Chapter 1b: Through the Land Gate

[sirravd]

I intended to go underneath the bodies

I understand that; it also would have been difficult to execute unnoticed but I allowed the benefit of the doubt. It isn't why you were caught, though -- They were checking the bodies. As a result, you found yourself facing three cultists alone. I assumed you would try to evade and posted the attack rolls (without even penalizing you for being prone). You were hit by two of the three of them and it did enough damage with him already wounded.

Ok, fair enough. I wasn't contesting the ruling but I thought you might have misread me

[AleBelly]

Kinnard, the Mercenary

Clear of the immediate threat, Kinnard lets the less durable members of the impromptu entourage rest a little, preferably slightly off the roads. He stands keeping watch towards the city to make sure they weren't followed, until a grubby little voice from waist-height gleefully mentions the skirmish. "Erm, yes. Very well fought." he replies to Rikke, eyeing the bloodied club in the urchin's hand. "You seem rather chirpy for someone that just lost their family, I have to say." His tone is wavering, as if unsure how to approach conversation with a sickly peasant child. This is likely due to Kinnard being unsure how to approach conversation with a sickly peasant child.

Rikke, orphan

"My family is... ... STUPID!" she replies. "I take care of myself!" Her grubby clothes and possessions suggest she doesn't do this very well.

She will follow the others, not really capable of making a plan herself.

[Marullus]

Characters:

• Alethan: Hrærek
• redwarrior: Sigurd Sigurdsson
• sirravd: Ilwegg
• sirravd: Syuun
• ybn1197: Tenghel
• AleBelly: Rikke
• Faanku: Kinnard
• Faanku: Myantha Theneiros
• Samwell Turleton: Fljúga Thormundson
• redwarrior: Saral
• (NPCs): Melikii (mother), Neptisiss and Janiiss (Children)

The small but scholarly cluster - consisting of two barristers, a scribe, one mercenary, and three children - finds their moment of peace and expressed gratitude to their new acquaintances as they aided in each other's escape. It is only an hour or two across the fields to the edges of the forest. By mid-afternoon, you've found a place separate enough from the other refugees and out of sight from the city's walls that you feel comfortable. Janiiss in particular is exhausted from the travel and the panic and horror of the day. You set yourselves a small camp and contemplate what this new future might hold...

Roleplay your reaction to being safe, to needing to protect so many children, and dealing with the loss of your life so far and the companions you knew. How does Rikke feel about the other children? Were Saral, Myantha, and Fljúga only acquaintances in the city's Halls or did they know each other more? I offered for Sirravd to make a PC of one of the other family members.

I am going to pause your forward progress until the other land-going groups finish and we can bring you together in the woods collectively.

This thread then is for your own use as you roleplay through the Chapter 1 denouement. Roleplay your introspection as you level up to Level 1. For the two elves, you have a fixed class. Both elves connect with Supernatural Patrons - is this a new bond you are forming, or an old one you're going back to? How do you react to that? Who do you pick? For Rikke, Saral, and Kinnard, you have class choices as a Human - what do you pick? Expound on their past combines with present circumstance and how it leads to this development. Etc etc etc...

Feel free to freeplay your RP until the other groups catch up. You're safe in a camp.

[AleBelly]

Rikke

Rikke may be the only Kaerhavnian whose fortunes improved from dawn to dusk. She had no home to lose anyway, and this suited her better. Essence of pine and campfire filled her nose...a welcome change from stale piss and coal soot. The rats in her sack replaced by a side of marbled beef. And, the power in her! How good it felt to crack that kobold's skull.

Between bouts of wheezes and coughs, she picks up her club and reenacts the scene, anxious to recapture that fleeting feeling...control of her own destiny. As she does so the third time, she remembers Kinnard beheading the monster. Now THAT was cool. She looks at her blood-smeared club. This would not do. She needed a sword too.

"Where'd you get that?" she asks the mercenary, pointing towards his weapon.

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

Fljúga feels delighted to be in the company of the children, but feels a need to keep a closer eye on the one brandishing a bloody club, and uncertain of how this experience will change them all. Feeling a degree of safety with the mercenary keeping watch and convinced the club waving is just a sort of play, Fljúga rests against a tree for a moment and nods off into a fitful and light sleep.

Fljúga Thormundson, a voice bellows from one of many slathering jaws of a creature that resembles a troll and a bull all at once. It is covered in an iridescent brown-green fur rustling in a light wind. A heavy rain starts to fall and obscures the creature from view until it seems as if it is no longer there.

A long serpentine and shadowy shape appears to be coiling and uncoiling in a pulsing movement through the rain. The creature's body is above the ground - am I also floating? - a woman's face at the end of a thickly muscled serpent body stops within inches of my face, it smiles, all I hear is the music of chimes, the rain hitting against the scales in beautiful harmonies.

Suddenly the rain stops and the body of the serpent disappears into a startling vermilion light beneath me - I am floating - a cloud of dust rushes up from the red light and into my eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. Everything is muffled and a small jackal sits on a delicately embroidered pillow in front of me. It makes a waving motion with a paw directing me to look at the pillow. I look at it. The threads are changing as I look and I see myself in the tower, leaping from the window, escaping in the streets...I see the others with me in the streets....I see the woods where we are all resting...I see myself sleeping.

Fljúga wakes with a start and feels fear - she is being called to. She has only heard a little about this before but did not know it would start like this.

[Samwell Turleton]

I think connecting Fljúga Thormundson to The Three Fates makes sense... I didn't think the character would survive the leap from the window so something has to account for it.

I may take a look through additional material if you allow it.

Three Fates still seem like an appropriate choice and kind of fit the description I gave.

[redwarrior]

Saral stares off into the distance, frankly ignoring the discussions of those around him, as well as his wife and children. Something has.... shifted inside of him, as he thinks back at all the documents he copied while working at the temple of Amun Tor. All of that nonsense, but it paid the bills, and it seemed to make the priests happy. Except, now, that nonsense is just the clear truth. The events of the world are NOT random, they only seem that way because we don't understand why the gods - and their foes - do what they do. But they leave clues, which we call mysteries and riddles. If only we are willing to put the work in to uncover and understand them. It's all so obvious now. He didn't know why he'd gotten the former priest of Amun Tor removed with that scandalous letter. But it's obvious now. The man was just going through the motions, but didn't believe. THAT was why none of the believers were never healed. It's also clear why Saral felt driven to purloin the silver pen from the old priest's belongings, It's because Amon Tor knew that he would need the Holy Symbol to his upcoming role as his Witness. So be it. He knows what he must do.

Mind made up, he turns to his companions. Greetings everyone. I am Saral, new made Witness of Amun Tor. I appreciate your helping my family an I escape. It appears that we are not meant to go back to our old lives. We should get to know each other and figure out what path we are meant to walk.

[Faanku]

Kinnard, the Mercenary

As a fire is made and rudimentary camp is laid for the coming night, Kinnard looks absently back towards the roads and ponders the strange feeling that has come over him. It's as if his entire life up until now; the tedious schooling, the listless fencing practice, the years of aimless, lackadaisical living, even the recent months travelling with Myantha, all of it was just a prelude to this moment right now. It's like waking from a vivid dream, no longer meandering in a hypnagogic haze but instead instilled with a purpose, a goal as clear as crystal. The mercenary takes a deep breath of the pinewood as he reflects on his new-found aspirations, then wrinkles his nose at the gutter-stench that snaps him from his reverie; he realises Rikke has asked him a question.

"It was a gift, from... someone not particularly close to me." He draws the blade and inspects its lustre, still as polished as the day he left home. Seeing the sparkle in the child's eyes, he crouches down as close as his sense of smell will allow him to, and offers her the grip. "I feel it may be a tad heavy for one of your stature, though you seemed capable enough with that club... er, what is your name anyway?"

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

Fljúga wakes fitfully from the dream. It felt much more real than that to her. She pulls out her book and a quill but remembers she gave the ink pot away. She calls the child over to whom she made the gift.

Let me show you how to use these.

She takes out her book and flips a few pages in to find a blank page. The child pulls the cork bottle topper out as Fljúga instructs. Fljúga dips the quill point into the ink well and begins to record notes of the dream visitation.

Like this..., Fljúga gently instructs how to evenly write letters and shows the shapes of writing to the child.

With a few more flourishes the notes are written and a small illustration of the three scenes penned in the margins.

One of the others gives a greeting to the group. A pleasure to meet you Saral, I am Fljúga.

[AleBelly]

Rikke, orphan

Rikke stops her shadowclubbing when the two other children crowd around Fljuga and her notebook. She watches them, jaw set, but does not join them. In fact, she goes to great pains to avoid being near Saral's children.

She nods at the newly converted priest, but that's about it. Most of her attention is on Kinnard's sword.

Kinnard, the Mercenary
"It was a gift, from... someone not particularly close to me." He draws the blade and inspects its lustre, still as polished as the day he left home. Seeing the sparkle in the child's eyes, he crouches down as close as his sense of smell will allow him to, and offers her the grip. "I feel it may be a tad heavy for one of your stature, though you seemed capable enough with that club... er, what is your name anyway?"

She looks disappointed when she hears where he got it, then her face flushes red and eyes open wide when he offers to let her hold it. She rolls up her sleeve to show an incongruously muscled arm as she takes the sword and slices it through the empty air with ease.

"My name is Rikke. Rikke the warrior! I'm stronger than most men. Not like those two." she says, pointing to the other children and relcutantly handing the hilt back towards Kinnard. "I have a big bag of yummy meat here" she smiles. "I'll trade it and my club for your shiny sword..."

[Samwell Turleton]

Fljúga Thormundson

As Fljúga traced the lines of her sketch - the jackal on the embroidered pillow - for the children sitting around her, the jackal appeared again...

“You call for me Fljúga“, the jackal says. The swirling embroidery of the pillow now shows the children, Fljúga, and the jackal in this moment. It also shows what happens next. “Come with me”, the jackal says in a tone that is somewhere between an offer and a command.

The rain starts again and it is more familiar this time. The jackal is still floating behind Fljúga but doesn’t seem to be getting wet. The sounds of chimes ring again as the serpent undulates into view. The woman’s face pausing again in front of Fljúga‘s face. The music is beautiful and distracting. Fljúga doesn’t notice the mouth opening in front of him. Resting on the tongue is a small berry - reddish black. “Eat it”, the jackal says. Fljúga eats it.

Fljúga feels weak, sickened, fatigued, and forgetful. She asks the jackal, “what is happening to me?”

“Our favor”, say a chorus of gruff voices from the many jaws of the troll bull she also saw before. It grabs Fljúga in its massive arms and kneads her body like she is bread dough. It is painful. Fljúga doesn’t know if she can take much more of this. The creature stops and places Fljúga back where she was before and gives a firm pat on her head. Her body compresses and doesn’t go back to the shape she was before. The troll bull seems delighted, a majority of the jaws smiling, but not all.

“We have this for you”, the jackal says as it hands Fljúga a shadow. She can’t make out what it is. “As is our custom we expect a gift in return”, the jackal nods as it says this, “you have some time...”


The rain stops and all the visitors are gone again. Fljúga feels faint and tells the children she needs some rest. She offers her book to the children for some writing practice and collapses onto the mossy underfloor of the forest in a deep sleep.

Patron Bond [1d20+22] = 16+22 = 38, 4 auto corruption, 16 spellburn, 1 int mod, 1 char lvl,

Major Corruption [1d10] = 6

Height Change [1d20-10] = 2-10 = -8

[Marullus]

The sun has set and the campfire in the forest provides light and comfort for your band of refugees. The faint light of other fires can be seen throughout the trees, the first sign of other pockets of refugees huddling in the darkness. Rikke and Kinnard discuss swords, Myantha watches quietly, keeping her own faith to herself.

Saral announces his conviction in his faith, his knowledge of the northern Mimir unlocked and laid open when combined with the teachings of Amon Tor. Odin consulting the severed head of Mimir; the blackened skull of Amon Tor speaking on the obelisk. The great eye of Amon Tor upon the unfinished pyramid ever watching; the eye sacrificed by Odin for a portion of Mimir's wisdom. The patterns in the stars above the trees tonight and the constellations of the Gods; the binding and forced orientation of each one to another...

Fljúga sits and models letters for Neptisiss and Janiiss at the edge of the clearing, drawing carefully to explain each one; Melikii watches patiently as the elven barrister shares her knowledge. The children look confused, however, as Fljúga falls silent, sitting upright in a state of fugue mid-lesson. Melikii calls over to Saral; the children back away, now looking anxious at the silent elf.

Then Fljúga's eyes open - a single wave of wind goes out from her, like a tide rushing out to sea -- all the grasses, the shrubs, the plants around her for a dozen feet shrivel and die abruptly, brown husks. There is a creaking and groaning as a towering oak, it branches hanging over the clearing suddenly raining down dead, shriveled leaves. The trunk splits with a sundering CRACK and the tree falls outward, collapsing through the canopy and to the ground away from the clearing, its branches snapping and flying in all directions like aged kindling as it impacts the ground. Neptisiss and Janiiss scream, but their eyes are not on the tree. They sit fixed, wide-eyed, and the elf's melting transformation. As eyes turn back to Fljúga, she sits -- close to a foot shorter, her face now round with a wide, frog-like mouth instead of tall and slender, her body not as it was. She is not older, but perhaps more like a crone.

In Fljúga's mind, the words of the Fates echo. "Tribune," she she whispers, involuntarily.

"We name you, Barrister. You represent the Judges, you are Tribune at our call. Your life spared, it belongs to us. The five-headed queen breaks threads, destroys the weave. You must carry our wishes - your luckless existence serves."

You cast 4 Invoke Patrons per day with a +2 to the roll.
In place of any of them, you can castBlade of Atropos OR Curse of Moirae as if it were Invoke Patron (Including Tide of Ash), fulfilling your Tribune roll. (As it is their Patron Gift, it doesn't count against your other spells and is castable at any character level.) It stains your fingertips with ink, which transfers to your pronounced, the judgment of the Law.

[Faanku]

Kinnard, the Mercenary

"A fine offer, Rikke the Warrior, though I am loathe to rob you of such fine footstuffs for so paltry a blade." The man sheaths the weapon and tussles the girl's hair, thankful he's wearing gloves. "I shall keep the proposition in mind if I am ever in need though." When that fails to move the orphan along, he searches frantically for conversation topics. "So... you've lived around here longer than I have, I'd wager. What do you know of those gathered here? Anyone I should keep an eye out for?"

[Marullus]

Some good things to RP with there!

Finish up and sleep the night. I'll then post a Chapter 2 thread to begin with the morning. You will combine there with the Waterfall Gate survivors.

[AleBelly]

Rikke beams upon being called a 'warrior,' but she crosses her arms and pouts when she realizes her gambit for the shiny sword has failed.

Kinnard, the Mercenary

"So... you've lived around here longer than I have, I'd wager. What do you know of those gathered here? Anyone I should keep an eye out for?"

"I don't know" she says flatly. "I watch everyone. They are only nice when they want something. People aren't nice exceptin' that. Can't believe you haven't learned that yet." There's no malice in her voice...she delivers her philosophy as if she were describing the color of the sky or that two and two make four.

She looks about in the undergrowth for a long thick stick, breaks it in half to make it sharp, pulls a large hunk of meat from her bag, and impales it on her newly fashioned skewer. She grins widely in anticipation of her meal as she holds it over the camp fire and devours the half-cooked meat. Once she is satisfied she finds a flat pad of earth, tucks her belongings under her, and curls up to sleep.

"Good night, Dukke" she whispers as she begins to drowse.

[Faanku]

Myantha Theneiros, the Witch

It has been a while, child.

Myantha, who had detached from the part somewhat to gather firewood, was glad nobody could see her expression upon hearing that voice, as slick and sweet as honey yet at also immeasurably vile and unclean. As all colour drains from the elf's face as she steels herself to reply. Why are you here? she responds silently, her voice quivering despite never leaving her lips. I do not want your tainted 'gifts', not now and not ever.

Oh, I am always with you, child. Did you truly think you could escape my attentions with so paltry a journey? That mere physical distance means anything to one such as I? The voice laughs, repugnantly alluringly. You are mine, as much as your sisters are, and I hoard my possessions jealously. But know that I am a compassionate benefactor. I shall keep you safe, so long as you remain dutiful.

The elf clenches her fist, fingers whitening from the pressure, a slight trickle of blood. What do you want?

Another laugh, seductive and vile. For now, child? Nothing. I just wished to make my everpresence known, lest you forget your place. There is a long journey ahead of you, my dear sweet Myantha, and you would do well to remember who your power belongs to. There is a moment of satisfied silence, as if the elf and the voice come to unspoken terms. Good. Then I shall take my leave of you for now. In time you shall readily accept my gifts, child. We both know this. There is a slight breeze as the mental pressure on Myantha relaxes, and several small birds roosting in the trees near Myantha drop to the floor dead, the life essence drained from them. The elf stares at them for a long moment, organising her thoughts, steeling herself, before her usual smile returns and she makes her way back to the group, firewood in hand.