The Old Road (as it is locally known) is a defined path that stretches from Clayshire to Steamwind.  It predates any known history of the two settlements, though it is likely the towns have been rebuilt over the ages.  After countless generations of travelers walking over the Old Road, it is now little more than a wending line with scatterings of cobblestones.  The path is clear for three meters, after which shrubbery begins to grow.  Trees grow not too far out, though the thickness of the stands varies heavily from mile to mile.  Those who stay on the road are quite visible, and those who stray from it have little difficulty disappearing.  Banditry is far too frequent out here, though a competent guide should be able to spot trouble a day ahead.

The group has been on the road for two days now.  Syndelia, being quite familiar with this area, is able to keep the group safe from harm in all the common areas, but she is able to spot heavier than usual presence haunting the path.  Undead walk aimlessly, and the few stragglers that manage to catch sight of the group hone in on the Crowned Warrior before being easily dispatched.  Nights are more worrisome, as it is cold enough to warrant a fire, but danger lurks behind every tree and a fire is a beacon.  The Warrior does not speak much over these few days, and actually seems somewhat less agitated.  It would seem that having a purpose suited him, despite the usefulness being unknown.  Ehrendril seems pensive, nearly constantly jotting notes on his few sheets of parchment and tracking the stars.  Once or twice he disappeared from the group, only to be found staring at a constellation and having forgotten to keep walking.

The second day is coming to an end, and the moon is setting on the horizon.  The second half of the day was quiet, and the group was able to catch their breath without too much struggle.  But it is dangerous to continue through the night, and the group should consider setting up camp.

---

OOC: In regards to Camping, I need to know who is the leader, and what each other player is doing.  The Leader will be rolling Wandering checks; if you describe how you're helping, you can Help (Wandering) with that check; if you are doing something else, such as scouting or cooking, those will be different checks.  Unless otherwise specified, I will assume that this will be the normal setup for the group.  Ehrendril will be attempting to Hunt, Barakus will be Helping prepare camp, and the Crowned Warrior will opt to do nothing.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:45, Wed 15 Sept 2021.

Syndelia appeared from behind a tree.

"There's a clearing, some two hundred paces left," she said tersely. "Good place for camp, or the least bad place around here."

She had been scouting ahead, feeling safer in the light forest than in the road; having grown up in the densest part of the Grimlock Woods, open terrain always gave her the creeps.

The clearing wasn't great, but it beat the open road. She hoped it was secluded enough to protect them from any unsavory travelers going along the Old Road to Steamwind, but not so far from the road that it was frequented by wild beasts.

Grimly, she recalled how many times she had ambushed innocent travelers along that same route, shooting them from the branches of a tree or watching them be relieved of all their valuables by Dralda's Bastards. Those nights were behind her now, but it only highlighted how exposed the place was, how perilous the route.

Back then, there hadn't been any undead wandering the land, as it seemed to be a common ocurrence now. Whether that had anything to do with the crown, Syndelia didn't want to think about too hard. She was just doing her job, guiding paying clients to Steamwind, doing her best to keep them safe, and nothing more. Her eyes narrowed to slits, eyeing the crowned coward. Well, she didn't really mind if that particular one croaked, not one bit. Except then someone else would have to carry the crown, which she suspected nobody would volunteer for, cursed as it looked.

"Moon is setting, let's get off the road. This way," she added, gesturing for the rest to follow her to the clearing.

---

Might as well be Leader to find a camping site.

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 61 using 1d100+30 with rolls of 31.  Wandering (for camping).

Not great, going to need some Help here...

Trog could not remember if he had come this way before, all the roads looked very much the same and you could not see any landmarks like he would have used underground. He had been upset to leave Clayshire there were some nice people there, people who had helped him when no one else would. Thinking about it had kept his mind occupied for most of the trek.

When they decided to camp Trog set about collecting wood and starting the fire, he then saw that it was feed with the wood he had piled close. Trog was not good at cooking so someone else would have to take charge in that area, but he would help were he could.



-

Ehrendril nods in agreement, his eyes locked on the stars.  It takes him some time to finally pay attention to his immediate surroundings and store his journal away.  As the group begins to set camp in a hidden hollow off the Old Road, he grabs his bow and departs on a small hunt.  About two hours later, he returns not only empty handed, but missing half his arrows.  If prodded, he is unable to explain the loss.  "I was in pursuit of a fawn, and I do recall firing several shots at it, but I didn't think it was this many!"

Barakus, keeping a close eye on Jerec in this dangerous area, assists Syndelia with setting up a camp.  He clears brush from a small area and moves it to the perimeter, creating rougher terrain at the main entry points into the hollow.  Satisfied, he sits beside the small fire the Crowned Warrior had created, and begins warming his hands.  The Warrior himself sits silently, looking more peaceful than usual.

Still getting used to traveling in a group, Paran tries his best to help when he can. Using his experience from the artic, he fashions several simple traps and sets out with his bow to hunt some animals. He comes upon a couple animals, but they are all malnourished. Determined to find some heartier game, he continues on. Perhaps he is being a overconfident, but he is determined to assist the group.

With the light slowly waning, he stands still and focuses for a long time. Holding his harpoon in front of him, he quietly recites the words taught to him by his elders. The harpoon in his hand slowly starts to glow. He sighs in relief as the spell finishes. Now armed with a source of light he continues his hunt. He stumbles upon a deer. The creature is startled and in the moment that it hesitates, Paran strikes true. He has a smile on his face when he returns to camp, the light of his blade guiding his way.

---

Paran rolled 121 using 1d100+35 with rolls of 86.  Hunting
Paran rolled 108 using 1d100+70 with rolls of 38.  Cast Bladelight.

Jerec had spent the days traveling mostly in silence, inwardly shocked at the undead that were freely roaming the lands. Matters were growing worse day by day and sadly their seemed the free people could do nothing about it aside from retreat inside their borders, their keeps and their towns and brood in silence, awaiting the inevitable.

When time came to set camp the mage let the others do most of the work, choosing to sit close to the fire and letting its warmth wash over him. He was relieved the Crowned Man seemed more peaceful than usual, and wanting to keep him that way avoided asking him more about what he remembered about the prior bearers of the crown, for now at least.

Ehrendril's return with half his arrows missing caused Jerec to sigh softly and give the elf a wry smile. "Tell me about the elven court friend Ehrendril, and why you do not believe you will get a warm welcome there," he queried his companion, curious about his past and trying to glean the sort of welcome they might receive once they arrived at their destination.

Syndelia could see the place was far from ideal, but she kept her mouth shut. Partially because there really wasn’t anywhere better around, so that spot would have to do… and partially because she wasn’t going to admit to her choice being less than perfect, not in front of the crownbabe. Her pride was a bit more vulnerable than she liked to admit.

She gave Trog a nod as the troll brough a big pile of firewood in one go, dropping the heavy load like it was just a couple of sticks.

“How’s your arm, Trog? Do we have your mallet, if anything comes crawling out of the woods tonight?” she asked him quietly, moving closer to whisper. She didn’t want the others knowing she considered the place less than safe.

Then Ehrendril appeared, sans dinner and having wasted half a quiver. Classic Star Elf, Syndelia thought, rolling her eyes.

“A pity we can’t eat stars, scholar,” she quipped, relieved to see the Firbolg replace him as the group’s designated hunter. She considered joining him in the hunt, particularly because that would give her an excuse to avoid the crownbabe…

---

…but I don’t think I can also hunt if I have already Camped?

---

…but she didn’t want to further divide their forces; if something attacked the camp while she was away, they’d be in a tight spot.

So the Dusk Elf turned around and squatted by the fire, bow propped on a nearby rock. They couldn’t go without a bonfire, could they? Every. Single. Night. Absolutely unreasonable risk, but that's humans for you. Oh well. She sighed and looked into the flames, breathing in the smell of burning wood. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was at the hunter’s moon feast, back in Grimlock…
This message was last edited by the player at 20:48, Fri 17 Sept 2021.

As the group attempts to hide themselves within the trees, tending to a small fire for those unable to see as well as for warmth, the wind begins to pick up.  Trees sway, leaves quiver, and the fire blows sparks in a single direction.

Ehrendril stares into the fire, a look of dejection likely caused by both the failed hunt and the prospect of facing his peers again soon.  "I will tell you of the court, my friend, but I cannot speak of my shame.  I may not be welcome, but I still respect the traditions.  The Court of the Loremasters Under the Barrow is a magical place.  It is a place between the hills, under the hills, and yet so far from the hills.  Such is the nature of my people.  They live free lives, far from the cares of the world.  They philosophize about the nature of the Raven King and what He may have done to steal the sun... but that is all they do.  They wax philosophical for ages, never taking a stand.  Never seeking the truth of the matter.  They have their own truths, mysteries unlocked by the magicks of my people, but they do not see the whole picture.  They do not see what comes next, nor do they care."  He pokes at the fire, causing a shower of sparks to fly out and be blown away.

---

Deep in the woods, Paran not only finds the trail that Ehrendril had left behind, but also catches glimpses of a fawn with two arrows in its side, nonlethal.  With more skill than the Elf had shown, he is able to track the animal to a clearing where archery would be more efficient, and fells it with a single arrow.  As to where the other arrows went, Paran cannot say.  But it is dark and cold, and the wind is blowing hard.

Syndelia was readying a cutting comment to Ehrendril's musing, but the sarcasm died in her tongue before it was out. For the Star Elf's tale of exile hit a little too close for comfort; she knew how that felt.

"Our people are that way, aye," she observed darkly, jaw set, eyes reflecting the fire. "All talk, no action. Tradition and kowtowing to authority takes all their time and energy, and nobody is allowed to challenge that. They have lived too long for their own good - for anyone's good."

Her voice is bitterer than she had intended; she frowns and looks at Ehrendril.

"And do you, scholar? Do you see what comes next? Does it have anything to do with the undead wandering about?"

This message was last edited by the player at 21:12, Mon 20 Sept 2021.

Trog does not understand the majority of what is being said and also does not ask for it to be explained. In the past this has made people laugh and Trog get angry so he sits looking at the fire as the shadows cast by the flame dance over his impassive face.


-

Ehrendril sighs, staring into the fire.  He nods at the talk of tradition and authority, something he understood far too well.  Syndelias words cut deep, but without intent.  "I believe that we are in a pivotal moment.  The Raven King's forces are closing in on the Crown.  What that means I cannot say, for even the stars do not know.  But I fear the worst if He manages to capture it.  As for the undead, I suspect they belong to Him.  Or perhaps were just awoken by Him, without direct control.  They seem to know who our companion is, but aren't hunting him constantly.  But the undead back at the Inn, they seemed to have more focus.  Perhaps they need a leader?  But you asked what their presence means.  I do not truly know, but if I had to guess, it was simply a sign of His power growing as he reaches closer to His goal?  But again, that is just a guess..."  The gloomy elf looks at Syndelia and shrugs before returning his gaze to the fire.

After returning with the fawn, he brings it over to the fire and sets it down. With a smile, be gives his thanks to Ehrendil, "Thanks for the help in tracking the fawn. If it wasn't for your trail I might not have found it."

Paran assists with butchering of the animal while quietly listening in on the conversation. He does seem a concerned with the lack of information from the stars. While it is not necessarily a bad thing, he was hoping to get some clearer answers. Thinking on the importance of the crown, Paran asks, "I don't remember if it was mentioned, but what is the point of the crown? Does it grant people powers or something else? Perhaps it is used in a ritual. "

Ehrendril nods as Paran acknowledges his contribution, but a slightly sheepish face shows his embarrassment at being unable to complete his task.  His hair begins blowing hard to the side as the wind picks up even stronger, roaring through the trees.  Further into the forest, the sound of cracking limbs can be heard.  The Crowned Warrior, sitting gloomily as ever, looks at the Firbolg and scowls.  "It is a curse, plain and simple.  It is here to drive men mad.  If not for the screaming voices in my head saying otherwise, I would say let the bastard have it."

Jerec pondered the Crowned Man's words as he had those of his companions, then asked, "Do you remember who wore it before you, and how it came to you? How long do you believe you have worn it?"

He did not expect much of an answer, as it seemed the Crowned Man did not recall anything save hazy memories.

The warrior tilts his head to acknowledge Jerec's question, but stares silently into the flames for some time.  Just when it seems he had forgotten the question, he clears his throat.  "I believe I was once called Nikolai.  I was... a lion."  He speaks with some certainty, but it would appear the lucidity was fleeting.

---

OOC: Those who are listening may make a Songs&Tales or Culture check.

With a snap Trog broke a branch between his hands and added the two halves to the fire.

Trog rolled 38 using 1d100-5 with rolls of 43.  Songs & Tales.


-

Syndelia spits into the fire with indifference. The name says nothing to her - just more delusions of grandeur from the crownbabe.

"Here, Paran, let me help you. Let's make a decent roast while the old ladies spin their yarns by the fire."

---

Syndelia the Unseen rolled 38 using 1d100+15 with rolls of 23.  Songs & Tales.

Paran nods in agreement with Syndelia, though he does ponder what the crowned man just said. He had spent many nights listening to the elders talk of legends and of the past. There had been several stories involving animals, and he tried his best to remember them.

---

Paran rolled 80 using 1d100+20 with rolls of 60.  Song and Tales.

---

OOC: I keep forgetting that a 75-99 is a partial success.  A "Yes, but" as opposed to a "No."

Skewered on a sharpened branch, the deer is soon roasting over the fire, spreading a heady, savory smell. Syndelia stood up from her squatting, restless.

"This fire is a beacon in the night. We should put it out as soon as the roast is done," she observes curtly.

Paran seems to recall something from his childhood, "I seem to remember being told a story as a child. It was about a empire in the east that had risen up against the raven king. Their leader was slain by the enemy. Unfortunate that is as much as I remember. I don't know if the story was based on something that actually happened or if it was just a made up story"

He gives Syndelia a nod, "That is a good reminder, hopefully there is nothing else that is attracted to the smell."

As Paran talks about the legend he was able to recall, and ponders how it might apply, the wind increases ever more.  It is hard to hear his voice over the roaring through the trees.  The sounds of cracking overhead grow more frequent and frightening.  Ehrendril looked as though he were about to speak, but he points up into the canopy and cries out a warning.  Only a few moments pass before a tree, which had been leaning dangerously over the camp, finally snaps and begins its rapid descent upon the group.

The tree smashes down on the camp, its wide branches destroying everything the party had worked to set up.  The fire was scattered and smothered, the remainder of the food was lost somewhere in the leaf litter.  The wind has not died down, and continues its aggression against the forest.  Around the small opening where the group had settled, the sounds of other trees falling can be heard.  It is not safe here.

---

OOC: Each character needs to make either an Athletics or Acrobatics roll (Hard, -20) to avoid being squished by the falling tree.  A partial success is enough, though there will be consequences.

Jerec stroked his beard as he considered the Crowned Man's words, but his reverie was interrupted by the sudden fall of the tree. Muttering a rare oath he leapt to the side with a deftness belaying his age, and quickly looked about for any help he could give to his companions.

---

Cultures: 64; Athletics: 123

 Cultures
This message was last edited by the player at 21:23, Mon 27 Sept 2021.

Syndelia, to her shame, had been lulled to a sense of false safety by the fire and the chat - her reflexes still fast, but not as lightning fast as usual, as she cartwheeled away from the falling tre...

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Syndelia the Unseen rolled 99 using 1d100+70 with rolls of 29.  Acrobatics -20.