D&D 5E (IC) The Village

KirayaTiDrekan

Adventurer
The Search for the Emerald Eye

Quickleaf has learned that the thief of the Emerald Eye is also the same necromancer who destroyed Willow's grove. The pair now find themselves approaching the human village of Meviiran.

Close to Home

Praeden Veeth, Meviiran's Barber and defacto leader, has called a town meeting, with both Torban and Vintar in attendance. The aging fellow strokes his neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard and calls the meeting to order, "I have received word that the Duke is sending what help he can. In the meantime, everyone please stay in your homes at night. Don't try to be brave." He gives Torban a knowing glare.

Heeding the Sovereign's Call

Duke Alastair Silverlight has issued a call for volunteers to make the difficult journey to the Village of Meviiran, far to the north. Word arrived a some time ago that the village needed assistance with undead attacks. The Duke cannot spare any troops and so has asked that anyone capable of wielding sword and spell answer the call.

Niimyr's newly acquired contact in the local thieves guild alerts him to the call, urging both he and his brother to seize the opportunity. Perhaps to get the ambitious young drow out of his territory, but, nonetheless, the opportunity for profit is too tempting to pass up.

Thorn hears from her own contact that the Necromancer she has been tracking may be behind the undead problems in Meviiran.

Lal and Harb answer the Duke's call for their own reasons.

As it happens, Dandin was set to travel north anyway for a lucrative trade deal and could certainly use a few good guards to protect his cart and goods.

The Village Meeting

By coincidence or fate, a pair of wood elves arrive in Meviiran at about the same time as a halfling merchant and the volunteers from the Duke. They find the village curiously quiet until they realize that the villagers are gathered in the Church of Erathis, the largest building in the village. As they enter, a man with a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard stands at the head of the gathering, "Ah, the Duke's people have arrived!"

The villagers turn to regard the newcomers, some hopeful, others suspicious. The town leader continues, "Friends, friends, simmer down. We'll need a couple of volunteers to guide the Duke's people to the Barrows." Meanwhile, the drunken priest, who has fallen asleep, nearly tumbles out of his chair, forcing Vintar to stand to prop him back up. The town leader smiles, "Ah, that's one! Anyone else?' His eye once again falls on Torban.
 

log in or register to remove this ad

Quickleaf

Legend
Quickleaf (wood elf rogue 1)

Eyeing the town with a disdainful look, Eolais eth'Huran – Quickleaf, for short – quips to Willow, "Of course such a short-lived race would give birth to a necromancer fixated on death. I've passed through human villages before. Just follow my lead." He gives a confident wink, one which Willow has likely learned to be wary of in their brief travels together.

Quickleaf was always suspicious of approaching human churches. He knew the stories of how they stole away young boys, shaved their heads, sequestered them with books, and forbade them pleasures of the flesh. And this was what the humans called civilization? Still, he observes the rituals he has learned in his travels.

Stopping at the holy water font, he cups a handful and drinks from it, splashing the rest over his hands to wash them. And at the statue of Erathis, he rubs the divine belly for good luck.

When he's caught standing under the gaze of the village elder, Quickleaf side whispers to Willow, "It appears to be customary to stare and smile to their alderman." So Quickleaf meets the elder's gaze with a friendly smile, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels and toes, just standing there. When the gaze goes on uncomfortably long, he looks at a peasant woman and then to Torban with a gentle raise of his eyebrows in greeting, sucking his lips under his teeth slightly in a ho-hum sort of way. "Hello. Hi. Hello."
 
Last edited:

industrygothica

Adventurer
Willow watches Quickleaf from beneath the tangled mat of filthy black hair covering her ethereal blue eyes. She clutches her quarterstaff more like a walking stick while her pet garter snake, Slithergleam, weaves in and out of her dirty, bony fingers. For all the world, she gives more the appearance of a witch than a druid.

She lowers Slithergleam into the basin of holy water, and the snake's forked tongue darts across the water's surface. While Willow has yet to master the art of smiling, she's perfected the customary stare of which her companion speaks, and focuses is on a small child.



Code:
[B]AC:[/B] 16; [B]HP:[/B] [COLOR=#FF000]9[/COLOR]/9
[B]Initiative:[/B] +3
[B]Saves:[/B] INT +3, WIS +5
[B]Passive Perception:[/B] 15
[B]Languages:[/B] Common, Elf, Druidic, Sylvan
[B]Skills:[/B] Acrobatics +5, Insight +5, Medicine +5, Perception +5, Survival +5
[B]Stats:[/B] Str 10 (+0), Dex 16 (+3) , Con 12 (+1), Int 14 (+1), Wis 16 (+3), Cha 8 (-1)

-[B]Inspiration[/B]? [ ] Yes, [[COLOR=#FF0000]X[/COLOR]] No

[B]Spell Save DC:[/B] 13
[B]Spell Slots:[/B] 2, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0
[B]Slots Used:[/B] 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0
[B]Spells Prepared:[/B] (4) 
[list]
[*]Cantrips: Shillelagh, Poison Spray
[*]1st Level: Cure Wounds (*), Entangle, Ice Knife (*), Healing Word (*)
[/list](*) can be cast at higher levels
 

Shayuri

First Post
The heat was already becoming uncomfortable.

Thorn paused for a moment just before entering the looming stone edifice of the Church, quickly performing a gesture of supplication before stepping in. She knew the right gestures for most of the Gods of Light. The priests had been very assiduous in that aspect of her education. It was a superstition of course...she didn't get stricken with divine bolts, or burst into holy fire, upon walking into a church.

But she did the rite anyway. Just to be sure.

Her cloak was drawn around her, the hood of it up and pulled forward. Hence the sweltering heat. It was a cruel joke at her expense that for some reason her native resistance to heat and fire didn't seem to work on her own body temperature. Thorn could reach into boiling water to pluck out a bit of meat and suffer little more than reddening on her already-orange hand...but wrap herself in so much as a cloak, or wear modest clothes, and she felt as if she were trapped in a furnace. The priests had told her that the heat was from the perilous state of her soul, but it sure felt like her body to her.

Neither could the cowl of her cloak entirely conceal the high, backwards-swept arches of the horns coming from her temples, or the dim yellow glow of her eyes. Was it any wonder she always felt out of place in a building like this, with people like these? And that was just from the strangenesses that could be SEEN. If they knew the full extent of Thorn's curse, they'd either run...or cut her down where she stood.

Not for the first time, Thorn suffered a wave of doubt. This is stupid. I shouldn't be here. This the last place I should be.

But the alternative? Let this foul deathmage go. Would every soul he stole while she abandoned the search make a new link in the chains of her curse?

Thorn thought they might.

Fortunately, the elf and his towering Awkward was attracting most of the attention at the moment. Thorn was fine with that. She could wait for whoever was guiding this expedition to step forward. Wait, at least, for a little while...as the heat steadily built up. Reminding her always of the stakes of her venture.
 

tglassy

Adventurer
Dydan blinked in the cursed sunlight. He still hadn't gotten used to there being no ceiling, and for a light so bright it nearly roasted his corneas. He felt as if he were going to fall off the face of the planet at any moment, hurtling into the nothing above and be roasted in that giant ball of infernal fire.

But he hadn't yet, so he would wait until that happened to worry about it.

He looked around the town he and his brother had come to. He did have to admit, as uncomfortable as it was up here, it did have a certain appeal. The colors and sheer number of strange creatures was unsettling, but there was a sense of peace to it, and his curiosity got the better of him on more than one occasion. Who knew what new spell components he would find up here!

Dydan looked around at the other people here, such as they were. All of them were Iblith, non drow. Actually, it was the same word the Drow used for offal, which showed the regard Drow gave non Drow. But he had promised his brother he would play nice, and so nice he would play.

He stood there, leaning against his staff as he waited to hear what his brother's plans would be. His brother always had plans, and while he never was one to take orders, he allowed his brother the illusion of control. It was so much easier that way. If something went wrong, it was his brother's fault.
 

Charwoman Gene

Adventurer
Gods above, what manner of creatures has the Duke sent to aid us?, Torban thought to himself. It's downright shameful to ask these outsiders for help we could provide on our own. Who knows what foreign ways they bring, and what agendas they really have.

Torban stands up to his full height and stares at Praeden Veeth. In a deep baritone voice, he says "As I have said before, I do not share your fear of the barrows, and would gladly lead the way to them. Someone must represent the town on this mission."
 

Ancalagon

Dusty Dragon
Lal Qalandar was glad that the long journey north was finally over. He had to admit that the long months onboard the ship had dulled his capacity to walk, and a small break would be nice. Dandin had let rim ride on the cart from time to time - especially after Lal proved adept at getting it unstuck from the mud, a common hazard on the poor road. He was glad for his pelt as the nights were getting colder.

The journey *had* been fascinating. The plants, the animals, where completely different, and his companions were equally as wondrous. Dandin for instant wasn't a dwarf at all, but an entirely different species. The two elves - creatures of legend! - were as quirky as the tales told. Harb was... well "just" a human, but Lal could sense great loss in him, a feeling he could relate to. As far as Thorn she was very nice but... was she of Tamasic origins? His companions were not able to help him, they didn't seem to be familiar with the concept. So be it. Besides, should she not be judged on her current life, and not the last?

It seemed as if the village had assembled in time for their arrival - clearly this voyage was decreed by Fate... or they had good scouts. It was a good sign nevertheless. And what was this? More elves! How wonderful! Clearly Northern Elves, based on their coloration. Based on how the villagers were reacting, not locals either. Again, Lal sensed the hand of Fate bringing them all together. Some of the villagers though hadn't sensed it yet however and looked a bit suspicious... time to reassure their spirit. No one from the Duke's party had spoken yet.

Lal stepped forward, tabar resting easily on one shoulder, and extended his open hand, palm facing forward. "Peace Be Upon You" he declared, smiling beatifically.

[sblock=Minisheet]View attachment 82737 Lal Qalandar, of the Purple Lands
Human Barbarian (hermit)

AC: 13 (+1 dex, +2 Con due to unarmored defence)
Initiative: +1
Speed: 30
HP: 14/14
Hit Dice: 1/1
Passive Perception: 13

SAVES: Strength +5, Dexterity: +1, Constitution: +4, Intelligence: -1, Wisdom: +1 Charisma: -1

Skills: Athletics +5, Medecine +3, Perception + 3, Religion +1
Tools: herbalist's kit (hermit)
Language: Common, Yellow City Trade Tongue, Parbati, a bit of Lamarakhi[/sblock]

Sent from my SM-G930W8 using EN World mobile app
 
Last edited:

Quickleaf

Legend
Quickleaf (wood elf rogue 1)

Looking up at Torban's imposing figure filling the church aisle, Quickleaf nearly whistles, but his self-restraint ends there. "Are you sure he can fit in the Barrows?" He casually blurts out in a wry quiet voice.

Noticing a few glares from nearby peasants – had he just affronted their vaunted hero? – Quickleaf offers a dissembling smile, patting what he thinks is the statue of Erathis' belly. In fact, he unwittingly pats the statue's genital area. "You know what good old Erathis says? Uh...heh...every plough has its field..." Quite certain he has gotten the human idiom right, Quickleaf continues to smile until his hand stops patting and after a moment of feeling around realizes where he'd been patting the Divine Erathis, keeper of civilization. Swallowing, he lowers his hand and quietly clears his throat.
 
Last edited:

tglassy

Adventurer
Dydan watches the wood elf with confusion. "Is it normal for surface elves to have an obsession with statue genitalia?" He asked his brother, loud enough for others to hear.


Sent from my iPad using EN World mobile app
 

Ancalagon

Dusty Dragon
Lal turned to the drow, and answered in a lower tone.

"Was that not proper worship of that fertility God?...

... and surface elf
?"

Sent from my SM-G930W8 using EN World mobile app

edit: [sblock=Minisheet]View attachment 82737 Lal Qalandar, of the Purple Lands
Human Barbarian (hermit)

AC: 13 (+1 dex, +2 Con due to unarmored defence)
Initiative: +1
Speed: 30
HP: 14/14
Hit Dice: 1/1
Passive Perception: 13

SAVES: Strength +5, Dexterity: +1, Constitution: +4, Intelligence: -1, Wisdom: +1 Charisma: -1

Skills: Athletics +5, Medecine +3, Perception + 3, Religion +1
Tools: herbalist's kit (hermit)
Language: Common, Yellow City Trade Tongue, Parbati, a bit of Lamarakhi[/sblock]
 
Last edited:

Remove ads

AD6_gamerati_skyscraper

Remove ads

Recent & Upcoming Releases

Top