The Fey, the Far, and the Ugly Space In Between

[Tecklenburg]

Otthor

A spin, a series of violent rebukes with knees, sword pommel, elbows, and shoving your mailed forearm into the creatures' salivating mouths does the trick to stave off the worst of the dogs' rush.

Your words find three open ears. The unarmed men trailing the hunters slow to a stop as they consider the truth of your words and how the situation at hand may support them.

Unfortunately, they also find some deaf ears. The hunters pull out their stone axes, cock them next to their ears and are poised to throw mid-stride. "Do not listen to him! His words are magic poison! Slay him before they enchant us!" The trusty hounds, of course, are all to happy to oblige their masters and don't let up for a moment.

The two hunters' axes spin tightly toward me, cutting through the air with a familiar noise. Fending off the dogs the best I can without hurting them, I wait until the last second and dive out of the way in an aerial somersault.

[sblock]Defy Danger (Dex)
4, 1 + 2 = 7

Success but a worse outcome, hard bargain, or ugly choice.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
You track the spinning weapons while you repel the dogs. Your timing is perfect...but one of the dogs is quick and implacable. He stays right on your hip as you somersault through the air.

It happens in a split second so you have no time to deliberate. It is all instinct. Either you:

1) put your sword through his mouth and out the back of his neck, killing him instantly...

or...

2) he is either going to plant his slobbering, toothy muzzle in your thigh (d6 damage less armor)...

Your choice. In the flash of the moment, however, you are still able to grasp the implications of 1. If you kill the dog there is no way you're going to be able to parley with the 2 hunters. It would mean their deaths or yours.

I don't want to kill these men and I don't want to kill their dogs if I can help it. I'll trust my elven chainmail to protect me from the dog's bite and roll to my feet as I finish the somersault.

[sblock]d6 damage. 2 - 2 (armor) = 0 damage to me.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
As you come up to your feet, you feel a powerful presence nearby. A falcon darts in from the sky and morphs into a man as he lands. Obviously it is Three Bird. He immediately sets about speaking to the dogs in their language; Barks, growls, snarls. They turn their attention to him and appear to be coming to heel.

However, the hunters aren't so inclined. They already each have a knife in hand and are bearing down on you with all sorts of malice.

[sblock]You can take + 1 to Parley due to Three Bird or + 1 to melee due to them bringing a knife to a sword fight.[/sblock]

The unarmed men who are trailing still give off no sign of a willingness or want to physically engage. They've clearly caught on that something is amiss or they're comparatively timid or perhaps both.

Get back to me on it though because I need to move Binks forward.

 

[Binks]

As I hop up to my feet, I look across the battlefield for Otthor's plight. As I see him being pressed by barbarians that aren't bearing Argoth's Far Realm sigil, I instinctually feel my empty quiver and realize that I cannot get to him in time to do anything. Taking my knife from my mouth, I turn to Three Bird. "Those are your people! Help him, please!"

Assuming he flies off to help Otthor, Lucky, Rawr and I will set about flanking M2 of A with Exel and Xanob and finish him off.

Per Manbearcat
Without a word, Three Bird shapeshifts into a falcon and speeds through the air towards Otthor.

With the myrmidon being pressed hard by Exel and Xanob, Rawr, Lucky and I flank him, again like a pack of raptors taking down large game sufficient to feed the entire pack.

[sblock]Hack and Slash (Dex)
5, 3 + 3 = 11

d8 + 1d4 (VS) + 3 (Rawr). 2 + 3 + 3 - 2 armor = 6 damage. Dead.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
Although another of their numbers is wounded in the fray, the barbarians fell one of the two other myrmidons as your pack claims your own kill. There is but one remaining and he is heavily pressed by the remaining barbarians, especially now that his mini-phalanx is broken.

My feet are perpetually in motion, never stopping as I deliver the killing blow. I'm making a dead sprint for Otthor. Over my shoulder I instruct Exel and Xanob; "Help them finish that one!" Their combined might should make short work of the remaining myrmidon.

Rawr's powerful legs keep stride with me for the short sprint with Lucky trailing behind. I want to get their with all haste.

[sblock]Defy Danger (Str)
4, 3 + 0 = 7

Success but a worse outcome, hard bargain, or ugly choice.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
Every part of your body, from your lungs to your feet to your thighs to your shoulders to your forearms, burn with the effort and stress of the last week. Though you mentally want to get to your friend to aid him as the huntsman press in on him, it screams at you to throttle back...and those screams are loud...

If you want it bad enough, you can get to Otthor in time to cut off the duo's flanking effort and make this a 1 vs 1 situation * 2 rather than the 2 vs 1 situation it might become...

...but you'll need to give me 1d4 hp (no armor) to prove it to all of us...

I scrunch my nose, bear my teeth, and growl as I defy my failing body.

[sblock]1d4 damage, no armor. 3 damage to me. 18/21 HP.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
Good stuff. Let me find out what Otthor is going to do, Parley or fight, and then I'll move things forward with a post.

 

[Tecklenburg]

Per Manbearcat
As you come up to your feet, you feel a powerful presence nearby. A falcon darts in from the sky and morphs into a man as he lands. Obviously it is Three Bird. He immediately sets about speaking to the dogs in their language; Barks, growls, snarls. They turn their attention to him and appear to be coming to heel.

However, the hunters aren't so inclined. They already each have a knife in hand and are bearing down on you with all sorts of malice.

The unarmed men who are trailing still give off no sign of a willingness or want to physically engage. They've clearly caught on that something is amiss or they're comparatively timid or perhaps both.

When Saerie, Rawr and Lucky show up at my side, my morale picks up a beat. That tells me everything I need to know about the status of the battle I left behind. As they square off against one of the huntsmen, I square off against the other. But these men don't bear the many-red-eyed symbol of Ranyon Argoth's cult. Despite the fact that they are in some ways complicit with the detention of the World's End refugees, we didn't come here to indiscriminately slay the Coldland barbarians.

With the men mere inches from our faces I loudly and grimly proclaim: "This is your last chance. We are here only to put an end to Ranyon Argoth's cult and his insane designs on this world. Your clan would be spared our wrath and freed from his tyranny. If you do not stand down right now, these will be the last moments of your lives...and you'll have spent them fighting for the wrong side..."

[sblock]Parley (Cha)

Leverage: Explicit threat of immediate violence after showing our ability to slay those that stand before us.

1, 3 + 1 + (Take + 1 for 3B) = 6

Mark 1 xp[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
For a moment, the creases in the mens' foreheads, their quivering lips, and their taut hands and forearms release. You're close enough to easily feel and see each other's warm exhales in the frozen air.

But that is before the young man you rendered unconscious earlier comes staggering hurriedly from out of the trail that cuts through the deep snows of the courtyard. His cry cuts the quiet tension of the moment:

"They killed <he starts ticking off a few names that mean nothing to you but must be the men that were slain prior>! Slay them!"

The men turn back to you. As their eyes go wide, their free hands reach for your cloaks as their nasty knives flash a promise of emptying your veins.

Even though these are clearly not Argoth's men, there must be some sort of kindred feelings for the entirety of the clans here as the unarmed, unarmored men all shout a cry of battle and begin to rush you from several paces behind your immediate skirmish (Near).

[sblock]You don't get to take + 1 for melee anymore. You have no advantage at this distance...basically between close and hand. What's more, a successful counterattack from them and you'll be locked in a grapple, unable to use your Close range Elven Sword.[/sblock]

As the exchange begins, I quietly deadpan a fatalistic elven saying about failure to achieve peace through words. It is basically; "More bloodshed. So be it." My movements are swift and decisive as I bring the Bladesong to life in a mournful dirge.

[sblock]Master's Bladework (Int)
4, 3 + 3 = 10

d8 damage and 3 techniques. 7 damage – 1 armor = 6 damage.

Burst *2: Your attack deals an additional 1d4 * 2 damage and gains the forceful tag * 2. 2 + 3 = 5 damage.

11 damage total. Dead.

Soul Siphoning: Your attack heals you for 1d4. Heal 1d8 instead if this attack kills your target. 8 HP returned to me.

Bladesong (Int)
3, 2 + 3 = 8

1 Bladesong for:

* Void Note - Teleport somewhere nearby within your line of sight.
* Guarded Flourish - When you have no weapon or shield in your offhand and you take damage, take + 2 armor.
* Blade Crescendo - When you deal damage to an enemy within your melee weapon's range, gain 2 piercing.[/sblock]

I'd like to use my 2 Forceful tags to hurl the hunter's broken body through the air at them, slowing them or entangling them for a moment as I summon forth a Fireball that will consume them.

Per Manbearcat
That works. The Force magic throws him through the air and then rends him to pieces. The spray of gore and the shards of bone forces them to halt for a moment and to protect their faces with their hands. The horror by itself is enough to give them pause.

Sit tight while I move Binks forward.

 

[Binks]

When Saerie, Rawr and Lucky show up at my side, my morale picks up a beat. That tells me everything I need to know about the status of the battle I left behind. As they square off against one of the huntsmen, I square off against the other. But these men don't bear the many-red-eyed symbol of Ranyon Argoth's cult. Despite the fact that they are in some ways complicit with the detention of the World's End refugees, we didn't come here to indiscriminately slay the Coldland barbarians.

With the men mere inches from our faces I loudly and grimly proclaim: "This is your last chance. We are here only to put an end to Ranyon Argoth's cult and his insane designs on this world. Your clan would be spared our wrath and freed from his tyranny. If you do not stand down right now, these will be the last moments of your lives...and you'll have spent them fighting for the wrong side..."

Per Manbearcat
For a moment, the creases in the mens' foreheads, their quivering lips, and their taut hands and forearms release. You're close enough to easily feel and see each other's warm exhales in the frozen air.

But that is before the young man you rendered unconscious earlier comes staggering hurriedly from out of the trail that cuts through the deep snows of the courtyard. His cry cuts the quiet tension of the moment:

"They killed <he starts ticking off a few names that mean nothing to you but must be the men that were slain prior>! Slay them!"

The men turn back to you. As their eyes go wide, their free hands reach for your cloaks as their nasty knives flash a promise of emptying your veins.

Even though these are clearly not Argoth's men, there must be some sort of kindred feelings for the entirety of the clans here as the unarmed, unarmored men all shout a cry of battle and begin to rush you from several paces behind your immediate skirmish (Near).

The world goes eerily quiet for a moment. The crunch of the mens' hurried footfalls on the snow, the growl of the dogs and Three Bird's answer all fade to nothingness. I hear only the wind and Otthor's invocation of our ancient elven expression at the haunting reality of further bloodshed. I know Rawr, Lucky and I will make short work of this man. He is alive now. Drawing breath. Heart pumping blood. Mistakenly convinced he is fighting for the life of his people.

What a terrible waste.

[sblock]Hack and Slash (Dex)
5, 4 + 3 = 12

d8 + 1d4 (VS) + 3 (Rawr). 4 + 4 + 3 - 1 armor = 10 damage. Dead.[/sblock]

Its over quickly. Less dramatic than Otthor's slaying, but emotionally impactful for me. I whimper and choke back a tear when the man's head falls against my shoulder as he dies. I whisper "I am sorry" and I guide him softly to the ground.

I hear Otthor's arcane words and look on stoically, but deeply embittered, as I know that more lives are about to be needlessly lost for the sake of one madman and his petty designs.

 

[Tecklenburg]

Per Manbearcat
The Force magic throws him through the air and then rends him to pieces. The spray of gore and the shards of bone forces them to halt for a moment and to protect their faces with their hands. The horror by itself is enough to give them pause.

While the men recover, arcane words spill from my tongue and marry to the symbols I draw in the air. The air around me grows instantaneously warm as a barely contained conflagration rests in the upturned palm of my hand. I throw my open hand forward and the flaming ball leaves it at high speed, a trail of flame licking the air behind it.

But the ball of flame is not meant for the three men.

[sblock]Cast a Spell (Int) Fireball
1, 3 + 3 = 7

I'll choose danger as my complication.[/sblock]

I hurl the fireball to the snowy ground beside the men so all of them are clear of its doom. I'm hoping that when it explodes next to them, and not amongst them, they're given pause to reconsider. Then I'm going to pull a Fezzik!

"...I didn't have to miss."

I give them a moment to consider. "Take your families and follow Three Bird off of this mountain for you will all be doomed if my allies and I cannot stop the Far Realm abomination that Ranyon Argoth is set to unleash upon this world."

If they're still game for a fight, so be it. I've done all I can to curb this.

Let me know what kind of danger comes out of my spell.

 

[Manbearcat]

Let me know what kind of danger comes out of my spell.

Ok. Enjoy!

---

The men and the boy behind them all stop dead in their tracks. It seems like you've finally gotten through to them or cowed them at the very least. Or perhaps it's something else that has frozen them in place, their collective eyes all slowly bulging after your words have run their course...

Directly in front of you where you drew upon the arcane forces of the multiverse to create the freball, a strange ripple appears in the fabric of your reality. Slowly at first and then much more quickly, that ripple elongates vertically, then horizontally, then vertically again until a full-blown fissure is made manifest. Beyond the "creases of reality (let us call them)", a roiling and entropic void swirls. Blackness gives way to prismatic shapes which are torn to pieces and swallowed up again by that void. All of it is covered in a thick haze that your eyes have to work terribly hard to penetrate.

As you experienced before Saerie, a vacuum begins to pull you toward it, a slight tug at first and then a grab. The almost knee-deep snow is the only reason you aren't pulled from your feet. Suddenly, absolutely enormous tentacles fire from that void, reaching for the three of you that are nearby (Saerie, Rawr, Otthor). A shimmering image in the murk and roiling/dying prismatic shapes can be faintly seen. A creature resembling an aboleth of such enormous proportions and such grandiose levels of "wrongness", that your mind reels merely from beholding its spector. An uncountable number of red eyes on its "face" stare at you malevolently from the murky void.

Otthor, you don't need to roll any dice to understand the implications. The separation between the Prime World and the Far Realm is vanishingly thin in this place.

---

You guys have some collosal tentacles to deal with and a "next level" assault on your senses. Oh, and an entropic fissure to the Far Realm.

 

[Binks]

As you experienced before Saerie, a vacuum begins to pull you toward it, a slight tug at first and then a grab. The almost knee-deep snow is the only reason you aren't pulled from your feet. Suddenly, absolutely enormous tentacles fire from that void, reaching for the three of you that are nearby (Saerie, Rawr, Otthor). A shimmering image in the murk and roiling/dying prismatic shapes can be faintly seen. A creature resembling an aboleth of such enormous proportions and such grandiose levels of "wrongness", that your mind reels merely from beholding its spector. An uncountable number of red eyes on its "face" stare at you malevolently from the murky void.

---

You guys have some colossal tentacles to deal with and a "next level" assault on your senses. Oh, and an entropic fissure to the Far Realm.

Alright, remember earlier when this thing happened:

Per Manbearcat
At Far range, you are certainly out of spear throwing range. The other Warlock, in the midst of his Divination, snarls "...I've got you..." He points his staff in your direction and speaks loudly in the insane gibberish of deep speech, invokes the name Pisaethces and calls her "his queen."

I said I'd remember that. Well, I'm remembering it. Obviously, Pisaethces is the Far Realm patron of this cult. Otthor and Averandox uncovered the prophecy that an Elder One is going to be unleashed on this world today through a willing vessel. Now we have this gigantic aboleth attacking us from a breach in our world's fabric. I'm going to consult my accumulated knowledge on the Far Realm Elder Ones and Pisaethces.

[sblock]Spout Lore (Int)
4, 3 + 1 = 8

the GM will only tell you something interesting—it’s on you to make it useful.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
You recall a campfire horror story used for cheap thrills and scares amongst you and your fellow Feywild youths. Pisaethces is "The Blood Queen." The Elder One who is the mother of all aboleths. Her mere presence warps the minds and mutates the flesh of sentient creatures. She cares nothing for her offspring but she is bent on dominating and distorting all of existence. She could certainly do that if she could only find a way to get here! Say, like a willing vessel...or better yet...a rift in the fabric of reality that she can peel back...

You can feel your mind start to unhinge. Your skin begins to itch and ache. You sense it...wanting...to change.

Yeah. Like through a willing host...

Thinking back to World's End and the mental intrusions there, I grind my teeth with the effort to steady my mind and fight off this mental assault.

[sblock]Defy Danger (Wis)
5, 5 + 2 = 12[/sblock]

I drop my weight as my feet start to slide in the heavy snow toward the breach. I shout over the scream of the vaccuum pulling us toward it. "Otthor! This is the Elder One that threatens our world! We must close this breach before her doom is upon us!"

I'm holding off attacking or defending against this tentacle until I find out what Otthor wants to do.

 

[Tecklenburg]

What I'm glimpsing through this breach in the fabric of our reality is obviously the Far Realm. Going to consult my accumulated knowledge on the nature of the Far Realm and on these tears in the fabric of our reality.

My guess is that survival in that realm for a creature whose origin isn't aberration is probably pretty bleak. Surely I would have come across such information in my Arcane Duelist studies or my military training.

[sblock]Spout Lore (Int)
4, 3 + 3 = 10

The GM will tell you something interesting and useful about the subject relevant to your situation.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
If you're thinking about jumping through that portal and confronting this being in the Far Realm, you could certainly do it...but the derangement of such a place would assault your senses so severely that you would be defying danger just to do anything at all (avoid being stunned). If you were to give it a go though, and you could shut down your senses (eg close your eyes, plug your ears, breath through your mouth), you could manage things without constantly having to DD to make moves. But you'd take - 1 to everything.

Further, there is no guarantee that there are even any physical bodies to stand on in the void of the Far Realm. They may come into existence and be shunted out just as quickly.

Alright then. How about mending that tear in reality? What would it take to do it?

[sblock]Spout Lore (Int)
2, 6 + 3 = 11

The GM will tell you something interesting and useful about the subject relevant to your situation.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
It would take one of two things:

1) Powerful restorative primal magic to mend the world's wound.

2) A powerful primordial force of this world to shunt the Far Realm away this world for a moment so the rift closes of its volition. A force like that of a volcano or the seasons...like maybe winter!

Otthor kinda sorta wants to jump through that rift and take the fight right to The Blood Queen. His legs coil to make a running leap through it...that is when he gets a taste of the mind-flaying magic emanating from the incredible creature...

[sblock]Defy Danger (Wis)
5, 6 + 0 = 11[/sblock]

...although he is not overcome by the mental onslaught, that gives him cause to quickly comes to his senses. He grimaces while he realizes that the more sensible play is to slay Ranyon Argoth in the tower rather than fight an Elder Evil of the Far Realm on her home turf.

Otthor shouts to Saerie right before he teleports away from the tentacle bearing down on him, emerging with a magical flash right in front of Saerie to take out the tentacle that is set on her.

[sblock]Using my 1 Bladesong for Void Note[/sblock]

"Saerie, you can close the breach with the winter magic of the Braelani's staff!" My blade, my body, and my magic are in motion, ensuring that tentacle will never reach her.

[sblock]Master's Bladework (Int)
4, 2 + 3 = 9

d8 damage, 2 techniques and counterattack on me. 7 - 2 armor = 5 damage.

Burst * 2: Your attack deals an additional 1d4 damage and gains the ‘forceful’ tag. 2 + 2 = 4 damage. 9 total damage. Tentacle down.

Counterattack on me. (b[2d8] damage) and Forceful tag. 4, 3 - 2 armor = 2 damage to me and Forceful tag.[/sblock]

Per Manbearcat
Your perfect steps intercept the tentacle before it can lash Saerie. The flurry of your blade and force magic eviscerates the tentacle, but the force of the huge appendage slams into you nonetheless. It takes your breath from you and knocks you back several paces. You're barely able to keep your feet, but you are in no position to intercept or defend Saerie from the tentacle you evaded with your teleport. It has redirected and will be upon her in no time!

Saerie, you can do something about this tentacle or do something about the growing breach, take your pick. Tentacles are pulling away at the fabric of reality and you see more threatening to come out of it and assail you all.

 

[Binks]

The massive tentacle is bearing down on me as I hear Otthor's call to action. I have little time to react. I sheathe my short sword on my belt and reach for Winter's Covenant from my back as I dive, tuck, and roll out of the way of the tentacle's effort to pummel me.

[sblock]Defy Danger (Dex)
6, 1 + 3 = 10[/sblock]

Coming ouf of my roll and to my feet, I point the blue crystalline staff at the growing gash between our world and the Far Realm.

"I call upon all of winter's righteous fury to force the Far Realm and its fell creatures away from this world so the wound between the two might knit!"

[sblock]Winter's Covenant (Con)
6, 2 + 1 = 9

I want to summon the frozen winds of a blizzard.

My complication is to pay winter's price.[/sblock]

Let me know what happens.

 

[Manbearcat]

Saerie calls out to Old Man Winter. He answers.

The sky darkens as angry clouds gather to decisively blot out the sun. Wind whips into a stiff breeze and then to a gale. Everyone is tossed like sticks in the wind and forced to sprawl in the knee-deep snow to stay anchored to terra firma. Rain freezes and turns to sideways, scouring sleet in the harsh winds. The temperature drops significantly to well below freezing.

The tentacles still attached to the malevolent force on the other side of the entropic fissure jolt backwards. A triumphant bear roar can be faintly heard over the howling winds as he batts the one attacking him with a huge paw. He then drops his huge weight to the ground and doesn't budge an inch despite the wintry gusts.

The specter of the massive, unknowable, aboleth-like being beyond this world draws back as the Far Realm is shunted away from your world. The tentacles retract full from your side of the breach and the tear lessens...then lessens some more...until it finally blinks out of existence.

The winds slow to an uncomfortable winter breeze as people stir to their feet but vocalize only the anxious release of held breaths. The tremendous updrafts relinquish and the hammering sleet turns to more gentle flakes. The world of the mountain is shrouded in little more than twilight when it should be sunny. Old Man Winter and his dark mood hasn't played itself out quite yet...

[sblock]You guys are going to have to defy some BRRRRR danger.[/sblock]