry scowl.

[Language unknown: "Pa inai vorlo, som cknila sanverwhe teromence ee pl fo.  Ne ac ad ons re mi ndof lar ardortine olsa adlipe walo ri loisle, acut st Ulolen Plcehe all ith nest beur thafortra.  Waof oswewh m sheratwer nolill, vorndeday ne ofnce i."]

After some discussion, about a third of the goblins, including a warrior with black stains covering his lips and chin, come forward. As the warrior speaks, his tongue and teeth are stained black, as well,"I am Nef of the Void Drinkers. Like me, these goblins behind me are the last of their tribes. We wish to come with you." Two of the other warriors, () speak for another third of the goblins, the larger of the two, heavily scarred, and incredibly well-muscled for a goblin, says, "We of the Broken Sky tribe will return to our village. We will tell of what has happened here to the Orcs of the Hidden Glade on our way home. Their warriors will surely join the White Wargs if you raid the Redfoot village at Burning Stag. Expect an emissary within a week. He will tell you Gorth the Badger-eater sent him." The rest of the goblins seem content to remain where they are.

Gruznak says, "So, Lukas of no Clan, will you and the tribe of Smith's ally with us as well? We will send an emissary when we prepare to raid the village at Burning Stag. In the meantime, you and yours are welcome at Three Claw point. If you wish to join our hunters today, tonight, we are having a feast!"

Tidelan's ears perked up and his head rose from his spontaneous work, when the word 'feast' was spoken by Gruznak.

He hadn't quite managed to follow the politics or titles that were being thrown around, but he had the ability to rely on his insightfulness instead. It seemed these folk were some kind of freedom fighters... that resonated strongly with Tidelan.

Additionally, some black-stained goblins appeared to be joining Boneclaw's church. Interesting. Hopefully, they could fight for themselves. Tidelan wouldn't be signing up to protect tagalongs.

Tidelan spoke up, "What many time from the feast? I am making healing now. But, I am a strong hunter, and I can lead some from yours' also."

The Genasi spoke poor common, but he seemed to be wondering how long they could wait, and if they wished for him to lead a hunting party. He seemed enthusiastic to do so.

"I cannot speak for Governor Erret Smith."

Verbannt answered.

"But all have been welcome under his Banner.  I do not think he will bare his teeth to an Emissary, and even if others did I would stand before them.  Send them, I will ensure them safe passage."

"The feast will be after dark. If you want to delay hunting until you've finished making medicine, that's fine. Of course, don't expect all of our hunters to wait for you," says Gruznak.

Nef says, "A hunter and a healer? I'll hunt with the blue man, if he wants. I'm not much of a tracker, but my tribe taught that the mind must be trained as well as the body. Few know the flora and fauna of the Rimewood better than a Void-drinker."

Many of the other goblins nodded or grunted in agreement, and some of the more elderly goblins bowed their heads sadly in mourning the lost tribe.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:23, Tue 10 Nov 2020.

"All things living are servants of Kelemvor whose judgment they will one day face", Boneclaw quoted his former mentor in reply to Lukas' question.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:05, Sat 07 Nov 2020.

"I will hunt"  Brohm states, his voice like grating gravel.  "Perhaps enough food can be found to feed everyone."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:22, Sat 07 Nov 2020.

"I hunt."

Verbannt said, though he wasn't sure he relished the idea of feasting with Goblins.  Still, he doubted the Dwarves would like it either, and so he should probably go to ease over any troubles that might arise.

Santio stood quietly, nearby, simply watching.

Some members of the Broken Sky tribe prepare to embark on a hunt. Gorth invites along Lukas and Brohm, and anyone else who's ready.

Nef and a few of the White Wargs wait for Tidelan to finish his work.

There seemed plenty of hunters going about slaughtering beasts for the nights festivities, so Santio chose to stay.
He'd focus on helping set up any facilities the night would require, or helping repair any structures and defences that needed it.
Beyond that ... well, there were children here, and he had made 5 new flutes last night, as he sat around their very silent camp.  One didn't need to know a common language to teach the rudimentries of music; so when time was available, he'd sit and play.  And any kids that showed interest, well, he'd gesture for them to come join him ... and when he'd played a little, and shown them how he was producing the sounds, he'd produce a flute for them.  And he'd show them, through demonstration and through physical direction, how to attempt the sounds themselves.

Boneclaw stayed with Santio and the camp to help with shoring up its defenses. Every time Santio played something Boneclaw mimicked it perfectly using just his voice. And once in a while he taught Santio a new song from his growing repertoire. It was something of a hobby of his and he'd visited many a bardic performance for exactly that purpose.

After finishing creating his potion and storing it away, Tidelan joins the goblins in their group. If none of them quickly take the lead, Tidelan will guide them to the nearest section of forest.

Once there he inquires with them while making solid eye contact, "Are you all... prepared? This hunt is for not just food, but to grow our trust too", before turning away from the group dramatically and saying to them without looking at them, "Be not scared, the brown beast is me"

In a snap instant, Tidelan uses his second wild shape to melt and expand into the grand, imposing form of a brown bear.

His hulking rear faces the group, but his mighty shoulders can be seen over that height. It spins cautiously, but even that is enough to bend the winds.

It huffs and lowers it's head in an animal's sign of nonhostility.

Then, it turns back and enters the woods.

IIRC, I get XP from the potion = to it's GP cost, but what is that, again? Also, I have to pay that, yes?

Regardless, here's some rolls that I thought you may ask for

12:06, Today: Tidelan Wavyrus rolled 11,8 using 1d20+5,1d20+5 with rolls of 6,3.  checks.

That's cruddy. Anyway, my perception and survival are identical so this could be either check. I rolled twice because the bear form has keen smell and could get advantage on perception.

I'll also roll athletics, because IIRC you asked for one of those previously

12:07, Today: Tidelan Wavyrus rolled 18 using 1d20+3 with rolls of 15.  athletics.

Oops, that should actually be 1d20+6, since I'm using the bears STR, but keep Tidelan's proficiencies.

Thus, the total on athletics is 21

And, the total on perception/survival is 8 or 11

This dice roller is weird AF lol

Verbannt checked his bow, and then waited for the others to prepare. He shook his head when Tidelan turned into a Brown Bear.  What did the man intend to hunt, salmon?  Such a form was ill suited for such a task.  Still, he would follow along, just to watch the White Worgs and gain a measure of them.

Tidelan finished his potion in the afternoon. A few of the White Wargs flinched at the sight of Tidelan's transformations, but they recovered their composure immediately and began to follow the large bear. Lukas follows along.
After a short time, Tidelan smells rabbit. A lot of rabbit. There is a warren nearby.

OOC: Crafting a healing potion costs 5gp worth of materials, and grants 1 xp (technically, the downtime unit spent grants the xp, even though in this case you don't have to use one, as I discussed with Santio.) If you want to make 2, Nef will assist, allowing you to finish both in the time it takes to make one. You get 1xp for each. It would also, obviously, help build trust with him.

quote:

If you want to make 2, Nef will assist, allowing you to finish both in the time it takes to make one. You get 1xp for each. It would also, obviously, help build trust with him.

Sounds great! Tidelan will only take one healing potion, and insist that Nef takes the other, since he helped make it

I will mark off -5 GP, and add +2 XP and 1x Heal Potion, then?

As the ursine druid approaches the warren with his goblin hunting party, he begins to uncontrollably salivate at the scent and even the prospect of the upcoming feast itself...

Knowing that the pesky but delicious critters will likely flee underground if they hear him approaching, the intelligent beast will do it's best to arrive quietly before attacking without mercy.

The wild animal inside Tidelan had trouble keeping it's thoughts in order, but the druid did manage to give a glance behind him to Lukas. Though he made no noise, he looked up at the nearly 8 foot tall bugbear with a lingering gaze, like one would get after being asked a question, and the inquirer was awaiting an answer...

It seemed he was waiting for something from Lukas. Perhaps it was permission to advance?

16:57, Today: Tidelan Wavyrus rolled 20 using 1d20.  stealth, probably in vain.

I eat my words. LOL, funny time for a nat 20 :)

Another proficiency that Santio performed was the ability to use his flute to mimic the local avian culture.   From nuthatch to sparrow, and many of the local parrots, the sounds would spring from his flute.

When Boneclaw joins in with his own mimicry, Santio would begin using ‘birdsong’ to play local nursery rhymes to the children, with the Kenku’s assistance.

OOC:

Tidelan:

I will mark off -5 GP, and add +2 XP and 1x Heal Potion, then?

Sounds good.

To simplify this, I'm just gonna say that everyone who made their stealth check (So, everyone but Nef) gets to make attack rolls, with advantage, and if they hit AC 12, they kill a rabbit. All the other rabbits make it underground.

Lukas nods at Tidelan, and silently moves around to the side, ready to fire at a rabbit the moment Tidelan strikes. The three White Wargs seem to disappear into the snow. Nef readies a dart, but the noise he makes spooks the rabbits!
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:21, Fri 20 Nov 2020.

Didn't know whether or not to make multiattack. If Tidelan could only use one, he would use the stronger one.

09:24, Today: Tidelan Wavyrus rolled 28,9,25,12 using 2d20+5,1d8+4,2d20+5,2d6+4 with rolls of 7,16,5,9,11,2,6.  bear vs bunnies (unfair).

The first attack roll is 21 (actually, should be 22, since the attack bonus is +6, whoops)

The damage of the first attack is 9

The second attack roll is 16 (actually, should be 17)

The damage of the second attack is 12

If Tidelan can manage to attack two bunnies this way, he will do that instead of targeting just one. (The bear has 40 ft of movement, and if longstrider hasn't run out yet, than it is 50 ft instead)


The bear-genasi nods to his bugbear ally. Then, in a flurry of motion he blasts into the warren's grounds and unleashes a furious series of scythe-like strikes to bring down as many rabbits as he can scramble to pin. Many flee around him, leaving his eyes red and angry and his mouth frothing.

Not sure how you want to run this DMs.  Brohm has Advantage got being in the forest, Animals are his favorite enemy, you granted Advantage to everyone, and Brohm has Disadvantage from Fatigue.  That's two instances of Advantage, and one instance of Disadvantage.

09:38, Today: Brohm of Clan Stonehelm rolled 24 using 1d20+6 with rolls of 18.  Attack roll.

09:38, Today: Brohm of Clan Stonehelm rolled 10 using 1d20+6 with rolls of 4.  Attack roll.

In a whirlwind of fur, fang and claw, Tidelan brought down two rabbits. With their shortbows, Lukas and one of the White Wargs each felled one, and Brohm, throwing a handaxe and a dagger, snagged one, before retrieving his thrown weapons.

5 bunnies will feed a few people, but its hardly a feast. Can I get a wisdom (survival) roll from each of you that are proficient?

--

Back in the village, Santio and Boneclaw are proving very popular with the goblin children. Many of the ones without flutes try mimicking the birdsong with their voices. Boneclaw notices some of the villagers gathering up the corpses of the slain Redfoot warriors, while some build a pyre outside the gates, and still others begin getting the firepit ready for the feast. It appears rumors that goblins eat their fallen foes are false, or at least, these ones don't.

He retrieved his weapons, quickly cleaning thrm.  Then Brohm left the goblins to deal with the rabbits, and slipped into the woods to hunt.

20:54, Today: Brohm of Clan Stonehelm rolled 23 using 1d20+3 with rolls of 20.  Survival.

Additionally, Brohm has the Background ability to find enough food and water for six people.  Being in his Favored terrain, he finds twice as much food.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:58, Sat 21 Nov 2020.

Poor defenseless bunnied indeed... we won their meat, but I'm not proud of it!

Here's that survival check

quote:

21:25, Today: Tidelan Wavyrus rolled 21 using 1d20+5.  survival check to find more food in the woods.

That's pretty good!

Damn! Nice 20, Brohm!


The bear huffed and puffed, leaving it's kill behind for other hunters to carry, for Tidelan had merged with his equipment. He stumbled back into the woods grumpy, but growing quickly invigorated at the potential satiation of both his hunger and violence that may lay further in the woods....

Brohm, went off on his own, followed by the White Wargs. By the time the others found them, they had brought down two elk and a wild boar. Everyone helped carry the meat back to the village, though they made sure Brohm took the lead position.

They return to the village as the fallen are being burned in a bonfire outside the gates, as prayers are spoken (by Boneclaw, if he wishes) They are greeted with cheers, and helped bringing the meat into a large hut (for goblins, anyway,) where teams of goblins set about skinning, butchering and seasoning the meat, and putting on spits to roast over the firepit in the center of town, with a trough underneath to catch the drippings. In the trough are also some mushrooms and various root vegetables, as well as the boar's neckbone, as well as some water to make some soup.

Tidelan enjoys his portion of the meal (which is probably larger than the goblins') while spending time encouraging raucous conversation with the goblins that will be joining him back at Smith's Gambit.

Boneclaw had helped the clans prepare the dead for their long journey to the court of Kelemvor. He had explained that Kelemvor was a just god, merciful in his judgment and that even those that did not live up to his judgment found purpose in maintaining the great wall that kept he universe save from the depredations of Things Better Left Unnamed, and so death served a greater purpose in the cycle of life. He had called forth the survivors to speak a few words on behalf of their fallen and then fires had been lit. He personally preferred burials, letting the earth reclaim what it had brought forth but that choice was up to those left behind and even forest fires made the earth bountiful again.

The goblins listened to Boneclaw, and while some seemed incredulous, none interrupted him. He got the impression that most simply believed in Kelemvor under another name, but it was clear that all respected death and the dead, even the dead among their enemies were given due reverence.

Afterwards, the feast began, around the firepit in the center of the village. There is plenty of food to go around, but a notable lack of bread. Not surprising given the complete lack of farmland in the forest. They share a strong wine made from a sweet root vegetable. There is music, some dancing, and a lot of loud talking. Nef asks Tidelan and the dwarves a lot of questions about their people, and makes notes in a small book he carries with him. Tidelan realizes he is the first goblin to call him a 'blue man' rather than a 'blue spirit.' The goblins don't say much to Lukas, and none sit near him (though that is partly because the adventures take up the majority of the only table big enough to comfortable seat medium-sized creatures, which had been dragged out of the barracks and placed next to the firepit,) but they do serve him plenty of food and wine. The slayers of Muzzrink are toasted first, then the White Wargs, and finally, to a future where the many peoples of the Rimewood no longer live in fear of the Redfoot.

Verbannt sat with his companions, his eyes bright in the firelight as he watched this strange new warpact take shape.  In truth, the Bugbear was having to reevaluate much that he had thought he had known.  He had always thought of Goblins as pathetic creatures, weak and cruel.  He had pitied them, and pitied the horrors that many tribes had inflicted on them. Yet he had never thought of them as fully equals. Quarrelsome children, perhaps, but not the same as he saw Dwarves, Bugbears, Hobgoblins, or even Water Genasi now.  He had come here to seek to bind the Redfoot, forcing them to sue for peace.  He had not been expecting to take the first steps towards forming an alliance with a nation of Goblins.  Yet here he was, feasting with them as if they were brothers and sisters of the Hunt.  Sitting with Dwarves, no less.

He had much to ponder.

"This has been a strange day."

He mumbled, just loud enough that those sitting next to him could hear him.

Brohm had assisted with the skinning land preparing if the animals.  While the meat was cooking he cleaned his weapons, and tools.  Meticulous in their care as he tended to them.  Their wine, while different was passable, and being a Dwarf, had nearly no effect on him.  Still, he kept himself carefully sober.
   As they ate, he talked with Meg, exchanging cultural information.  He gave no secrets of his people away, but was careful to give sufficient accurate information to conduct trade peacefully.  In exchange, he asked many questions about the Goblins society here, his voice like a subdued landslide when he spoke.  Seeking the same information he had given, and any other information that they would provide.

"Strange?". Brohm rumbles.  "You are a Bugbear working with Dwarves.  How is this different?"

Tidelan answered questions about 'his people' cryptically, repeatedly lowballing their relevance to the goblins. He didn't seem offended by the questions, but he seemed almost... fearful... of those who would be considered 'his own'.

He did enjoy listening to all the information that was being spread around the grand multiracial table, though he didn't take much time to lock it into his mind... In fact, Tidelan relied more heavily on his instincts of a situation to guide him than he did for his knowledge to be at all viable. But, this information would possibly drive his subconscious mind to make wiser decisions, he was hopeful.

Tidelan spent most of his time in the night reflecting on all the odd people he had met since leaving the forest he had taken shelter in for such a long while, and how he had-- against all odds -- gotten along with all of them, and even quietly befriended a few.

Lukas, the bugbear was a beast of a man. Almost eight feet tall. Tidelan had considered himself fairly tall amongst his people, though he wasn't even six feet, but standing next to this man, he couldn't help but feel small. He normally kept a distance from people whom he couldn't make level eye contact with, but with Lukas he found that he didn't mind looking up to meet his eyes.

Most interestingly, was how quickly he had accepted the man. Where he came from, raids from the Far Tribes of the West were common enough and had lasted for so long that nearly all citizens of Varna held a deep prejudice and even hatred against various goblinoid, wildborn and beastfolk races.

Boneclaw, an odd raven-folk fellow. Tidelan didn't know exactly what to make of him, though he guessed he was a bit of a zealot. That didn't really bother him, it was close enough to his 'druidic' roots. He also seemed unable to speak except in mimicry, this was disconcerting, but Tidelan still felt like he could grasp at a personality that was barely budding from beneath the thick layers of necessary lies. Perhaps this creature was diseased, cursed, or insane. But, Tidelan was getting the sense that it was his kind himself who communicated in such an absurd way... He had never known one of this race before arrival in this... part of the world.

Spark, whom was not with them at the moment was almost more alien than Boneclaw, from Tidelan's perception. Yet, he had grown accustomed to it more quickly. Perhaps it was the automaton's kindness, or it's strong ability to communicate. Nevertheless, Tidelan really though of 'it' as a 'he'... The genasi was convinced the man had a soul, though it went against a lot of what he felt he knew of Gaea's will.

Finally, there was Brohm the dwarf. Tidelan had seen a few dwarves before, they had usually come for trading during his brief time in Porter's Respite with his first true friend. There hadn't really been any dwarves in his homeland, but they weren't unknown of. It seemed odd to him that they would be common everywhere except the land where had the misfortune to be born into. It was surely not his place to question Gaea's will, though.

The man had a deep, gravelly voice, which was different from the ones he had actually been around... They had been incredibly flamboyant fellows, and wore many-colored silks, and rode in luxurious ships, that somehow also doubled as cargo vessels. They charged outrageous prices, but they never lost a contract. Tidelan hadn't actually seen one be made, but everyone in the port town had held anything from reverence to spite for the expert traders. Even though Porter's Respite was the greatest, and really only, port in all of Varna, it was rare to get business from anywhere, since Farrad was such an isolated continent. He reckoned most common people hadn't even heard of his homeland... why did that bother him so much?

The most odd of all things that Tidelan had experienced since arrival here was how nearly all people seemed to refer to him as 'Druid'. Where he came from, he would be known as 'Shaman'. His kind's lot in life was as traditional leaders and healers of small towns. In Timberloft, they had actually been run by a Marquis. An ugly, weak-willed man placed in charge by those from Varna's capital, Varnados. Most 'shamans' were not as he, however. Those whom he had met had been practiced healers of some kind, or even totemcrafters.

He had taken a different path. The path of the wilds' fury. Though he felt even more connected to Gaea, the world soul, the nature mother than the others, his path was not one fit for leadership. He didn't know what would have become of him had he realized his truth before fleeing all of the world he had ever known.

Somedays he was sure that he had sailed off the edge of the world, or into a dimensional rift as he had crossed the Terminus Sea... perhaps as he had slept, he had died in a storm, and this was his afterlife. Anything would be easier to believe than the fact that he had truly shared a world between his two lives.

Nef explained that, long ago, most of the region's goblin tribes would expand, taking the resources they needed with no regard for such concepts as property, and would be quick to respond to violence in kind. This led to many goblin deaths before the goblins learned to understand the concepts of property, and trade.

Many tribes began to take advantage of their numbers to acquire vast resources to trade with, only to find that more powerful tribes often killed them and took their resources. The first Void-drinker chieftain, Anyo the Wise, realized there was one thing that could be traded but was difficult to steal from the dead: knowledge. He encouraged his tribe to learn reading and writing, and developed a secret language to make their books worthless to outsiders.

Another tribe, whose name is lost even to the Void-drinkers, used an unknown means to create bigger, stronger goblins: first the hobgoblins, and then the bugbears. The hobgoblins saw themselves as goblins, and naturally rose to leadership of many tribes. The bugbears, while acknowledging themselves to be related to goblins tended to think of themselves as a new race, and form tribes of their own, though naturally, some chose to remain in the tribes with goblins (though they rarely got along with Hobgoblins.)

With hobgoblins to keep them safe, the goblins became prolific traders, which is why most denizens of the Rimewood speak the trade language (Common, which is easier for most races to speak than Goblin is. It is still unknown how the language spread to the region, as there are no records of outside contact with people in the Rimewood predating Amelekia opening the border.)

A few months ago, in a tribe to the north, a Hobgoblin named Largath overthrew his chieftain, and renamed his tribe Redfoot, symbolizing that he would stand on the bloody corpses of all who would not submit to his rule. He believed that Hobgoblins deserved to rule over all, and drew many like-minded followers, with whom he began expanding by conquest. Hobgoblins could join or die. Goblins could serve or die. Other races could simply die, the Redfoot tribe had no need for them.

Santio didn't sit at the 'heroes table'.   It seemed that it was a place for warrior types and bloodletters.
He guessed that few here even noticed him; the quiet, unbrutal human.

So instead, he again sat with the younglings of the tribes.  If he wasn't entertaining them with flute, or teaching them to play flute themselves, he was juggling for them, or doing something acrobatic.   The kind of thing that the kids liked; but was nothing compared to the warfeats of the hardened, muscle-bound warriors, in the eyes of their elders.

"And I feared you and Solva would put an axe in my spine when I named you Clanless before this tribe, yet here I sit."

Verbannt said with a strange tone that might have been bemusement.

"I am pleased that you did not, and it is my hope that you understand what it was I was trying to achieve.  We are a strange village, under the banner of Smith. In weeks I was forced to learn and adapt to many new things. The anger of the Water Genasi, creatures more earth and stone than man. Yet I adapted. This?"

He gestured at the Goblins, and particularly Santio sitting with the welps.

"This is stranger still."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:45, Thu 26 Nov 2020.

Brohm had not forgotten the insult, nor forgiven it.  And it showed very clearly on his face for a brief moment, before his face became neutral again.  He put the success of his task first in his mind, there would be time to deal with that later.  We will deal with that insult after our mission is complete.". He said to Lukas.  His deep, gravely voice firm, and grating with suppressed anger.  Then he continues, in a carefully controlled, neutral voice.  They have not had to compete against our people.  Countless deaths and warfare have not occured with them.  They are a different people."

Verbannt nodded.

"I will face that day when it comes."

His deep basso rumbled.

"Where is the seat of Largath, and the center of Redfoot power?". Brohm asked Nef, in a gravelly, deep voice.  His eyes thoughtful as he considered possibilities.

Nef said, "Not exactly sure, but its somewhere far to the north, near where the Rimewood meets the mountains. I've been told the reason he claims he wants to unite the hobgoblins is so he can lead an army into the mountains to wipe out the frost giants. Redfoot don't like there being anything stronger than hobgoblins around. That's why you don't see many ogres around anymore, and those you see are desperate."

"Ogres .. desperate", Boneclaw repeated in Nef's voice as he spoke to the others gathered. And then in Brohm's voice:"Not .. compete against our people". He strung together a sentence with Brohm and Nef's voice to finish:"Unite ogres, lead an army into the mountains to wipe out Redfoot, deal with Largath".

"Dangerous, but maybe.  I have killed one of the Ogres already myself."

Verbannt grunted, and it wasn't clear if it was a boast or not.

"It threatened my pack, and I had no choice but to take it down."

He certainly didn't sound like he was lying, though what he meant by "my pack" was anyone's guess.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:46, Wed 02 Dec 2020.

Tidelan paled visibly at the mention of ogres. At the mention of frost giants he nearly spit out his drink.

After listening to the rest of the exchange, Tidelan guffawed at the assembled peoples.

"Your hobgoblin tribe wants to kill many frost giants? Very impossible! Their hundreds are not all archmages, no? Doomed punjos"

The blue man looked at Lukas to his mention of taking out an ogre with a look of complete disbelief and even disappointment bordering on loss of respect, but the druid said nothing.

He waited for others to offer any words before continuing to speak, "Any of the ways, we do not need to go more, yet. We should first go back to Erret Smith and... errh..." the foreigner struggled for the last word, "report".

Meanwhile, Santio had moved on to teaching the kids a game he'd played long ago, when he was a kid.

Everyone in the group spreads out a little, then stays 'stuck' to the spot.  The person that is 'It', then must leap close enough to another kid, to tag them.  'It' then becomes stuck to the ground again (they get one leap), and the new 'It' gets to leap at another ... to tag, and pass the leaping from kid to kid to kid via leaps.
The game ends when the kids are all so spread out that one 'It' cannot reach another.

Nef says, "Whether they can take on the giants isn't the point, Tidelan. Before it comes to that, every goblin in the Rimewood will be with them, or..." he looks at Boneclaw, trying to recall what he had called his god "or with Kelemvor. Unless we stop them, first!"

At the suggestion of teaming up with the ogres, "If you can find an ogre, and get them to listen to reason, they could make useful shock troops. Good luck with that though. Most are lazy brutes, barely capable of speech, let alone thinking about the future. Better to avoid them, entirely. Lukas is far from the first 'left with no choice' but to kill one of them. It would be easier to count the numbers of people to leave an encounter with an ogre without bloodshed. I'd love to be the first to record such an occasion, but I fear the attempt would lead to having to move ogres from the 'Extant Peoples of Rimewood' books, to the "Natural History of Rimewood" books, if you understand my meaning."

At first, the goblin children took offense when Santio called one of them "it," (goblins are used to being called that by people who aren't very friendly, usually before something was thrown at them) but when they saw him apply the title to himself, they decided to instead call the person whose turn it is "the Santio," and they took great pried in being picked to be "the Santio," and getting to pick who would be next. They were also very impressed by how far the human Santio could jump, and tried to mimic his technique, and all would laugh when one would topple off balance in the attempt.

Brohm considers Nefs' words, stroking his beard with one strong hand.  His eyes gazing off into the distance.  "How far away are the mountains?". He asks, His belly full from the feast, and his body warm from the fire, he takes in the scene around him ask they talk.

".. I can work with dead ogres if need be ..", Boneclaw wrote on his chalkboard.

Nef says, "About a week's travel, for a small group, I think. An army of course would take much longer."
He looks at Boneclaw's chalkboard, "Look, I'm not a big fan of ogres myself, but they have their place in nature just like the rest of us. It might not be as good as it seems if they all died out. I'm just saying, maybe don't go out of your way to encounter them? If you stumble upon one, of course, do what you must."

"Kelemvor deeply respect both life and death", Boneclaw recited from what he was taught in his mentor's voice:"He still gives us the power to animate the dead but these must be understood to be temporary tools, used to protect the balance of life and death. They are animated corpses who do the will of the servant of Kelemvor. The corpse's soul is already judged by Kelemvor. After these undead servants are destroyed they cannot be animated again. Therein lies the balance. Intelligent undead, those who cling to life by their own will and who deny Kelemvor's judgment must be put to rest for good".

All religions have branches who disagree on the exact interpretation of their god's will.
"Die with dignity, neither raging nor seeking to embrace undeath". An undead raised by spell doesn't embrace undeath, its soul is not tarnished by seeking undeath.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:57, Sun 06 Dec 2020.

As the evening wore on, and the goblin kids were forcibly encouraged towards their huts, Santio found himself somewhere comfortable near the talking circle ... and, in that dark corner, began whittling a long straight piece of wood he'd found into an arrow shaft.

If Verbannt noticed Tidelan's displeasure at his boast, he said nothing of it.

"We will return to our village tomorrow, to report what has happened here.  Send your emissaries when you will, I will make sure they receive a warm welcome."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:46, Thu 10 Dec 2020.

"Agreed Nef.". Brohm rumbles in a voice like shifting stone.  Then asks Do you have enough food here for your people to survive?"

Gruznak, who had been watching Santio entertain the children as he listened to the cultural exchange, turned to look at Brohm, "Thanks to you, we will have more in our stores than before the feast! We still have strong hunters, to ensure those stores stay full enough. There won't be nearly so many to feed once you, the goblins who go with you, and the goblins of the Broken Sky leave in the morning."

Eventually, the quiet Santio headed off into one of the nearby huts, to find and use a bed for the night.

"Good.". Brohm rumbles in reply.  After sitting a few moments longer around the fire, Brohm sought his own bed.    Ere turning in, and out of sight of others, he arranged a few simple traps.  Nothin complex, but if his sleeping quarters were entered while he slept, the mouse they made would wake him.  Then unrolling his bed roll, setting his ace to one side of himself, his lack to the oth, and his dagger beneath his pillow, he went to sleep.

All wake in surprise... that they slept so peacefully surrounded by goblins. The barracks were warm, and the beds almost criminally comfortable. No one disturbed you or your belongings, until morning, when the cheerful voices of goblin children shouted from outside, "Santio! Come play!"

... and he did.

For it seemed that all was good in the village, and that threats were (at best) minimal.
Santio played with the kids ... making up games, entertaining them with acrobatics, and teaching them to play their new flutes ... until it was time for 'Lukas' Roughnecks' to move out.

Tidelan awoke in a comfortable bed. Not a hint of the previous weeks of roughing it out in the frozen, foreign lands were afflicting him. He hadn't woken up this way in a long time.

Not since...

Not since he was a boy.

The genasi swallowed and stood up from his shockingly comfortable bed. He always assumed goblins slept on thatch, or maybe stolen bedrolls, but this was an actual sleeping quarters.

That frightened him.

Tidelan Wavyrus stood up cautiously, trying not to make too much noise. He didn't enjoy having to speak with people in the morning. He hated the morning, his brain felt slow like honey. People might take advantage of him. He hadn't cared for a long time if they misunderstood him.

He scoured the room for a reflective surface. Anything from a proper mirror to a puddle of snow that had melted to the warmth of the camp.

He started when he approached the surface, an instinctive growl rising from his throat before he silenced it. He hadn't recognized himself. He was strong, and taller than he had once been.

His eyes... they hadn't changed color, but something was different... they were moist. He rubbed at his eyes to dry away what must have been remnants of a yawn he'd simply forgotten.

He removed his hands, and they had grown moist. He looked back into his own eyes, and they were still wet. Was he crying? No... he wasn't in pain, and nobody was cooking onions, he could smell that.

Then... why were his eyes leaking? He breathed in, and coughed. His throat too was moist. It had surprised him, which is why he had choked. He could breathe water just as easily in air. In fact, he liked it better.

He blinked, and felt anticipative. Deep down, he knew what was happening. His heritage was catching up to him. He wiped at his forehead, which was growing damp... Was he sweating? No, he felt under control... He tasted the back of his now-strong hands. There was no salt.

He shivered and pushed down something unsettling that he wasn't willing to face yet, deep down into the pits of his stomach, leaving a pressure underneath his heart.

He knew what this all was. He was cursedly self-aware. But he wouldn't do this, not today.

He made to leave the barracks, keeping his face straight. He wouldn't be able to make a scene of himself if he did his best to not show anything. He shivered again, bad memories lapping at the back of his mind like irritated waves against a shore of fragile glass.

He almost turned back to his bed, tempted to get more shut-eye, but he stopped himself.

He hadn't stopped himself from turning towards the barracks. His body had tried to turn him towards the forest, his eyes wanted to stare deep through it's natural majesty, where he felt Gaea's presence... and deeper even into the sea... It called to him. He wanted to be with it. Find home. Find peace.

He kept walking. Satchel over his shoulder. He would find his allies, and would return to town. He had to get stronger. He knew he wasn't ready yet. He wouldn't be for a long time.

When Gruznak saw Tidelan standing outside the barracks, he waited a moment while the powerful, yet skittish genasi gathered his wits, then gently got his attention, like one might get the attention of a trained bear (i.e. very carefully.) "Good Morning. We held the children back from waking you. Those who feel the cold tend to need a lot of rest when they've traveled far and finally found a warm bed. There's breakfast in the smokehouse."

Brohm had slept well that night, and risen early.  Having gathered, and cleaned his equipment, he had gone off to see about breakfast, and perhaps talk with Nef and learn something of the Goblins' language.  The bed he had left in the barracks was immaculately made, and the area around it meticulously clean.

Tidelan grunted in response, then bowed his head slightly to Gruznak, before making his way to the smokehouse. He didn't know how people got so many words out in the mornings...

Gaea! He was really turning into an hamjo, wasn't he? He realized that didn't upset him.

Verbannt emerged from his tent, wrapping himself in his furs and massaging the cold out of his fingers.

"We cannot stay long now."

He commented, catching the tail end of the conversation with Gruznak.

"We will need to tell the village what has happened here."

Already he had pulled his pack on, clearly intending to grab a parting meal from the smokehouse and then depart.

Santio travelled light, and could be (and was) ready to leave swiftly.

Tidelan strongly disagreed that they needed to move quickly, but his frustrations weren't brought up due to the fact that it was too early for him to feel up to arguing.

Since his group didn't seem content to sit around and have a hardy breakfast, the strong genasi scarfed down as much protein and grains as he could, preparing his body for the long day of travel (and likely battle) ahead.

The druid rolled out when his group left, unscrupulously palming a few more pieces of lonely food from the smokehouse's tables. He didn't feel great about the poor manners, especially considering how surprisingly civilized the new tribes of goblins of Three Claw Point seemed to be... but, his stomach was a more pressing concern than his dignity.

He braced himself for the stomach cramps that were to come. They wouldn't be pleasant, but it was doubtful they would do more than be sore. Besides, the pain was preferable to an injury caused by being underfed and low on energy during the day.

Once they were on the road, Tidelan spoke up, "Honestity, I hate this slowness of travel. Let us walk our last path with speed, yes?"

The druid's suggestion seemed to be that if they didn't lag behind a scout, or move at a stealthy pace, they could make more ground, probably even get back to Smith's Gambit in but one single day, rather than being forced to camp in the cold.

After breakfast, the party started out, with Brohm scouting ahead. Including Nef, there were 12 goblins in the group, each, according to Nef, the last of his or her tribe. Among them, only Nef seemed to be battle-ready. He carried a spear and a pouch of darts, but unusually for a goblin, he wore no armor, and carried no shield. "We don't expect you to risk yourselves to preserve these remnants. If you wish, we can follow at a distance, and I will fight to ensure these tribes survive this trip. If not, I will fight by your side."

Do you wish to help Nef protect the goblins, or leave them to take care of themselves?
Either way, you need to establish a marching order.
This message was last updated by the player at 10:21, Mon 28 Dec 2020.

Brohm snorts in dismissal if such a statement.  "I am scouting ahead.". Brohm rumbles in his gravelly voice.  "We will all get there together.". As odd as it was for him to work with goblins, these did not have the history that those infesting the borders of the Dwarven Nations did.  Perhaps here, a different history could be forged.  And if not, he would learn their strengths and weaknesses at least.

Tidelan looked oddly at Nef.

"Are you strong enough to protect..." the genasi began to ask, before scanning round and counting, "uhm... dozen goblins?"

He added distractedly in Farradi, almost as if it were a tic rather than a complex statement, "Diwana, el-Sylvan dalapar cantadas latva ravara"¹

Tidelan grunted in assent to Brohm's statement. It seemed the druid would rather that they all travel as a group.

¹Translation: "Of course, the Sylvan must be preserved most of all"

Nef says, "Depends on the number of attackers, of course. But goblins are adept at hiding! I need only keep the attackers' attention long enough for them to disappear." Of course, if goblins were so good at hiding, one might wonder why each of these is the last of their tribe.
This message was last updated by the player at 10:20, Mon 28 Dec 2020.

Santio was ready to leave with the others.
And did so.

You all set out, with Brohm scouting ahead.

Brohm carefully conceals himself, as he scouts ahead.

04:26, Today: Brohm of Clan Stonehelm rolled 11 using 1d20+4 with rolls of 7.  Stealth.

PM

Passing a note.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:53, Thu 07 Jan 2021.

Brohm continues to lead the party, narrowly avoiding a giant spider ambush, but costing some time. Hours pass quietly, and you reach once again the path cleared by the Redfoot. As night falls, you see that a new watchtower on a hill above you is now providing its light. If you shouted, the guards would be able to hear you, making this a fairly safe place to camp, should you so choose.

You're only an hour from town. Do you want to camp, or push on? If you wish to push on, I need a DC 11 Con save from each of you for exhaustion.

Everyone gets 25 xp for evading the spider ambush!

Santio kept his wits about him, and a close watch on the environment, as they travelled.
Once on the beaten road, and not far from town, he was glad.

"It's an hour to town.". Brohm rumbles in a voice like shifting stone.  "I suggest we continue, and get within the walls tonight."

Santio nodded;  for what it was worth, he agreed with Brohm.

Tidelan had been eager to get back to town, so he deferred to Brohm's senior judgement with a respectful nod and an affirmative noise from deep within his throat.

He began to realize he had been thinking of this newcomer as someone not as capable as himself. He decided to change his mind on that topic, as he realized their scout had been more than sufficient in everything he had done for them on this journey.

Tidelan was tired from the long walk, but he was willing to force himself to town. He could nearly see the familiar locations of the place, such as Town Hall, and Darla's Inn... He may be exhausted when he got there, but he would have so much more time to rest... And rest he would, in the warmth of a hearth, and not in the bitter cold of the vicious winds.

Verbannt had been pensive and quiet during the whole walk back, but he spoke up when Brohm returned.

"We go, and tell the Governor Smith of what we have seen."

He rumbled, continuing his steady pace. The others were slowing him down, but he did not mind. It was better to travel with the others at his back.

"Do you wish to settle the matter of your Clan now, or after we return? My intent was to make the Goblins understand that we were a Clan of outcasts, unified under the banner of Smith. It was not my place though, to speak of what has happened to your place among your people that brought you here."

Despite the genasi's excitement, his eyelids began to droop as he crossed the extra distance to town, and his breath came to him labored.

Brohms' brow darkens as Lukas speaks.  "So you claim ignorance of the insult you give yo call me Clanless when you knew better?". He rumbles in the voice of an emminent landslide, just ere it happens.  His volume, however, is low.  His stance is neutral, and solid like a carved pillar of stone.

"I knew it an insult when I spoke it."

Verbannt said instantly, no hint of deception in his voice.

"Now I seek to clear the air as to the why it was spoken.  It was not spoken to you, but to the Goblins, to make them think that we were unified under the banner of Smith. However, just because the barb was not meant for you, does not mean it did not sting. If such deception demands redress, let us have it here."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:19, Sat 09 Jan 2021.

Tidelan watched Lukas and Brohm from a fair distance with an expression of curiosity and a glint of pride in his eyes. This was how things should be settled. Directly and with honor.

Not with schemes and dirty tricks. He shuddered as he thought of Varna's upper crust.

He recognized that it wasn't his place to intercede in this conflict, even if he did disagree with it, but if one or more of his companions got seriously hurt, he was ready to rush in and rescue them from the border of death.

Brohms' face hardens, as Lukas states his knowledge that he knew the nature of the insult before he spoke.  "I will fulfill the contract, and bring everyone safely back to Smith.". His gravelly voice deep with anger.  "When that is done, and reports have been finished, we will meet outside the walls.  There we will have our duel, till Honor has been satisfied."

Boneclaw took out a measuring tape and noted the measurements of both Brohm and Lukas for their caskets.

Santio's eyebrows raised.  This was an  ... interesting ... turn of events.

Verbannt nodded, accepting the terms.

Putting his stuff back in his backpack Boneclaw pointed in the general direction they were heading and gestured for the others to get going.

Tidelan was eager to get moving, less he fall asleep where he stood.

With an wrathful glare at Lukas, Brohm turns towards town.  Rumbling in a rockslide voice "Let's go.". So saying, he resumes scouting ahead.

The remainder of the trip, tense though it was, went smoothly. You arrive at the entrance of Smith's Gambit after dark. Huge braziers illuminate the entrance, and three guards sand on either side. One recognizes Lukas, Tidelan and Boneclaw (I'm assuming Brohm regrouped with the others once inside the perimeter of town, so you all arrived together.) "Bringin' more goblins, eh, you three? Better take 'em to meet Smith. Lot 'o people in town ain't happy about all the goblins movin' in, but if Smith says they're okay, that's good enough for most of us."

Tidelan studied the appearance of the man who spoke. His features, his posture, his gestures, his tone, his accent, his voice, his condition, and his expression. He may have looked exacting, but Tidelan gazed upon him as he would gaze upon any tree in a forest. It was that may have resembled indifference, but to the druid it was clearly the opposite. Trees exist, as do guardsmen. Thus, they both must be dealt with.

Tidelan's mind began to think much on the armed man's statement. He wasn't a politician, so he was aware that for another that statement may have been more useful to them than to him

What it did make him think about was that he and his group had been bringing the more monstrous races of the world back to this foreign little settlement. Yes, to him it was still foreign. That wasn't what he pondered though, he thought briefly of his life back in Varna on Farrad. Varna was a society that appeared outwardly simple and fancy, but the politics behind it all were brutal and ruthless. Even the lower class schemed in ways that honest folk do not. They did not vie for seats in power, but for whatever personal pride they could rip from their neighbor's hands.

Not all his people. Not all of them. He had to remind himself this. He knew that the capital of Varnados was the political center of the world, and he had heard tales of it's beauty and glory. It made him suspicious, but he couldn't really know what it was like until he had meditated within it's walls. Then, Gaea would break through the pathetic constructs of man, whether made of stone or ideas, and would reach his heart.

Where he had grown up had been just a tiny, humble, logging town. For him, it had been like being thrust naked and unprepared into a court meeting, or so he assumed. When he was youngest, he had had to quickly learn that people could bite not just with their teeth but with their pale replications of the ley.

It was the thing that unnerved him most about government. Leylines were Gaea's veins Herself, and they spread her power amongst the world. His magic came from Her blood directly, and so he owed her not just allegiance, but endless adoration. His mortal heart did what it could to pay his respects. Unfortunately, other mortals had long mocked her will by creating their laws and traditions. They acted like leylines, they permeated everything. But they were false, and for that he wished to call all of society an evil abomination. Though, he knew that was false. Because, society still fell to Nature's Wrath, yet Gaea did not actively call it against them. Father Time's Passage was what did them in. This meant they were not unnatural enough to oppose Gaea, but She still chose to leave their constructed worlds standing. This meant that Tidelan had no right to go against them in such a way either.

These thoughts flashed briefly and faintly through his wise mind, along with possible conclusions drawn from the guard he had studied. He looked at him and realized why he had begun to think so heavily. He had needed to say something to the brave commoner, but he had needed help to decide how to proceed. He knew now, that he would proceed with honesty.

The water genasi stood tall despite his exhaustion, and met the man's eyes with a stare of solidarity and truthful amicability to say "Neither am I used to living with these monstrous folks, in my experience we never share walls. Except for the wall that is the boundary between us. A wall built from the wasted dead... they looked a lot like you and your companions do, my friend" he let out a short, barkish laugh that was more wistful than humorous.

Under his breath, and in a language he never knew he could speak, but which to him felt like a tongue he was more comfortable in than any other, he whispered, "[Language unknown: Llpaha Chwhe anyhathather et fopadili]".

Coming out, it sounded like rushing, angry water.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Sun 24 Jan 2021.

Brohm grunted in acknowledgement of the guard.  "We were on our way to Erret Smith, to report on our task.". He rumbles in a voice like grating stone.

As usual, Santio was quiet and observant, on the edge of the gathering.

The guard shrugged and said, "People are people. Some good, some terrible. No offense, but goblins don't look any more like monsters to me than you do. If one could be half as useful to the town as one of you folks, they're good in my book."

The other guard scoffs at him, but he ignores it.

"Go on in, I'm sure Smith's been keen to get your report."

Tidelan couldn't hide the shock in his eyes, that caused them to waver like an unsteady tide. So, he looked away. But, he did not look down from the common guard man.

He felt a primal storm brewing in his veins, and he knew this wasn't a time to have his head clouded with such rage, which was to be reserved for battle.

He ground his teeth and a low growl rose from his chest unbidden. He tried to push away the shock and disbelief, so that it did not become true anger. Maybe the basta- the man had been referring to his group as a whole. That would be insulting, but it was believable.

Tidelan didn't believe he was a monster. He couldn't, it had never occurred to him before. He had to close his throat to stop his growl from releasing into a whine. He wanted to reach towards the man's throat and show him what a monster would do. He could probably kill him right here.

Maybe his friends wouldn't back him up, but he thought they wouldn't turn on him. He could take the guardsmen, and his friends... Smith would be mad, probably. He'd probably have to leave. Did he care?

Yes...  he found he did. He was happy enough here, at least for now. To burn bridges so soon would be brash. Monsters were always brash, but people didn't have to be.

Tidelan knew he looked simply like a humanoid male but with a blue cast. It was more otherworldly than it was monstrous. Perhaps this was all just a language barrier. He didn't know, and he couldn't seem so weak as to ask. His hands twitched, and the new veins in his neck pulsed with effort. He couldn't get this angry, even if things were different now. Even though now he could fight, he still shouldn't. Not these men.

Tidelan knew logically this was an emotional response that came from his own self-doubt, and that there were a dozen things the man could have meant other than something that would make Tidelan hostile... But he had offered no offense, which meant he had been worried that it would be seen as offensive. Was the man worried Tidelan would hate him for his preferences, or was he truly calling him out for what it meant to be a monster.

He could sort this all out, he knew it. But he couldn't do that here. Not as they were beckoning him to enter. It would make him look, and also feel, incredibly petulant. He wasn't petulant, he never had been even if people had thought so. And now, he didn't need to be.

The druid was still angry, oh so angry. He wasn't even hiding it anymore. His growl had been released when he had opened his airway to take a sudden breath, as his heart had beat more strongly against his chest, and demanded it.

He was feeling violent, and he didn't know how to rid himself of these urges.

He stared long at the guard and the one who had scoffed, and memorized their faces even further than before. That was enough for now. Let them think it a threat. It was insurance that he could deal with them later, if he could not let this go. Maybe dealing with them would be an inquiry for clarification. Or maybe, just maybe, Tidelan would be finding himself a new home after leaving this settlement covered in human blood on the same tattered leathers he had entered in, and carrying a stricken head impaled on his staff.

He very, very carefully made his way with the group. But he stayed in the very back. He stayed absolutely quiet, his eyes hard, unblinking and straight ahead, as he kept a cold distance between each of his friends, which he truly hoped any passerbys would take as the warning that it was.

If he let himself get set off, it would cause him equal harm too.

OOC: Don't really know how this got here, lol. I kind of dramatized it up a lot, but I don't really plan on having Tidelan kill any civilians, lmao.

Also, since the DM seems to have forgotten about it in my last two megaposts, I'll remind them that Tidelan was paying close attention to these fellows details. Since I don't really want to interrupt the narrative to make the DM give a physical description of multiple NPCs, I'm totally fine with accepting any details Tidelan noticed as a PM. Of course, if that doesn't sound like something they want to spend time writing up, we can just say Tidelan would know the guys if he sees them again?

Tidelan has a fairly high perception, so it's honestly better to assume that he's generally noticing obvious things like what people look like and what kind of trees are nearby, rather than me being tedious for us all and writing down each time he's paying attention, ha ha :D

This is pretty interesting, because it gives a lot of possible ways for Tidelan to interact with some unimportant NPCs. An observant character in any street-level situation like that is one of the quickest ways to give flavor to so much of a settlement. Being among the underclass of Smith's Gambit is something I've actually been really interested in, since so far I've not seen it from any view other than among numerous (mostly foreign) adventuring parties and hotel staff accustomed to dealing with traveling PCs

Basically, I'm just trying to get a more textured feel of the town. This will be very important when I began constructing Tidelan's pit fighting organization, since I'll need to have at least some background on the setting's available resources, architecture, and other important things.

So, I figured getting some physical details about commoners was a good place to begin taking that dive into the setting! Figuring out their attitudes will probably come later, considering how slow PbP is lol
This message was last edited by the player at 05:06, Mon 25 Jan 2021.

Verbannt eyed Tidelan wearily as the Water Genasi growled, turning to face his companion without moving to stop him. In truth, he had received far warmer a reception than he ever would have imagined here. This motley band of survivors took all kinds, and he had seen more strange things in the month he had stood under the banner of Smith than he had in a small lifetime among his Clan. Perhaps it was just that the folk of this tribe were from near and far, where as everything he had known before had been contained to the South. Whatever it was, he found he minded the words of the guard not at all. Many feared Goblinoids, and he was of that wide and varied race. In his experience, humans were no more or less wicked than Bugbears. The bonds of Race were not as strong as Clan, but they held.

Why would the guard not consider them monsters? Tidelan was certainly monstrous when his rage overtook him.

So he watched silently as the Druid contained his anger, and nodded once approvingly when he rejoined them. He was wise enough not to say anything, merely meeting the other Skinwalker in the eye, then turned and walked towards the Town Hall.

The young guard looked roughly 17, with shaggy hair and a wisp of a beard struggling to grow. He was a handsome youth, though he had the scars one would expect from a seasoned warrior. When Tidelan growled, he said, "I'm sorry, friend. Seems like I offended you after all. What I meant was you can't really tell who's a monster by lookin' at 'em. See, back home where I grew up, little Amalekian town nobody heard of until, well, you heard of the Butcher of Belvin? You know what he was known for before he got that name? Women would come from the city to buy his wares, but he wasn't sellin' nothin' special. They was just plain ol' shoes." There was something personal about the way he told the story.

The other guard, a few years older, had dark, slicked back hair which reflected the torchlight due to whatever product he used. He was exceedingly well groomed, especially for his position, with a well manicured mustache and goatee, and flawless pale skin.

OOC: Pel Starnish, AKA The Butcher of Belvin was a serial killer who had gained worldwide notoriety about 10 years ago in a small town in western Amelekia. A cobbler and a widower, he was believed to have lured over 20 women from out of town and murdered them. Authorities believe his wife was his first victim, and all the others were said to resemble her. His young son, said to be his spitting image, was taken into foster care as a witness, but disappeared before the trial, never to be heard from again. Nonetheless, Starnish was found guilty (he confessed to some of the killings, practically bragged about them,) and executed for his crimes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:01, Tue 26 Jan 2021.

Tidelan stared back, and did his best to listen to what the man said. It was all empty sentiments to him until the third last foreign word, spoken in a lazy tongue. He was worried somewhere beyond the conscious that if this man pushed, Tidelan would make a big mistake.

That third-to-last word though, it cleared up enough for Tidelan that he could hope he had assumed the man's intentions wrongly. If the man wasn't truly speaking of his appearance, but of what he knew he had been doing, and what he could do... then Tidelan should not be angered.

Still, the rage was not quick to vanish. He tried to bundle it up to suffocate it, but that just caused it to flare, much unlike a smothered bonfire, more like a captured beast.

He let enough of it go so that he could think clearly to respond. What came out of his mouth had a tone of fear, and he didn't realize until after he had spoken, "You are correct."

The foreign man pushed back the memories that began to creep in. Not the time. Not the time. Not the time.

The man had begun to speak again. A perfect excuse for Tidelan to divert away from his own troubles to those of an other's.



Tidelan listened carefully, and absorbed each word. The anger was gone now. Just sympathy. It wasn't patronizing, because in truth it was closer to empathy. Tidelan understood what the man was saying, and he felt it. But, his tone belied a whole other meaning to the words, but Tidelan did not push.

For, the genasi always did always respond in like if he could. The man had possibly went against his better judgement and apologized. That showed respect. Tidelan would show respect with him and acknowledge his pain but not pry. It would be cruel, and Tidelan was never cruel, only ruthless.

After all had been said Tidelan simply bowed his head, ever-so-slightly. It was a small concession, but those who knew the genasi knew how much it had cost him. Not only that, but it was greatly rare. The only ones in the settlement he had before conceded to were Lukas when he was Group Leader for the time.

It was different from his concession to Smith. That was automatic, but it wasn't respectful. Neither was it disrespectful. He did not spite Smith for his control, but he did not know him as a man well enough to bow. Not nearly.

He didn't fool himself to having known Lukas either, nor this fellow. As the man himself had said, and Tidelan had whole-heartedly agreed but with little enthusiasm, people were often not what they seemed. No, he had given a bow because the man had shown himself to be respectable in this moment, as had Lukas many times. If later, either faultered in a severe way, Tidelan would no longer bow for some time.

It may mean nothing to them, but he hoped it did. Because it mattered to him.

The one problem that Tidelan realized he still hadn't resolved internally was why he had been so upset at being called outwardly monstrous in such a way. He knew he was monstrous when he killed, and when he returned covered in blood. But this was a diplomatic mission. There may have been rumors, but still... was he truly--

No, he had solved that. The man had meant to harm, that was Tidelan's decided interpretation. Anything less generous would not allow him to continue with this show of faith. It would be a show of blood and foolishness instead.

So, he did not ask if the man had meant to call him hideous. Monsters would hideous, and Tidelan was not hideous. Still, he may be a monster...

Why did this matter to him? He wanted to believe that he cared about his outward appearance because it mattered to others, and therefore could be a tool for him to avoid victimhood...

But... he didn't believe that. Not yet. He hated to even consider it, but he had to do so, or he would not be deserving of his own wisdom... He hated to consider it... but...

Was Tidelan vain?

Tidelan stopped looking back and continued his march. Now, he was not hot with anger... but cold with dread. He could swallow this more easily... but it was a far worse emotion.

Boneclaw kept his mouth shut but from what little he knew of the Belvin Butcher story the man had a son who had disappeared before the trial and he couldn't help wonder whether the guard's name was originally Starnish before he arrived in this outpost of civilization.
"You can't really tell who's a monster by lookin' at 'em". He glanced back at the guard and glimpsed at his shoes.
"Indeed".

(would the guard be around 27 by any chance?)

Before I forget again: Congratulations on finishing the quest! Hope you enjoyed it!

Each of you receives 1200 xp and 300GP!

OOC: 17. He would have been a young boy when the Butcher was captured, as was the the Butcher's son, whose name didn't spread like his father's. Rumors simply suggested he ran away rather than testify, or was murdered as part of a cover-up, or something about shapeshifting lizardmen, because whatever happens, it gets blamed on shapeshifting lizardmen.