Post by TheUdjat on Apr 30, 2009 15:18:20 GMT -5
SEA GREEN
Gro-bug settles a hand on Henrick’s shoulder to calm him, and surprisingly the words seem to do the trick, even though the half-orc doesn’t entirely comprehend their meaning. Henrick settles back, still glaring at Amassu, but the cloud giant is clearly unbothered by such a thing from a landcrawler. Instead he listens for Natsumi’s reply, and nods gruffly, as if her reply does not come as a surprise to him. “I thought you would say as much,” he intones. “May you crush your adversaries utterly, bard.” Surely this passes as a blessing in Amassu’s mind.
Ella continues to remain worried about this reunion. She voices her question about the dragon, since Amassu seems to have some knowledge of it.
Amassu rumbles thoughtfully for a time, perhaps hesitant to admit his own lack of knowledge on the subject. “I have had little cause to brush shoulders with this “Master,” as he calls himself, but I have never heard of his minions roaming the skies before. But the Harbinger does not come out of his den without a purpose. This is no chance encounter. If this is an act by the “Master” then he has set foot into my territory, and that will not go unpunished. The skies are mine.” He casts his formidable gaze around the group, as if challenging them to contest the issue.
When none speak to the contrary, he seems satisfied. Analyzing the various injuries inflicted by the Harbinger, the cloud giant frowns, uttering something quiet and not fully comprehensible. To his side, a roiling mass of cloud arises, momentarily spooking Antyca. It raises to the massive giant’s hip and then the clouds on top of it part, rather like an oversized chest. Peering inside, Amassu sifts through the cloud-chest’s contents, large amounts of glass clashing against one another. Finally he withdraws a few giant-sized vials, potions no doubt, and sets them on the floor of the cloud in front of the party.
No doubt the immense vials are looked at with some dubiousness, until they shrink down to the proper sizes. One is marked with the picture of an eye, the other with an archaic symbol, something like a spiral with a slash across it. The rest simply bear a red cross, the universal symbol for healing potions, and are the appropriate soothing shade of blue common to healing concoctions everywhere. “These should help the orc and the blind one, and for your wounds. For the rest of what the Harbinger has done…” He looks out across the skies, back the way he arrived from, and then looks at the companions again. “You should find one skilled in the divine.”
Perhaps Amassu is not aware of the trouble with divine magic of late. While the potions are put to use, Amassu speaks his command word again—a match cabinet to the sky-chest appears, and he searches through it for a moment or two before he finds what he’s looking for—a lovely bracelet with a chain of silver and pale platinum interwoven together, and on it a small charm—a golden bolt of lightning. This he gives to Natsumi, the object again shrinking down to her size. “For you, bard. Use it to return to me when you are ready—or when you must.” His gaze is serious, perhaps even touched with worry, but it is a fleeting expression that is quickly gone, replaced by his usual dour demeanor.
Henrick glares from across the cloud, but says nothing.
[There’s enough healing to put you guys back to full (or as full as you can be with Neg. Levels) and a Remove Curse and Remove Blindness for those conditions. Nothing for the Negative Levels at present—those will take successful saves to overcome after 24 hours or be permanent, unless the character is subject to a Restoration spell before then. Heal might work, too.
Antyca can have healing, too. Healing is reflected below.
It’s also worth noting that if Sax was on the Roc, he is probably well and truly dead from those negative levels. Ella will need a new puppy.]
(Character Status)
Ella – 77/77 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 52/52]
Sean – 47/47 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP 22/22]
Gro-bug – 100/100 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 75/75]
Henrick – 70/70 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 45/45]
Antyca – 2 Neg. Levels
Natsumi – 52/52 HP
Negative Levels:
Sean, Ella, Gro-bug, and Henrick all suffer -5 on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls, and saving throws, and -25 to HP. The HP amounts have been reflected above.
DARK RED
Gildas-
Since Vemu is out, here’s a link to the last update.
Lenny, Wystfalrun-
“I see,” Hallen says, switching easily to Dwarven, but he does not seem to maintain any suspicion as to their motives. “You talk about undead roaming the land? Can’t say I’ve heard anything, but then, current events are hardly my area of study. Though I do keep up to date on events with the homeland, and your telling of events there interests me. I heard, just yesterday in fact, that the dwarves are indeed marching to war against the Yexuhl. Could be your tale has something to do with it,” he admits, perhaps not without much personal belief in the matter, “but the tale I heard is that the dwarves march after they were attacked in Bazarkrak, while the mountain was sealed up for celebrations. Many a noble dwarf died fighting off these men, who came in black plate, I’ve heard it said, calling on a dark god for power. Allies of the Yexuhl, they say.”
He shakes his head in amazement. “To think, people attacking the dwarves in the middle of their most holy celebration. Surely they’ve brought down the wrath of dwarves everywhere. I may be leaving soon to join my brothers. But the fascinating part of the story talks about a group of outsiders who broke into Bazarkrak behind the Deathspeakers and joined the dwarves against them! Sounds like something right out of a bard’s tale, doesn’t it? If it’s true, I’d love to meet those heroes—saved some of my kin, they did.”
“But I’m sorry, I’m getting off the subject. You seem to know about the Yexuhl at any rate, and the war, so maybe you are who you claim you are. It just so happens I do know about an event in history that sounds like this ‘War of the Undead’ you’re talking about. As it happens,” he says, gesturing at a building ahead—large and alabaster like most Mordrock University buildings, but with more columns, and no doors; just open space within. “we’re coming up on that very story. It’s one of my favorite about King Garor.”
Approaching the building, Hallen is silent until the group ascends the stairs, passing through one of many, many archways. Inside is a massive chamber lit by dim everburning torches, with walls covered in murals with depictions of battle on them. The murals are half-art and half-statue, with images popping out of the very walls in polished copper, giving them a brilliant glint in the torchlight. The images are caught in mid-swing, faces frozen in roaring challenges to wrenching agony, stuck forever with blood-spattered, dented armor or heroic charges.
A lingering look at the mural reveals that it is actually a single chaotic battle with two clear sides—one of them formed of humanoids, from humans, to elves, dwarves, Halflings, gnomes, and even half-giants. The other side is more monstrous, consisting mostly of the undead hordes Lenny asked about: skeletons, lumbering zombies, wickedly hopping ghouls and even translucent wraiths whipping around the battlefield. Interspersed among them are other, more familiar monsters, like goblins, orcs, gnolls, and trolls.
“The Battle for Ravenshead,” Hallen explains. “Each wall in here depicts one battle or another. The whole building’s a monument to the event, supposedly built by the founder of the university himself, making it the second-oldest building here. And look, see—there’s Garor.” He points to one of the figures in the mural, and sure enough, it is a particularly strong and fearsome dwarf, wielding the maul in one hand. He is caught in mid-swing, his maul crushing the skull of some unfortunate skeleton, shards of its pate forever hanging in limbo.
Curiously, the maul in the portrait is an exact replica of the one Wanderer now carries. Not merely based on it or inspired by it, but a perfect reproduction, as if the artist had the weapon at his side to create the work of art.
Hallen soon draws the pair’s attention to the rest of the building’s interior. “And there he is over there, too, with the other heroes of the war. Can’t say that I know much about them, but they’ve got names, and you can probably find their deeds if you look in the library long enough. History has it that they all fought in this war with the undead, more than six hundred years ago.” He whistles. “Long time. How’s it you thought to ask about an army of undead again?” He seems to have forgotten Lenny’s remark about the undead marching now.
In the center of the vast chamber, it is easy to see the statues Hallen spoke of. They are enormous, much larger than life, though one—a statue of a half-giant—looms well over all of rest. The others are varied—a female warrior, a woman in priestly garments, a stealthy Halfling with a bow and another with a knife and an innocent expression, and two heavily armored warriors with fine steeds at their sides. An elf with a rapier in one hand and magic in the other, a serious man with unusual armor and a curved sword, the dwarf Garor Skullsplitter and his maul, a mysterious figure wreathed in darkness and staring into the distance, and an even more confusing figure that is half-goblin, half-elf, split down the middle.
The last platform, where a statue should be, is completely empty. It bears only the name ‘Romar Belamor’.
“Don’t know about that one,” Hallen says, when he finds you looking at it. “Statue must’ve been stolen or something. These were rescued out of Old Ravenshead, after all.”
“Is this the kind of thing you were looking for?”
Norven-
Norven came to the great city of New Ravenshead for answers, having heard all about its famed library and its scholars and the free education so widely available. He thought surely this place, if any, would have information on the Deathspeakers, on those men that killed his master.
He was mistaken.
In the days—weeks, even—that he has searched through the city, he has had no manner of luck. His initial search, asking scholars and others questions, led to very little. Nobody had heard of ‘Deathspeakers’, at least not as such, though he was soon directed to clerics that could speak with the dead, scrolls on séances and talking to ghosts, even contacting ancestors. Useless, all of it. The scholars were patient and friendly with him at first, but this soon dried up, like the desert at the edge of his home kingdom, and he turned his search to the city’s streets.
But there he found danger instead of information. Whether it was asking around about Deathspeakers or simply being an outsider, Norven found himself the target for several unscrupulous souls, and was dragged into more than one back-alley brawl that resulted in his opponents finding him a far more difficult mark than they expected. It was unfortunate, but the lower reaches of the city seemed to be ruled by force and deceit. His ways strange, his questions laughed at, Norven turned away from the streets, too.
But he was running out of options. He could swear he heard the name ‘Deathspeakers’ uttered here and there, but nobody would admit to it, or else he misheard. Frustrating. He had even gone through the trouble to learn the title in a dozen different languages, just so he could know if he overheard it.
Nothing.
Until today.
He had just about given up the search, at least here. Norven was musing over where else to take his hunt, what other city might be profitable in these times that talked of war, when he passed a trio of strangers—two very strangely dressed, another looking much like any other student. It was then, walking ignorantly passed them, that he heard one—a Halfling—say the word.
“Deathspeaker”
It was dwarven, but he knew the word by heart in every language by now. Shocked, uncertain he had really heard the word, Norven hurriedly looked around for those that said it. The campus was crowded, but he soon picked them out, and began hurrying and jostling to catch up with them. Had he just imagined it? Had they really said it?
And then he found them, at the museum—or one part of the museum, anyway, some old relic built during the University’s founding. He hadn’t been there much, even if the art was intriguing, something from a bygone era. It didn’t relate to his search until today. Now, standing in the building, looking at its murals and statues, the three men stood there—halfling and human and dwarf—talking in dwarven.
Now was his chance. He would find out something about these Deathspeakers, at last.
(Character Status)
Gildas – 69/69 HP
Lenny – 61/61 HP
Wystfalrun – 62/62 HP
Norven – 71/71 HP
Lockheart – No damage
Wanderer – 90/90 HP [Absent]
Gro-bug settles a hand on Henrick’s shoulder to calm him, and surprisingly the words seem to do the trick, even though the half-orc doesn’t entirely comprehend their meaning. Henrick settles back, still glaring at Amassu, but the cloud giant is clearly unbothered by such a thing from a landcrawler. Instead he listens for Natsumi’s reply, and nods gruffly, as if her reply does not come as a surprise to him. “I thought you would say as much,” he intones. “May you crush your adversaries utterly, bard.” Surely this passes as a blessing in Amassu’s mind.
Ella continues to remain worried about this reunion. She voices her question about the dragon, since Amassu seems to have some knowledge of it.
"You know of this Dragon it would seem; was he sent against us by this Master, or was this a chance encounter? If the Master has such minions at his beck and call, then I fear for the success of our quest."
Amassu rumbles thoughtfully for a time, perhaps hesitant to admit his own lack of knowledge on the subject. “I have had little cause to brush shoulders with this “Master,” as he calls himself, but I have never heard of his minions roaming the skies before. But the Harbinger does not come out of his den without a purpose. This is no chance encounter. If this is an act by the “Master” then he has set foot into my territory, and that will not go unpunished. The skies are mine.” He casts his formidable gaze around the group, as if challenging them to contest the issue.
When none speak to the contrary, he seems satisfied. Analyzing the various injuries inflicted by the Harbinger, the cloud giant frowns, uttering something quiet and not fully comprehensible. To his side, a roiling mass of cloud arises, momentarily spooking Antyca. It raises to the massive giant’s hip and then the clouds on top of it part, rather like an oversized chest. Peering inside, Amassu sifts through the cloud-chest’s contents, large amounts of glass clashing against one another. Finally he withdraws a few giant-sized vials, potions no doubt, and sets them on the floor of the cloud in front of the party.
No doubt the immense vials are looked at with some dubiousness, until they shrink down to the proper sizes. One is marked with the picture of an eye, the other with an archaic symbol, something like a spiral with a slash across it. The rest simply bear a red cross, the universal symbol for healing potions, and are the appropriate soothing shade of blue common to healing concoctions everywhere. “These should help the orc and the blind one, and for your wounds. For the rest of what the Harbinger has done…” He looks out across the skies, back the way he arrived from, and then looks at the companions again. “You should find one skilled in the divine.”
Perhaps Amassu is not aware of the trouble with divine magic of late. While the potions are put to use, Amassu speaks his command word again—a match cabinet to the sky-chest appears, and he searches through it for a moment or two before he finds what he’s looking for—a lovely bracelet with a chain of silver and pale platinum interwoven together, and on it a small charm—a golden bolt of lightning. This he gives to Natsumi, the object again shrinking down to her size. “For you, bard. Use it to return to me when you are ready—or when you must.” His gaze is serious, perhaps even touched with worry, but it is a fleeting expression that is quickly gone, replaced by his usual dour demeanor.
Henrick glares from across the cloud, but says nothing.
[There’s enough healing to put you guys back to full (or as full as you can be with Neg. Levels) and a Remove Curse and Remove Blindness for those conditions. Nothing for the Negative Levels at present—those will take successful saves to overcome after 24 hours or be permanent, unless the character is subject to a Restoration spell before then. Heal might work, too.
Antyca can have healing, too. Healing is reflected below.
It’s also worth noting that if Sax was on the Roc, he is probably well and truly dead from those negative levels. Ella will need a new puppy.]
(Character Status)
Ella – 77/77 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 52/52]
Sean – 47/47 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP 22/22]
Gro-bug – 100/100 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 75/75]
Henrick – 70/70 HP, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 45/45]
Antyca – 2 Neg. Levels
Natsumi – 52/52 HP
Negative Levels:
A creature takes the following penalties for each negative level it has gained.
–1 on all skill checks and ability checks.
–1 on attack rolls and saving throws.
–5 hit points.
–1 effective level (whenever the creature’s level is used in a die roll or calculation, reduce it by one for each negative level).
If the victim casts spells, she loses access to one spell as if she had cast her highest-level, currently available spell. (If she has more than one spell at her highest level, she chooses which she loses.) In addition, when she next prepares spells or regains spell slots, she gets one less spell slot at her highest spell level.
Negative levels remain for 24 hours or until removed with a spell, such as restoration. After 24 hours, the afflicted creature must attempt a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 attacker’s HD + attacker’s Cha modifier). (The DC is provided in the attacker’s description.) If the saving throw succeeds, the negative level goes away with no harm to the creature. The afflicted creature makes a separate saving throw for each negative level it has gained. If the save fails, the negative level goes away, but the creature’s level is also reduced by one.
A character with negative levels at least equal to her current level, or drained below 1st level, is instantly slain. Depending on the creature that killed her, she may rise the next night as a monster of that kind. If not, she rises as a wight. A creature gains 5 temporary hit points for each negative level it bestows (though not if the negative level is caused by a spell or similar effect).
–1 on all skill checks and ability checks.
–1 on attack rolls and saving throws.
–5 hit points.
–1 effective level (whenever the creature’s level is used in a die roll or calculation, reduce it by one for each negative level).
If the victim casts spells, she loses access to one spell as if she had cast her highest-level, currently available spell. (If she has more than one spell at her highest level, she chooses which she loses.) In addition, when she next prepares spells or regains spell slots, she gets one less spell slot at her highest spell level.
Negative levels remain for 24 hours or until removed with a spell, such as restoration. After 24 hours, the afflicted creature must attempt a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 attacker’s HD + attacker’s Cha modifier). (The DC is provided in the attacker’s description.) If the saving throw succeeds, the negative level goes away with no harm to the creature. The afflicted creature makes a separate saving throw for each negative level it has gained. If the save fails, the negative level goes away, but the creature’s level is also reduced by one.
A character with negative levels at least equal to her current level, or drained below 1st level, is instantly slain. Depending on the creature that killed her, she may rise the next night as a monster of that kind. If not, she rises as a wight. A creature gains 5 temporary hit points for each negative level it bestows (though not if the negative level is caused by a spell or similar effect).
Sean, Ella, Gro-bug, and Henrick all suffer -5 on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls, and saving throws, and -25 to HP. The HP amounts have been reflected above.
DARK RED
Gildas-
Since Vemu is out, here’s a link to the last update.
Lenny, Wystfalrun-
“I see,” Hallen says, switching easily to Dwarven, but he does not seem to maintain any suspicion as to their motives. “You talk about undead roaming the land? Can’t say I’ve heard anything, but then, current events are hardly my area of study. Though I do keep up to date on events with the homeland, and your telling of events there interests me. I heard, just yesterday in fact, that the dwarves are indeed marching to war against the Yexuhl. Could be your tale has something to do with it,” he admits, perhaps not without much personal belief in the matter, “but the tale I heard is that the dwarves march after they were attacked in Bazarkrak, while the mountain was sealed up for celebrations. Many a noble dwarf died fighting off these men, who came in black plate, I’ve heard it said, calling on a dark god for power. Allies of the Yexuhl, they say.”
He shakes his head in amazement. “To think, people attacking the dwarves in the middle of their most holy celebration. Surely they’ve brought down the wrath of dwarves everywhere. I may be leaving soon to join my brothers. But the fascinating part of the story talks about a group of outsiders who broke into Bazarkrak behind the Deathspeakers and joined the dwarves against them! Sounds like something right out of a bard’s tale, doesn’t it? If it’s true, I’d love to meet those heroes—saved some of my kin, they did.”
“But I’m sorry, I’m getting off the subject. You seem to know about the Yexuhl at any rate, and the war, so maybe you are who you claim you are. It just so happens I do know about an event in history that sounds like this ‘War of the Undead’ you’re talking about. As it happens,” he says, gesturing at a building ahead—large and alabaster like most Mordrock University buildings, but with more columns, and no doors; just open space within. “we’re coming up on that very story. It’s one of my favorite about King Garor.”
Approaching the building, Hallen is silent until the group ascends the stairs, passing through one of many, many archways. Inside is a massive chamber lit by dim everburning torches, with walls covered in murals with depictions of battle on them. The murals are half-art and half-statue, with images popping out of the very walls in polished copper, giving them a brilliant glint in the torchlight. The images are caught in mid-swing, faces frozen in roaring challenges to wrenching agony, stuck forever with blood-spattered, dented armor or heroic charges.
A lingering look at the mural reveals that it is actually a single chaotic battle with two clear sides—one of them formed of humanoids, from humans, to elves, dwarves, Halflings, gnomes, and even half-giants. The other side is more monstrous, consisting mostly of the undead hordes Lenny asked about: skeletons, lumbering zombies, wickedly hopping ghouls and even translucent wraiths whipping around the battlefield. Interspersed among them are other, more familiar monsters, like goblins, orcs, gnolls, and trolls.
“The Battle for Ravenshead,” Hallen explains. “Each wall in here depicts one battle or another. The whole building’s a monument to the event, supposedly built by the founder of the university himself, making it the second-oldest building here. And look, see—there’s Garor.” He points to one of the figures in the mural, and sure enough, it is a particularly strong and fearsome dwarf, wielding the maul in one hand. He is caught in mid-swing, his maul crushing the skull of some unfortunate skeleton, shards of its pate forever hanging in limbo.
Curiously, the maul in the portrait is an exact replica of the one Wanderer now carries. Not merely based on it or inspired by it, but a perfect reproduction, as if the artist had the weapon at his side to create the work of art.
Hallen soon draws the pair’s attention to the rest of the building’s interior. “And there he is over there, too, with the other heroes of the war. Can’t say that I know much about them, but they’ve got names, and you can probably find their deeds if you look in the library long enough. History has it that they all fought in this war with the undead, more than six hundred years ago.” He whistles. “Long time. How’s it you thought to ask about an army of undead again?” He seems to have forgotten Lenny’s remark about the undead marching now.
In the center of the vast chamber, it is easy to see the statues Hallen spoke of. They are enormous, much larger than life, though one—a statue of a half-giant—looms well over all of rest. The others are varied—a female warrior, a woman in priestly garments, a stealthy Halfling with a bow and another with a knife and an innocent expression, and two heavily armored warriors with fine steeds at their sides. An elf with a rapier in one hand and magic in the other, a serious man with unusual armor and a curved sword, the dwarf Garor Skullsplitter and his maul, a mysterious figure wreathed in darkness and staring into the distance, and an even more confusing figure that is half-goblin, half-elf, split down the middle.
The last platform, where a statue should be, is completely empty. It bears only the name ‘Romar Belamor’.
“Don’t know about that one,” Hallen says, when he finds you looking at it. “Statue must’ve been stolen or something. These were rescued out of Old Ravenshead, after all.”
“Is this the kind of thing you were looking for?”
Norven-
Norven came to the great city of New Ravenshead for answers, having heard all about its famed library and its scholars and the free education so widely available. He thought surely this place, if any, would have information on the Deathspeakers, on those men that killed his master.
He was mistaken.
In the days—weeks, even—that he has searched through the city, he has had no manner of luck. His initial search, asking scholars and others questions, led to very little. Nobody had heard of ‘Deathspeakers’, at least not as such, though he was soon directed to clerics that could speak with the dead, scrolls on séances and talking to ghosts, even contacting ancestors. Useless, all of it. The scholars were patient and friendly with him at first, but this soon dried up, like the desert at the edge of his home kingdom, and he turned his search to the city’s streets.
But there he found danger instead of information. Whether it was asking around about Deathspeakers or simply being an outsider, Norven found himself the target for several unscrupulous souls, and was dragged into more than one back-alley brawl that resulted in his opponents finding him a far more difficult mark than they expected. It was unfortunate, but the lower reaches of the city seemed to be ruled by force and deceit. His ways strange, his questions laughed at, Norven turned away from the streets, too.
But he was running out of options. He could swear he heard the name ‘Deathspeakers’ uttered here and there, but nobody would admit to it, or else he misheard. Frustrating. He had even gone through the trouble to learn the title in a dozen different languages, just so he could know if he overheard it.
Nothing.
Until today.
He had just about given up the search, at least here. Norven was musing over where else to take his hunt, what other city might be profitable in these times that talked of war, when he passed a trio of strangers—two very strangely dressed, another looking much like any other student. It was then, walking ignorantly passed them, that he heard one—a Halfling—say the word.
“Deathspeaker”
It was dwarven, but he knew the word by heart in every language by now. Shocked, uncertain he had really heard the word, Norven hurriedly looked around for those that said it. The campus was crowded, but he soon picked them out, and began hurrying and jostling to catch up with them. Had he just imagined it? Had they really said it?
And then he found them, at the museum—or one part of the museum, anyway, some old relic built during the University’s founding. He hadn’t been there much, even if the art was intriguing, something from a bygone era. It didn’t relate to his search until today. Now, standing in the building, looking at its murals and statues, the three men stood there—halfling and human and dwarf—talking in dwarven.
Now was his chance. He would find out something about these Deathspeakers, at last.
(Character Status)
Gildas – 69/69 HP
Lenny – 61/61 HP
Wystfalrun – 62/62 HP
Norven – 71/71 HP
Lockheart – No damage
Wanderer – 90/90 HP [Absent]
