It has been twenty long years since the Raven King stole the sun.  He had long been thought trapped, held within a dwarf-wrought cage deep within the depths of the craggy Mt. Kimdarum.  The Raven King had been nearly forgotten over the ages since he was defeated by the Bright King and the coalition of Dwarves and Men.  But it would seem that defeat would not last.And so it has been twenty years of darkness, twenty years of starlight and hoarfrost.  Twenty years of the Raven King's forces marching the land, burning villages and slaughtering any who cross their path.  The dead walk again under a black feathered banner, and they seem to be searching for something...

Many who still live have never seen the sun, and even the youngest generations believe it to be a myth.  But there are those that remember light and warmth, those that remember safety and comfort.  There are those who search for the missing sun, or try to gather armies with which to fight the Raven King.  Your purposes are your own, but destiny seems to have a certain plan for you.

We now join our band of travelers, many meeting for the first time.  Only a few days have passed since they had seen the lights in the sky from wherever their vantage point lay.  The stars still speak of coming change, but offer no other insights.  For now, those that chart the stars must wait to see what comes.  And what better way to wait for coming change than in the safety of a town?

The moon has set in Clayshire, but the smell of clay is ever present.  It permeates through every door and window, overwhelming the senses with its rich, natural smell.  Some of you have traveled a long way to arrive here, driven by fate or need.  Others have been here for some time, becoming locals themselves.  Whatever your reasons may be, you find yourselves in the local tavern.  The Hero and Spear is quiet, as many of the normal patrons are exhausted from a long day's labor.  Korag, the half-orc bartender, offers ale or a meal of dry chicken and stale bread for coin, and a willingness to listen to your tales for free.  A few patrons laugh loudly at a table, apparently deep into their cups.  Another stranger sits in a shadowy corner, quiet and unassuming.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:59, Mon 09 Aug 2021.

Trog had gotten the majority of the clay dust off himself and was now seated in his favourite spot next to the fire he tended. The start of the day had been like many others, he remembered some dream for a fleeting second as the cockerel raised him  from his slumber.

A pot of porridge had greeted him on his return from the wood shack with a cast iron firewood keeper under each arm. He had deposited them by the fire and had taken up the pot as well as the jug of bacon grease to pour across the top. It was simple but hearty fare and would keep him to late afternoon he hoped. Once he had broken his fast he joined the other day labours and had made his way down to the clay pits in the hope of work. Standing in line he waited for the information of whether there was work today, what it would be, the pay and if he would be chosen from the others.

"Luck" it seemed was on his side as he was one of the first chosen from the crowd. His day consisted of the usual, lift this, push this and drop it here. Though the "day" did go quickly, he even managed to get a couple of extra hours out of the foreman as the clay carts had gotten behind so Trog pushed the ones left over up the incline.

With a few coins in his pocket Trog had returned to the tavern to find nearly everyone had already finished and return home. He handed over the coins to Korag and in time received his mutton and ale.



-

Korag gives Trog a wink- a gesture he still has yet to grasp- and a few loaves of bread that were hard as the troll's hide, in addition to the food and drink ordered.  He has always been kind to you, partially because you help keep people calm in the tavern with just your presence, but also because he appreciates having another oddity around.  Being a half-orc, he is often the outcast standing alone.  But not as of late.

The door opens with a loud noise, and from without comes a gush of cold wind. As if part of the wind, Syndelia slides into the room, purposefully making some noise as she comes in; the locals get unneverved when she appears quietly. Her black hair and leather loincloth dance minutely in the cold breeze, the fireplace's red light shines on pale skin covered in swirling blue tattoos.

"Mind your head, Bigboy," she says without turning, in a melodius Elven voice. Then she walks up to a free table, sits on a chair and puts her feet on the table, bits of dried mud falling from her tattered, old tall boots.

"Ale and some grub, Korag," she calls, propping her bow and quiver against the wall. There is a brief blur of movement, and a second later she is cleaning her fingernails with a long, curved knife.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:43, Tue 10 Aug 2021.

A large figure pauses at the door and seems to be trying to contort his body to get in. There are several loud thuds as something hard hits the door frame along with some muttering in a deep voice. It takes a little bit of time but he does manage to enter. He stands up and stretches his body. "Why are the entrances so small," He grumbles. he blushes a little when he notices the people staring at him.

He looks around until he sees where Syndelia is seated and goes to sit down next to her. He stops when he sees the chairs available, 'Will those support me? It looks like it will break.' He carefully sits down on a chair.

He then realizes that he overlooked a very large troll. He looks over to it and asks, "Syndelia, do you see that troll over there? Are they common here?
This message was last edited by the player at 15:18, Tue 10 Aug 2021.

The chair creaks, but it appears to be sturdily made.  That being said, there is a troll sitting on the floor, so it may not hold Paran for long.

Korag comes to the table with two tankards of ale, and looks Paran up and down.  Firbolgs were quite rare, though there did happen to be another in town.  Freda, the firbolg, was not in the tavern tonight.  Looking around, Syndelia can, however, see a few ne'er-do-wells who work for Dralda, though they seem to be focused on their own food.

The door opening for Syndelia and Paran does allow in a cold breeze, especially given the time it takes Paran to nagivate the frame.  Once it shuts, however, the troll by the hearth feeds another log into the fire.  It isn't long before the room is toasty again.

---

OOC: What is the relationship between Trog and Syndelia?
OOC: What is Syndelia's 'usual', that Korag always keeps on hand?

Jerec had arrived in Clayshire earlier during the day, such as it was, and spent most of it purchasing the supplies he required. Given his age, a man in his forties though with an appearance of one older still, he could recall the warmth of the sun as it had beat down on him in his youth, a gift they had all taken for granted. Despite twenty years of darkness he would never get used to the unnatural night that had engulfed the world.

As Barakus tended to the supplies and their mounts in the stables, Jerec had entered The Hero and Spear and purchased meals of chicken and stale bread for them, along with some lemon water for himself. He preferred to keep his mind clear and thus never drank.
Taking a seat at a shadowed corner table he waited for Barakus, sitting with his back to the wall, his staff propped up next to the table within easy reach and his travel-bag slung on the side of his chair alongside his hooded cloak. His sword though was still sheathed in his belt by his side.

Stroking his beard thoughtfully Jerec listened to the subdued voices and the occasional laughter; it felt good to be around a large number of people after so long cloistered in his tower. And yet the despondency he saw on the faces of so many dismayed him, as it had earlier during his visit about the towns marketplace. It was as if the unnatural darkness had sucked the will to resist from the people, giving the Raven King almost total victory with hardly a sword being raised.

Jerec noticed the troll dressed as a laborer, a rare sight but the darkness and the cold had pushed many towards the warmth of what free towns yet remained in human lands. Old enmities were forgotten as the latter were only too happy to accept what help they could get; man was not made to labor consistently in cold year round.

The door opened but it wasn't Barakus who entered, but two new faces, one being a Firbolg and another which Jerec suddenly realized was a bit familiar. As he gazed at the woman he tried to recall her name and suddenly it came to him; it was Syndelia, the bandit woman he had come across so years ago. He did not call out to her, choosing to watch and wait for now.

It would seem that both the shadowed corners of the tavern have been taken; one by a hooded stranger, hunched over his plate and many ales, the other by an older gentleman with a magnificent beard and wisdom in his eyes.  Two plates sit before the latter, though only one man sits at the table.

---

OOC: Tell me about Barakus.  Is he your valet?  Mentee?

"Not common, no," Syndelia replies to Paran, to all effects her client. She wipes her face with a hand, to hide the fact she's been trying hard not to laugh at Paran's efforts at getting through the door. "As far as I know, the locals give him food for working on the clay pits. He's more effective, and cheaper, than human labor."

---

And that's the extent to which Syndelia knows Trog, I suppose. As for her favorite dish, she's partial to venison with aromatic herbs and honey; a bit fancy for her means.

---

"Don't stare, Korag, that's not polite," she tells the innkeep, taking a long gulp from her ale. "Bigboy here is my client, and yours, now. Those bastards over there, though - those are the ones you should kick out of your dive," she says, nodding her head towards Dralda's thugs.

She takes another long gulp and signals for another tankard, pointedly pretending not to have seen Jarec.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:36, Tue 10 Aug 2021.

Since his arrival in Clayshire, Ehrendril had been in a state of heightened agitation, even taking into account his usually fretful disposition. The heavens were horrendous in their omnipresence, inscrutable in their meaning; it was a continual test of his willpower to resist the urge to stare upwards and hope to find some new guidance. The whole thing, rather incongruously, put him in mind of the courtships he had engaged with in his adolescence, the constant interpretation and obsession over minutia of expression and inflection, and the terrible yearning to know and fear of coming to know a painful truth.

So absorbed, it was something of a miracle his feet led him to the inn without much input from his conscious mind, rather than barging into a private dwelling. The sudden exposure to lighting stung his eyes somewhat, and shocked him into a more present state, noting the presence of his guide, Syndelia, at a table with a firbolg that he didn't recognise. The troll beside the fireplace drew something of a start from Ehrendril, given that such creatures would have been killed on sight by his people. But then, his kin also considered humans and other non-elven beings almost on the same level as beasts of burden, a belief that he had had to rapidly abandon upon his exile.

Having long since abandoned any hope at finding wine at a place so provincial, Ehrendril ordered an ale and made his way through the table with the mug clutched between both hands, stopping some feet away from his Syndelia before inclining his head and shoulders in a shallow bow, the least formal greeting he could withstand.

"Miss Syndelia", he intoned, clearly unwilling to take a seat without being invited to do so.

It takes some time, but one of Dralda's thugs finally takes notice of Syndelia.  A particularly ugly dwarf, she gulps down the rest of her meal before attempting to slink away out the door.  Likely to inform her boss that the ambush in the wilderness had failed.

Around the same time, Korag comes by with a plate of food unlike the dry chicken and stale bread that everyone else was eating.  It was heavily spiced and drizzled with honey.  Syndelia had brought the place a good reputation through her work.  Moments later, as she waits for the food to cool somewhat, a face from the past appears beside her, an elf often caught staring at the skies.

Syndelia's eyes follow the dwarf as he makes his way to the door. She briefly considers intercepting him, but the Hero and Spear isn't the place to be starting trouble. There are very few places in which she can have a bite and a drink in peace. Don't kill dwarves where you eat.

And talk about eating...

Ehrendril's words arrive just as she's digging into a delicious cut of venison. She snorts, and wipes meat juices and honey from her mouth with the back of a hand.

"Scholar!" she exclaims after a big swallow, her tone ironic, "You are still alive! I'm surprised your stars haven't driven you mad yet, or straight into the lair of a bear," she says, remembering how clumsy and absent-minded the Star Elf had been, last time she had escorted him through the Grimlock Woods. She lowers one leg from its resting place on top of the table to kick a stool in Ehrendril's direction, before crossing it again over the other.

"Another satisfied customer. Bi- I mean, Paran, the starry-eyed gentleman here is Ehrendril, a stargazer of some sort. Ehrendril, meet Paran of the Firebolg, a great warrior from the far north."

Introductions made, Syndelia returns her attention to the roast.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:13, Wed 11 Aug 2021.

It would appear Syndelia knew every newcomer in Clayshire Jerec thought wryly as he saw her greet the elf who had just entered. Somehow he wasn't surprised in the least. Hearing her call him scholar did perk up Jerec's ears, and he suddenly wondered at this fortuitous turn of events; meeting and gathering with elven spellweavers was part of the plan of his mentor after all, a plan Jerec had inherited after the old man had passed away.

Watching the ugly dwarf slink away made Jerec realize not all who might know Syndelia had good intentions. Barakus, his guide and guard entered just as the dwarf left, and the young man quickly spotted Jerec, making a beeline for his table, staring askance at the Firbolg, the Troll and the Elf as he did so.

"The young lady over there, I have met her before on a journey I made some years back," Jerec said to Barakus as he dug into his food. "Quite the turn of events so see here again, and in such company," he added while running a hand through his beard absently.

Jerec had intended his stay in Clayshire to be brief before returning to his tower and begin preparations for a much longer journey, but the fellowship gathering at the tavern was making him wonder at the hand fate might be playing in his plans, for good or for ill.

Slowly eating his food, he glances enviously over at Syndelia's plate. After a bit, Paran looks at the newcomer to the table. He is noticeably different from Syndelia, though Paran is unsure if they are from the same tribe or not. Though he suspects the latter due to Ehrendil's lack of tattoos. Deciding to ask, he says, "Hello Ehrendril. So you are a stargazer, that is good to profession. A lot can be learned from the stars. In fact, the animist of my tribe reads the stars among other things. She gets glimpses of the future to help guide the tribe. Also, I can't help but notice that you are both elves, am I right in thinking that you two are from different tribes? i am sorry but I haven't seen too many elves apart from Syndelia so I am a little ignorant."

He takes his ale and begins to drink it, looking between the two people.

Korag approaches the table with so many strangers and odd travelers.  He is tall for a half-orc, who are already slightly larger than the average man, with forearms that would rival Paran's.  Scars line his arms and neck where visible, and a calm surety in his walk and stance suggest that he has not always been a bartender.  He cocks his head as he looks Paran up and down, sizing up the firbolg.

"Well, well, well.  We not get much yer kind round here.  And ye not look much like town's 'bolg, Freda.  Where you from, 'bolg?"  His speech is choppy, though a lifetime with tusks will do that to a tongue.  He waits for an answer, ignoring the fact that you were all in conversation previously.

A little surprised by the mans sudden appearance, Paran stops drinking mid sip and carefully sets down his ale. He awkwardly looks to the people on either side of him before taking a moment to appraise the man before him. Paran is impressed, He didn't think that the other races could match the size and physique of the firbolg.

"Hello, my name is Paran. I am surprised that you know of the firbolg, we are a pretty isolated race." He pauses as he registers the mans words regarding another firbolg. "Did you say that there is another firbolg here? That is very odd. I would like to talk with Freda, if I could. And to answer your last question, I come from the far north. So, are you the other here? I like this place quite a bit, though the door is a little thin."

Famished after a diet of lean, stringy hares on the way back from Steamwind, the Dusk Elf digs greedily into the roast. It's much better fare than she would normally be able to afford at an inn, she knows that full well. Korag knows that, despite her strange or outright scandalous appearance, Syndelia is basically good for business.

And talking of that...

She waits until the innkeep has answered Paran's questions, to enquire:

"Anything interesting going on in town, Korag? Have you heard of anyone seeking passage to somewhere? And... anything I should know about the comings and goings of a certain dwarf bitch?" she adds in a lower voice.

"Aye, 'nother 'bolg.  He ain't in town now, off on a hunt.  Not say much, but I hear he's from Crown Empire, far east.  You two get along right as rain when he back.  And no, not owner.  Just watch the place.  Owner is a bit shy, only in it for money and tradition.  Dates back to her parent's parents."

Turning to Syndelia, he gives a frown.  "Town's quiet.  Game's not good, and something got town guard spooked.  Ain't heard no-one looking for passage, but plenty odd folks tonight.  Yer free to see if they need you for hire, but you know the rules.  Keep that damned rivalry out my tavern."

"Rivalry, what rivalry," Syndelia smiles brightly, letting her Elven tones rise and fall in the proverbial musical fashion, instead of her usual gruffness. "We are all people of good cheer here."

She takes another bite of the venison. It's the best stuff she's had in ages, and she's feeling more relax. Perhaps the ale helps too. At some point she needs another client, she's down to her last few coppers. But not right now. It's the rare night she can enjoy the drink, the fire, and perhaps even the company, ignoring her instincts that despise small, crowded places at ground level. Just relax.

With his tankard in hand Trog was warm and feed, two of the better states of being that a troll could be in. There were certainly many odd humans in the tavern tonight and a small giant....

It was good to be inside he though as he put another log onto the fire.



-

While it would seem obvious that the threat of the Raven-King would unite all species, Jerec had found it had instead made them more suspicious and more determined to remain apart, cloistered within own communities. It was then strange to see such a disparate group gathered over at the other table in Clayshire this day.

Taking a few bites of his meal and washing it down with his drink, Jerec decided he had waited long enough to learn why... and he would not get answers from where he was sitting. Motioning for Barakus to remain seated, Jerec grasped his staff and slowly walked over to the table where the others, sans the troll, were seated.

"Well met, one and all, I am known as Jerec, a wanderer of no ill repute," he said stoically, staring into each and everyone's eyes as he did so. "I have made the occasional visit to Clayshire over the years and it rare to meet a group gathered with such different backgrounds here, or anywhere for that matter."

When his eyes found Syndelia he went on with a small smile, "I have already made an acquaintance with Syndelia some years ago, but the rest of you are unknown to me, why don't we change that?"

Given the strange nature of the group forming at one table in the tavern, many of the patrons seem to be watching, keeping an eye on the collection of elves, men, and even one firbolg.  To the outside observer, this would be a strange sight.  But to those with more worldly experience, it was nothing too unusual.

The sound of some commotion from outside floats through the closed door.  That in itself is not strange.  Instead, it is the silence that follows it that is.  In a town that is often bustling, silence is an oddity.  It would seem that the hooded man in the corner notices this, and sits up straight, looking around.  A faint, flickering glow can be seen emanating from within the hood.

---

OOC: Any characters paying attention to the noise can make a Perception check, with a -20 due to the commotion being outside.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:36, Sun 15 Aug 2021.

Syndelia rolls her eyes, lowering the ale mug.

"I can vouch for this old man being reputable," she tells her tablemates, sighing, "but also the worst, most sanctimonious bore in the land. What bad wind brings you to Clayshire, old man? Don't say you came to preach the good fight to us, I have nowhere else to drink..."

She stops mid-sentence, her Elven ears perking up...

---

17:29, Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 122 using 1d100+45 with rolls of 77.  Perception roll.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:32, Sun 15 Aug 2021.

"Thanks for letting me know, Korag. I hope he come back soon. I didn't think that there were any firbolg tribes in the east. Though I suppose that we probably have just lost touch with them. Well regardless, thanks for the food."

Paran sips his ale as he notices a man walking to the table. He sets down his ale when the man starts to speak. It seems that Jerek and Syndelia know each other. A little curious he lets them speak. He is startled when Syndelia stop speaking suddenly and becomes alert. He starts to look around, though this is rather pointless as he is still ignorant of the city.

"Syndelia, what's going on? Did you hear something?"

Not sure what is going on, Paran downs the rest of his ale and grabs his spear. His tries to follow Syndelia's eyeline to see if he can figure out what startled her.

It was odd that things could stop so suddenly and that was the first thing that Trog picked up on, everyone had stopped in the tavern. Then they looked to be collecting weapons and leaving. He looked over to Korag as a means to decipher what was going on.


-

Korag seems to notice the silence as well, and moves to behind the bar.  He keeps an eye on the door.  It would appear that most of the other patrons haven't noticed anything more unusual than your group.  The hooded man in the corner cautiously takes his ale and downs it before gesturing to Korag for yet another.  His posture suggests one on edge, though any travelers have felt that from the sound of breaking twigs in the forest.  It could be nothing.

Syndelia raises a hand in the air, indication caution.

"Metal on metal," she whispers almost inaudibly at Paran; the next second she's up, arrow nocked on her bowstring, and by the door. Carefully she leans a shoulder on the door, cracking it ajar ever so slightly to take a peek outside, ready to draw and shoot...

That sickly sweet smell of the clay sneaks in through the cracked door.  At this point, the other patrons are watching Syndelia, unsure of what is going on.  She is fairly well known in town for being sharp in eye and ear, so it is troubling that she seems concerned about something they have not noticed.  Korag seems too focused on the situation to bring any more ale to the hooded man in the corner.

Keeping the door only ajar, Syndelia draws the bow, taking aim at something outside the building.

"Get your weapons, Paran," she whispers towards the room, closing one eye to get a bead on her target. "Five incoming, four of them Undead."

Paran freezes when he hears Syndelia mention undead. His grip on his spear tightens and his skin pales a bit. Nodding, he follows Syndelia to the door. He does some rhythmic breathing to prepare himself for what is to come.

'I am ready, let me know when to go,' He whispers as he tries to peak through the door to get a better view.

Trog lifted himself off the floor and gave a little shake before he grasped his hammer which was leaning against the wall. "Elf woman was being silly and others had got the bug, Trog go ask whats matter...." he thought to himself as he crossed the room in a couple of strides.

"What problem... sit down or leave."


-

Syndelia's one open eye was fixed on her mark, so she felt more than she saw the Troll approaching, a subtle vibration through the soles of her boots as the great creature got to her feet.

"Shhh. Stay put, Troll," she whispered, not looking at him, correcting minutely the position of the arrow. "Enemies approaching. Keep quiet, just a second more..."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:11, Wed 18 Aug 2021.

---

OOC: Syndelia, go ahead and make your attack.  You get the full bonus.

"Night Lady, guide this shaft..." she says under her breath.

A second later, she releases the string, letting the arrow fly and find its target...

---

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 143 using 1d100+120 with rolls of 23.  Aimed Ranged attack (+40).

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 45 using 1d100 ((45)).
This message was last edited by the player at 15:17, Wed 18 Aug 2021.

Syndelia has but a moment to jump away from the door before it crashes open.  The combination of a cold wind and the smell of clay sweeps in through the door, but also several creatures.  Something looking like a pale dwarf forces its way into the room, its shoulder positioned forward to provide the strength needed to break through the door.  It wields a mattock in one hand, and the light from the hearth show that it is heavily rusted and stained with blood.  It wears dark chainmail armor, though if it is painted or made from a dark metal is not clear.  Following it, acting almost blindly, four skeletons march into the room.  One holds a shortspear, one an longsword, one a battleaxe, and one a heavy mace.  All of the weapons are in quite poor condition, and the creatures wear no armor.

Some of you who paid attention to the tales from your elders seem to recall stories about both this "dwarf" and these skeletal creatures.

The "dwarf" looks around the tavern before locking eyes on the hooded man in the corner.  It snarls, and you can all hear a quiet "fuck" come from the man.  Korag, standing behind his bar, kneels down and braces a heavy crossbow on the bartop.

Enter Combat
Round One Begins!

---

Action Declarations
"Dwarf": Moves to zone one, no other actions.
Skeletons: Move to zone one, no other actions.
Korag: Ranged Attack on one of the skeletons.
Hooded Man: ???

The tavern will be broken up into three zones.

• Zone One is the area where the door and a few windows exist, with minimal tables.  Currently Syndelia, Paran, and Trog are in this zone.
• Zone Two is the area where most of the tables exist, and will count as difficult terrain but allow for cool stunts such as finding high ground or using tables as cover.  Currently Jerec, Barakus, and Ehrendril are in this zone.
• Zone Three is where the bar is as well as the door to the inn rooms, with minimal tables.  Currently Korag and the hooded man are in this zone.

OOC: Combat in 'Against the Darkmaster' is both simplified and made much more complex than games such as D&D.  There are multiple phases, but you make your declarations at the beginning of the round.  For this first round, we will be passing the Assessment Phase, and moving straight to the Declaration Phase.  Enemies make their declarations first, and then the players respond.  To keep things from dragging along, we will allow for some chaos in combat.  If you declare that you stab at Creature X but it dies before you have the chance, your action is nullified.  I may take some small liberties such as altering your target in such circumstances, to say that "as Creature X dies, Creature Y standing next to it becomes your target".

With that said, let's slay some monsters!
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:55, Wed 18 Aug 2021.

Paran stands in front of the creatures brandishing his short spear. Though he is shaken by something, he is none the less steadfast. He stares at the dwarf-like creature, he vaguely recalls some stories about these creatures.

Standing in front of the creature, Paran clears his throat and, in a deep voice, says, "You will leave now. You have destroyed the sanctity of this place with your undead filth. Leave now or suffer my wrath!" He feels confident in his attempt at intimidating the creature into leaving.

His spear readied, he awaits what the creature will do.

---

Paran rolled 78 using 1d100+20 with rolls of 58.  Songs and Tales to identify dwarf creature.

Paran rolled 127 using 1d100+40 with rolls of 87.  Charisma roll to convince dwarf to leave.

The still unknown "dwarf" creature takes its white eyes off the hooded man for a moment, and only a moment, to regard Paran.  It, armored and accompanied, looks at the firbolg with a crudely made spear, and chuckles in a dark, cold laugh.  "Your wrath?  You face the wrath of the Raven King.  It is you who should stand down.  If you stand back, we will leave you be.  After all, it is not you we are here for."

---

OOC: Don't be discouraged from attempting negotiations!  Some enemies are harder to convince than others.  And sometimes the GM won't budge from a scripted fight.

Trog's attention is instantly turned when the door starts to make sounds.... and then gives way. He moves his left hand to grasp the haft of his weapon to join his right and brings its stone head up around his ear.

For and instant his muscles tense as he begins the arc of his swing towards the "dwarf" with as much speed as he can muster.


Trog rolled 119 using 1d100+100 with rolls of 19.  Attack.
Trog rolled 17 using 1d100 with rolls of 17.  Critical Strike.


-
This message was last edited by the player at 06:00, Thu 19 Aug 2021.

The Dusk Elf muttered a curse and turned in the air as she jumped back. She had meant to hit the dwarf-creature straight in the chest, but he (it?) had moved at the last second. And too fast for a regular dwarf...

She heard Paran speak out in his booming voice, just as Trog charged forward swinging a massive hammer. Syndelia crouched, slid between the Troll's legs and after two long strides she sommersaulted on Jerec's table. She even had the time to do a ballerina-like spin on it, spraying around mugs and plates while she nocked a second arrow - shooting it at the neartest skeleton as soon as she spun around.

---

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 156 using 1d100+85 with rolls of 71.  Acrobatics (jump on a table).

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 106 using 1d100+60 with rolls of 46.  Ranged attack (at -20 for fast reload). Any bonus for Higher Ground?

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 66 using 1d100 with rolls of 66.  Critical roll (just in case).
This message was last edited by the player at 11:13, Thu 19 Aug 2021.

Jerec had been alerted by Syndelia's warning, his smile at her comment dying on his lips when he heard her mention the undead. Moving towards Barakus and alerting him, Jerec was assessing the situation when the door burst open and all the hells broke loose!

Jerec gestured at Barakus with a nod of his cowled head and the guard took position in front of Jerec and Ehrendril, sword and shield in hand. Jerec noted the dwarf like filth's interest in the cowled man, but did not speak on it just yet.

"Back to the nether-hells foul things," he murmured instead. Normally the mage would join Barakus and the others with his sword & staff, keeping his magic only for emergencies, but a brazen attack by the undead in the center of town did qualify as an emergency; who knew how many other such foul things were out and about this night.

Staring at their unholy opponents he raised his free hand and traced invisible symbols in the air with two extended fingers; Jerec's other hand grasped his staff while his mouth breathed illegible words under his breath...

---

Full Action: Concentrating (+10 to SC rolls/round spent concentrating)
Free Action: Songs & Tales. Result: 17 (ouch!)






This message was last edited by the player at 13:37, Thu 19 Aug 2021.

POST MADE BY NARRATOR

Caught by surprise as the enemy approaches, Ehrendril draws the lengthy bow attached to his back.  Taking advantage of the shielded man before him, the elf knocks an arrow and takes aim, utilizing the time available to sight in.

---

Half-Action: Ready his bow
Action: Aim

OOC: Ehrendril's spells are very utility-based, not currently focused on combat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:56, Thu 19 Aug 2021.

Barakus, as is expected of him, forms a protective wall before his sworn companion.  The two had practiced this formation many times, with the frailer wizard standing behind the form of steel and blade.  His shield is raised, his sword in a defensive position.  Barakus prepares to parry and defend.

---

Action: Barakus parries, subtracting 50 from his CMB and adding it to defense against all enemies.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:55, Thu 19 Aug 2021.

Assessment Phase
Both Jerec and Paran make an attempt to recall information about this dwarf-like creature standing before them.  Neither one has seen something like this before, but they understand now that it means harm to any who stand in its way.

Movement Phase
The creatures have crashed through the entrance of the tavern, all currently collected near the doorway.  Given the proximity to them, Syndelia flips backwards and up onto a table.  Jerec, Ehrendril, and Barakus rise up to their feet and assume a defensive position.

Spell Phase A
It is at this time that Jerec focuses his mind, concentrating on the energies that surround him, the magicks that creep across his skin and flow through his veins.  He begins concentrating on a spell.

Ranged Phase A
Syndelia, atop her table, nocks another arrow and prepares to fire at her first opportunity.  Ehrendril draws his bow and takes aim.  Korag, from behind his bar, unleashes his crossbow with a loud TWANG.  The bolt flies through the room and misses the "dwarf" by hairs.

Melee Phase
Trog heaves his mighty mattock straight into the chest of the "dwarf", his mighty sinews bulging as he lets out a breath.  The mattock slams into the creature, but between its armor and its predilection for combat, it manages to absorb most of the blow with a small step backwards.

Ranged Phase B
Swearing under his breath, Korag begins loading another crossbow bolt.  It is clear he has done this before.  Ehrendril continues his attempt at sighting in, hoping to overcome his overall lack of skill in archery with patience.  Syndelia lets loose her arrow and it flies straight towards the shoulder of the "dwarf", only to deflect off its armor harmlessly.

Spell Phase B
Jerec continues his muttering and hand motions, continuing his concentration to allow for the most efficient expenditure of magic he can muster.

Round One Ends

Round Two Begins
The "dwarf" maintains its eye contact on the hooded stranger, and bull rushes through the tavern straight to confront him.  The man, in quite a flourish, stands tall and sweeps his cloak off in one motion.  Gleaming armor is worn beneath, and a polished two-handed sword appears in his hand.  Atop his brow is a crown of twisted metal and flame.  It shines with a pure light.  And with all his majesty, all he can muster is yet another, "Fuck."

---

"Dwarf":  Full Movement to Zone Three.
Sword Skeleton: Attack Paran
Axe Skeleton: Attack Trog
Spear Skeleton: Move to Zone Two and Attack Barakus
Mace Skeleton: Move to Zone Two and Attack Barakus
Hooded Man: Attack "Dwarf"
Korag: Reload and ranged attack at a Skeleton.
Barakus: Parry for +50 Defense
Ehrendril: Ranged Attack at a Skeleton

With a roar of frustrations Trog could see the "dwarf" dart across the room and out of his way. He looked to follow and then was met by one of the skeletons and its rusty axe and emotionless grin.

As his hammer came to the end of its swing Trog angled it up over his shoulder and down onto the undead thing.

Trog rolled 189 using 1d100+100 with rolls of 89.  Attack.
Trog rolled 8 using 1d100 with rolls of 8.  Critical Strike.

I get the feeling two good rolls in a row might be a goal to far....


-

Resolved to pepper the dwarf-thing with arrows, the Dusk Elf pivots on the table, tracking the undead's movements, letting loose another arrow - too fast for proper aiming...

---

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 95 using 1d100+60 with rolls of 35.  Ranged at -20 again I think? (for fast reload and shooting again).

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 43 using 1d100 with rolls of 43.  Critical roll (just in case).

Disheartened that his intimidation didn't work, he takes a quick look around and notices the gathering of fighting inside the inn. He runs towards Trog and the skeletons and shouts, "The Raven King has made a mistake sending you here. We will ensure that this place will be your grave." The people nearest to Paran can almost the force of his words invigorate them.

---

Paran uses his Heroic Bloosline ability to grant everyone in 6m a +5 Attack and Defense bonus for this round.

As the chaos mounted and the hooded man revealed him to be something disturbing in of himself, Jerec pointed his hand with stiffened fingers towards the spear wielding skeleton flanking Barakus.

A tingle ran down his arm and Barakus instinctively, or perhaps from earlier training, ducked suddenly as lightning flashed from the mage's extended fingers and smashed into the skeleton with a shower of sparks, the sharp smell of ozone permeating the air.

---

Spell Phase A: Casting Thunderbolt at spear wielding skeleton menacing Barakus

Spellcasting Roll: 110
Bolt Attack Table Effect: 12 light

Critical: 70
Effect: Heavy charge Damage foe's shield arm: +12 Damage, -20 to all actions. Target drops any metal shield they're holding. If target is wearing metal armor, they're also Stunned.

Total Damage: 24 & -20 to all actions for spear wielding skeleton IF it survives. :)


This message was last edited by the player at 22:32, Fri 20 Aug 2021.

Assessment Phase


Movement Phase
The "dwarf" charges through the tavern, crashing through tables and against patrons, most of whom are standing to flee.  It arrives before the Crowned Warrior (formerly Hooded Man) ready to fight.

Spell Phase A
Jerec, after having concentrated on his arcane energies, erupts with a powerful lightning directed towards one of the skeletons threatening his companion Barakus.  His bolt of electricity catches the spear of the skeleton, coursing down the shaft and exploding into the undead creature.  One entire side is heavily charred, and it drops the spear.  The necromantic energies that hold it together seem to be waning fast.

Ranged Phase A
Syndelia takes a moment to quickly nock another arrow, doing so quite hastily and drawing a rapid bead on the "dwarf".  Ehrendril, however, had been aiming already and lets loose his arrow!  It flies into the skeleton wielding the heavy mace, but the lack of flesh and muscle allows it to easily dodge the arrow as it passes through the undead.

Melee Phase
The Skeleton with the spear finds itself unable to attack due to a lack of a weapon.  The Skeleton with the heavy mace swings into the shield of Barakus, but finds that the man is defending far too well for the attack to make any purchase.  It is deflected harmlessly off the shield.  The Crowned Warrior swings down upon the "dwarf" with his beautiful sword, but is apparently far too drunk to fight.  He stumbles forward with the weight of the sword, obviously disoriented.

Trog, with one mighty blow, swings his mattock into the skeleton attacking him; this is simultaneous with the skeleton itself, swinging an axe.  Both foes make purchase against the other; however, where the axe only mildly cuts the troll, the troll's mattock smashes the skeleton into smithereens.  Shards of bone scatter in the general area.

Paran cries out with his encouraging and yet threatening words, and those around him find themselves inspired.  The skeleton wielding a sword swings at the firbolg, but the northern warrior proves to be not an easy target, and the sword merely cuts at the heavy firs.

Ranged Phase B
Syndelia lets her arrow fly, but finds her un-aimed arrow yet again deflecting off the creature harmlessly.  Korag continues loading his crossbow from behind the bar.

Spell Phase B


Round Two Ends

---

Trog loses 9HP as an axe cuts into his arm.
Skeleton (Axe) is dead.  Again?  Still?
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:19, Sat 21 Aug 2021.

Round Three Begins

Finally in melee range with one of the skeletons, Barakus begins swinging his sword at the undead in hopes of slaying it before it can harm his allies.  He is clearly skilled with the curved blade he wields, even when balancing it with a heavier shield in the other arm.

The Crowned Warrior takes a moment to attempt to orient himself, setting to attack if he can narrow down which of the three images before him is the real "dwarf".  The "dwarf" itself begins assaulting the inebriated man.

The remaining skeletons continue fighting, attacking at Paran and Barakus as before.  Ehrendril draws an arrow and aims it at the charred skeleton.

---

"Dwarf": Melee Attack against Crowned Warrior
Skeleton (Mace): Melee Attack against Barakus
Skeleton (Spear): Retrieve Spear and Melee Attack against Barakus
Crowned Warrior: Assessment and maybe Melee Attack against "Dwarf"
Barakus: Melee Attack against Skeleton (Mace)
Ehendril: Load Ranged Weapon
Korag: Load Ranged Weapon
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:18, Sat 21 Aug 2021.

Trog got a face full of dust and bone shards as the skeleton disintegrated under the stone of his hammer. Just like the others had that he had been running into as he was working in the pit, same as when they still had flesh on them as well.

He spies the little "dwarf" across the tap room that had disturbed his night, his ale and his peace and with a few long strides the troll was within striking distance. With momentum behind him Trog was able to get a little leap as he brought the head of his hammer down with terrible effect.


Trog rolled 198 using 1d100+110 with rolls of 88.  Attack.
Trog rolled 27 using 1d100 with rolls of 27.  Critical Strike.


-

Annoyed that the skeleton was still standing after his spell and still flanking Barakus, Jerec darted forward so that the skeleton was between him and Barakus. The mage thrust at it with his staff, quickly reversing the grip then bringing it back down upon its skull with an overhead blow.

---

Attack w. Staff: 80
Note: Not sure if we are using Charge combat action; if we are then Jerec gets a +20 to the roll
Note II: If Jerec would be considered Flanking the skeleton he gets a +15 to the roll. However I am not sure if flanking applies as Barakus is engaged with the skeleton with the mace...

Critical roll (if applicable): 51

01:49, Today: Jerec rolled 51 using 1d100 with rolls of 51.  Critical.
01:42, Today: Jerec rolled 80 using 1d100+25 with rolls of 55.  Attack w. Staff.

Taking a deep breath, Syndelia took her time to nock a fourth arrow and aim properly at the dwarf-thing. It was obvious some evil sorcery was imbuing it with near complete protection. She'd have to place her shot carefully...

---

Taking the full turn to reload, etc.

Paran focuses on the skeleton assaulting him. He thrusts with his spear, the blow a little unsteady.

---

Paran rolled 59 using 1d100+10 with rolls of 49.  attack with spear.

Assessment Phase
The Crowned Warrior rises to his feet, still somewhat wobbly, and clearly tries to focus on the "dwarf" before him.  It does not appear successful, as his eyes fail to lock on to any distinct form.

Movement Phase
Trog charges across the tavern, mighty mattock held high!  Tables are but minor obstacles for the troll, and they are left strewn chaotically in his wake.

Spell Phase A


Ranged Phase A
Ehrendril, Syndelia, and Korag all load their ranged weapons, be it bow or crossbow.

Melee Phase
Longest: Trog's mattock comes crashing down on the side of the "dwarf" with resounding effect.  The head of the weapon smashes into its ribs, and the sound of cracking echoes through the taven.  The "dwarf" stumbles to the side, dazed in the fray.

Long: Paran strikes at the skeleton assaulting him, but fails to make any contact with the creature.  His aim is visibly unsteady, and those paying attention may notice a hint of fear in his eyes.  Jerec also finds a lack of success with his attack, as he runs around Barakus to swing at one of the skeletons with his staff, finding that the creature was able to dodge his blow without too much trouble.  That same skeleton retrieves its spear and thrusts it at Barakus, but the man's defense is still impenetrable.  The skeleton attacking Paran takes a swing at the firbolg, but not only fails to his the hero, it actually hits itself!  It is dazed by the strange impact

Short: Barakus and the skeleton wielding the mace trade blows at the same time.  The skeleton's mace lands on the shield of the warrior, sliding off harmlessly.  Barakus swings at the skeleton with the mace, slicing easily through its ragged clothing and cutting through bone.  The undead creature pauses for a moment, looking at its forearm where a new cut had made it nearly through.

Ranged Phase B


Spell Phase B


Round Three Ends

---

OOC: The "dwarf", skeleton (longsword), and skeleton (mace) are all stunned until the end of Round Four, and actions against them get +20.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:04, Mon 23 Aug 2021.

Round Four Begins

The "dwarf" looks hazy in its stance, the wind knocked out of it by Trog's blow.  It finds itself unable to put up an attack, but defends itself as best it can.  With Trog being the mightier of its enemies, it turns around and attempts to parry any blow the troll can dish out.  This leaves room for the crowned warrior to make an attack against the unguarded back of the creature.

Only one of the skeletons finds itself able to act at this moment, the skeleton with the spear.  It turns to the now unguarded Jerec and thrusts at the man with its long weapon.  Barakus cries out in frustration as he sees this, but nonetheless continues his fight with the other skeleton.

Both Ehrendril and Korag release their ranged weapons simultaneously, with both bolts flying towards the skeleton at the far end of the tavern (the one in melee with Paran).

---

"Dwarf": Stunned, Parries against Trog
Skeleton (Mace): Stunned
Skeleton (Spear): Melee Attack against Jerec
Crowned Warrior: Melee Attack against "Dwarf"
Barakus: Melee Attack against Skeleton (Mace)
Ehendril: Ranged Weapon Attack against Skeleton (Longsword)
Korag: Ranged Weapon Attack against Skeleton (Longsword)
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:30, Mon 23 Aug 2021.

"Night Lady, guide this shaft..."

The fourth arrow flies straight and true towards the undead dwarf...

---

15:19, Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 170 using 1d100+80 with rolls of 90.  Shooting the dwarf-thing.

This time unmodified by fast reload.

15:20, Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 25 using 1d100 with rolls of 25.  Critical roll.

Jerec was annoyed the skeleton dodged his attack so easily. He knew his age was catching up to him, but hadn't figured it would be this bad.

As the skeleton prepared to thrust at him with his staff the mage uttered a Word and leapt backwards, his robe billowing around him loudly as he traversed an impossible distance with what appeared to be only minimal effort.

Metal scraped as Jerec drew his longsword in mid-air, holding both sword & staff in hand as he landed and now faced the spear wielding skeleton from many paces away.

---

Half Action: Cast Jump (Instantaneous Spell) to leap upto 15 meters back. -1MP
Half Action II: Draw Longsword

With a practised hand Trog recovers his weapon from the over swing of his attack and brings it to bear on the dwarf again. Straight down from his ear, he could fear the air as the head of the weapon sped towards the "dwarf".

Trog rolled 131 using 1d100+100 with rolls of 31.  Attack.
Trog rolled 26 using 1d100 with rolls of 26.  Critical Strike.

At some point I'm sure I roll over 30 for a critical strike....


-

His frustration at his first strike being deflected, his anger begins to overcome his fear. His strike is far steadier, and filled with more passion.

I will not suffer these things to live for a moment longer.

---

Paran rolled 127 using 1d100+30 with rolls of 97.  attack with spear.
Paran rolled 49 using 1d100 with rolls of 49.  Critical Strike.

Assessment Phase

Movement Phase

Spell Phase A
Jerec erupts from his position, taking to the air and landing not too far from where he once stood.  Those who are familiar with the arcane arts recognize the magic involved, but many of you are not.

Ranged Phase A
Syndelia's arrow whistles through the air, crossing the tavern to find its place in the "dwarf's" arm.  The impact causes it to stumble to the side, and maintaining its momentary shock.  Korag's bolt twangs from the crossbow, and instanteneously finds itself punching through the thigh bone of the skeleton threatening Paran.  The undead creature, sword held high, begins leaking necromantic energy until it crumbles to the ground, harmless.  Ehrendril, who had been aiming at the same skeleton, diverts his bow at the last second and fires his shot at the skeleton wielding the spear, but his arrow misses narrowly.

Melee Phase
Longest: The crowned warrior raises his mighty sword, swinging it with grace and power.  The blade cuts cleanly through the "dwarf", so neatly that the creature does not notice that it had just died.

Long: Trog, facing the creature, sees the blade slice through it, but that doesn't stop the momentum of his heavy mattock.  He slams the blunt end into the "dwarf", and the top half flies across the barroom to smack into the wall behind Korag.  It sluffs down to behind the half-orc.  Paran, on the other side of the tavern, thrusts his trusty harpoon towards the skeleton he faces, but it crumbles before his point can make contact.  The skeleton with a spear thrusts towards where Jerec had once stood, but finds only empty space.

Short: Barakus and the skeleton wielding a mace continue their struggle.  Both manage to land blows on each other at roughly the same time.  Where the mace strikes a shield and is shrugged off, Barakus manages to cut through its arm and into its ribcage, slaying it with a ferocity Jerec had rarely seen.  It crumbles to the ground, leaving only a single skeleton standing.

Ranged Phase B


Spell Phase B


Round Four Ends

---

OOC: Only the Skeleton (Spear) is left.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:09, Tue 24 Aug 2021.

Round Five Begins

With one skeleton remaining, itself smoldering from the electricity that had not long ago coursed through its frame, Korag returns to reloading his crossbow, but seems in no great haste.  Ehrendril begins nocking another arrow, but otherwise remains silent.  The skeleton looks around for the nearest target, which is now Barakus, and prepares to restart his assault against the man.  Barakus, in turn, prepares to fight back.

The crowned warrior looks around, and just as it looks like he may charge the skeleton, does something unexpected.  He books it.  He rushes towards the door and flees outside. It would seem there is more to this man that meets the eye.  His regal armor and flaming crown seem juxtaposed on the cowardly man.

---

Skeleton (Spear): Melee Attack against Barakus
Korag: Reload Ranged Weapon
Ehrendril: Reload Ranged Weapon
Crowned Warrior: Deuces!

Syndelia watched the arrow bury itself in the dwarf-thing's arm with satisfaction. Take that, you bastard. Then her peripheral vision made her jerk her head. The strange, ex-hooded man in the strange crown was fleeing the scene. Syndelia had no idea who or what he was, but it was pretty clear the dwarf-thing and his skeleton minions had come to the Hero and Spear for him.

And now he was legging it?

"I don't think so, little man," she muttered, and pounced on him with a perfectly timed jump, landing on top of him and putting a knee to his back before he could react, twisting his arm behind his back.

"Shhh, easy, little man," she whispered in his ear. "Keep struggling and I'll break your arm. For starters."

---

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 126 using 1d100+30 with rolls of 96.  Brawl (tackling the fleeing Crowned Dude).

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 87 using 1d100 with rolls of 87.  Wohoo! Rolled a 96, so rolling again.

For a total of 213. Beat that, Crowned Dude.

This message was last edited by the player at 14:41, Tue 24 Aug 2021.

Jerec watched half of the 'dwarf' creature hit the wall behind Korag with a wet smack in dismay. Though he was glad it had been destroyed, he was also dismayed it had been killed before they managed to get some answers from it; the undead certainly were not going to talk.

Well at least they still had the crowned warrior to...before Jerec could form another thought he noted the man trying to run out the door of the tavern, while the skeleton with the spear was about to try and stab Barakus.

"Don't let him get away!" Jerec yelled out to the others, before twirling his gleaming blade and charging at the skeleton's flank, trying to keep it between him and Barakus, putting the momentum of his charge into a deadly thrust aimed at the creatures rotting ribcage!

---

Full Action: Charge at Skeleton w. spear. Trying to also flank it.

Attack Roll (edged): 154 (includes +20 from Charge) If Flanking is applicable another +15 would be added.

Critical: 16

Trog looked towards the red splatter on the wall next to Korag and then down to the head of his hammer. Then back to Korag, who he gave a little wave to. The man in the shiny hat was already half way across the tap room before Trog even noticed he was missing so he did nothing to heed or hinder the man's progress.

The skeleton that was still standing was something else though and Trog moved to bring him down if the other patrons in the tavern did not do it first.

Trog rolled 197 using 1d100+110 with rolls of 87.  Attack.
Trog rolled 49 using 1d100 with rolls of 49.  Critical Strike.

Probably wont need it, as there are faster PC's.



-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:10, Wed 25 Aug 2021.

Seeing the skeleton collapse, Paran sighs with relief. He seems to stand up taller and he visibly relaxes. He hears Jerec's call to stop the man and , seeing Syndelia going after him, chases after him as well.

While running, he begins to shout, "Halt sir! We have killed the..." He pauses when he sees that Syndelia has tackled him. He continues forward, quickly reaching the two. The man's attempt at escape reminded Paran of the young firbolg warriors when they encounter their first monster. The leaders had to calm them down before they got themselves hurt or attracted any unwanted attention. Attempting to imitate the leaders of his clan, he tries to calm the man. In a quieter voice, he says, "Please calm down. Those creatures are dead. We don't want to hurt you, we just want to know what is going on. Surely you have time to tell us. I think we have earned at least that much."

---

Paran rolled 133 using 1d100+40 with rolls of 93.  Charisma (calm down man and get him to talk).

The final skeleton falls as both Jerec and Barakus work seamlessly to slay it.  Trog arrives moments later, feeling perhaps disappointment that it was already dealt with.  The tavern was quiet...  or it would be if the crowned man, regal in stature, wasn't babbling like a scared child.

Combat Ends

"You don't understand, you have to let me go now!  They've found me, they've found me, they've found me...  If He gets His hands on me, it's all over!  I've failed!  I have to go now, have to flee, have to flee..."  His eyes look pleadingly between Syndelia and Paran, and the man struggles against his physical restraint.  Moments pass as his rambling slows, until he finally takes a deep breath.

"You claim to deserve a story.  Well, you haven't earned jack, but I'll give you one.  I've been on the run for years now.  Always having to watch over my back, sleeping with one eye open.  This time I thought I'd lost them, but...  If I fall into the hands of the Raven King, it's all over, and He'll have won.  I cannot allow that to happen.  These ones may be dead, but there's always more, always more, _{always more...}"

With this, he gives one last mighty shove to free himself, and makes another attempt for the door.  Whether or not he succeeds, it is clear this man is scared and run ragged.

---

OOC: In the future, we'll use the Grappling attack (see Weapons) for such an action.  I hadn't noticed it there before.

In the meantime...
06:43, Today: Narrator, for the NPC Crowned Warrior, rolled 132 using 1d100+45 with rolls of 87.  Escape.

Syndelia frowned, distracted for a second.

"The Raven King is after you? Why would be want anything to do wi-I SAID, EASY! Stay put or I'll..."

The man almost overpowered her in his frantic struggle, but she quickly regained control of him. Angered at his attempt, she produced a curved blade from the sheath at her back, putting it to the man's neck.

"Try that again and you won't have to fear the Raven King any more, human. We just saved your pitiful hide, so you tell us what you know, or it ends here and now," she hissed furiosly.

---

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 113 using 1d100+30 with rolls of 83.  Brawl (keeping Crowndude grappled).

Against his 132-30 = 102
This message was last edited by the player at 15:13, Wed 25 Aug 2021.

The man struggles until the knife is placed at his throat.  At this point he stills, but does not seem to calm.  He looks up at Syndelia with mad eyes, and hisses.  "The crown!  He searches for the crown!  And soon He'll have it, if you keep me here!  His legions are everywhere.  Like ants.  And they've found me.  There will be more, there will be more, there will be more..."

Closer inspection of the crown reveals it to be a finely crafted crown of gold, a single piece without jewelry, but ornate in its design.  From the studded band, several steeples rise upwards.  The crown itself seems to have been hammered into shape, and has clearly seen many fights as it is dented in countless areas.  While not made of flame, it seems to glow with the flickering light of a torch, though it could be your eyes playing tricks on you.

As he expected the last skeleton fell to the other people in the tavern and the man trying to escape was taken down. So Trog began to right the chairs and tables he had up ended on his way to the dwarf. He then started to rifle through the dwarfs belongs to see if there was anything that may explain why he came to the tavern

Trog starts on the bottom half left near his feat and then moves to the top half behind the bar.



-
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 20:43, Thu 26 Aug 2021.

As Trog examines the bisected body of the "dwarf," it doesn't take long for him to realize that it hadn't been carrying anything of worth.  Its chainmail, sized for something clearly smaller than the troll, was damaged in many areas not including the slice through the middle.  Its mattock was old and rusted, but functional.  Other than a few coins that seemed hastily shoved in a small purse (likely stolen), it possesses only a small leaden ring.  There are no runes on the ring, only scratches that look as though it had seen the fury of bird talons.

Meanwhile, Korag begins uprighting tables and chairs alongside Trog, doing his best to clean the place up after the conflict.  His crossbow lays atop the bar behind which he normally stands, pointed at the door and ready for a moment's notice.  Many of the patrons who had scattered poke their heads out from the door leading to the dorms and rooms, not quite ready to emerge.  Ehrendril stands above Syndelia and the crowned warrior, a calculating look in his eyes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:38, Thu 26 Aug 2021.

Jerec sheathed his blade and slowly walke over to where Syndelia had the crowned man pinned. He kept his distance, staff at the ready for any sudden moves to escape, and peered at the man and his strange crown. It was finely crafted, of elven make perhaps, a single piece without any jewelry and yet ornate in its design.

"Calm down good sir, we will not harm you," he said smoothly, trying to give a reassuring smile. "I am sure my companion here will release you if you calm down and explain some things to us; we only wish to help against a common foe."

Jerec turned his neck towards the innkeeper and rapping his staff on the wooden floor said, "Korag! Some drinks for this gentleman to calm his nerves."

Korag nods at Jerec and gives a grunt of acknowledgement.  He returns to behind the bar and begins pouring several tankards of ale.  His stance throughout all this suggests that he is not yet calm himself.  Meanwhile, the crowned warrior looks up at Jerec with a scowl on his face.  For one as mighty as he first appeared, he seems almost sallow and sunken now.

"Meaningless words with a blade to my throat.  Who are you, the lot of you?  Are you working for Him?  Come to collect your bounty, take home a nice reward?  Well, He'll never let you live.  He won't let any of us live.  Tis the time of darkness and death."  He speaks as though a madman, but has ceased his struggling.

---

OOC: Any who wish to know more about the crown may make a Songs & Tales test (Hard)

Trog pocketed the small finds and would show them to the other people when he got a chance, they would know more then him. He then finished righting the furniture and went and got the broom to clear up the skeletons and deposit what was left outside.

Finally he collected up the weapons and not really knowing what to do with them he placed them by the fire. He looked at the dwarfs weapon, giving it a rub to see if there was anything under the rust, grime and blood. As he does so he comes over to were the "king man" is being held and listens into the conversation.


-

Syndelia laughed mirthlessly, flicking the man's nose with an index finger.

"Oooh, poor man-baby, there's a blade at his throat, boo-fucking-hoo. In case you missed it while you were busy shitting your pants, it was us who saved your sorry ass from the undead minions of the Raven King. And yes, my blade is at your throat - not through it. As it would if we served the accursed Raven King. So spare me your bawling, human. You owe us your pifitul life."

A second later, Syndelia was standing up and the blade was back in its sheath.

"All yours, old man," she said, grimacing towards Jerec. "I didn't hurt your precious man-baby. He tries to pull a runner again, I'll put a shaft through his chest."

She leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a dark look in her eyes. She had no idea what anything was about, except that that golden bauble looked pricey...

---

Today: Syndelia the Unseen rolled 62 using 1d100+15 with rolls of 47.  Songs & Tales test (Hard).
This message was last edited by the player at 21:02, Thu 26 Aug 2021.

Paran, having been keeping an eye on the man and an ear on the conversation shakes his head at Syndelia's last comment.

"You would do well to listen to her, I don't think she would hesitate, though please know that we don't want to hurt you. As you said, these are dangerous times and everyone is being careful... Perhaps too careful." He says as he shoots Syndelia a disapproving look.

leaning in a bit to get a closer look at the man, he says, "Pardon me if this is rude, but are you a king? I am not from around here, but I have heard tales of kings and leaders who adorned themselves with crowns and riches. Is that why the Raven king is after you?"

The man looks between the three (it would seem he is paying Trog no mind) in turn, before sitting upright and taking several deep breaths.  "First of all, I owe you nothing.  I would have slain these dogs like I have so many others, and fled far away.  You merely interfered and expect me to grovel at your feet."  He spits on the ground at the notion.  "I am...  I am...  If I had a name, the dreams have taken it.  But I can give you my titles.  I am the Champion of the Light, Bearer of the Crown, and servant, or slave, of the Bright King.  It is His crown I bear.  And it is for His crown that the servants of the Raven King hunt.  And now, thanks to you, they know where to find me.  And I am still here...  still here... still here..."

Ehrendril nods to any looking, the elf known as a master of lore and secrets.  It would seem he believes this story.  Korag, on the other hand, arriving with a tray of tankards, merely scoffs at the notion.  He gives a drink to any who request one, before returning to the bar.

"Hur hur, I am the Champion of Yadda-Yadda, Bearer of the Bullshit, and servant of the Ungrateful King," Syndelia mimics the man derisively. "You are so great that you didn't even hear them coming, they knew exactly where to find you and you didn't manage tp put a scratch on them before we killed the whole lot. Nigh Lady wept! And they wonder why we don't like humans..."

She shrugs at the Firbolg's stern look and nods towards Ehredril.

"You look smug, scholar. Anything this windbag said sounds true to you?"

"You would do best to mind your tongue, elf.  I may be drunk, but I am not yet dead."  The man seems to be growing irate with the manner with which Syndelia speaks to him.

"Leave him be, no point fighting amongst ourselves." Trog picks up on of the chairs between his fingers and places it next to the "bright" man.

"What bright king ?" he asks.


-

The man bearing the crown seems almost taken aback.  Had someone not heard the tale of the Bright King?  Well, it was a troll, so that was quite possible.

"Troll, the Bright King was the man who put a stop to the Raven King ages past.  He bore this crown and struck down the Foe.  How it came to be that I have the crown and that the enemy's forces are searching for it, I do not know.  It has been a long time I wore this damned thing.  And they never stop.  They never stop... they never stop..."

Trog tried to get his head around what the human had said... "Where Bright King now, is it you because you have shiny hat ?" he waved his finger at the crown.

He sat down, because humans liked it when he sat down.


-

Syndelia took a look outside, making sure no more enemies, undead or living, were approaching. Then she crossed her arms again and leant on the wall.

"Maybe your bright friend isn't that bright," she remarks tartly. "Did he strike down the Raven King? Because it seems to me the crow-man is pretty much still kicking. What does he want your 'shiny hat' for, and how come you're the one wearing it?"

Jerec had been listening patiently to the strange man and could tell he was becoming agitated by Syndelia's tone, so he subtly gestured at her hoping she would be less provocative.

"The Bright King...I have heard of him. But that was a long time ago was it not? And what is the first memory you have of you wearing this crown?" Jerec asked the man cautiously, yet in a gentle tone.

Gesturing at the man to take a seat and a drink Jerec added, "Do you have any friends or allies, or have you been on the run by yourself since you came across this crown?"

---

The warrior looks at Jerec, then at Syndelia with a burning gaze, then back to Jerec.  "You had best silence your friend, before I do so.  I was not a man of patience before I was cursed with this crown, and it has done my temperament no favors."

The man rubs his forehead, possibly from a headache, likely from the ale.  He is silent for a moment or two before responding to Jerec.  "I have borne this weight for many years now.  But I am not the first.  I am merely the latest.  I see them in dreams.  So many dreams.  I have forgotten now who I once was, so many years ago...  This crown has taken it all from me.  All I have are the dreams.  Their memories.  So many voices...  And they're all telling me to run.  They're coming...  They're coming... they're coming..."

He again begins to look agitated at the situation, his eyes darting to the door and windows.  A sound can be heard from outside, perhaps footsteps.  But what kind of horror could be heard from within these wooden walls?

As he listens to the man talk about his past, Paran's expression turns into one of sympathy. When the man suddenly turns toward the door, he looks in that direction. "So it seems that you are very important. If what you are saying is true... and it does seem that way, we need to get you out of here now. Who knows how many minions the raven king can send our way."

He quickly glances to the others and says, "Does anyone have an idea of where we could go? At least until we can get a better idea of what needs to be done."

With that he prepares for whatever steps through the door.

Syndelia sighed exasperatedly.

"Oh yes, brilliant! We just met this madman who won't even say thanks for saving him, so naturally we volunteer to babysit him too? Paran... Old Man, scholar, let's use our brains for a spell, yes? Let's say we believe him for a second, and then let's say that we want to help him too... even then, where do we take him and his shiny bauble? If the Raven King wants his golden hat, there is no safe place for him, not even..."

The only safe place she knows of: her own Arrowmoon Tribe, in the deeper glens of the Grimlock Woods. But there's the little detail of her being an exile, and even if she weren't...

"...Nowhere."

The strange, troubled man's disposition was making Jerec feel nervous himself now, something fighting against the undead and the strange dwarf creature had not. Tugging at his beard he glanced away from the man for the moment and gazed at the others, considering their questions for a moment.

"There is my tower...it is isolated but that is its sole defence. If we are followed there we will be surrounded and alone, easy pickings for the Raven-Kings servents. Secrecy was always the greatest defence of me and my old master..." Jerec said.

Glancing back at the crowned man he looked at him for a long moment before turning his head to gaze into the ageless eyes of Ehrendril and went on, "However, I was in the midst of preparing for a journey to elven lands, to the court of the Star Elves. I cannot say at this time why I mean to undertake this journey, but my master and I believed it will provide us the succor we need from the darkness, and give the world a fighting chance against the Raven-King."

The mage was about to say more when the sudden sound from outside caused him to swivel about. He stared hard towards the door, senses at the alert; given the recent arrivals and the crowned man's justified paranoia, there was every indication their newest guest would not be friendly at all.

---

Perception Roll: 82

Trog did not believe that they would have additional "visitors" so quickly, but he again took up his hammer and went and had a look to see. He crossed the tap room in a couple of strides and then looked out the doorway where the broken door had stood moments earlier. He takes a quick peak t first to make sure no one was going to fire an arrow at his head.



-

Through the doorway, Trog is able to see what appears to be a bonfire about twenty to thirty meters away.  A few moments of looking, however, tells him that the fire is moving.  And levitating?  No, it is being picked up.  The darkness had obscured the large man- larger than any man Trog had seen before- as he took hold of the flaming cart and prepared to throw it.

The scene is visible to those within the tavern, though quite difficult to make out clearly due to the troll standing in the way.  It is more obvious what is happening when, moments later, the cart smashes against the doorway, with planks of scorched wood exploding through the portal.  Trog, standing in the doorway, takes the brunt of the attack.  His sword-arm is smashed heavily by debris, and the troll drops his weapon.  Several lacerations begin to bleed profusely.

The crowned man leaps to his feet, sword in hand, looking around the tavern frantically.  The main doorway is blocked by the burning remains of the cart.  The windows are small enough that only slender folks could consider passing through.  Korag picks up the crossbow and begins aiming it at the doorway, but cannot see anything through the wreckage at which to fire.

The creature outside roars.

---

Trog takes 38 points of damage, cannot use his weapon arm, takes -40 to all actions, and has the condition Bleed: 8.

OOC: Healing Trog is going to be a beast of a task, but possible.  And thank goodness he's a troll, otherwise he would be dead within six rounds from massive head trauma.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:38, Tue 31 Aug 2021.

Trog stumbles back from what remains of the burning cart, franticly grabbing and brushing still flaming wreckage from his body. He tries to steady his arm against one of the tables but misjudges the distance and then falls into it smashing it to bits as he thumps out the last of the flames.

Smoke rises off his body as the smell of burned flesh and singed hair fills the tap room. Trog lays still while clutching his damaged arm as his eyes travel back to the burning cart and the entrance way to the tavern.



-

As the group considers fleeing the situation, they might take a look around to weigh their options.  The Hero and Spear is a wooden tavern, with much flammable material inside but is unlikely to catch flame itself... though the roof is questionable.  On the inside, there are a handful of possible escape routes.  First, the front door.  It would be possible to take the time to smash through the burning wreckage and flee out the front.  Second, the windows.  Most of the windows are closed and shuttered, but not boarded.  Only the most slender of the group would fit through the windows (Syndelia and possibly Jerec).  Third, the door to the dorms and rooms.  While it isn't guaranteed there is an exit through here, is is possible.  Fourth, there is a door behind the bar that likely leads to a storage area.  Often these storage areas have their own door, as to allow ease of stocking without lugging barrels and crates through the tavern floor.

"Don't worry, troll," Syndelia started to say when Trog approached the doorframe again, "I have just taken a look and there is nothing that..."

The rest of her sentence was lost in the brutal collision of flame against hardened flesh. The Dusk Elf jumped backwards reflexively, before even noticing the pieces of flaming wood everywhere, the blood, the troll's pained roar and his stumbling on a nearby table. One half log missed her head narrowly, she could smell the burning wood.

Quickly regaining her balance, Syndelia did a swift assessment of the situation. Something enormous was out there, hurling fire at the building. Even if the inn didn't immediately catch fire, the smoke would soon be a problem, and it was no use being trapped inside anyway.

Time to beat it.

Running to the closest window, she unlatched it and pushed it open, and the next second she was swinging her long legs through it. Once outside, she went around the building, hugging the wall, checking if it was safe to cross the street to the next house, and survey the situation from there - see what the creature was, and whether it was alone or more enemies were coming.

Syndelia manages to sneak through a window and hug the tavern, and her keen eyes would allow her to see clearly in this dark night.  However, the burning front of the inn makes it that much easier.  Pacing before the tavern, possibly weighing options, is a beast that looks like a primitive man standing half-again as tall as the crowned warrior (himself not a short man).  It wears hides that are hard to distinguish from its own rugged flesh, and wields a mighty stone mallet in one hand.  Otherwise void of jewelry, it bears a single unadorned ring on one finger.  It does not seem to have noticed Syndelia as of yet.  And, thank the neglectful gods, it appears to be alone.

Syndelia hadn't seen the giant troglodyte launch whatever he had launched against the inn, but by his size she guessed it could have been anything cart-sized. And by the same token, he wasn't an enemy to approach frontally...

Or to approach at all. For a second, the Dusk Elf considered just leaving. She wanted nothing to do with cursed old crowns or the twice-cursed pyromaniac brute, or that thrice-accursed madman with the crown. Not her war, she hadn't been paid to fight.

But then again, the Hero and Spear was her favorite inn, and one of very few places on that earth that felt relatively safe and welcoming. She might not move a finger to save the arrogant crown-clown, but she would take some risks to save Korag's pub.

Merging into the darkness of the alley, Syndelia went around the giant, keeping to the denses shadows to get behind him...

---

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 103 using 1d100+95 with rolls of 8.  Stealth (getting behind the giant troglodyte).

Jerec instinctively ducked as the burning cart smashed into Trog, leaving the troll bloodied and reeling. His eyes widened in horror as his mind quickly went over the options available.

First, the fire. Though the inn could survive, if the roof caught fire the smoke would make it uninhabitable, leaving them easy pickings for whatever it was that was outside.

"Out, everyone out!" he yelled at the others, before getting the attention of Barakus and the Crowned Man, then gesturing towards one of the windows at the back of the inn, as far away from the flaming remains of the front door as possible. Syndelia already had a similar idea it seemed as Jerec spotted her escaping from another nearby window.

"Barakus, come and bring him with you," he said to his companion, pointing at the Crowned Man, before making his way towards one of the windows farthest from the front door.

"Paran, help Trog get out by the storage door, Korag help them and show them the way, then get out yourself!" he added, as he began to climb out the window.

---

Jerec will climb out the farthest window from the debris at the front door of the inn. He will then try to Help Barakus and the Crowned Man climb out (Helping; pg 121)

Helping (Acrobatics or Athletics?): 16 (base roll)

Cultures (identify the 'dwarf'): 71

Trog rolled over and righted himself pushing up with his left hand and was glad of any help given. He grabbed his possessions as they moved out of the tap room and through the door to the storage area. He put the strap of his satchel over his head and donned his cloak as they moved. Trog carried his hammer in his left hand as they hopefully found a door leading out into the night.

If they managed to escape the burning building Trog would use the structure to shield him from the gaze of whatever hefted the cart through the door as he tried to bandage some of his wounds. He spat out a glob of blood, bile and something else, "was that bone ?" in between heavy ragged breaths....

Looking left and right Trog looked for additional cover that would allow him to get close to the forest, he pointed this out to anyone that was still with him.


OOC: Is there a map of Clayshire available ?



-
This message was last edited by the player at 07:25, Thu 02 Sept 2021.

More comfortable in the dark than in the moonlight, Syndelia has no problems positioning herself behind the giant.  It takes no notice of her, its back left exposed.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group begins to flee the tavern in their own ways.  Jerec and Ehrendril manage to escape through open windows and attempt to assist both Barakus and the Crowned Warrior.  Unfortunately, both of the latter are too bulky due to their armor and general build, and it takes a few moments before they turn to follow Korag and the larger warriors.

Korag leads Trog and Paran out through the service entrance in the rear, himself weaving through crates that Trog merely barrels through.  The door leads to the back of the inn, and it is surprisingly quiet back here.  Korag ushers you along, though he himself stays at the doorway.  "This isn't the first time my home has been attacked, nor will it be the last.  Go now, and find safety."  Shortly after this, Barakus and the Crowned Warrior both make their way through this door, rejoining with the two larger companions.

---

OOC: No, there's no map available.  The Inn is towards the center of the town.  The clay mines lay to the south, the road to Steamwind is to the northeast, and a river flows by the southwest corner.  There is plenty to hide behind, and several back alleys to follow.

Anyone fleeing through a window must make a stealth check to avoid being seen by the giant.  Those escaping through the service entrance in the rear do not.

Jerec, you still have no idea what the "dwarf" creature actually was.

Trog, take eight points of bleed damage.

Syndelia smiles a wolf's smile in the dark, drawing her trusty composite bow. Keeping completely inside the shadow of a building, there is not a single moonray to shine on her green eyes, or the steel of the arrowhead. It is aimed squarely at the nape of the troglodyte.

The Dusk Elf closes one eye, takes a slow breath in, enters her Zen state.

"Night Lady, Moon Mother, steady my aim, bless my shaft, smile upon my endeavours," she mutters.

---

Aiming. Syndelia will keep Aiming until the max +40 before shooting, if possible; if the giant gives any hint of moving, then she'll shoot, to avoid giving up her advantageous position.

Aiming +10/+40 + 30 On Rear + 20 Surprised (No Parry or Shield bonus)

Jerec cursed softly as he and the Ehrendril were unable to aid Barakus and the Crowned Man, and saw them move towards the store room instead.

Crouching and hugging the wall of the inn Jerec hoped the shadows would serve to keep him from the eyes of the enemy as he moved to put the inn between himself and whatever it was that attacked the inn.

As he moved he dared a quick look back to see if he could spot what the creature or creatures were...

---

Stealth: 53 (hopefully hugging the wall will provide some bonus to this!)
Cultures: 69 (try to identify the giant creature)

Will hold other actions until I figure out Jerec's relative location to the others (i.e. can he spot the others who came out the back?) and if the creature spotted him or not.

Trog fell to one knee as they exited the storage room, he used his left hand to steady himself and then used the wall of the tavern to stand up. As he did so he spat out more blood onto the dirt. "Trog hurt bad..." was all he said as he looked a bit unsteady.

He pointed to the river "Anna, by river she will help...." he headed off using the buildings as cover and keeping low, he did not need another hay cart to the head.


-

As a majority of the allies convene behind the inn, Barakus seems to be on high alert.  Not for a moment does he let down his guard, and he sticks close to Jerec, his ward.  Ehrendril, not one for this type of situation, seems rather off-put by the recent events.  Meanwhile, the Crowned Warrior looks frantic.  "The enemy is here, they're here, they're here...  Now is the time to flee, live to survive another day.  And without that damned elf.  We must go.  Now!"  Without waiting for a reponse, he begins moving cautiously but quickly in the opposite direction of the inn, hoping to put good distance between himself and the large creature on the far side.

Syndelia finds that the creature does not seem to have seen anyone escape the building, and is going irate.  It bellows in frustration while picking up boulders and other objects and flinging them against the tavern's façade.  Most importantly, it has not yet seen her.

---

OOC: Those who are familiar with Clayshire are likely also familiar with Anna, a healing woman who lives near the river.  She is regarded with both suspicion and respect amongst the local community, as they fear her witchy ways but have grown to rely on her talents.

In a little world of her own, Syndelia let the arrow fly, seeing it almost in slow motion, flying, spinning in the black air, dancing in its own turbulence, finding its mark...

---

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 269 using 1d100+170 with rolls of 99.  Aiming +40 + 30 On Rear + 20 Surprised (No Parry or Shield bonus) .

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 189 using 1d100+170 with rolls of 19.  Exploded Ranged.

Second one shouldn't have the bonus, so it's 269+19=288

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 99 using 1d100 with rolls of 99.  Critical roll.

This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

With a force that could only be prescribed by providence, Syndelia's arrow flies truer than any she had let loose before.  It strikes the large creature in the upper leg, but even the hides and rugged flesh fail to stop the arrow.  It bursts through the leg, severing sinew and artery.  A visceral explosion.  The creature falls to the ground, partially due to the leg no longer supporting weight, but mostly because the trauma drove it into unconsciousness.  A pool of blood begins surrounding it, and it stirs not at all.

With a predatory grin, Syndelia dashes towards the prone giant humanoid, unsheathing her shortsword. With a practised gesture, the curved blade slices its throat first; then she turns it around and switches grips to use the flat side to pull the ring off the giant's finger.

"Finally some benefit," she mutters contentedly. Dipping a finger in the dark blood, she traces three intersecting crescents on the creatures forehead, identical to the ones she has in her own forehead.

"Night Lady, receive this soul from your daughter Syndelia," she says in a low formal tone.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:08, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

Seeing the giant fall down and Syndelia's subsequent ritual, he whispers to himself, "I hope she can shield us from the wrath of the raven king." He proceeds to spring into action to aid the crowned man. He rushes over and begins to lead him toward the only location he was told, the river. Before leaving the storage shed, he peaks his head outside to make sure that no more enemies lie in wait. He prepares a defensive spell just in case.

In a voice just loud enough to be heard by the others, Paran says, "I guess I will find this Anna, unless someone else has an idea? I just hope that she can help."

Provided there are no enemies, he will continue outside. The whole while he will be guarding the crowned man.

---

He will attempt to cast heroic defense if he is attacked. Hopefully in time to help avoid a blow.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:16, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

Relieved at meeting up with the others Jerec watched the Crowned Man start to move away in alarm, but dared not call out lest he give away his position. "Go, try to calm him down and stop him," he hissed to Ehrendril.

Turning his attention back towards the giant Jerec was considering whether they should slip away or try to bring the creature down somehow by working together; the latter would be a dangerous endeavor, especially given what had happened to Trog, but it would hopefully prevent any pursuit for now, hopefully allowing them to put some distance between any other Raven-King's minions out and about.

The decision was taken out of Jerec's hands when the giant's leg was skewered by a viscious arrow head, and then its throat slit by the arrows owner.

Shaking his head, both relieved and somewhat horrified by the casual violence displayed by the roguish woman, Jerec rose out of the shadows and moved towards the elf, Barakus shadowing him silently. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he said to her quickly as she drew bloody crescents with the creatures own lifeblood.

Hearing Paran call out Jerec nodded and remarked, "Yes, our troll companion could use the witch-woman's healing arts, and we could use a breather. Let us gather there and figure out our next move."

---

Jerec & Barakus will aid Torg in moving if he needs it, one of them supporting one arm of the troll each. By the way I am assuming Paran managed to calm down and convince Mr. Crowned Man to head towards Anna.

The Dusk Elf laughs at Jerec's words, wiping her blade on the corpse and sheathing it again. The smooth killing has put her in a cheerful mood.

"Wise words, old man. Particularly, never yell at me when I'm hungover if you don't want to end like him," she remarks casually, patting the wizard's shoulder. It is meant as a friendly gesture; the effect is somewhat spoiled by the fine spray of blood across her face. She crosses her arms, looking towards the inn.

"Korag! You can get out now, old boy, I saved your dive from the big bad bastard. I expect some sort of reward for it!"

Then she turns towards Jerec again.

"How is the troll? He seemed worse for wear. And the crowned manbaby, I suppose after all his big words of threat, he ran away leaving me to face the giant alone? What a brave, big warrior. Well, good riddance, I say. Let him pester someone else with his madman ravings. Say, old man, does this thing look cursed or magic to you?"

Saying that, she shows the ring to the wizard.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:05, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

Jerec turned to glance towards the inn as Syndelia called out, he had forgot all about Korag. The half-orc hadn't been with the others out back; Jerec hoped he had just stayed behind to collect the coins he made this night and would come out before the smoke caused him to pass out.

As he waited for Korag to make an appearance, he squinted at the ring in Syndelia's hand, taking care not to touch it himself. "Hmm, doesn't look like its expensive, but the ones that are unassuming are the ones to really worry about," he muttered while stroking his beard.

---

Arcana: 80

Glad of the help Trog guided the others to Anna's house, "these are good people" he thought. He announces himself once they get to the door so as to not startle the woman given she probably heard the majority of the battle.

It suddenly dawned on Trog that she may not be home or might have fled already, he put that to the back of his mind.



-

The path towards Anna's hut is quiet.  Or, it would be if the Crowned Warrior would stop doomsaying the entire time.  He continues to mutter about "them coming."  As the group moves in the direction of the river, he seems more or less content to stay with his current companions, though you get the feeling he won't stop fretting until he is far from this town.

Trog continues to bleed heavily along the way, no doubt leaving a trail that a child could follow.  The pain doesn't subside, and he finds that his inability to use his strong arm is not changing.  It is equally frustrating that despite his grievous wound, his companions seem more intent on bickering amongst themselves than seeking help or shelter.

Jerec, taking a moment to examine the ring, might notice that it looks the same as the one worn by the "dwarf" creature, though obviously significantly larger.  Its plain appearance, a simple band of lead, does not lend itself to being identified as magical or significant.  In fact, it appears to be quite insignificant... significantly so.

Upon arrival, Trog announces in his eloquent manner that he was outside along with others.  A few moments pass before the door cracks open and a haggard woman peeks out.  Cautious eyes look around before locking onto the troll's arm and the door opens all the way.  Anna, the woman, is dressed in long, warm skirts and a heavy shawl, and the strong smell of herbs oozes its way out into the cold.  With the door opened and her face revealed, her broad, flattened face and catlike eyes reveal herself to be a wildfolk.  "Come inside, the lot o'ye, and shut d'door.  Let m'take a look at dat arm o'yers."

The hut is a single large room, sunken partially into the ground.  A hearth lays lit with a small fire that isn't quite enough to make the area comfortable.  Herbs and small game hang from the rafters, and there is nary an inch of this space that isn't covered in shelving for books or glassware.  She immediately distracts herself with Trog's arm, doing what she can to mend to injury and stop the bleeding.  "But ye ken (know) d'rule, d'gods must be appeased.  A small sacrifice must b'made."

---

18:14, Today: Narrator, for the NPC Anna, rolled 138 using 1d100+75 with rolls of 63.  Healing (Bleeding).

Trog entered and half fell as he sat in a clear space on the floor... "Thank you." he did his best not to hinder the woman as she worked. At the point the sacrifice was mentioned Trog gathered his meagre possessions so she could see what might be appropriate. He had coins from dwarf so he started with that.


-

"Unless it's cursed, my only worry is that it looks worthless," Syndelia replied to Jerec as she dropped the lead ring in the pouch hanging from her sword-belt. "I have already wasted too many arrows and risked my neck too much for no benefit."

Since Korag didn't show up, the Dusk Elf shrugged.

"It's unlike Korag to be so shy, but maybe the attack frayed his nerves. No more ale tonight, then. We might as well go see how the troll does..."

The trail of blood leads to a simple hut close to the river. Although a regular visitor to Clayshire, Syndelia has never needed the services of a healer, so the place and the name of Anna are just things she has heard about in the inn, rather than known directly. As she enters the hut, she notices all the rest are already inside.

"Worry not about the giant troglodyte," she says tartly, arms akimbo. "Already took care of him. Have you learned to say 'thank you' yet, Crownbabe? Didn't think so."

She turns towards the woman tending to Trog's wound.

"You must be Anna, the town witch?" Belatedly, she remembers humans can't read her tattoos. "I am Syndelia the Unseen, from the Arrowmoon tribe. Know anything about these creatures at all?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:49, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

Jerec was concerned about the trail of blood they were leaving behind but there wasn't really much that could be done about it.

He nodded a grateful greeting to Anna as he accepted them inside, and gave her space while she tended to Trog, hoping the Crowned Man wouldn't start blathering again. He had met Anna before about Clayshire, and knew she was a practitioner of the healing arts, both mundane and mystical, but knew little more about her.

Listening to Syndelia's question he waited for Anna to answer; perhaps she might be able to shed some light on the creatures they had faced. "Show her the ring Syndelia," Jerec advised the elf in a soft voice, hoping the simple looking band might trigger some answers

Syndelia doubted the witch would know more than Jerec himself about the ring, but if the old man thought it a good idea...

"Here," she said, producing the lead ring and offering it to Anna. "The minions of the Raven King had this on them. Does it have any power? Is it curse? And... is it worth anything?"

She takes the coins from Trog and throws them into the hearth, though the fire does not seem hot enough to melt them.  With payment made, she begins to work on the pulverized arm.  Much of the work involves applying heat to specific areas, along with binding the arm in place.  She rubs a foul-smelling paste on the areas that have bruised the most, and wraps the areas of the most heavy damage with cloth drowned in alcohol.  It burns, to say the least.  "D'not remove fer a few days, and only if'n ye need to."

Upon Syndelia's entrance to Anna's shack, the Crowned Warrior's face crunches into a deep scowl, and he heads for the door (not that he was far from it given the small space).  "I'm done with you, elf.  I'll find my own way."  The man looks carefully outside the door before attempting to depart.  He pulls his cloak over his head and armor, and drags his large blade behind him as he heads into the dark.

Anna, somewhat distracted by her treatment of Trog, takes a moment to respond to Syndelia.  "I'be Anna, yes.  Witch?  No'sure.  I'be what I'be.  But it is nice t'meet ye, under dark times as they be.  The beastly ones from outside are unknown t'me, but they look as the followers of t'Enemy.  I see them on t'far side of t'river, and few coming through town.  I keep m'door shut to them, and they bother me not."  When Syndelia presents the ring, Anna takes a precious few seconds to glance at it before shrugging.  "It looks like a ring, and not a pretty one at that.  Ye'say t'followers wear them?  They may be gifts, but dark ones."

Staying as still as possible while he was prodded, stitched and thankfully healed. Trog gave the woman a short bow and his "Thanks." when she was done. He sat back and closed his eyes unsure of what he should do now.

The shiny man leaving caused Trog to sit up a bit... he was unsure what was going on so he looked to the others sheltering in the hut.



-
This message was last edited by the player at 22:11, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

"You'll find your own grave," Syndelia replies, not turning back as the man exits. "Good riddance."

She takes a good look around the room, licking a finger and rubbing her cheek to clean off some dried blood.

"Yes, nice to meet you too, Anna. Good to know a healer, in these times. So they come to Clayshire often, the minions of the Raven King? And they wear these lead trinkets as a sign of allegiance? Does it have anything to do with the lights in the sky?" she asks, remembering the strange aurorae she saw the other night, before she came across Paran in the wilderness.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:41, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

"Hold it," Jerec called out to the Crowned Man, as he attempted to leave. Giving an exasperated sigh as he went out the door, Jerec motioned to Barakus and Paran, indicating he might need their help and went outside, following the strange man.

Catching up to him outside the hut he said, "You cannot carry this burden on your own, it is meant to be shared." Jerec said this with far more conviction than he actually felt, but it was something he believed.

"We shall unravel this mystery together. I believe the court of the Star Elves and their Loremasters will be able to decipher the lore behind this crown, and how and why you came by it. This may be the very key we need to bring hope back into this damned world, and the only way to safeguard you from the dark hordes that seek to end you and claim the crown for themselves," Jerec spoke with fervor, staring into the Crowned Man's eyes as if willing him to believe.

---

ooc: I would prefer to roleplay this conversation but if any Charisma rolls are required please make them on my behalf

Anna looks at Syndelia curiously, her behavior quite strange to the healing woman.  "I seen dem b'fore, but rarely.  And they usually pass through.  This the first time they cause problems.  Some'ting got them riled up.  Perhaps the lights, perhaps not.  But the lights, they speak of change.  They speak of something to the North.  They... well, they speak of big events but I do not concern myself with such nonsense.  It is not my place to fret, so long as I am left alone."  She shrugs, obviously unconcerned with the prophetic northern lights.  At this point, she has finished stabilizing Trog's arm.  It doesn't feel much better, but it also doesn't feel any worse.

Outside, the Crowned Warrior pauses as Jerec pleads his case. The man's shoulders slump, perhaps he has borne the weight of the crown for too long?  "I have not spoken with the elves of this, nor have I had any desire to.  They are concerned only with themselves, as your friend has shown.  But I am weary.  I find my strength fading.  Perhaps this is the right course, perhaps this can end my curse.  I know not where to find the Loremasters, but I would be grateful for your assistance.  Just... not hers."  The warrior spits on the ground at the mere thought of Syndelia and her cruel tongue.

After he got to the hut, he decided that he would stand guard and keep an eye out for intruders. He slowly took more interest in what Anna was doing and saying. She certainly was a good healer, Paran would rank her among the great healers of his tribe. What got his interest more was the mention of the northern lights. With curiosity in his voice he asks, "Anna, I know that you are not particularly interested in the northern lights, but can you interpret them for me? I was sent from my tribe on a journey before they started appearing so I didn't get a chance to ask my tribes shaman about it. I think that they are connected to the man with the crown."

Paran looks around for the man, and peaks outside and sees him talking to Jerec. He turns back to Anna, We are a seeking guidance right now. Do you think we need to take him north? We were thinking of finding a good hiding spot. But now that I think about it, maybe the northern lights are a sign for us to follow."

"Perhaps the madman's crown," Syndelia offers, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "The armored lunatic that just left? He claims his crown is from the Brilliant King or something like that, and that the Raven King is after it. Know anything about that particular trinket? Maybe we could... relieve him of that burden. Yes. It looks pricey, too."


"Are we, Paran of the Firbolg?" she says, crosing her arms. "Think about it. Has he asked our help? Has he even thanked us? All he has done so far is rave and utter threats and run away like a coward while we fought for him. I am starting to regret not having slit his throat when I had the chance, for we could have brought the crown to safety without his interference."

She turns to Anna again.

"Just what does that crown do?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:38, Tue 07 Sept 2021.

"I would have to see t'lights again, firbolg.  I did not study them in depth when I had t'chance, and so I do not know what else they mean.  But if they spoke of t'man, he has a long journey before him.  As do any who follow, be they friend or foe.  If ye do believe your task is t'follow the lights, then perhaps follow him."

Anna shrugs off the remarks about killing a man and stealing his crown.  At the question regarding the crown, Anna tilts her head.  "I dunno any'ting about t'crown, but it sure looked important.  T'man who wore it looked tired.  I do not envy his burden, whatever it may be."

"But if you are in t'middle of all this, I must ask you t'leave.  I want nothing to do with t'Enemy or his minions.  And I surely don't want them coming t'my home and slaughtering me in my sleep.  The troll's arm will heal, so go now.  Go on!"  She moves towards the door, and gestures for you all to leave through it.

Trog thanked the woman as he left, once outside he looked to the others "We follow lights ? Take man with bright hat ?" He was holding his hammer in his left hand and had donned his cloak again now they were outside.

"We should go.... not safe."


-

Jerec was tugging his beard in thought at their dilemma when the others emerged to join them. Before Syndelia neared and triggered a fight or flight reaction from the Crowned Man he hurriedly said to the man, "She is quick of tongue yes, but she means no harm. Like so many in these dark times she has had to find ways to survive."

Pausing for a moment Jerec looked again at the crown, and then into the man's eyes before saying, "There is another way, perhaps we could attempt to take the crown off of your head, to rid you of the burden and try to divine its purpose, and deliver it to a more...worthy bearer?"

The mage did not know if this would be possible; the tales and lore spoke of such objects of power, the ones that chose their bearers; they were never easy to remove. But it had to be attempted, otherwise a journey with this man would be quite problematic.

Sighing, Syndelia exited the hut, following the wounded troll.

"First my favorite tavern is set on flames, and now the local witch kicks us out. Where in this forsaken town is a girl supposed to get drunk," she remarks, then she notices the others... including the crowned coward.

"Going your way didn't get you that far after all," she says, her eyes moving from him to Jerec. She can clearly see the old sage has been pleading with the crowned warrior. She has no intention to get a tedious reproach from Jerec, so she just shrugs and crosses her arms, although she'd like nothing better than an excuse to put an arrow through the warrior's forehead.

"Paran and I saw the sky lights on the way here. They pointed far to the north, beyond Steamwind and the mountains. Old man, is there any place in that direction that might be related to the crown? Although I still think this is a waste of time. If the Raven King seeks that crown, we should be going west, to the sea. Drop it in the deepest ocean and be done with it."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:29, Thu 09 Sept 2021.

The Crowned Warrior looks at Jerec with bewilderment.  "You say she means no harm, yet in the middle of conflict she had a blade to my throat.  She does mean harm.  You are just blind to it."  But when the wizard suggests removing the crown, his shoulders slump and his head drops.  "No, I do not believe it is as simple as that.  I have seen them all in my dreams, the past bearers.  None have removed it.  They have all been felled.  It is only through providence of the neglectful gods that it has not fallen in the hands of the Raven King.  It is on me to keep it from His hands, and on me alone.  But I am so tired, they keep coming... they keep coming..."

Syndelia emerges from Anna's hut to find the group standing together and deliberating.  As soon as the warrior's eyes lock on her, he moves the large sword from a position dragging behind him to a more prepared position before him.  He continues talking with Jerec, but his eyes do not leave her for a moment.

Ehrendril, who had been tagging along silently, pipes up finally.  "I feel it would be most prudent to return to my people, for I come from the Loremasters Under the Barrow, to the North.  It is not permitted for me to return myself, but perhaps they'll finally see.  We have proof that I was not wrong, but that they were!"  A keen eye would detect that he looks both excited and nervous, but his solemn demeanor attempts to disguise it.

---

OOC: Some may know that the Barrow Under the Hill is a hidden court of the Elves, somewhere northwest of Steamwind.  Its exact location has been kept secret, partially because few ever leave and those who do tend not to speak of what they have lost.

"So hat only come off when you are clobbered, squished and then someone else pick up ?" Trog was intrigued by such magic from humans having never seen it close up before.... "Sounds like funny joke." he thought.


-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Sat 11 Sept 2021.

Syndelia eyes the crowned warrior as he adopts a more aggressive stance, then sighs and rolls her eyes like one does with a particularly irritating little child. Her gaze moves from Jerec to Ehrendril.

"I escorted you along that route once, scholar, and I can do it again. For the right price. If you think your Loremasters will have a clue. Failing that, I like Trog's suggestion," she says, ironically bowing to the troll.

Jerec tensed as the Crowned Man dragged his massive blade in front of him, but was relieved when Syndelia did not respond in kind.

He nodded at Ehrendril's words and added, "Yes, my old master and I had a similar plan, to seek out the Loremasters of the elven court for a great conjuring. This can only help us in our ultimate purpose, to rid the land of this evernight and eventually the Raven-King itself!"

Tapping his staff onto the ground to underscore his point Jerec glanced at the others and said to each in turn, "Paran, Syndelia, the Loremasters will surely have information about those mysterious lights you mentioned. I feel that they too shall fall into our end goal. The elves will also reward you handsomely for guarding us on the journey, though helping restore the world should be reward in of itself. Torg, join us and you will never need to work as a laborer again. There will also be plenty of things to clobber and squash along the way."

Finally he looked at the Crowned Man again and said to him, "This is the only way you will find peace; the Loremasters are the only ones who may know how to rid you of your curse. Being on the move and with us will also help you stay alive."

There was much and more Jerec wanted to ask the man, information about the past bearers, who the first one he could remember was and how he died, as well as the last one. But there would be time enough for talking on their journey North...

---

Barakus is as loyal as they come so no need to motivate him ;)

Syndelia chuckles, as she hears the old man give his usual Fight the Good Fight spiel.

"Beautiful words, old man, but I don't know if the Loremasters will reward me or kick me out for bringing them such an uncomfortable gift," she says, jerking her head towards the crowned man. "Poison chalice, more like. So I'd rather be paid now, before I get started on a long and dangerous journey in strange company, on the tenuous hope that I might be rewarded by faraway Star Elves, the most disdainful of my half-brothers. So let me see the gold shine before I wear out my boots babysitting the whole lot of you on the way north."

Ehrendril looks down with some shame.  He had never explained what it was he had done to be banished from his home, and it was unlikely he ever would.  "I cannot promise a warm welcome, but we must at least try.  And you are right, Syndelia, in that they would not consider paying you for such an annoyance on their part.  They do not take well to strangers, which is why they have been left alone by the forces of the Raven King for so long."

The Crowned Warrior looks uncomfortable, growingly agitated, and frustrated by Syndelia.

Looking around them at the surrounding countryside as if waiting for another attack Trog looked uneasy. "We should go, start trip..." He did not like the idea of more of the enemy coming and putting the inhabitants of the village in danger.



-

"I thought so," Syndelia replied to Ehrendril's admission. "Well, someone has to pay for my services. Old man, some time ago you talked me out of a certain different line of business, so I am a guide these days. I must charge for my services, or I might as well go back to my old ways, Night Lady knows they were much more profitable. I'm not even mentioning hazard pay, considering the... goods we'll be moving," she adds, arms firmly crossed.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:15, Mon 13 Sept 2021.

The Crowned Warrior sneers at the elf as she demands payment.  "I have travelled these roads long since before you were a consideration to your parents.  If you want a guided tour, best look elsewhere.  We can find this grotto without you."  He shrugs at the end, dismissively.  Something about what he said is odd, where he implied that he was far older than an elf.  The man had wrinkles, sure, but still seemed in prime condition.  He didn't appear nearly old enough to make that claim.  Then again, he had lost many of his marbles.

Fishing around in a belt pouch Jerec moved closer to Syndelia and handed the elf a handful of coins. "This should be enough to for the night's trouble and guiding us North; you will get more as we travel further," he promised. "Do your best nothing happens to us though, otherwise my man Barakus will inherit all my belongings, including my coin," the mage added with a ghost of a smile within his beard.

Ignoring the Crowned Man for now, though taking a mental note about his comment referencing his age, Jerec nodded at Torg. "Indeed, start our trip we must, before anything picks up our trail. We should take care to remove all traces of our tracks to keep them off of us for as long as possible. Now let us be on our way, we have a long journey ahead."

He inclined his head at Syndelia, indicating she should lead the way.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:07, Wed 15 Sept 2021.

A pittance, Syndelia thinks, but better than nothing. And at least her professional instinct is satisfied: she has been paid. She nods and drops the coins into the purse handing from her loincloth-belt.

"Very well, old man. I take your coin tonight, I endeavor to take you north. Mark my words - you have my services and loyalty, and nobody else. Should the crowned coward get too lippy for my liking, I might hogtie him and it would be up to you to carry him like baggage. He's dead weight, for all I care."

She smells the wind, silently praying to the Night Lady for a safe journey across the wildernss; then she motions for the others to follow.

"A few leagues upriver, to Steamwind. We can rest and resupply there, before we face the northern lands in earnest; no stopping before then. Paran, you know the way. Listen up, everybody, you better keep up: I am not waiting for any laggards, and the minions of the Raven King will be eager to pick up any stragglers. So make haste, humans"

She starts towards the north, at a brisk pace, half-merging into the shadows.

Led by a tattooed Dusk Elf, several companions and strangers begin to leave Clayshire behind.  It was home to a few, a place of safety and shelter.  With the goal of speaking to the Loremasters Under the Barrow- a hidden enclave of Star Elf loremasters from whom one member had been exiled- this unlikely group heads north, towards the city of Steamwind.  The Old Road, left by a civilization long forgotten, stretches nearly the entire distance between the two communities, and it will take the better part of a week by foot.

The stars are bright tonight, though the lights from the previous night are not present.  They sparkle in the expansive sky, guiding your path.  Watching over you.  Watching you.

---

Chapter One complete.

The party each earns 10XP.  Syndelia earns an additional 2XP for facing a dangerous threat.  Trog earns an additional 2XP for suffering a life-threatening wound.  Each player earns a little scorn for thwarting my plans.