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D&D 5E IG's "It's a Brand New World" [IC]
- Thread starter industrygothica
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industrygothica
Adventurer
One hour later…
“Well met!” Andert says. “Everyone ready? Great! Hop in… or not. Makes no matter to me. Let’s be off!”
It doesn’t take long at all for the coolness of the morning to turn into an arid, baking heat that only threatens to get worse as the day progresses. While Garrison is not surprised by the heat, having been in and out of Silverport many times throughout his travels, the others, the wood elf Maighan especially, might have appreciated a little warning. To J’hanna, it’s just home.
Unfortunately, a day out from Silverport, the heat is the only thing familiar about home. The fields are being overtaken with wild growth. Thick, trunk-like vines crawl through the wild underbrush and creep over the edges of the road forcing Redis to steer the team straight down the middle to avoid running them over. The growth seems to grow thicker the farther you travel from Silverport.
Later still, the sun mercifully begins its decent, and the two guides begin talk of looking for a place to camp. An abandoned barn farther up the road has their attention; a ready-made shelter would certainly save some time, and perhaps there would be something there worth salvaging.
Photo by seeker-of-revelation
“Well met!” Andert says. “Everyone ready? Great! Hop in… or not. Makes no matter to me. Let’s be off!”
#
It doesn’t take long at all for the coolness of the morning to turn into an arid, baking heat that only threatens to get worse as the day progresses. While Garrison is not surprised by the heat, having been in and out of Silverport many times throughout his travels, the others, the wood elf Maighan especially, might have appreciated a little warning. To J’hanna, it’s just home.
Unfortunately, a day out from Silverport, the heat is the only thing familiar about home. The fields are being overtaken with wild growth. Thick, trunk-like vines crawl through the wild underbrush and creep over the edges of the road forcing Redis to steer the team straight down the middle to avoid running them over. The growth seems to grow thicker the farther you travel from Silverport.
Later still, the sun mercifully begins its decent, and the two guides begin talk of looking for a place to camp. An abandoned barn farther up the road has their attention; a ready-made shelter would certainly save some time, and perhaps there would be something there worth salvaging.
Photo by seeker-of-revelation
KirayaTiDrekan
Adventurer
Nissa was out of her element. She preferred to be inside with books and scrolls and cooler air.
She looked at the old barn apprehensively, "I...I...I think we should make sure nothing else is living in there, first."
She looked at the old barn apprehensively, "I...I...I think we should make sure nothing else is living in there, first."
"Aye. These plants aren't natural," growls the half orc, dismounting from the carriage. "It's like the land, the plants, are a pot boiling over. Everything is spilling out, but it's not the way it's supposed to be".
(Garrison is not great with metaphor, but he is working on it.)
He draws a sword as he approaches the barn. Assuming nothing leaps out at him, e taps the side of it with the blade's pommel.
Thuk. Thuk. Thuk.
He waits.
(Garrison is not great with metaphor, but he is working on it.)
He draws a sword as he approaches the barn. Assuming nothing leaps out at him, e taps the side of it with the blade's pommel.
Thuk. Thuk. Thuk.
He waits.
pathfinderq1
First Post
J'hanna moved forward as well, cautiously, with her shield up and sword in hand. Most natural creatures, even predators, didn't like this sort of growth any more than people did- but there were strange beasts in these parts, animals as unusual in their own way as these plants were. It wouldn't do to be surprised...
industrygothica
Adventurer
Garrison knocks, but there is no response. Maighan is sure that nothing about the vines are natural, but can't seem to put a finger on what the source may be.
As you continue to investigate the barn, you hear the unmistakable sound of a horse and cart approaching. It's a small, overloaded box being pulled by a single malnourished horse. It stops in front of the barn, unable to continue on with your own carriage in the way.
"Well met, strangers!" The gnome was riding shotgun in the driver's box. He wore a dusty coat and top hat that had seen better days, and when he smiled, the rot on his teeth rivaled his stringy ebon hair and goatee. "We seem to b..." he is interrupted by a rustling coming from the wagon, and the irritation shows plain on his wrinkled face. "We seem to be at an impasse," he finishes. "But perhaps it's for the best!" he says, and is answered with more rustling from the back. "Gronde! Do take care of that thing already!" The gnome stands and climbs to the ground, his bent and broken posture making him appear even smaller than he is
Gronde, the driver, on the other hand, is anything but small. He stands nearly eight feet tall and has to be several hundred pounds. Like Garrison, he is an orcish half-breed, but his other half looks to be ogre if anything. He stepps from the carriage with one giant step and heads toward the back.
"Mortimer Mondri's the name." He drags out the vowels, and it sounds like mon-DREEEEEE. He approaches, offering a dry, cracked hand.
There is more rustling from the carriage, and Gronde opens a cage buried within. "Easy little guy." His common was surprisingly clear.
As you continue to investigate the barn, you hear the unmistakable sound of a horse and cart approaching. It's a small, overloaded box being pulled by a single malnourished horse. It stops in front of the barn, unable to continue on with your own carriage in the way.
"Well met, strangers!" The gnome was riding shotgun in the driver's box. He wore a dusty coat and top hat that had seen better days, and when he smiled, the rot on his teeth rivaled his stringy ebon hair and goatee. "We seem to b..." he is interrupted by a rustling coming from the wagon, and the irritation shows plain on his wrinkled face. "We seem to be at an impasse," he finishes. "But perhaps it's for the best!" he says, and is answered with more rustling from the back. "Gronde! Do take care of that thing already!" The gnome stands and climbs to the ground, his bent and broken posture making him appear even smaller than he is
Gronde, the driver, on the other hand, is anything but small. He stands nearly eight feet tall and has to be several hundred pounds. Like Garrison, he is an orcish half-breed, but his other half looks to be ogre if anything. He stepps from the carriage with one giant step and heads toward the back.
"Mortimer Mondri's the name." He drags out the vowels, and it sounds like mon-DREEEEEE. He approaches, offering a dry, cracked hand.
There is more rustling from the carriage, and Gronde opens a cage buried within. "Easy little guy." His common was surprisingly clear.
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"Greetings, Mister Mondree," says Garrison. "Looks like you have quite a load there. What can you tell us of the road ahead?"
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