Gods and Monsters: Legends Reborn main campaign thread

[Nezkrul]

Loki- "The All-father had announced that all that continued to believe in you, teach about you, and worship you, beyond the end of his announcment, 1 month ago on Thorsday, would be stricken with the same pain, remorse, sadness, and sickness that plagues him because of you and what had happened. I felt it wrong that your father would disown you. So I vowed to suffer the affliction because it would only strengthen my resolve. No son should be forgotten, no matter what deeds they do. And, in so doing, I believe that Odin still holds on to his love for you, which explains why this malady doesn't kill. If it weren't for the truly faithful, I think something grave could have befallen you." Garith has been speaking while working, very rarely looking down, his hands seem to act under muscle memory, as if he has bandaged so many wounds that they remember the motions on their own. "We have not slighted anyone we know of, in the village. They only resent us for keeping our beliefs, our faiths, for not doing as the All-father commanded. Without the freedom to choose for ourselves, we would be no better than the dark eladrin." Garith finishes his work by helping Jessiera drink a potion. "There, she will make a full recovery, as best as her body is able with the malady, we should let her rest, and retire outside." Garith stands, fetches his sunhat and quarterstaff, and opens his door in a friendly gesture.



Helm- A look of fright washes over the ugly old woman's face, as a tear drops from the corner of her eye. She screams out a fevered whine, "Please have mercy, young man! I'm just a frail old woman who has grown bitter, but I have harmed no one!"

GM: The zombies don't seem to react to you, they only carry out their last given commands by their apparent master, and it appears that it was to be a dinner guest, or to assist you to your seat, and no further orders have been given yet.

 

[akahdrin]

I gather my wits quickly, call my armor and weapons to myself, I bear my shield forward showing my holy symbol, point my scimitar, and firmly shout, "Stand aside and yield to a Walker in the Waste of the Dusty Conclave!" (Rebuke Undead)

OOC: Any feat is now Quicken Turning. Turning Check result was a 21, so cleric level +3 (+2 additional from blacksand) = 10, Turning Damage is a minimum of 10

I whisper to myself, "I mustn't attack this minion, it belongs to someone."

GM: When you call upon your divine ability to gain an advantage against this potential foe, the Will exterted to force it to function properly drains you of body and spirit. You have 1 negative level (but it doesn't affect your turning check), but your divine ability functions. This negative level will not become permanent as it won't last long enough. You call upon your divine power and successfully Rebuke the charging skeletal giant. It stops dead in its tracks and cowers where it is, about 30 feet from you.

(your head comes up to its knees)

 

[Ductus]

*Loki remains grim and silent throughout his response. Aware that his crone disguise has been compromised, but not quite feeling safe enough to walk about as himself, Loki transforms into his standard disguise. Once his skin has settled and finished changing, he follows Garith through the door*

OOC: Disguise take 10 = 39

GM: Garith leads you to a small green house in which he has a table and 2 chairs set up, and takes a seat on one of them.

 

[Liltroll2]

The grove....

Green surrounds Sheela as she starts to make a small home in the grove. Nothing to fancy really, but with several comforts. A bed, a place to sit, a small cooking fire. "Are you Hungry?" She asks of Mortimer. "I can make us some goodberries...Or we can go hunting again." Sheela pauses then waves Mortimer off, the implication for him to hunt rolls off of her with a smile upon her lips. "I am going to make this place a bit more like home. Then I am going to see what more the gods require of me."

Watching the Bat take off on his own, she closes her eyes, ~Yondalla, I need your guidance. I can stay out here happy for the rest of my life, but there is more. I know there is. I know I can fix the worry of this world, and right the wrongs. Guide me Yondalla. Give me a chance to restore your order to nature, and the people of this plane.~

GM:

GM: After you finish your prayer, you feel a tug, a pull of direction, as if the wind aligned with the trees and brush and gave you a small nudge. When you open your eyes, you sense that the nudge was toward Mortimer

 

[akahdrin]

After the skeleton submits to my will. I utilize my Undead Empathy to allow myself safe passage.

OOC: Rolz for diplomacy is a 31. Hostile to indifferent success (DC 25).

I will continue my way through the desert utilizing Undead Empathy or simply by avoiding the skeletons if I am able to while getting closer to the pyramid.

GM: Unless you seek to confront more of the skeletal giants roaming around the Blacksand this night, you can avoid them without much effort and head to the pyramid

 

[gargoyleking]

Upon seeing the outfit draped across his belongings Thaklor stops to consider the implications. This was obviously meant for more formal occasions, but he hadn't divined the specific meaning of them yet. In either case this was no time for formal wear. Besides, he'd rather not leave something so fine to be dirtied and damaged by the rigors of travelling. He made sure it was neatly folded up and wrapped within his extra, 'formal' vestments for added protection. Then he geared up and packed everything else as tightly as he could doing his best to seal them inside of his pack. He hoped the mudslide would be dried up by the time he got back to the entrance. It would make things easier. Once back to the entrance he studies the state of the blockage and checks to see if it has dried out and stabilized enough to dig through.

GM: The entrance is no longer mud, its more like the consistency of hard packed dirt / mud bricks. Given some effort, it is easier to dig your way out than if it were slick mud.

 

[Ductus]

*Loki sits his aching bones at the table with the old man*
"In the other room, you said Father blames me for some affliction. I am supposedly to blame for so many things, one might thing me father of plagues. What affliction in particular is he going on about, now?"
~Was it something I actually *DID* this time?~

 

[drydenofasturia]

Red sighed deep, this was going to be a little bit more difficult than originally planned.

"Ok. Strategy. I sincerely doubt that we can take on 8 at once, especially with those two casters over there. So I'm going to step out from behind cover and see if I can catch the eye of one or two of these brutes. I will draw them back here out of the sight of the others. Once we are back under cover, you hit them with your best shot and I will clean up house while they are disoriented. We'll nickel and dime them until we have less of a standing force. Let's see if the element of surprise can win us an edge over our foe."

Red stood amid the brush and smiled deviously.

"And if that fails, well, shoot the bastards and try to keep out of range of their weapons. I'll handle the rest."

Before there could be any protest, Red took a deep breath, and stepped out into the sunlight beyond her cover and crouched in the grass. Focusing on the closest ogre, she slunk toward it, trying to keep low enough to avoid any but the attention of just her intended target.

 

[Tellerian Hawke]

Merlin Challenges The Entity

You notice that the evil presence below you remains on the ground, but it has moved to be directly below you. You hear whispers in the dark corners of your mind, memories of being adrift in the astral plane and hearing such maddening whispers are recalled.

Merlin tries to quiet his mind; he focuses on the whispers, trying to make sense of them. Knowing that both Demons and Devils speak the language of the Heavens, he whispers toward the entity below him, in the Celestial tongue, "What is your purpose here? I sense the taint upon your soul. I am the servant of Bahamut; do not tarry with me, lest you force me to destroy you."

Merlin holds his staff in the crook of his under-arm, as he reaches into the bag, while hovering in mid-air. He quickly adorns himself with the items inside: ring, bracers, skullcap. Then he holds the staff in his right hand, and watches the entity, waiting for its response.

 

[Napalm42]

Despite himself, the old woman's pleas register something in Janus. A forgotten memory, something behind the pain stirs, but unreachable through the angry red veil, reaching out with promising spikes of agony. For a moment, hesitation grips the warrior, fighting confused feelings further amplified by the agonizing separation from the hidden things in his mind.

The vision flashes again in his mind, recurring naturally in his roiling thoughts. He pauses on the texture, the feeling. The vision is resolute, ironclad and etched in stone. Everything before him is a blasphemy, every scrap of bitten bone and the zombies themselves evidence.

"The law is clear," he says, stalking towards the woman with clanking footsteps, his resolve restored. "I'm sorry." The words come out as steel, with all of the finality of a judge's sentence. He glances between the zombies, some warrior's instinct in him anticipating danger as he raises his weapon, preparing to strike.