Ryland and Toben set out after a good meal and well-wishing from Gonhirrim and dragons alike.  With instructions on how to find Windfang, they make good time.  However, at sunset, Ryland's watchful eye catches sight of a flight of large dragons coming out of the west.  The two find cover in a small cave in the foothills and hope they have not been seen.  After an hour, it feels safe to talk, but neither yet wants to leave.  In the dark, the cave suddenly feels like a great place to weather the night.  Ryland knows legend enough to explain that dragons see just as well in the night as day, and the two travelers would be at a disadvantage in the dark.

"If we're shacking up here for the night, might as well see how far back this place goes. We'll probably want some sort of fire going, so best to keep the light from it out of sight".

Ryland casts dancing lights and sends them ahead into the cave

"Yes, let's move forward a bit." Toben pulls out that bluish white pelt from one of his special bags and throws it around his shoulders. "I can suffice without a fire, but if you don't have a means to keep warm, we'll need to make sure we aren't discovered here. Did Shock happen to mention how many days travel Windfang is?"

"Yeah, she said a day or so on foot, depending on how quickly we can cover the ground. We shouldn't be too far from our destination now, but no use in chancing it. And I suppose my bedroll can suffice for warmth. I doubt it will get too chilly, but chattering teeth make for a long night".

Ryland wills all but one of the dancing lights away, just enough to provide a bit of illumination, akin to a torch

"No need for that. A touch of warmth is all you need." Toben walks over and places a hand on Ryland's shoulder. He closes his eyes and a pulse of energy flows through his arm, down his hand, and into Ryland. Immediately, the nights chill begins to fade away.

"We'll need all the rest we can get, my friend."

Toben casts Endure Elements on Ryland. For 24 hours, he can comfortably endure temperatures between -50 and 140 degrees.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:22, Sat 20 Jan 2018.

"Oh? That is a handy spell there. Though if you ever tell anyone you gave me the warm fuzzies, I'll deny it to the day I die".

Toben chuckles. "I doubt that'll be the only secret you'll be taking to the grave."

Ryland muses "Oh the tangled web I've weaved my young friend. At any rate, we should get some shut eye... unless you want stories about debauchery and narrowly ducked bar room brawls ".

The cave is rather small with no hidden tunnels or anything.  The trip to Windfang is only an eight hour trip along the mountains to the west.

In the morning, rain has come and gone.  The stony ground has already dried from runoff and the path is easy to travel.  Twenty minutes out, the two men see an awesome and terrible sight.  Dragons in the sky, battling.  Three larger dragons seem to be attacking a smaller, faster moving dragon.

Much faster.  In fact, after watching for several minutes, it looks more like the smaller dragon is harassing the larger.

Toben points up to the spectacle. "10 gold says that's our Windfang."

Ryland feels at the coin purse on his belt. "I'll take that bet. Keep a low profile in the mean time while we try to cover the rest of our ground".

As the two move ever closer, picking their way through boulders and trees to keep hidden, they watch the titanic struggle.  It soon turns almost into an aerial comedy.  The smaller dragon flees, dives down toward the ground, to be followed by the three larger ones.  Moments later, it pops out its wings for a second, braking in the air, then writhes like a snake as the larger dragons pass by, trying futilely to snatch it.  As the last of these flashes past, the small dragon nips at the end of a tail causing its assailant to roar in pain.

Moments later, the smaller dragon finds itself surrounded by a triangle of the elders above him.  Some conversation must be happening as they hover there, but then the elders dive while the smaller struggles to climb.  Exultant in their impending victory, the three large dragons angle less steep toward him, extending claws at the last moment so that all three latch on to rip him to pieces.

Instead, just before their claws reach, the smaller dragon folds his body and does something so that it explodes downward.  The larger dragons slam into each other instead and reflexively tear at each other for a second before realizing what has happened.

Again and again the smaller dragon flies circles around the three big ones.  Their breath of fire or other, darker things only catch each other, not the one.  By the time Ryland and Toben arrive at the cave, the large dragons are limping home on torn wings and wounded pride.

The smaller dragon is nowhere to be seen.

Ryland peers into the cave and calls out "'Ello? Anyone home?"

"Aye mates.  I'm in 'ere.  C'mon in and rest a bit.  Shock said you was comin'.  The name's Windfang, at yor service."  Inside is a rather small tunnel with multiple offshoots.  However, there is an obvious main tunnel that leads down.  It eventually opens up into an underground cavern of immense proportions.  Wind and a soft song of low pitched pipes constantly waft through the cavern.  Light filters in through a network of cracks in the ceiling.

"Over here, mates.  Just tidying up a bit.  Got to wash up after playing outside."  The voice seems to come from everywhere at once.  It is a musical voice, a rich baritone with a wondrous timbre.

"That was quite a display you put on there. Those three will certainly think twice before making a move on the Heath."

Toben bows in no particular direction given that the voice doesn't betray its owner's location. "My name is Toben."

From one of the tunnels a dragon emerges.  It is somewhat smaller than shock and vastly different.  Fur covers much of its cat-like body.  In fact, the dragon looks a lot more like a gigantic cat with feathered wings than a dragon.  It's coloring is deep golden fading to white highlights, especially along the feathers.  When it sees the two humans, it stops, plops down on its haunches, and licks its paw with a decidedly forked tongue.  The dragon closes its eyes and its whiskers twitch as it cleans itself.

"Thanks, mate.  Those brutes barely do what anyone would call flyin'.  More like wallowin' in the sky, don'tcha reckon?  So, the famous Toben Ironsprings of the Dutchies of Man.  Wizard, adventurer, hero, smith, lots a hats yor wearin' there, kid."  He turns to Ryland.  "Sorry, mate.  I didn't catch your name."

Ryland nods. "Ryland. Ryland Vance. Bard, poet, object of women's eyes the world over. I'm sure my reputation precedes me as well"

He raises back up with a meek smile. "Fortune favors the prepared. Your kind words flatter me. Famous to some, I suppose. Infamous to others."

"If Shock sent word of our arrival then I presume she also mentioned our objective and timeline?"

"Wrylind Fancy?  Never heard of you."  Windfang shrugs.

"Shock said you needed someone fast to get two people over to the far west.  I'm the fastest there is, mates.  Though, weight can slow me down qui'e a bit."  He looks at Toben and nods, then at Ryland and cocks an eyebrow.  After a moment, he grimaces but nods.  "We'll work on it on the way.  I'm already to git.  Had t' take out those nosy neighbors before you arrived, or there'd be trouble.  I can outfly 'em, but with passengers, I can't outmaneuver 'em."

He finishes his bath and crouches down on his belly.  "Anything you need to know or say afore we depart?"

"Not me, I'm ready to get this show back on the road"

"Climb aboard, mates.  Find a tuft a fur to hold onto if you feel the need.  I won't let you fall, but the more confident you feel, the less work I have ta do."  Windfang waits for the two men to climb on, each using a paw and then leg as a sort of stairs to reach the dragon's back.

Though he seemed small compared to the other dragons, even compared to those of the non-aligned like Shock, Windfang is still far larger than any horse.  His movements do not seem diminished at all by the extra weight.  He rises, and with a brief word of warning, launches into the air.

The acceleration is enormous and vision narrows.  Neither human vomits or passes out though.  Then Windfang is in the tunnels above the cavern floor, twisting and turning through a vortex of stone and lights streaming down through cracks.  The beams of light pass so fast it's as if they were blinking their eyes rapidly in the regular day.

Less than a minute later, Windfang leaves the tunnels and launches into the air like an arrow from a bow.  He soars up, up, up into the clouds where the air grows colder and thin, but a quick spell from Toben eradicates any discomfort.  He finds that casting from the dragon's back is not much more complicated than casting in combat.

{-1 to Concentration checks should the need arise for both of you.}

At a chosen altitude, Windfang turns west and beats his wings until the ground below streaks by like leaves floating in the rapids of a fierce river.  The ground quickly turns black with desicated flora, murky pools of not-water, and creeping things not readily identified with things men are familiar with.

Through it all, Windfang sings.  It is a foreign tongue, perhaps one only dragons, know, but the tempo is fierce and adventurous.  If flying for the first time was not enough to get the blood pumping and cause excitement never before imagined, the song would finish the job.  It is a rich baritone with a wide range, and a complex vocalization that sounds like at least three dragons are singing simultaneously.

{Roll Perception}

The rush of winds flows around Toben reminds him of the brief moment he flew as the Platinum Dragon, but the speed at which they travel is exhilarating. "You are truly blessed, my friend. I wish I could say that I don't know what I'm missing, but to travel this way does make me a bit green with envy."

08:09, Today: Toben Ironsprings rolled 17 using 1d20+12.  perception check.

Ryland doesn't say much, instead surveying the ground below and the skies around him. Looking north, his eyes widen. "We seem to have a slight problem" he says, trying to speak above sounds of wind. "The Elder dragons are back; two this time".

"Ho ho!  Haven't the time to play today, mates.  Eat my contrails!"  With a sudden thrust of his wings, Windfang kicks his speed up to a whole other level.  Behind him, the two elder dragons rapidly dwindle to specks and disappear.

During the rush forward, though, a sheath seems to surround Windfang and his riders.  There is little more than a light, warm breeze around Ryland and Toben, though the sensation of speed remains through sight and sense of inertia.  Below, mountains pass in a few minutes and give way to a vast swath of green.

"Mirkwood," Windfang's voice says within the sheath, though his head does not turn to face them.  "There was once an elfin kingdom in there, but the king - Thranduil - was said t' 'ave gone mad for a while. Then he woke from his madness at the end a the Third Age.  His son was a hero a the War of the Ring.  Nunna his kind 'ave been seen in five hundred years.  I've not yet been able t' find his great fortress, though I 'ave searched many times."

"If I had my guess, any great city - especially a fortress - would be near enough to a water source. Are there any rivers snaking through the tangle down there?".

Toben glances down at the landscape whizzing by. "Can't say that I've ever heard of Mirkwood. Looks rather gloomy from up here though. What do you suppose rules the lands these days?"

"There are plenty a rivers down there, fellas, but none a them lead t' a fortress.  All I've seen down there, mate, are the cousins of Beor and the spida-kin."  Windfang continues to fly, but the forest is so vast it takes an hour to pass over the northwest corner.  Up ahead, another mountain range angles south out of the Grey Mountains.  "The Misty Mountains, mates.  Taller and grander than the Grey, home to all manner a strange creachas.  Look, we have some company."

Out of the mountains, two specks resolve into birds.  They seem close already judging by their relative size, but they keep approaching and growing in size.  One of them is easily as large as Windfang.  The dragon screeches, clicks, and caws at the giant birds - they appear to be some sort of eagle.  The birds swoop in alongside Windfang and screech back at him.  The conversation is rapid, then falls silent.

"I asked 'em about elves.  They said they'd not seen any in these parts in decades.  The Woodland Realm buried itself in its magic and is barely part a the physical world any more.  Imladris remains, preserved and secluded, but empty a all but memory.  They haven't flown as far west as Mithlond.  Their sires say they're young yet."

"Toben, you're the boss. Do we want to keep on towards the Shire, or have a peek at what may hold elven ruins? Either way, seems to me both potentially have something we need".

Toben thinks to himself for a moment, but not too long, for at this speed they would likely pass by to quickly.

"Would you say the ruins down there would date back to the 1st or 2nd age?"

"By all accounts, it dates back only to th' second.  We gonna have a look-see?"  The dragon begins to bank south as he crosses over the back of the Misty Mountains.

"Hmm, seems reasonable that a relic might still be hanging around from the previous age." He points down toward the ground. "Let's check it out."

The dragons wings his way down into a secluded valley.  The giant birds squawk and depart.  At one point the mountains open up to reveal a beautiful retreat made with architecture well foreign to men.  It is all delicate spirals and open-air balconies with trellises covered in flowering vines without being overgrown.  The place seems well cared for, but there are no people here.

Windfang lands on one of the balconies, which looks far too delicate to hold his bulk.  Yet it doesn't creak or protest in any way as he thumps down unceremoniously.  "Have a look around, mates.  I need some grub."  As soon as the two dismount, he leaps back into the air, causing no more stress to the frail-looking balcony than when he landed.

Both men have had flight experience, so manage to maintain their feet, but riding so fast on the back of a dragon is a bit different than being one...or a bat thing.

Once Windfang has made his departure, Ryland surveys the surroundings. He treads lightly over to an arched door frame with no door. He rests a hand on the hilt of his rapier, and looks back at Toben. "I suppose we should look for any place that seems like it could have been private quarters, or for dining then?".

 The architecture and craftsmanship of the elven ruins are stunning. Toben is completely enthralled by his surroundings, so much so that he almost ignores Ryland. "So this is where the elves lived?", he mutters to himself.

It's not until moments later that he realizes Ryland is standing there, staring at him waiting for some acknowledgment. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Let's take a look around. I'm not sure how we'd recognize a 1st age chalice from something a bit more 'modern', but a dining hall might be a bit too informal to find something of that quality. If these ruins go back as far as the 2nd age, then a 1st age artifact like that wouldn't likely be commonplace in a kitchen. The private quarters of someone important might be a better place to start."

The architecture does not diminish throughout the ancient elfhome, though the simple beauty and enchanted cleanliness extends to belongings as well.  When the elfs abandoned Imladris, they took everything that wasn't a statue or a building.  In one courtyard, the statue of a cloaked elf holds out a stone tray like a pedestal for something, but there is not even a leaf fallen on the smooth surface.

An hour of searching turns up almost nothing until the two explorers chance upon a suite overlooking the falls feeding the main water source in the vale.  Herein there is a bed of rough wood, furs for blankets, a down pillow of wool, and a series of belongings that are far out of place for such an elegant place.  In fact, it's like some wild animal has laird here and is pretending at being an elf.

In one corner there something of a night stand, rough hewn and matching the bed.  On it sits several dishes including a couple of expensive looking goblets.  The goblets are sturdy looking, some kind of white stone or maybe ivory worked in gold filigree and some kind of shiny, white metal Ryland has never seen before, but Toben recognizes from his time down in Moria.

There is no sign of the squatter.

{Listen Checks}

Toben looks around the room for clues as he walks over to the back end of the suite. "Someone has obviously been living here. Perhaps our rummaging around scared them off." The sound of a waterfall catches his attention as he peers out the window to enjoy the view.

"Indeed. Or we simply caught them away for the time being" says Ryland, picking up the goblets to inspect them. "Do these look four thousand or so years old to you?" he asks, not expecting a serious reply. "Either way, we should keep moving. Let's check closer to the sound of the falls. My guess is that someone important in a place full of balconies would have the best view" he says, slipping the goblets in a satchel, and replacing them on the night stand with a platinum coin. He glances around the room for a second more, surveying for anything else worth further pilfering, or "shopping" rather.

Toben looks at the goblets for a moment. "Hard to say. Mithril seems to be a very resilient metal. It won't show the passage of time easily."

He walks back to the balcony, looking around for clues.

There is a flash of movement down by the lake fed by the falls.  Some sort of large animal, maybe a bear.  It was furry and brown and big.

Ryland looks back at Toben. "We are not alone" he says, readying his bow and nocking an arrow.

Toben glances back at Ryland and smiles. "I don't think we have anything to worry about from that bear."

Seeing the bard ready his weapon, he places his on his staff.

"We live in strange times my friend. The dead can walk, the green skins run amok, and we just flew on the back of a creature we all believed long since dead and gone. For all we know, this bear flings spider webs from its rump. And we still don't know who, or what, is laired in this room".

Toben acknowledges Ryland's concern. "For what it's worth, I could do with a little normalcy for a moment. Let's just pretend that's a normal bear that can't shoot spider webs from its butt."

He continues to scan the room for ancient artifacts. "Any luck?"

"Other than these two goblets, nothing else stands out. Perhaps Windfang might be a better appraiser of these than us. In the mean time... don't you have your own personal scout you can send out? That little cat snake thing? Just to, you know. Make sure there aren't any spider webs ahead?" says Ryland with a smirk.

Toben nods and sends Ferb out to scout. He instructs him to look for any people, in general, or creatures that may wish to do them harm.

As the two men and a dragon search the grounds, they find an empty place, not just devoid of life, but devoid of things as well.  There are no weapons, no dishes, clothing, not so much as a spoon.  Only the one room looks lived in.  Everything else is immaculately empty.

Ferb returns after being gone for about an hour.  He chitters at Toben briefly then curls up on his shoulder.

Toben raises an eyebrow. "The bear is a female? Ok..." He pauses for a moment after wondering how or why he would get close enough to find out. "Did it at least seem friendly?"

Ryland arches an eyebrow at the mention of the word female, but quickly settles in to a frown and mocks a spitting sound when recalling the subject matter is a bear.

Ferb chatters at Toben's shoulder.

Toben cocks his head at a weird angle so that he is as close to eye-to-eye with Ferb as possible. "Nothing about a bear bathing in a pool sounds unusual to me at all. What is it that you're not telling me?"

Ferb whirls around and scampers to Toben's other shoulder, chitters a moment then plops his head down.

Toben sighs heavily. "You know all this furry cuteness isn't always going to save you. At some point, we're going to have to have a real chat."

He looks over to Ryland. "I'd be surprised if there's anything of real interest here. Although, I've got a hunch that we should check out this waterfall." Toben darts a look of slight disdain towards Ferb but washes away any perceived insult with a scratch on his head.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:50, Tue 13 Feb 2018.

"If we must" says Ryland, and starts off to navigate his way down to the falls.

The pathway down to the falls and the lake it feeds is a winding one full of growth.  There is only a faint roar for a bit as the sound is soaked up by the trees, fines, and bushes.  This eventually clears and the roar becomes more prominent.  Occasionally, there are glimpses of the lake as the three get closer.  Ferb seems to be asleep on Toben's shoulder.

A large splash leaves behind a large set of concentric circles as the two men finally come into view of the lake and the small, sandy beach beside it.  In the sand are all kinds of furrows, indecipherable tracks, and even a few decent sized bear paw marks.

There is also a pile of clothes.  A female's clothes.

Toben announces their presence as to not appear to be a couple of creepers trying to sneak peeks at a woman bathing.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?"

A mound of water rises up out of the lake encasing the figure of a woman in leather under-garments as she stands.  She tosses her head back and a long mane of hair flings water back in a cascade thirty feet behind her.  The woman turns to face the shore, raises and eyebrow, and stalks toward the two men standing there, foot crossing in front of the other with each step.  When she stands before them, she is looking down at them while standing on even ground.

"You are tall for Shire Folk."  Her accent is thick, foreign; her voice a husky alto.  "Have you come to see ze ghosts of Rivendell...or stare at Vitalya like two teen boys in heat?"

Toben quickly averts his eyes and turns around the other direction. "Not from the Shire and we bear you no ill will. If it's all the same to you, we'd prefer to leave as quickly as we arrived. We are searching for something, but didn't expect to find anyone in these ruins."

Ryland follows Toben's lead and averts his gaze. It takes him a second or two longer though. "What my compatriot means to say, my dear lady, is that we're looking for large cups.. I mean goblets, of elvish make. Would you happen to have any you'd be willing to sell to us?".

The woman rolls her eyes at Ryland.  "You dink you are cute one, da?"  She reaches down to grab her clothing and a strange looking club that looks more like a carved bear paw at the end.  "You no doubt refer to cups I have in room.  Dey are dwarvish, not elfin.  Der is nuthing left of elf here in Rivendell but buildings.  Come.  I dress in room.  We talk."

A brisk wind picks up from nowhere as she walks, still crossing her feet in front of each other in a very distracting manner.  By the time the four reach her room, she is completely dried and the wind ends suddenly.  Without care for her audience, she dons her other clothes over the leather undergarments she had been swimming in.

"I would 'preciate you return my cups.  Dey are gift from dwarf friends."  She measures Toben for a moment, then turns her gaze upon Ryland and holds it there.

"Ah, right. Sorry. So, you know the dwarves then?" says Ryland, as he slips the goblets back on the nightstand with a sheepish look on his face, and pockets his platinum coin.

She sits in a delicate-looking chair, which does not budge as it takes her weight.  Her leather pants are close fitting in a serviceable way, but not tight.  She crosses her leg and folds her hands on her knee.  "Da.  I know of ze dwarfs.  I know a dwarf.  Man named Fori.  He trade with Beornlings who live east of Mirkwood between forest and mountains.  What are you doing so far from realms of men?  Are you of Gondor?"

Her tone is amicable, that of traders swapping news at the trading post.

Toben's ears perk up. "You know Fori?" He actually belts out a laugh. "How is that old goat?"

"I hail from Gondor, yes. Not entirely sure about my friend here".

The woman frowns.  "I have not seen Fori in over year.  He only trade sparsely with Beornlings, mostly for information.  You know heem too?"

"Yeah, sure do. He got us out of quite a pickle with the Gonhirrim, Durina and her clansmen. Good thing too. Actually formed a pretty good friendship with them before leaving the mountain." Toben scratches a chin that seems to be impervious to hair growth. "I guess that would have been about six months ago."

In all the excitement, he'd completely forgotten his manners. "Sorry, I never introduced myself." Toben extends a hand. "My name is Toben. I come from a small village named Iron Springs. East of Rohan."

The woman frowns as Toben speaks of the dwarves.  "Gon-heerim?  Doo-rin-ah?  I don't know zees names.  Only Fori.  You have been under mountain?  Lonely Mountain?  You are from duchies, yes?  And Gondor?"  She says the last, turning to Ryland.  "Why are you in Rivendell looking for cups?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:13, Fri 16 Feb 2018.

"We're trying to aid a friend who needs a rather powerful spell. One of the items called for is a goblet of elvish make of at least around four thousand years old. Our friend, she isn't well, and a terrible darkness seeks to bind her".

"Gonhirrim. It's what the dwarves call themselves. Apparently, they don't like the word "dwarf" much but seem to tolerate it with outsiders. We met them near the mines of Moria, within the Misty Mountains a bit further south of here."

Toben backtracks a bit in the conversation. "You mentioned Shire folk? You've met with people from the Shire? Did you ever do any trading with them too?"

Vitalya nods.  "Yes.  I have trade with ze Shire.  Dey are west of heer."  She tilts her head and looks at the ceiling, thinking for a moment.  "If you need elfin goblet, maybe Grey Havens to west will have.  It lies empty of elfs like Rivendell, but not empty of other things.  It is not nice place.  Filled with Dumbledors, Gonger, Mewlips, and other things of dis nature.  Dey are lead by ze last of ze Olog-Hai."

At that moment, there is a rush of wind outside on the balcony.  Windfang pokes his head in.  "Find anything, mates?  Oh, a girl.  G'day.  M'name's-"

Vitalya's eyes go wide as the dragon's head squeezes through the double doors.  She leaps from her chair transforming into an enormous bear in mid-jump.  When she lands, her claw strikes Windfang's surprised muzzle, knocking him clear out of the doorway and off the balcony.  The bear charges out of the room onto the balcony.  She peers over the railing with two paws resting on it.

She looks ready to leap after the dragon and continue the fight.

Toben releases an explicative or two at the sight of Vitalya's transformation and rushes out to the balcony. He throws his hands in the air as a sign of nonaggression. "Woah, woah, woah! Stop!"

He waits a moment, trying to gain the bears attention. "That's just Windfang. He's a friend. He's with us." He says, gesturing to himself and Ryland. "Can we transform back into a less 'I want to kill you' shape and talk?"

Ryland takes a surprised step back from Vitalya's changed form, and more talking to himself than anything, looks upwards and says "Yeah, no. I can't work with that. Deal breaker".

Windfang launches himself from the ground and uses some sort of wind magic or innate wind ability to climb faster than he has any right to toward the balcony.  He slams into the bear and grabs hold, lifting her into the air.

A moment later, the bear grows even bigger with ridges and what looks like bones extended out of her face, back, and limbs to form a kind of armor.  She swipes at the dragon and knocks him so off-kilter that they both plummet into the lake.  Several seconds later, the bear surfaces with its jaw clamped firmly on the back of the dragon's neck.  She drags the unconscious Windfang to the shore, then drops him.  Her size is comparable to his at this point, a beast of legendary proportions.

Then she deflates, the bones disappearing first before shrinking back to a normal bear.  From there, the fur recedes and she stands to walk up-right and becomes a fully clothed woman again.  She looks down at the dragon lying helpless on the beach.  "Sorry 'bout dat.  You startled me."

With the scene unfolding down below, a surge of adrenaline course through Toben.

"Wingfang!"

Not knowing whether or not Windfang, a marvel of a creature and their only ride home, was alive or dead, he leaps from the edge of the balcony.

Immediately, a large pair of white feathered wings sprout from his back and carry him out across the water towards Windfang and Vitalya. Without a single beat of the wings, he glides over fifty yards to the edge of the shore and touches down next the felled dragon. The wings fold up and rest on his back as he reaches down to check Windfang's vitals. He glares up at the human form of Vitalya. "None of this was necessary, you know."

He returns his attention back to Windfang.

Toben casts Wings of Nestael as he leaps from the balcony.
He then attempts a healing check on Windfang to assess his condition.

Vitalya frowns and looks like she is about to retort, but then her visage softens.  "I am truly sorry if I hurt your friend.  Please understand from my view.  I am in supposedly empty city.  I meet two strangers, normal enough, and am having pleasant conversation when large cat with wings pokes head in.  Add to that, ancient stories of evil dragons.  My instincts are strong and I reacted.  By ze time I realize he means no harm, he grabs me and takes me to air.  I bonked him and he takes dive."  She grins and continues.  "But I drag wet cat-dragon out of lake for you."

In agreement with her words, Windfang does not seem to be injured severely anywhere, just knocked out.

"Yes, the dangers of acting on impulse."

Toben stands back up, wings still furled up on his back. "Seems like he should be fine, a bit of a glass jaw though." He walks over to Vitalya. "We didn't expect to find anyone here either. We assumed the ruins were abandoned. What brought you out here? Are you here by yourself?"

Given the amount of times Ryland has been slapped by the opposite sex, he elects to remain silent for the time being, choosing to instead nod or give quiet Mhmm's. Diffusing tense situations has never been his strong point either way, as he has a tendency to inadvertently cause them and slip away under threat of bodily harm.

Windfang wakes groggily, and sits up.  He sees Vitalya over next to the water and grins.  "Oy, you 'it hard.  Pleased ta meet ya!"

Toben grins wryly. "No hard feeling then, eh? Next time, try to pick your fights more wisely. I might not be here to bail you out", he says in a rather playful tone knowing full well Windfang could dispatch him with relative ease.

"Ze pleasure is mine, dragon."  She winks at Ryland.  "I have plenty fish if you are hungry.  Come, we make fire."  She brushes past Ryland making more than a little contact and knocking him gently aside.

Windfang perks up at the mention of fish and follows.

Vitalya leads the group to a large pit fire near the center of the city.  There she begins to spit about sixty fish on the large fire.  There are a hundred more that she offers to Windfang raw.

Windfang looks at the pile of fish and shakes his head.  "Thanks, girl, but I prefer mine cooked, too.  No worries, though."  He takes a short breath and breathes out a tiny yellow flame flash cooking the fish.  Then he buries his muzzle in them and starts chowing down.

The feathery wings rescind into his back as they make their way to the campfire.

Toben pulls some jerky from seemingly nowhere and takes a bite. "Good, now that we're all friends again, tell me about that bear shape magic trick of yours. What exactly are you?" He asks out of genuine curiosity.

"I am Beorning, what you would call skin-changer, descendants of patriarch Beorn.  We have ability to change into bear or great bear as needed."

Toben nods appreciatively. "I wish I could say that I've now seen it all, but that would be a bit naive, wouldn't it?"

"So, what brought you out here?" He asks, taking another bite of jerky.

"Rivendell is quiet.  I come here to think.  Dark forces leave alone as protected by lingering elfin magic.  Soon I think zey overrun.  Wanted to enjoy swim and peace one last time before Rivendell gone."

Toben's ears perk up when she mentions a potential siege on Rivendell. "Dark forces? Like what exactly? Why do you think they'd come here?"

"Have you not seen de orcs and goblins of ancient times creeping about?  Dey hate dis place.  They would see it destroyed now that no elfs are here to defend."  She smacks her giant bear-claw club in her hand with a sharp crack.  "My people hunt dem, but dey are many and live in de mountain caves.  We only hunt between mountains and Mirkwood."

Ryland picks at his nails. "Seen them. Fought them. Killed a few. Say, if your people hunt them, and the rest of the world that hasn't gone crazy stands against them, why the solitude?".

"Do you ask dis question of me or of my people?"

"Both i suppose. When the world turns upside down, we all need allies".

"I sought solitude dis day to pray for sign on how to proceed against dis enemy.  We have left rest of world alone because men fear us.  We would not give dem reason to attack us and die needlessly.  Like dwarves, at end of tird age, we left world to men.  Dey mess it up, but we left alone so we let dem.  Now, fourth age come.  Stars fall and evil rises.  Can no longer leave men to mess up.  Dey need guide and help.  Like my great grand sire, Beorn, we will guide heroes through dark places and help vanquish evil."

Toben raises an eyebrow and glances over to Ryland. “Well, this ought to be interesting.”

He looks back over to Vitalya. “If it’s a sign you’re looking for, then perhaps you’ve found it. My companions and I have been fighting back the darkness for months now and we’re looking to turn the tide in our favor.”

"I had same thought, my friend.  I will gather my people and prepare for war.  Where should we go, though?  Where is war front?"

Toben thinks for a moment, then sighs. "Sadly, the war front gets more broad with each passing week. However, you might want to seek out Duke Therion's keep to the east. He's a good man and fights with a passion against the coming darkness. If you decide to head that way, let him know that I sent you. The more allies we can rally, the better chance we'll have."

"We have a rare opportunity to shift the balance of power in our favor and it requires some rather odd items. You mentioned something earlier about the Shire folk, did you happen to trade anything with them? We're looking for a figurine or carving of sorts, that's of hobbit craft."

"Shire is to west.  Due west.  You will find ruins of human town called Bree.  Keep going.  Cross Branduin river and not much farther is Shire.  Hobbit folk live there.  Dey don't trust strangers, though.  Especially 'big folk'.  Be careful and go slow.  If dey catch you sneaking, dey will kill you and den ask questions."  She smiles happily as she describes them and their vicious xenophobia.

"Small folk standing in the way of success? Certainty of death? What are we waiting for? After all, we have a dragon on our side who's only weakness is dire bears" he says with a grin, hoping to not lose an arm to Windfang.

"In all seriousness though, Vitalya.. safe travels my new friend, to you and to your people".

"Hmm, well, if they're that twitchy, swooping in on the back of a dragon may be a bit more than they can handle. We might need to have Windfang drop of us a bit further out. Bree was it? That might be a decent place to start our trek to the Shire."

Toben, once again, takes in the scenery. "We may not have found our elven artifact, but an ally clan of bear folk is nothing to sneeze at. Give my best to Duke Therion, if you head that way."

"Of course."  Vitalya stands and reaches out for Ryland, pulling him into a steel-banded hug.  She holds it a bit longer than necessary, then turns to Toben.  "I leave immediately for clan.  We should reach duchies in four days.  Pleasure to meet you both."  She shakes Toben's hand.

Then she looks at Windfang.  "I am sorry if I hurt you.  It was pleasure meeting nice dragon, too.  Take good care of my new cublings, Windfang, or we wrestle again when next we meet."

"Oh, one more thing. How many should the Duke expect?"

"Depends.  If Kurlia had her cubs, probably near four thousand."

Toben's eyes go wide at the number. "Wow, I'm sure that will be a welcome sight. Safe travels to you and your kin."

Windfang laughs.  "No worries, luv.  A good roll in the hay now and then keeps the blood flowin'.  You travel safe as well.  I look forward to meein' the rest of your kin in th' near future."

Vitalya gathers her things and leaves.

Windfang turns back to the humans.  "We stayin' the night here, fellas, or headin' right out?"

"How long do you think it'd take to get to this Bree place she mentioned?"

The dragon shrugs.  "I dunno, mate.  Could be ten minutes, could be several hours.  I'm not familiar with the town and don't know these parts nearly as well as the Heath."

"You and I have two entirely different definitions of taking a roll in the hay.. but I digress. I saw we press forward. We have a little light yet left to burn, and a burning maiar who needs saving. Besides" says Ryland with a smirk "I've done some of my very best work in the dark".

"I'm fine with that, but I need to send a message before we go."

Toben walks over to one of the small side tables, one with little to no items on top, and pulls out a writing quill. As if using the table top like a piece of parchment, he begins writing.

Duke Therion,
Found new allies. Approximately 4000 in number.
Vitalya, of clan Beorn, will arrive within 4 to 5 days.
They are true Beornings, as witnessed by myself, and will
prove to be a powerful force against the darkness.
Toben

Once finished with his message, the words dissolve into the stone and vanish from sight. He puts his quill away and looks back to Ryland. "Alright then, let's get moving."

Toben activates the spell with the erasure trigger of 24 hours. After that time, the receiving stone will clear itself.

Windfang allows the two men to climb aboard then launches into the air.  He climbs for only a minute or so to an altitude that provides a wide view of the land below without being so high that no details are available.  He flies down out of the Misty Mountains and soon finds an old, unused road so overgrown with vegetation that it would not be visible from the ground.  Only the telltale signs such as the ruins of a huge bridge let the three know they might be on the right track.

By the time they find the ruins of Bree, they had crossed two major rivers and seen nothing but wild growth and local fauna, which runs at the sight of the dragon.

The town is barely recognizable as such.  There are few indications of buildings, a stone foundation here, a low wall or stone hearth there.  Anything less durable such as wood, is long crumbled to dust.  The village at one time was rather larger, almost a city.  There are no signs of battle and no indication why the town dried up and blew away in the winds of time.

Windfang lands in the center of town by the remnants of an old, inactive fountain filled with stagnant water from a rain shower a week gone.  "Well mates, I'm fairly certain this is Bree."

Toben hops down and scans the surrounding area. "I wonder what happened here."

Ferb hops out of Toben's pack and scampers away to explore a bit and stretch his legs from the flight.

"I doubt we'll find much of value here, but it can't hurt to look around anyway. Either way, we'll need to find some shelter to make camp."

Ryland hops down and gives a stretch of his back. "No idea here. I haven't the foggiest as to why it didn't survive the tests of time. He bends down and picks up a rock, and casually chucks it hard to the west. "I doubt we'll find much in the way of shelter here, unless we can stumble upon an old cellar or basement that isn't completely flooded out with muck and bad water"

There is indeed little to be had in the way of shelter.  However, there is enough stone wall in what was probably an inn to provide a wind break and build a campfire.  Windfang sends out a spurt of flame to light the wood gathered by the other two.  A hot meal is had, though Windfang flies north and a little back east to hunt for himself.  He actually brings back a deer to share after a short time, even helping to dress it there at the camp.

"I'll make this my temporary lair while you make contact with th' Shirefolk.  How long should I wait before I come rescue you?"  He grins at his not-joke.

Toben pokes at the fire a little while he thinks. "Hard to say. There's no telling how many days travel the Shire is, but I'd like to keep you close just in case."

A few moments later, Ferb scampers back from out of the darkness, done with his exploring. Toben leans in and whispers something to his familiar who dooks and chirps in confirmation. "How do you feel about me leaving Ferb with you? Should something go wrong and need extraction, he could let you know."

"No worries at all, mate.  Me and th' little guy'll find something to do 'round 'ere."

"Be mindful of the ferret, he's shifty" says Ryland, tightening the straps of his pack and satchel. He looks over at Toben and says "Let's be off then".

"Off? The sun will be down in a couple hours. You don't think it wise to get moving in the morning?"

"Normally I'd agree with camping for the night, but in this instance, I fear we don't have the luxury of time. Del made it abundantly clear that she can feel Melkor's grasp tightening, and we're already a day in to this journey with nothing to show for it".

Toben shrugs. "You're right, however, I don't have a good way of getting around in the dark. I'll follow your lead."

Ryland gives Toben a look. "We know magic" he says, rather deadpan. "At any rate, the herbits or however you pronounce their name -I keep forgetting- will think we're Eru in the flesh if we show up glowing like the moon and surrounded by dancing lights".

"Either that, or they'll stab us to death thinking we're the harbingers of doom. People don't take kindly to things they don't understand. I would imagine these hobbits are no different."

Ryland allows a few dancing lights to apparate around him. "Then we educate them".

No longer willing to argue, Toben sighs and moves forward. "Alright, let's go."

The two make their way out of Bree moving west for a number of miles before encountering a large river.  A bridge spans across, one that looks sturdy enough, but the rough growth on both sides show it to be untraveled for a long time.  That seems consistent with the state of Bree and the relative wild the two encountered between.

{Time of day: 2am
Roll Perception - DC 21}

Toben continues walking down the path towards the bridge, oblivious to much else around him given the darkness.

21:57, Yesterday: Toben Ironsprings rolled 14 using 1d20+9.  Perception check.

Much like Toben, Ryland continues along unaware of his surroundings.

17:20, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 4 using 1d20+1.  perception

The two men cross the bridge with little issue, but the brush on the other side is thick and untraveled.  Trees have grown up where road once had been.  As they walk and talk in low voices, the trees rustle to the right.  It is the only warning as a huge chunk of wood sweeps out of the night and slams into Toben's chest
{15 DMG}.  {Reflex DC 15 to stay on your feet.}

The club is attached to a meaty arm that materializes just in front of a more than seven foot, grey-skinned, lumbering humanoid.
{Ryland - Bardic Knowledge DC 20 to know what this is}.

At the moment, this seems to be the only one.  It ignores Toben and looks at Ryland as if contemplating what kind of threat he might be.

{20:33, Today: Eru, for the NPC Monster, rolled 27 using 1d20+8.  Attack vs Toben.
20:35, Today: Eru, for the NPC Monster, rolled 15 using 2d8+7.  Damage vs Toben.}

Toben crumples to the ground like a rag doll. He rolls over, grabbing at his chest trying to catch the wind that had been knocked out of him. All he can manage to gasp is "Troll..."

20:00, Today: Toben Ironsprings rolled 9 using 1d20+6.  reflex save.

This message was last edited by the player at 02:06, Sun 04 Mar 2018.

"You've done it now you overgrown coin purse. Just wait til our fourth man shows up" says Ryland as he steps forward and places a foot over Toben to stand over him, while drawing his rapier.

18:57, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 15 using 1d20+13.  bluff roll -_-
Ryland uses dodge against troll | +1 to AC vs target
Ryland uses mobility against troll | +4 to AC vs AoO when moving in or out of a threatened square

The ogre hears Ryland's threat and looks around.  Then he looks back at Ryland and tries to count how many he faces and then four.  The process is too much for him and he has to set down his club to use his fingers.  It leans against his leg, easy access, though.

{20:46, Today: Eru, for the NPC Ogre, rolled 12 using 1d20.  Sense Motive.
Intelligence = 6

Ryland
Ogre - must use move to regain control of weapon
Toben - prone but covered}
This message was last updated by the GM at 00:56, Wed 07 Mar 2018.

Ryland begins to whistle, a slow and haunting melody while sheathing his rapier. As he whistles, the troll stops attempting amateur calculus by his kin's standards, and is come over by a sort of trance. He fixes his gaze on Ryland, while relaxing his posture. In keeping time with his own tune, Ryland shifts to humming his tune, and eventually a low and soft song.

Lo there now
In darkness we wait
In darkness return
To hide from the day

We find ourselves lost
We don't know our way
The hobbits we seek
In the Shire they lay

Do show us how now
To get there with haste
And Toben get up
Don't blow this, ok?

Ryland uses Bardic Music: Fascinate on the troll [DC 23], followed up with Bardic Music: Suggestion [DC 19], to get the troll to direct them and give them information

Toben lazily rolls back behind Ryland and attempts to catch his breath as he stands up. "What's gotten into him? Smacks the fool out of me then sets his club down?"

Ryland attempts to answer Toben without breaking his gaze from the troll.

"He's under my control
that's what my magic be
and so long as I drone
my trick he cannot see

So take care in your tone
and let not him see danger
for he will grab his club
of which you are no stranger

Now then my new found friend
we should all play nice
just point to the hobbits den
and leave into the night"

{Fascinated}

"I no know where hobbit home be, but there are lots behind that tree."

At that moment, six feathered darts appear in the troll's neck.  He drops like a mountain shaking the ground.

It's at that moment that you both feel slight pricks in your necks.

{Roll Fortitude}
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:03, Wed 07 Mar 2018.

Toben's hand snaps up to his neck as if swatting at a mosquito. Before the sting of contact can even register, his eyes begin to droop and he slumps back to the ground.

19:05, Today: Toben Ironsprings rolled 15 using 1d20+4.  Fort save.

Ryland feels the sting enter his neck. He waits for only a second to see Toben drop to the ground, before realizing something is off with whatever is in his neck. He lets his legs drop out from underneath him, and crumples to a heap.. still conscious and feigning being out.

20:06, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 21 using 1d20+3.  fort save
Take 10 to bluff for 23

From out of the trees emerge eight small figures.  They look like children at first, lithe and energetic.  One even skips about like a child at play.  However, they are precise in their movements.  Three of them stab the troll in the throat and open up a new smile with quick slices.  The troll wakes, holds its throat, and dies as it rapidly bleeds out.

Two others move over to Toben, pulling out thin cords of some unknown material.  They start to bind him.   The last three approach Ryland with the same kind of cords.

While they work, they speak to one another in hushed, almost child-like voices.

"What are men doing this far west?"

"I don't know.  Hurry up and bind them.  We can question them back at the Shirelock."

"The troll is dead.  It's pockets empty."

"Search the men.  Take their things as well."

"This one is bound.  He has a lot of strange things in his pockets."

"What about the other one?"

"Ooh, he likes music!"

"Maybe we can get him to entertain us?"

"Maybe.  I don't know if he'll play if he learns we are just going to kill him."

"Why not kill him now?"

"We have to find out why they're here first."

"News from the outside."

"So kill one of them and question the other."

"No, they may have different information from different parts of the world."

"Oh, that's smart.  Okay, we'll take them both to the Shirelock and kill them later."

"Yes, kill them later.  Get them on the wagon now."

With no response from their prey, the little ones drag the two tied bodies to a wagon hidden not far away.  The cords are thin but very strong and the material is not placeable currently.

Loaded on to the wagon, a team of two ponies pulls the group along the road.  Travel is slow and there is off key humming that dies out and then starts up again, almost as if they are wanting to sing or perform, but then realize they are bad at it and stop, only to start back up again not long after.

When the sun rises, the wagon stops and the little people eat.  They check their prisoners, but offer no food or water.  No sooner have they stopped, then they start up again.

An hour later, a call goes out.  "Second breakfast!"  The creatures do not stop, but everyone pulls out food and eats away.  The trip proceeds this way through the day.  There are frequent meals.  Brunch, lunch, "dinner", and eventually supper and a late night snack.

By the end of the first full day of travel, Toben is feeling groggy but is coherent.  Ryland will see him stirring.

Toben tries to sit up slowly while blinking away the cobwebs. He glances over at Ryland to see more than more copy of him bouncing to and fro. "Where are we? What happened?" he asks quietly.

"It would seem our ankle biting hobbit friends found us first. They used some sort of primitive method to knock us out, and bound us. They said we're headed to the Shirelock. They killed the troll and plan to kill us once we're questioned. Also, the little runts stole all our things. I have a plan, but now isn't the time for it. For now, we just have to ride in the back of this smelly cart and listen to that god awful, out of key racket. I mean honesty, I've been tied up before -both for good and bad reasons- but that out of tune noise is the worst torture of all". Ryland lays in his spot, visibly annoyed by whomever is humming.

The wagon pulls to a stop well into the night after the second day.  Large hills rise up around the wagon and the weather is cooler here.  Earlier that morning, the hobbits had discovered their prisoners awake and fed them well all day long.  Fruits, nuts, vegetables and the like for breakfast, heartier fare of breads and meats for lunch, and a wider mixture of all for super.  Water was all that they offered to drink.  While the hobbits themselves stopped for only these three meals, they also ate far more often akin to the day before.

Now that night had well come, they tapped the two men on the shoulder.  "Alright, up y' go.  Easy now.  Off the edge of the wagon."

Ryland is the first to rise, not having suffered the ill effects and after effects of the tranquilizers. As he shuffles forward, he remarks "Say, which one of you was that I heard humming earlier? Mighty fine tune if you ask me, and I know my music".

The hobbits all look around at each other confused.  "We were all taking a crack at it.  You thought it was good?"  Their tone and faces indicate they think Ryland is tone deaf.

"Well, what I mean to say, is that it had the substance needed to truly become virtuoso one day. A little tweaking here and there, and I'd say folk for miles around would flock to hear it. Picture it now my new friends. A hearth with a roaring fire, mugs of ale all around. Roasted mutton by the pound on every table, and every bench and stool filled with hobbits and kin. And there you all are, in your best dress, delivering a melody that will go down in the history books". Ryland pauses for a moment, hoping his words sink in.

"I mean.. that's to say that you'd be willing to take on a teacher. Music is my life, and there isn't a student alive who can't be taught something or another".

"Like the stories of old."

"Like the old days when we were hobbits!"

"Quiet.  The Mayorester will decide."

One of the hobbits - for so they likely are to the Men - speaks up over the others.  He seems to be leader of this little band.  "We appreciate your offer.  We will take it under advisement.  For now, you need to get off of the wagon.  Next time, I won't ask."  His face transitions from mildly pleasant to something more fierce and deadly sounding at the last.

Toben scoots himself toward the edge of the wagon and hops off. "Like the old days when you were hobbits? What do you call yourselves now?"

Ryland carefully eases himself off the wagon.

"Enough talk now.  Into the Shirelock."  The leader motions for the two men to head into what looks like an overgrown cave.  Once inside, it reveals itself to be a prison.  There are cells  with bars.  Skeletal remains of trolls, tusked humanoids, and even a hobbit-sized skeleton populate the prison.  It has been some time since anything died in here, though as nothing is in the midst of decay.

The hobbits - or whatever they call themselves now - politely open the door to a cage and allow both men to enter the same cell.  "We will keep your things until such time as it is decided what to do with you.  Be aware, the Shirelock can be closed in several different manners to keep you locked up.  Not the least of which is a gas that will knock you out like our darts, but without the pleasant waking you had before.  The moment our guard thinks you are trying anything, the Shirelock will show you where it got its name."

"We have sent word to the Mayorester.  He will decide your fate for trespassing into Direling lands.  He will be here in an hour."

Toben glances over to Ryland and mouths the word "Direlings?"

Ryland gives a casual shrug to Toben, as he looks over his fingernails, picking out any dirt underneath them.

"Fine and well my good fellow. We won't cause you any trouble. It's not in our nature of course".

The Direlings disappear from view and the Shirelock grows dark.

Time passes, though it doesn't feel like too long, maybe an hour or thereabouts.  Voices come again from the outside, then a child-like figure enters the prison.  He is slightly taller than the rest, but dressed in impressive leather armor.  The armor is silent and non-reflective dark grey, the color of shadows in the night.  His hair is curly and dark brown, kept short against his head.

"Are these them?" his voice is low and soft, dangerous as a crouching cat.

"Yes, Mayorester."

"Leave us."

The other Direlings scramble out of the prison leaving the three alone and in shadow.  "I am Harrow Took, Mayorester of the Shirelands.  Tell me who you are, what you are doing here, and how you got here."

Ryland gives a polite bow before speaking. "I am Ryland Vance of Gondor, and my cohort here is Toben Ironsprings of.. well, some backwater town. We are passing through your lands on an errand to help a friend in dire times. She is quite sick, and we were informed that we needed to obtain certain items to cure her. The information we received pointed us in this direction of the world, though at the time we knew not that it was still inhabited, and certainly not that we'd be treated ill as trespassers. Though, no hard feelings. These are trying times, and the world we live in is quite unpredictable".

"What items are you seeking?"  Harrow seems contemplative, still and giving nothing away.  He would be a formidable poker opponent.

"A chalice of elven make, from the first age. The blood of an Ulairi -which we have no idea what an Ulairi even is-. The tear of an evil being turning good. And the last of these items is a carving of hobbit craftsmanship, Master Took. We expexted to find ruins in this part of the world, as we were never informed these lands are still inhabited. Unfortunately, we seem to be running this venture on limited and vague information. And so here we are now, wrapped up in what I hope can be viewed as a misunderstanding"

The Direling digs in his pocket and pulls out a little wooden figurine.  It looks vaguely feminine.  "You are going to the Grey Havens?  If you take me with you, you can have this.  I carved it myself.  If not, then I will let the others carry out our law and you will be executed."

{Sense Motive checks, please.  DC 14 base, but higher is better.}

"If the Grey Havens is what you call the area, then of course Master Took. The more the merrier in this expedition, and even more so in avoiding the same kind of troubles we've accidentally landed ourselves in here. I must express that my colleague and I are once again truly apologetic about all of this, in our naivete to your laws and customs".

22:45, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 20 using 1d20+1.  sense motive vs. shifty halfling
This message was last edited by the player at 04:14, Sun 11 Mar 2018.

Harrow tosses the figurine in the air slightly then catches it before placing it back in his chest pocket.  "I'll be waiting outside.  Slip your bonds and join me in ten if you want to eat.  The Shirelock closes itself in thirteen minutes and won't open again until morning."  He leaves the door to the cell open but does not loosen the rope bonds around either man's hands or feet.

{Escape Artist check - DC 16}

Ryland quickly shimmies his hands from their bonds, and then sets about freeing Toben from his.

23:14, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 16 using 1d20+4.  Escape artist check

Toben's eyes dart back and forth between Ryland and Harrow, but being on the cusp of freedom says nothing and wiggles out of his bonds.

"Let's be off then. I've never been fond of the decor in stockades".

The two men emerge with the Direlings all sitting around a hastily constructed camp.  A second wagon with provisions rests next to the first while the horses graze.  Harrow Took sits at the small fire where some kind of purplish black meat roasts on a spit.  He is carving a new block of wood.  Every now and again, another of the Direlings turns the spit and the meat will crackle anew.

"Come, sit.  We will eat before taking off on our journey.  The Grey Havens are a month from here and the journey treacherous."  Harrow points to a stump near the fire.  The smell of the meat is actually quite savory but has an odd, almost nutty quality to it.  "Ryland, entertain us with a song or a story."  He motions and one of the Direlings returns the two men's belongings.

Toben raises an eyebrow. "A month you say?" He glances over to Ryland, "We might need to pick up the pace a bit."

"Hmm, yes Toben, I believe we do need to. I think you and I may know a few ways to quicken our stride once we set out on the open road. But for now.." he says, taking his banjo. He gently checks the tuning of the strings, and sets about with a selection of songs that are lively, but not fast, while gauging the reaction of his crowd.

The Direlings listen with rapt attention but do not move from their spots.  They seem to be studying Ryland and his music like a wizard might study his spellbook.

When the bard finishes his third song, Harrow claps in a manner that suggests he is doing so because that is the thing to do, not because he is truly appreciative.  The other Direlings join in the clapping, but theirs is equally mechanical.

"Well, let's get some sleep.  Dawn will come soon enough and we need to get moving.  Rest well.  You have my word as Mayorester no harm will come to you."

He points to two bedrolls in the second wagon laid out for the two men to sleep.  The bed of the wagon is short so your feet will likely hang off, especially Toben's nearly 6 foot frame, but otherwise it looks comfortable enough.

"For how long", he mutters to himself as he tries to cram himself into the tiny bed.

He talks quietly to Ryland before calling it a night. "You know, I'm betting we have days, maybe weeks before our window closes. A month, one way..." his voice trails off as he just shakes his head.

Ryland whispers back in the quietest voice he can muster. "Once we get on the road, and have just the one with us, you have Ferb call Windfang. I'm betting this Took fellow wont weigh enough to slow us down. Or even better, he realizes he's out ranked in every way possible, and just hands over the carving. I don't want it to come to petty thuggery, but I'm also not going to spend the trip being held hostage by folk who stab first and ask questions second. He either plays by our rules, or we send him packing".

"If you got this, I'll play along, but the moment this gets out of hand... we're out of here." He makes a gesture with both hands as if to say *poof*.

As the two drift off to sleep, somewhere in the back of their minds, they realize that the Shirelock never 'closed'.

When the two wake in the morning, after a surprisingly deep sleep, they realize they are already moving.  Harrow sits in the front of the wagon, silent.  Once he realizes the two passengers are awake, he tosses a couple of packs of wrapped travel food into the back.  "This one's on me, boys.  Settle in.  It's a long way to the Grey Havens."

The packs contain flatbread, cheese, and jerked meat along with a couple of flat, green things that look like fruit...maybe.  None of the other Direlings seem to be around once the two sit up and see.  Instead, rolling hills, stands of trees, really beautiful open country spreads out to all sides of the barely traveled road.

Toben grabs the pack of food and glances over to Ryland. "Where is everyone else?"

"They went back east to their patrols."  He does not turn around or even glance behind.  Instead, Harrow leans back comfortably in his seat and lets the ponies travel at their own pace.  They seem to know the road and plod along at a solid, but sedate pace.

Ryland looks at Toben and nods, and silently mouths "Do it".

Toben nods and closes his eye. He concentrates for a moment and then looks back over to Ryland. "We should ready ourselves for the adventure ahead then."

"Indeed". Turning his attention back to their driver, Ryland inquires "Any statutes of limitations or rules of engagement you'd like us to know about?".

Harrow looks back and pulls the wagon over.  "Our deal was as simple as they come, Master Vance.  You take me with you to the Grey Havens and I give you the carving.  The statute of limitation for that would be if you turned aside from going to the Grey Havens before we arrived or attempted to leave me behind along the way.  As for rules of engagement, we watch each other's backs, kill anything that attacks us, and do what we are going there to do.  You are looking for something elfin, and I have my purpose, which is none of your business."

He narrows his eyes and frowns.  "Are you intent on betraying me so soon?"

There is a whoosh of wings overhead, and the Direling looks up.

Toben opens his mouth, ready to say something, but the beating of wings overhead holds his tongue. He looks up to find the mighty Windfang closing in.

"Easy now, don't move a muscle." He warns the direling.

Ryland grins. "Betray you, Master Took? Nonsense. I've simply leveled the playing field is all. Now Toben and I are no longer at your mercy, and should you continue to prove an excellent travelling companion, you won't be at ours. Though I really should reiterate, we never meant you and your kin any harm as we passed through, and we still don't. I'd say if anything, from this point on... think of us as business partners in a joint venture of mutual interest, hmm?".

Harrow's eyes narrow and he starts to reach for a dagger as Ryland speaks.  The rush of wings and the sight of a large golden-yellow dragon (with a ferret riding on it's neck) stays the action.  "Wha...?"

"G'day mate.  M'name's Windfang and this 'ere's m'friend, Ferb.  Fancy a ride to the Grey Havens?"

The dragon lands with all the grace of a cat and prances up to within twenty yards of the wagon before plopping down on the ground, sending poofs of dust and debris up into the air from all sides.  He gives Harrow and the others a big, fang-filled grin.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:13, Fri 23 Mar 2018.

"I..."  The Direling remains motionless in the front seat of the wagon.

Toben grins. "Our ride's here." He glances over to the speechless direling and observes the expression on his face. "You didn't expect we walked all this way from Rivendell, did you?"

"I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of time", he says as he hops off the wagon and makes his way over to Windfang.

He greets the majestic dragon as he passes by to collect Ferb. "Good to see you again, friend. I appreciate your timely arrival."

Ryland motions towards Windfang. "After you, Master Took. I assure you, our good friend Windfang here is polite company and doesn't chew on his passengers".

Instead of climbing aboard, Harrow suddenly darts from the wagon and heads for the trees.

Before he gets three steps, Windfang leaps for him and pins him under a claw.  "Now, now, mate.  We don't have time for a game a tag."  The dragons looks over at Ryland and Toben.  "Gear up, mates, and climb aboard.  I'll carry 'im until he decides to behave."

Ryland sighs and strides over to the pinned down direling. He kneels next to him, and carefully removes Harrow's dagger. "I'm not taking this to threaten you. I'm taking this for what I hope to be a short time, in which you understand we are no threat to you. We could have just as easily called for Windfang and then had him eat you. Think on that, Master Took. Ryland rifles through Harrow's pockets, waist, belt, sleeves, and boots as well, searching for any other weapons he may be hiding. "Thank you Windfang. And good to see you".

Toben steps up and climbs up on Windfang's back. "All set here."

Ryland hops aboard as well.

Windfang leaps into the air, Harrow Took in his claw.  He spirals upward for a bit, then heads west.  An hour into the flight, the dragon passes over a blasted land of dried out trees, no grass, and dirt mounds.  Something used to live there.  The remains of farmer's fences, wagon wheels, and even a few scattered building ruins are scattered about.  The deadness continues to the west interminably and spreads further north and south as the dragon flies.

Harrows surprises the two Men by climbing out of the dragon's claw and up to his back.  He finds a spot just behind Toben and catches his breath.  Then he looks down at the blasted area.  "The Shire, or it used to be.  Hasn't been anything living there for four hundred years.  Not since the Vile'eks came."

Harrow's voice seems dead, emotionless, but he shudders slightly as he speaks.

"Vile'eks? What manner of creature might that be?"

"Vile'eks are what we call 'em.  A wide assortment of creatures and whatnot.  They take strange shapes, shapes out of nightmares.  All wings and fangs, and odd-placed eyes.  You have to watch for how they sense you and keep clear of that sense.  If they see you, or hear you, dependin', then they hunt you in packs.  Some are big though, and the others are afraid of them.  Those?  Those wait, hid until it's too late.  Most of 'em are grey all over, but some 're black or pale white."

Ryland asks Toben "Could these Vile'eks be the Ulairi we're hunting?".

Toben shrugs. "No telling. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if you, I, or Harrow Took here was considered an Ulairi." He looks straight over to Ryland. "Did we even get a straight answer as to what an Ulairi is?"

"I am unfamiliar with that term.  It sounds...elfish."

Ryland taps a finger to his chin. "Come to think of it, it certainly does". Thought he thinks on the word, nothing comes to him.

"Elven? I suppose, but elven for what? Windfang, have you heard of anything like that?"

"I've never met an elf, mate.  I'm not that old.  They was long gone before I ever hatched.  Same is true for most of me kin in the Heath.  None of us have ever heard elfish spoken, though we certainly have items of elfish writ.  Nothing I recall in those about Ulairi, but the word has a dark ring to it."

As he flies further west, six four-legged things about the size of a man scamper through the underbrush below.  They are pale in color, hairless and gaunt.  It is difficult to get a good look at their heads, but it seems from this height as if they don't have one, just really long necks that simply end.  There are no tails either, but neither do they have rear ends like a human.  Instead, they remind one more of a dog's hind quarters.

Whatever they are, they are fast and good at staying hidden.  Only glimpses of them are caught.  "Want me to take a closer look?"

"No!"  Harrow sounds afraid, but controls his voice after a moment.  "No.  Those are Vile'ek G'thauk, scavengers and scouts that fill the 'Eklands between what was once the Shire and the Grey Havens.  If we get closer, they could leap from the trees before we knew it and we'd be bourne to the ground and..."  He shivers, but doesn't complete his sentence.

This message was deleted by the player at 02:24, Sat 31 Mar 2018.

"So those are part of the pack of.. things? The ones who brought harm to your people?".

Harrow nods.  "That is one of several kinds I'm aware of.  That was long ago.  They only travel in the 'Eklands.  They will not set foot on normal ground until the corruption of the Eklands spreads.  We moved out and live on the periphery now.  Three hundred years we've been gone from the Shire.  It hasn't been too bad, but in the last seven years, we've started facing trolls, goblins, and other dark creatures at night.  The dark things laughed at the name 'Hobbit' until we began killing them in sufficient numbers.  Now they call us Direlings.  We liked the name, so we took it as our own."  He grins darkly at his own joke.

"We'd rather face the dark things of the old world than the Vile'eks.  Even the trolls won't mess with them.  They are not of the same evil.  Goblins and orcs will crunch your bones and chew your flesh.  Vile'eks steal your soul until you become one of them."
This message was last updated by the player at 03:10, Sat 31 Mar 2018.

Ryland shudders. "Have you been successful in killing any of them? Surely they have to have some sort of weakness?".

"How much area has this darkness spread to? The 'Eklands, as you call them."

Harrow shakes his head.  "Narry a one.  Not in any reports I've read or ledger books of our retreat from generations past.  We...we don't have stories any more, so there may be some victories lost in the telling.  Once we started recording the ledgers, though, we have never recorded a single victory against a Vile'ek.  They cannot be killed with our weapons.  We have better success against trolls and the like.

The Eklands spread wider north and south the further west you go.  From the tip you saw east of what was the Shire, it spreads about five miles north and south for every ten you go west.  Where we are now, the Westmarch, it extends to the Branduin River.  To the north...it goes all the way to the Forochel."

Below, the area is dotted with barren hills and desiccated skeletons of trees.  An old beaten road passes nearly straight through the hills toward an open area separating the Westmarch from another set of hills, these higher and set against a series of mountains as their backdrop.  The mountains have a break in them straight ahead, though, a wide gap that is shrouded in thick clouds miles above Windfang's altitude stretching all the way to the ground.

Ryland stares down at the desolate land below. "All the more reason for us to be allies Master Harrow, rather than distant partners for a time".

Windfang continues over the dark territory, at last arriving at a vast ocean.  The two mountain ranges, one to the north and one to the south, come together at a broad point.  There, a wide bay converges as well, the ruins of a large elfin city at the center of it all.

As the dragon descends, the air grows thick and ominous.  A light fog hangs perpetually dampening sound and making sight difficult over long distances.  Shadows move in the dim, scattered light - shadows that cannot be accounted for due to the non-existant wind.

There are tall buildings the spiral upwards gracefully, but they seem fragile and hollow now, though there is nothing of breakage showing in them.  A large dock area is wide enough for landings and taking off of a dragon amidst all the narrow buildings.  The city wraps around the bay as if attempting to devour the water.

There are also places outside the city to land, but the walls will slow down ingress.

"Where do I land, mates?"

Toben gestures down toward the large open area by the docks. "That looks as safe as any. Are you able to pick up any signs of life down there?"

"I don't know what ya mean about 'pickin' up signs a life', mate, but I don't see or hear anathin' down in that soup."  Windfang glides down in a gentle circle and lands at the edge of the docks on solid stone.  He crouches down, facing the city proper as he waits for everyone to disembark.

Harrow scrambles off first.  He crouches low, his blades drawn as he peers through the mirk.  "There is no life here in this city."  His voice is a whisper.  The Direling's eyes dart here and there frantically looking for dnager.

Ryland calmly slides off of Windfang. He takes a few steps forward until he's abreast with Harrow. Resting a hand on the hilt of his rapier, he remarks "What a dreadful looking place indeed"

Toben hops off Windfang's back and adjusts all his gear appropriately. "Alright then, let's keep our wits about us."

"Somethin's not-" the dragon, speaking from behind the others who face the city, is abruptly cut off.  There is a tremendous splash.  By the time the three humanoids turn, all they see are incredibly massive tentacles swarming around the dragon, pulling him under the water.  He fights back with tooth and claw, but he is thoroughly entangled by a much larger foe.  In seconds he is pulled under the water.

Harrow squeaks in fear and slowly backs away from the water.  "We're too close.  Too close to the water.  Let's go before it gets us too!"  As if summoned, more tentacles rise slowly from the water, slithering like certain death toward the docks and the heroes.  There are exactly three of them.

"Wingfang!" yells Ryland in surprise. Without missing a beat, he places a hand on his chest and begins chanting. A thick, greasy sheen forms over his body in an instant.

Ryland casts grease, self, clothing/armor

Unnaturally calm given the situation, Toben reaches into his bottomless pouch and pulls out a brilliant blue gem. Even in the gloomy mist surrounding them, it still manages to give off a bit of sparkle.

He holds the gem aloft and closes his eyes, attempting to address the magic locked inside. He opens his eyes and peers at the writhing tentacles through the sapphire.

Nothing happens.  The magic of the gem seems dampened somehow.  Some kind of 'pressure keeps the magic contained within the rock.

Confused, Toben lowers his arm and shakes the gem as if trying to rattle the magic loose. "Something about this place is suppressing my ability to call upon magic not gifted by the Maiar."

He takes a step back to recollect his thoughts and tries to dodge the threats in front of him.

The tentacles lash out at Ryland and Toben.  One wraps around Ryland, and attempts to pull him into the water, but the lubrication slathered all over the bard makes gripping him impossible.  The tentacle slips right off, leaving its own slime behind.


As the other tentacle streaks toward Toben, the young scholar feels something grab him from behind and pull him backward to the ground.  The manner in which he is pulled rolls him over backward from momentum so that he ends up back on his feet further back.  The tentacle whistles through the air where he had just been standing.  It seeks again, but it seems that Toben is just beyond its reach.

Toben shoves the gem back into his pouch and glances back behind him to find Harrow Took right on his heels. He nods in gratitude and quickly begins wracking his brain for another solution.

"Run!" he quickly shouts.

Harrow needs no additional prompting.  He scampers away from the water and behind a thick building.  Instead of looking at the water, he peers around into the shadows of the town as though looking for a different attack to come at any moment.

Toben follows quickly behind Harrow Took. He glances back at the water and curses. "Windfang, he didn't even have a chance..."

Ryland begins scraping the slop left on him by the tentacle, his mood completely soured. He sighs. "He was a good friend, what short time we knew him. Not to sound cold, but there will be time for mourning later. I'm afraid that given the looks of the place, we've just left the frying pan and lept right into the fires. Keep your wits sharp".

Secreted behind the building, the three explorers look about to get the lay of the city.  There are two sides to the city on either side of the bay, the North and South.  Right now, the group is on the North Side just north of the docks at the eastern-most end of the city.  There are homes and other buildings all over, but there is no sunshine, no vegetation, and everything seems covered in some kind of dried grey mucus.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9F4qJZhFz4

https://ardacraft.s3-us-west-2...37aee9acdffc44b9.png

https://imgur.com/a/fqveQ

"Yeah, easier said than done." Toben glances over to Harrow. "You know this better than we do, which way are we going?"

"Why would I know this any better than you?  I've never been here before."  His whisper is dampened by the perpetual fog and hard to hear.

Toben eyes shift over to Harrow Took with a clearly confused look on his face. "You asked us to bring you here in exchange for one of your carvings. I took that to mean you knew where you were going, is that not the case?"

"I knew I was going here.  Doesn't mean I've ever been here before."  He appears put out for a moment, but the fear quickly subsumes the look.  His eyes dart about furtively.

"Lookout!"  He dives to the side as a flash of grey something leaps from the shadows and fog.

[Surprise round went to Vile'ek, who missed Harrow.
Roll initiative for order of combat.]

The creature spins faster than any can react and lunges at the nearest target, Toben.  It's claw swipes across his chest, tearing pitch black gouges in his clothes and body.  There is no blood and no pain.  [Toben - Roll Will Save DC 17]

---
Initiative

17 - G'thauk
15 - Ryland
14 - Harrow
 6 - Toben

Player Knowledge:

Soul Drain - On successful touch Will Save DC 17 or loose 1d4+1 CHA; if successful loose 1 CHA

Toben staggers backward as the claws scrape across the mithril chain beneath his shirt, but the vile corruption still manages to seep through. Small, vein-like tendrils begin to creep across his skin as the poison takes hold.


Taking 10 on will save - 18; -1 CHA

Ryland, rapier drawn, lunges to attack. "Away with you!" he exclaims as he attempts to cut the beast. He slashes twice, then makes a 10 foot move away from the G'thauk, keeping his blade extended towards his enemy and hoping he grabs it's attention. "Come on then!" he calls out, challenging his opponent.

19:59, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 9 using 1d20+2.  attack versus G'thauk.
19:58, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 19 using 1d20+7.  attack versus G'thauk.
20:01, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 14 using 1d20+7.  crit confirm .

Ryland uses dodge versus G'thauk [+1 AC versus marked target]
Ryland uses Mobility +4 dodge bonus versus AoO
Ryland uses Spring Attack - does not provoke AoO normally by moving

20:13, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 4 using 1d6+1. [rapier attack] if crit = 8

The g'thauk seems completely unharmed by Ryland's weapon, but all the yelling definitely draws its attention.  It swings its stump of a neck toward the bard and starts to creep forward.

Harrow takes out a small trinket, some kind of mass on the end of thick leather cord.  He begins to whirl it rapidly in a circle.  Doing so produces a low hum at first, which immediately attracts the g'thauk's attention.  As the speed picks up, the hum turns into a whine, which causes the monster to tack a step back, almost as if it is cowering.  A second later, Harrow has the whistle up to an ear-splitting shriek.

Without a sound, the g'thauk turns to scamper away, losing its footing for a moment in its haste to quit the fight.

[Toben, you will have one chance to act before the monster is able to flee, should that be your choice.]

Toben recovers quickly from the strange attack and spins his staff around. It starts to glow faintly as he readies an attack, but seeing the creature in full retreat, he decides against drawing more attention to himself.

"So, they clearly have an aversion to terribly annoying sounds." He looks over to Ryland, "This should be right up your alley."

It would seem the lack of charisma has reduced his personability. The smokey black tendrils creep up his neck as he speaks.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:32, Sat 21 Apr 2018.

Glossing over Toben's remark, Ryland asks him "Are you alright?".

Toben casts an uncharacteristically glaring look over at Ryland. "Well, let's just think about that a minute. We're stuck in the middle of nowhere on a fool's errand, our ride home just got eaten by something only Eru knows, only to be surrounded by an entire city of ruins who's sole purpose is to kill us." He mockingly places his thumb and forefinger under his chin. "I'd say I've had better days..."

"The dispair."  Harrow says ominously, looking at Toben.  "You must fight it or it will consume you here."

Ryland bows his head, and starts a soft, whispered chant. He looks back up once the effects begin to take hold. "There, that should help set you back right.. for now". He goes back to his chant, and looks down at Took with a nod.

Ryland uses Inspire Courage (himself, Harrow, Toben). Continuous effect while he chants, and for 5 Rounds once he stops his performance. +2 bonus to resist charm and fear. +2 to attack rolls and damage rolls.

He will attempt at all cost to persist in his chant, unless interrupted by combat or other extenuating circumstance

As the music plays, a slight breeze kicks up and the fog breaks just a little.  A tiny sliver of light beams down and tension seems to leave the air.  The music not only inspires bravery but also seems to wash away whatever insidious magic or poison the G'thauk and the water monster injected.

Even Harrow seems to take a deep breath and relax more than since the two met him.

[Restore 1 CHA to all characters.]

The tendrils of corruption that were previously leeching into Toben's skin now starts to recede back down. After a few minutes, no apparent trace seems to remain.

"I... I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what came over me. Like you said", he points to Harrow, "a great despair, but not just that. Anger. So much anger and frustration."

Ryland ceases his performance. "Think nothing of it. It was apparent you weren't yourself. We have to hurry though, the effects of my magic won't counter the place for very long".

Ryland will periodically repeat his performance when needed to stave off the effects of the mist

"This way."  Harrow leads the two north into the city away from the docks.  Wherever they go, the fog clears ahead of them and none of the Vile'eks bother them.  The Direling finely stops inside a large building.  Grey slime covers the wall, but the door is solid - even after a thousand years.  Thankfully, it is not locked, doesn't even appear to have such a mechanism.

Harrow slips in and looks around.  The gloom within is lit in the same way that the outside is, ambient, low, and foggy.  Ryland's music pushes it back, but not the light.  After searching about, Harrow finds a room with a single entrance and a thick door.  "We can regroup in here.  Figure out what we are going to do."

There is no furniture, nothing but the walls and door.

Stepping inside to the "safe" area, Ryland asks Harrow "So these Vile'eks.. they don't seem to like sound or music. Is this something you already knew?".

Harrow's eyes narrow.  "Direlings don't sing.  How could I have known that music would be their weakness?"  The word music is said with emphasis and incredulity.

[Sense Motive check]

Ryland waves a hand dismissively. "I was only wondering, master Took. Forgive me if my question sounded pointed".

08:31, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 14 using 1d20+1.  sense motive check

Harrow nods and takes a deep breath.  "No offense taken.  This place draws out the worst in us."


"So, what do you plan to do to find your chalice?  I brought you in here, hoping we could find one, but as you can see, the place is bare."

"We keep searching. We find a place that looks important, and we check. Rinse and repeat". He looks over at Toben. "Unless you've got some sort of accio elf cup spell hidden up your sleeve".

Toben raises an eyebrow. "Can't say that I know the nature of that spell, but I did have a buddy back in Iron Springs named Harold that swore he could find anything by simply waving a stick in the air and following the 'vibrations'. I always thought he was crazy, but maybe not so much anymore. Next thing you know we'll be trying to talk to the nearest snake in the grass for leads."

"This place is too dangerous to just go wandering around. I would imagine the center of town would likely be the most important buildings. We could try to make our way that direction, I suppose."

"Considering we do not know our way in the first place, that's a good of a suggestion as any. Master Took, do you mind leading? I suspect your senses are sharper than those of men, and you'd be apt to alert us to any dangers we may otherwise gloss over in ignorance"

Harrow thinks on Ryland's words for a moment, then shrugs and nods.  He leads the three back out into the city.  The gloom and mist has returned, but there is no movement in sight.  Harrow steps silently through the streets and byways of the city until he comes to a very large building in the center.  It looks like some kind of meeting hall or theater.  The heavy wooden door swings silently open to reveal a pitch black interior.  Dim light of the gloomy day outside seems reluctant to go far past the door as if afraid to enter the elfin sanctuary.

Ryland creates an orb of light to hover in front of them and prod against the darkness.

Ryland casts Dancing Lights - single globe - 1 minute duration

As the globe ignites five monsters lunge out of the darkness at the three men.  Three G'thauks and two strange flying things that look like a couple of grey arms ending in claws held aloft by a pair of bat wings.

The first two G'thauk slam into Harrow, bowling him over.  The last hits Toben with it's headless neck full on, hitting him in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him.  Each of the flying things streak toward Ryland, claws extended.  The first misses, but the second rakes him across the face.

[Will saves, DC 17.  If succeed, -1 CHA.  If fail, -1d4 CHA.]

Both men seem little phased by the attacks, though the malaize is certainly attempting to gain a foothold.

Harrow, on the other hand, is visibly changed by the attack.  His skin has taken on a grey pallor to it.  Where lines of worry and years of experience had folded wrinkles around his eyes, now is skin was smooth and somewhat rounder.  It looked almost like his facial features were blending with the rest of his skin in a single smooth facade.

He still fought, but there was no fury or even desperation to it.  Just a methodical step by step application of movement.  Get up.  Step this way.  Turn that way.  It looked as if someone else controlled him, barely keeping him from the G'thauk's attacks.

The two G'thauk circled around the Direling attempting to swipe at him again.  Both missed, but just barely.

The third that had attacked Toben raked another claw across the sage's chest [-1 CHA] and seemed agitated that it was not having the affect it expected.

Ryland faced off against the two flying things, taking shots from both as they staggered their attacks with a bait and switch move. [-2 CHA]

[Initiative:
21 - G'thauk
21 - G'thauk
21 - G'thauk
21 - Bil'thrak
21 - Bil'thrak
19 - Ryland <<<
14 - Harrow
10 - Toben]

Ryland drops to a crouch, a strange burning feeling spreading across his face. He pulls out his banjo and begins to strum the first thing that comes to mind. As his fingers rake and pluck the strings, a pang of embarrassment sweeps over him. The song that came to mind.. "Stinkle Stinkle Little Orc"; a children's nursery rhyme. Risking his own head exploding from humiliation, he begins to sing the words.

"Stinkle stinkle little orc
How you smell like moldy pork
With mischief in your red eyes
Biting, stealing, loud war cries
Stinkle stinkle little orc
Brought by vultures, not by stork"

Banjo: +3 to all party members attack, will saves, and skill checks involving INT, WIS, or CHA
This message was last edited by the player at 14:42, Sat 28 Apr 2018.

Harrow seems to look slightly more normal and there is a bit more fight in his step.  He swings a long knife at one of the G'thauk.  It stabs directly into the creature's skin, but doesn't seem to penetrate or do any noticeable damage.

For their part, the Vile'eks don't seem all that happy about the song.  Two of the G'thauk writhe on the ground and look like they are trying escape.  The others turn toward Ryland as one and look like they are going to attack.

With all the aggression targeting Ryland, Toben takes a small step back and begin preparing a spell. At first, he extends his arms, hands, and fingers fanned out. Then in a sudden motion drops his hands to the ground, as if scooping up handfuls of earth. All around Ryland, bits of earth and rubble begin to tremor. Toben thrusts his arms upward into the air, and a massive torrent of earth shoots up from the ground, pelting everything surrounding him [13 DMG].

Toben casts Spattering, modified by the Sculpt Spell feat. He creates 4 10' cubes around Ryland to attempt to catch the 2 flying creatures and the G'thauk that switched its focus over to him.

The three creatures surrounding Ryland are suddenly thrown about by the storm of earth.  Small wounds appear in their skin and the wings of the flying Vile'eks are somewhat shredded.

There is no blood.

As Ryland continues to play, the two G'thauk on the ground continue to writhe and get away.  The others continue their attack against Ryland.  The G'thauk scrapes claws across Ryland's armor, but is not able to do anything.  The two flyers swoop in and rake across his lower back and the back of his head.  Thankfully, both are just glancing blows.  But the claws feel cold and disgusting.  There is a pulling sensation as if a part of Ryland is going with them, not in any material sense, but the spirit.

[Ryland, "roll" 2 Will saves vs. DC 18.  If you succeed, -1 CHA.  If you fail, -4 CHA for each fail.

By now, Ryland will realize that his music is doing damage AND debilitating the Vile'ek.  If they make their saves, they save vs. debilitation (equivalent to "nauseated" condition) but still take damage.  Save is Will vs 10 + CHA mod + 3 (banjo).

Damage is equal to 1d8+CHA mod, but they seem more susceptible to the damage than that accounts for.]

[Initiative:
21 - G'thauk  -13 HP
21 - G'thauk  In pain, possibly suffering some kind of damage
21 - G'thauk  In pain, possibly suffering some kind of damage
21 - Bil'thrak -13 HP
21 - Bil'thrak -13 HP
19 - Ryland <<<
14 - Harrow
10 - Toben]
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:39, Wed 02 May 2018.

Ryland winces from the new attack, and goes from kneeling to flopping down on both knees, stooped and low to the floor. He continues to play, gritting his teeth through the myriad of negative emotion and overwhelming sense of dread he feels.

21:22, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 14 using 1d20+11.  Perform: Stringed Instrument

The music continues to affect the Vile'ek.  One of the flyers clenches up as if in pain, then falls to the ground, writhing around.  A moment later, they all are on the ground, the flesh peeling back and shriveling up.  They are in some kind of extended death throes, but no longer attacking.

[All characters may remove 1 CHA damage this round.
Does Ryland keep playing?]

Ryland spurs his auditory attack further, fingers aching.

As the Vile'ek continue to flop around in their death throes, Toben raises his staff high above his head and brings it down squarely on top of one of the winged creatures. There is almost a wild-eyed look to the young mage.  It twitches wildly, encouraging yet another thwack...
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:42, Fri 04 May 2018.

"Stop.  Stop!"  Harrow leaps at Toben and prevents the second and any further attacks.  "Look at them!"

Having flopped on his back and flexing his aching fingers, Ryland sits back up still clutching his banjo for dear life. "What is it?".

Toben stops swinging, panting heavily, and stares at the creatures on the ground.

The grey has peeled back to reveal something underneath, pale pink skin, hairless and covered in slime, but humanoid.  The two flyers resemble small children, Harrow's size.  One is female, the other male.  They still spasm, but the movement grows less and less with each passing second.

The three g'thauk transform in similar fashion, but their forms are larger - human.  All three are male, hairless, covered in slime, and naked.

Toben's eyes widen at the new realization. He looks over at Ryland and then back to the beings on the ground. "Keep playing!", he shouts.

"No, it is enough.  The malaise is gone."  He reaches down to one of the Direlings and touches them.  The woman.

She looks up at Harrow and stops shaking.  "Th...ank youuuuu."  Her voice is a whisper and the effort to speak is too much.  Her eyes close, her head slumps, and she lies still.  Only the gentle rise and fall of her body as she breathes indicates there is life yet in her.

"Well that adds a new level of complexity to this venture.. Do you think..maybe we would have become those things, had we not been able to turn them?".

"I think the longer this malaise goes untreated, the closer one gets to turning into ... whatever that was."

Toben walks over to Ryland and places a hand on his shoulder. "Thankfully, the power of your Song had a far greater effect than I could have imagined. I am truly grateful to have you with us on this journey."

Ryland flashes a brief smile. "And to think, some of you had your doubts back at the tower". Ryland looks back at the uncovered bodies from the monstrous husks. "Well, now what? We can't just leave them like this. I'd imagine it wouldn't take much to turn them right back into these..things".

"We could see to them here.  Set up a base of operations while you two look for an elf cup."  Harrow looks awful.  The full effects of the attacks have receded some, but he is still deformed.  His voice is low and he sounds tired, dejected.

However, he does dress the female Direling a spare set of clothes from his pack.  He wraps the male Direling up in his blanket and makes him as comfortable as possible.

He does nothing for the humans.

Ryland takes his bedroll and drapes it over one of the humans, while looking to Toben to do the same. "Aye, I suppose we could manage that, Master Took. Considering my music seems to repel the effects of this place, do you think you could use a bit more? Not to be rude, but you look like you've seen more than your fair share of the foul magic here".

"The longer we stay here, the more chance we have of running into a Vile'ek you can't defeat with a song and a dance.  You had better get to looking for that cup.  I'll survive."

[Sense Motive]

"Nothing a little rest can't help with." Toben sits down and starts humming. The rhythm is soothing and begins to set those around him at ease. The exhaustion that had started taking over melts away as quickly as it had begun to set in.

Toben casts Remove Fatigue on those around him.

Ryland stretches his arms and cracks his neck. "Alright then. Harrow, hang in there. We know now our enemy's weakness. The only difficulty now is further exploiting it. As for that cup, we'll start by further delving into this building. If we come across anymore vile'ek and turn them, we'll bring the restored persons here. Toben, when you're ready". Ryland clutches his banjo, fingers at the ready.

Continuing to hum, Toben nods at Ryland.

As the two perform, Harrow's slides down against the wall and closes his eyes.  His face and hands ripple and the swelling fades, returning him almost to his normal state.  The released Vile'ek also settle and soon light snoring is heard all around.

Ryland finishes the song and the two men exit, ensuring that there is light in the room and the door is closed, while he and Toben search the rest of the building.

As it turns out, this building seems to be some kind of elfin workshop and central command.  There are ancient stone tables scattered about one room, though no tools remain.  Over in one dark corner there is a repetitive clink, clink, clink followed by silence, then the three clinks again.

The room is vast and the light the two men use does not reach that far into the room to illuminate the source of the sound.  Toben, however, will recognize it as a blacksmith's rhythmic hammering with a smaller hammer on some fine piece of metalwork.

Toben glances over to Ryland. "That sounds an awful lot like a smith tinkering away on something. Care to give it a look?"

"Quietly...", he adds before awaiting a response.

Ryland strums a few notes on his banjo. "We're doing this anything but quietly my friend". He launches in to a new song, playing the notes lightly enough to not drown out the tinking, but high enough that any vile'ek in the room will be repulsed.

Ryland begins to pick and grin "Dueling Banjos"

There is an eerie howl from across the room and the tinking of the hammer stops.  A clang indicates that the hammer was dropped to the floor.  Out of the darkness comes two cold, blue eyes.  They are like a cat's eyes in shape, but have nothing but the blue within: no iris, no lense, no pupil or sclera.

In the shadows it is hard to see, but it is taller than even Vitalya.  What looke like two wide horns on its head, and two jutting out of its cheekbones give it a truly demonic look.  Muscular arms that remind of Basarshakath end far too low in warped parodies of hands.  The fingers are in the wrong places and one pair of thumbs are too far up the forearm.  It's legs are muscles as well, but something is wrong with them.  As it moves, it's gait is strange like its hopping with its feet together.  There is also a wet sound like a sheet of laundry just hung to dry in the wind after being soaked.

It moves faster than its size would suggest, headed straight for Ryland.  However, the two men have a slight advantage of time.

Initiative:

Toben
Ryland - playing
El'fang

Thinking quickly, as the horrid looking creature rapidly approaches, Toben fumbles through his pouch of components. Now that he knows the nature of the malaise, he dismisses any spell that would cause any permanent damage, instead, he goes for something to immobilize it.

He tosses a small bit of earth at the creatures feet(?), and as it lands on the ground, Toben raps the butt of his staff on the ground sharply. The earth begins to come alive and dance around the El'fangs feet. It begins to circle around the target and swirl upward along the length of its body. The bits begin to cling together, growing larger and larger. As they coalesce, they start to attach themselves to the El'fang. One after another pile on, bringing its movement to a complete halt, until all but its head is encased in earth.

Toben casts Lesser Sarcophagus on the creature, using Sculpt Spell to leave its head free to hear what Ryland is playing.

As Toben encases the monstrosity, Ryland picks up the tempo and volume of his playing to an absolute blaze of musical notes.


08:32, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 32 using 1d20+13.  perform check for music damage

The creature seems to fade a bit from reality after the spell completes and it walks right out of the stone.  However, as Ryland's musical intensity increases, the creature reels in obvious, silent pain, and floats through a nearby wall disappearing from sight.

Toben frowns in frustration as the El'fang phases out of his trap and through the wall. "Oh, you're not getting away that easily", he growls.

He walks over to the wall, places a hand on it and whispers "Sia lexri vur sia geou ekess xurwk seltur wer tonnilti di kornari." The wall shimmers a moment and takes on a somewhat dull finish. He takes a step back and thrusts the end of his staff into the wall. It pushes through like a putty knife in clay. A sharp downward thrust opens a gap in the wall and he quickly pushes the softened stone to either side, creating a new passage.

Toben casts Soften Earth and Stone.

Ryland rushes into the newly opened gap, practically leaping through. He lands on his knees in a slide, fingers still plucking away.

23:23, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 21 using 1d20+13.  perform check for music damage
Ryland uses dodge vs El'fang if applicable [+1 AC vs target = 19 total AC]
Ryland uses mobility as he moves through any threatened areas [+4 to AC if provoking an AoO = 23 total AC]

The next room is small and empty with three exits other than the newly created fourth.  Each in a cardinal direction.  The Vile'ek is nowhere to be seen.

Ryland stops playing. "Well that's a bother.. Toben, any way to track it? Maybe a creature you can summon or somwthing of the sort?".

Toben shrugs helplessly. "I'd need to know what that thing is first. At the very least, I think we've scared it off for a while, with any luck, we won't have to deal with it again. Let's focus on finding what we need and getting out of here as quick as possible."

"Right". Ryland returns to the room where the hammering sound was. "Looks like a good place to start then" he says, as he begins poking around.

Ryland and Toben search through the room where the hammering was.  At the back of the room they find a small cabinet that might have once been used for tools or even dishes depending on the use of the room.  There is a well-forged hammer lying on the ground.  It is covered in grime, but looks like it has not seen corrosion.  The work is definitely unlike anything either of the men have ever seen with flowing lines and an elegant beauty not seen in the lands of men or dwarves.

Ryland picks up the hammer for further inspection. "I believe we know a certain blacksmith who might enjoy this. Do you detect any mystical properties about it?".

Toben's eyes glow brightly for a moment as he scans the room first. Last he looks at the hammer and nods. "Yes. Definitely an aura of magic there. I'm sure Klale would love to take a look at this. I don't pick up anything else in the room though."

There is no glow from anything else in the room.  Only the hammer seems to be magic.

Toben places the hammer in one of his magical bags and suggests a hasty exit. "I'm sure we're ready for that creature, but I'd rather not run into it again if we don't have to. Although, I am curious who or what it could have been prior to its transformation."

"I think it may have been using the hammer. Perhaps when folks turn, they still cling to some semblance of their former lives, maybe out of strong will and habit? Either way, I agree. We should press on".

Ryland will lead deeper into the building if there is more to explore. If not, they'll take to the streets in search of somewhere else to hunt.

As the two men explore deeper into the building, they find similar situations in each room.  Darkness.  No furniture or objects to speak of.  And persistent gloom.

At one point, they enter the room and the dancing lights Ryland had been using to light the way suddenly wink out.

Instinctively reacting to the lights going out, Toben casts a spell as quickly as his words will allow him. "Fethos di rifstejar jedark"

A semi-transparent crystal dome appears in front of Toben.

Toben casts Shield upon himself.

This message was last edited by the player at 14:45, Sun 20 May 2018.

"Nope" exclaims Ryland as he backs away towards the door and starts playing another tune.

13:05, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 29 using 1d20+11.  perform check for music damage

The door slams closed behind Ryland, locking him in the room.  It is pitch black.

Something swipes at the bard in the dark, hitting the banjo.  Ryaland pulls away instinctively and keeps hold of the instrument, but barely.  Whatever hit it...whatever is in the room with them is strong.

There is an unearthly howl.  It echoes in a forlorn, ghostly sounding wail.

Initiative
Ryland
Toben
?????

Ryland draws a rapier, taking a defensive stance. "There's only room for one coward in these ruins, and that billets taken - show yourself!".

He does his best to focus in the pitch black, but he's completely unnerved at the lack of information on his surroundings.

20:43, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 8 using 1d20+1.  concentration check

Toben attempts to light up the end of his staff and extent it into the darkness.


Toben casts Glowstone on the end of his staff.

As the glowstone lights up, eight dark figures standing right in front of the two men are revealed.  They are each over seven feet tall and look just like the one the men encountered earlier with the hammer.

Three of them take a swipe at Ryland.  Two miss completely, startled by the light, perhaps.  One nearly gets a claw on him, but only manages to touch mithril at Ryland's chest.

Two more lunge for Toben.  One doesn't get close, but the other swipes at his forearm.  All manner of magic flares up at the touch, the shield spell, the glyph from Toben's armor, and the mithril itself all push back against the other-worldly creature and protect the sage from the effects of it's touch.

The other three move back away from the light, fading into the darkness at its perimeter.

[21:55, Today: Eru, for the NPC El'fang 1, rolled 11 using 1d20+7 ((4)).  Attack vs. Ryland.
21:56, Today: Eru, for the NPC El'fang 2, rolled 17 using 1d20+7 ((10)).  Attack vs. Ryland.
21:57, Today: Eru, for the NPC El'fang 3, rolled 17 using 1d20+7 ((10)).  Attack vs. Ryland.
22:02, Today: Eru, for the NPC El'fang 4, rolled 9 using 1d20+7 ((2)). Attack vs. Toben.
22:03, Today: Eru, for the NPC El'fang 5, rolled 15 using 1d20+7 ((8)).  Attack vs. Toben.]


Initiative
Ryland
Toben
El'fang 1
El'fang 2
El'fang 3
El'fang 4
El'fang 5

Not In Combat
El'fang 6
El'fang 7
El'fang 8
This message was last edited by the player at 13:19, Fri 25 May 2018.

Without a word, Ryland drops his rapier to the floor and slings his banjo back around. The playing isn't his best on account of being unnerved, but it will more than get the point across to his new foes.

23:18, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 18 using 1d20+11.  perform check for music damage

Narrowly missing yet another charisma damaging attack, Toben slow backs over to Ryland. Out of useful ideas, he stands back to back with him and strike his best rock star pose, using his glowing mithril staff as an air banjo.

"Get me out of this broken down city where the streets are grimy and the monsters are unwitty.
Oh, won't you please take me home?
Get me out of this broken down city so we can finish our quest save a Maia who's pretty.
Oh, won't you please take me ho-ome, yeah yeah..."

08:30, Today: Toben Ironsprings rolled 19 using 1d20+2.  Performance of the young mage. Played to the tune of Paradise City.

This message was last edited by the player at 13:53, Fri 25 May 2018.

The dark creatures reaching for the bard and mage screech and turn to flee.  One of them, though falls to the ground, writhing in agony.

Ryland presses on, hoping to drop and turn as many of the monsters as he can before they flee.

11:41, Today: Ryland Vance rolled 24 using 1d20+11.  Perform Check for music damage

It is too hard to see the dark figures any more, but Ryland's music is sufficent to begin the transformation of the creature on the ground.  It writhes and twists about, shrinking in size.  As it moves, it tears at its body with sharp claws, ripping black skin away like a shirt it no longer fancies.  The lower leg thing is pulled off like manacles and tossed aside only to turn into black mist and dissapate.  A wet sloching sound comes from the weird curtain of bloody webbing near the legs as it plops to the ground.  It too disintegrates into nothing.  What is being left behind looks human.

At the same time the creature reverts, an odd thing happens to the room.  There is a faint glow that comes from the walls, ceiling, tables, and floor.  A ghostlike image appears and becomes more and more solid as the creature transforms.  Equipment, tools for craftsman and unfinished works appear.  At first they are see through, then become nearly solid.

Ryland lowers the volume of his playing and doesn't take his eyes off the transforming creature, but turns his head slightly towards Toben and whispers "Toben. Why is there ghost furniture now? What did you do?".

Toben shrugs half-heartedly. "Clearly, my lyrics must have struck a chord. Perhaps I chose the wrong profession", he adds with a playful grin.

"Seriously though, it seems like the more despair we peel back, the more around us reverts back. Not just the people either."

Toben takes his traveling cloak off and wraps it around the newly transformed person laying on the floor. "Are you ok? Can you hear me?"

"I'll keep my eyes open in case they come back" says Ryland, scanning the surroundings and ready to pick up a new tune.

The man looks up, his body shaking.  At first he does not seem to understand what Toben is or what is going on.  His disorientation remains, but he does gain enough of his senses to realize Toben is trying to help him.  The man does not shy away from Toben's touch and gladly accepts the offered covering.  He rises to his feet to stand tall, thin wiry muscles are covered in some kind of clear goo.  His hair is so pale a blonde as to be almost white.  His beard is short and neatly cut.

"Nowë."  Is the one word he pronounces before staggering a bit.  With Toben's help, he is able to stand and even walk slowly.  He looks at Toben and smiles weakly.  "Nowë."

His ears are definitely pointed at the top.

Ryland looks at their new company, and barely stifles a laugh. "By Ilúvatar, he's an elf!" he says in complete dismay.

"An elf? That explains a little, but I don't speak elven." Toben helps the strange elf over to a chair to rest. "Here, take a seat. Try to regain some strength", he says, hoping he understands.

"I...speak the human tongue...my friends.  My name...is Nowë, son of Cirdan the shipwright.  I...cannot thank you enough...for freeing me from the nightmare.  My life...is now yours."  He sits and shivers, though it is not the kind that looks to be from the cold.

"Please, Master Nowe. Tell us what happened here?".

"I...need some...time.  Talking is...difficult.  Need...water and...rest."  He looks like he is going to fall over from exhaustion and his voice is dry and cracking.

"No need to speak just yet. The others affected that were with you, do you know them?"

Toben reaches into his pack to fetch a water skin.

"We should probably get him back to Harrow, once he's had a moment".

The elf shrugs, but is too tired to explain further.  He drinks gratefully, even elegantly, then hands the skin back to Toben.

The three head back to where Harrow is to find all of them but the Direling asleep, peacefully on the floor.  There seems to have been not trouble.

"We have another for your care, Master Took" says Ryland in a respectful tone.

Harrow turns about quietly to see who Ryland and Toben have brought.  Upon seeing the elf, his eyes go wide.  "Is that..?"  He looks around helpless as he has run out of blankets and other things to make a pallet.

His eyes, though, light up in a way the two Men have yet to see in the Direling.  It isn't quite cheer, but there is a crack in the dour facade and a bounce to his step.  "Which?  How?"  He speaks as if all the questions are jumbled up together and he doesn't know which to ask first.

Nowe holds up a hand as if to say 'don't worry about me' and walks calmly to a wall.  He turns his back to it and slides down, keeping himself covered.  He leans back and closes his eyes and is silent for a good space.

"Do you think he's sleeping?"  When Nowe doesn't respond, Harrow turns to the two Men.  "Okay, spill it.  This has been a day of wonder, borne of Men no less."

"Resting, at the very least. There's no telling how long he was trapped in that gruesome form. Much like the other two, Ryland was able to bring him back. His name is Nowe, and yes, he is an elf."

"And quite frankly, the whole ordeal has us just as puzzled. Something about the music is fighting whatever shadow is hanging over this place. But we don't know why, yet. There is a certain other-worldliness to my playing, of that I've known most of my life. But I've never been able to use it in so much a combative sense as I can with these beings who have been turned. Given our experiences with being touched by them, to me it felt like all the joy was sucked from my soul. As if there would be no happy days, ever again. And I felt a sourness inside, like there was no point to politeness or courtesy or hope. Perhaps that's what music fights off best though. Those sour and sad little twinges we get from time to time. Maybe there's some inherent power to it that can't be summed up with simple terms. Or maybe I'm rambling and wrong, which is entirely plausible and common".

Harrow's eyes narrow in thought.  "No.  No, that actually makes quite a bit of sense.  It would explain the change of the Direlings from Hobbits of old.  We have lost our joy, our capacity for art, and much of our will to live.  Only a stubbornness has kept the remnant of my people alive."  He scratches his chin and looks over at the rescued individuals.

"What can we do against so many, though?  We are not enough to fight them all, certainly not to save them all which is the harder path.  Toben's magic seems to affect them, but not cure them, but we are still only three."  In his words, the Men hear desperation and despair where there should be hope for the first time in centuries.

Ryland now scratches his chin in turn, thinking. "Toben.. are you able to amplify sounds? Or somehow make something - or more to the point, someone - larger than they would normally appear?".

"If I understand what you're asking. Yes, and no. I can't manipulate sounds, per se. That would fall within Gwaelind's domain, but I can make someone physically larger. What did you have in mind?"

"I'm working under the assumption that a larger me with a larger instrument has a larger radius of sound and volume. This town needs a giant bard to stroll through it giving it the show of a lifetime" says a smirking Ryland.

Toben thinks a moment. "That could work. You wouldn't be giant, but you would be much larger. You would likely become louder, naturally, but it wouldn't necessarily allow you to project across large areas automatically."

"I can self sustain on that part actually. The louder the base sound, the better when it comes time for my end of the deal. Come, let us move this outside. I feel we're going to need the room".

The two Men leave Harrow and the others in the secured room and return to the plaza outside.  At the moment, there appear to be none of the Vile'ek about.  The sun is setting, though the only way to tell through the fugue mist is the darkening of the light all around.

Ryland cracks his knuckles. "Alright. I can amplify my sound, but I'll do so after you do what it is you can do to make me bigger. As big as you can now, don't hold back".

Toben kinda shakes his head slightly. "The spell itself doesn't quite work that way, naturally. I'll have to modify it on the fly. It's risky. It might work, and it might go horribly wrong."

The young mage look over at Ryland. "Are you ready for that?"

Ryland flashes a grin. "I believe the saying goes "he who dares, wins". Do your thing, brother".

Toben exhales with trepidation. "Here goes nothing."

He reaches into his pouch and grabs a pinched of a black powered substance and tosses it in the air. The fine powder creates a cloud that washes over Ryland. Toben brandishes his staff and grips it tightly with both hands. "Kssrech vur drihli, turalisjth vur oontanx."

As he speaks the words, Ryland's features begin to swell, his height and stature stretches further and further until he exceeds well over nine feet. Unlike his typical spell, he does not cease there, he continues his gesturing and chant, pushing the spell beyond its normal capacity.

Toben casts Enlarge Person, modified by special DM rules. The effect will grow more and more over the course of several rounds.
Ryland is currently considered Large

As Ryland sprouts up, he begins his incantations. First on his own voice, then on his instrument. As he chants the spell onto his banjo, his voice is a booming baritone that carries and echoes all around.

Ryland casts Sculpt Sound on himself and his banjo. The effect chosen will amplify the base sound of both - in theory getting even louder the larger he and his instrument gets

He looks down at Toben as his height continues grow. "Alright! Here goes!"

He launches in to a lively tune, on that is frequently played in taverns across the lands of men. When his voice comes in to the tune, it rides on air waves that resound and echo all around.

Take 10: Perform = 23 (not sure on range or anything amplifying the check given the size and sound
This message was last edited by the player at 02:42, Tue 12 June 2018.