reichtfeld
First Post
"I promised myself I'd stop ensorcelling the suicide waves of mooks the day it stopped being fun." I'm eager to explore the potential of a bard and needed a change of pace. 
Anyways, here's some nonsense to bump the thread. Maybe I'll do a post about Elwood's groovy lute exploration in the cavern of the mushroom king. Which reminds me, that's the name of the composition he made on his natural 20 craft (music) check. Look forward to enjoying this psychadelic masterpiece in a tavern near you. "In the Cavern of the Mushroom King," by Elwood Darey. But until then I'll post this:
---
"Help me, please!" the crumpled figure pleaded from his place beyond the bars.
He had been a prisoner in the foul caves for at least a tenday at this point. It was impossible to judge for sure without benefit of the sun's warm, gentle rays. In the deep there was only the sparse light of the mold and the omnipresent stench of heady musk. As far as Elwood was able to determine, the noxious scent came from the lizards themselves, skulking bipeds that he had overhead speaking a pidgin form of Draconic. Nothing that he had overheard gave any clue to the fate of his companion, though. It seemed almost an eternity had passed since the two minstrels were sitting at their campfire, each with instrument in hand and joined in a duet to celebrate the coming winter. Yet the harmony of their voices betrayed an underlying anxiety, and it was an anxiety that became justified as quickly as the troglodytes' stench and their ambush came upon the two adventurers. Darvin was first to rise and meet the challenge, immediately beginning to sing in a strong tenor that conjured forth powerful magic. Elwood followed in turn by exchanging his lute for the quarterstaff at his feet, prepared to defend his mentor long enough to repel the assault. Yet Darvin choked upon his words, overcome by the smell, and Elwood's staff was of no avail against the scaled hunters.
Elwood still bore some cuts and bruises in his place within the cell. When first awakening days ago he had found himself stripped of instruments, pack, and belt. The creatures were not so stupid after all to deny him his component pouch, and while the bard had a fine singing voice it would not be enough to compel his captors for a release without the use of a charm. So Elwood was left alone, shackled in the crude stone cell to worry over the fate of his companion and to lament their shared failure. For days this had continued, left alone but for the company of his own voice and clapping, sustained by the rationing of wet, edible mosses within the chamber and beginning to regret the smell of his own waste as much as that of the troglodytes. Why am I kept here? Who is your chief? He would attempt to communicate in simple Draconic whenever a lizard could be heard outside, but their only answer was silence and that silence's implication grew to terrify him. Perhaps he was being kept for food, or even yet a sacrifice to their foul god? What news of Darvin? Whatever plans the creatures had were obviously disturbed when some time after Elwood had resigned himself to whatever fate may bring, the monsters disappeared. And now he had been roused by the sound of voices. Voices speaking Common!
"I beg of you, release me!" The bard's hoarse call was met by the sounds of clanking steel and hurried footsteps across the unworked stone. A voice responded in turn, rather oafish, but nevertheless having what Elwood's trained ear could pick out as an accent peculiar to Elven's Crossing. "We're the good guys, hang on!" The pitch suggested a half-elf: a burly, enthusiastic half-elf. Elwood could pick out several other pairs of feet approaching, one moving with appreciable stealth and almost drowned out entirely by the noise of heavy armor. "Wow, they had a prisoner down here!" When the voice bellowed out again Elwood grimanced and rolled his eyes, regretting the notion of being rescued by amateurs as much as he relished the prospect of freedom. No sooner did the half-elf speak then another voice chimed in, murmured with exaggerated disgust but intentionally clear enough to be heard: "And you figured that out by yourself? Congratulations." Elwood would later recognize the voice as belonging to the company's druid, and that none of their members were in good spirits due to the loss of a wizard from their number earlier in the caves.
The bard retrieved his belongings from the chamber outside while sharing the story of his capture. An agreement was quickly struck to join them and discover Darvin's fate. For at least a while, Elwood Darey had joined the Company of the Eleventh Hour. After a search of the surrounding tunnels he was forced to concede there was no sign of the senior minstrel. But by this point Elwood had determined that these yokels were in desperate need of his services. Or, more truthfully, that they were now the best chance for him to liberate the treasures of the Forge. If Darvin still lived then time would tell, but Elwood knew that his mentor would prefer he press on. You must be prepared to make many sacrifices combating evil. And Elwood had pledged to make those sacrifices, just as Darvin had. By the light of the silver moon they would prevail and on a silver harp they would celebrate victory. Someday.
Someday.
"I miss you, friend." Elwood whispered the words and clutched at a pin in the recess of his pocket while trailing after the party into a veritable forest of tall fungi. For all the pain that Toril could bring it truly remained a fantastic world full of beauty and hope. He relaxed his grip upon the pin and smiled for his first time under the mountain.
Anyways, here's some nonsense to bump the thread. Maybe I'll do a post about Elwood's groovy lute exploration in the cavern of the mushroom king. Which reminds me, that's the name of the composition he made on his natural 20 craft (music) check. Look forward to enjoying this psychadelic masterpiece in a tavern near you. "In the Cavern of the Mushroom King," by Elwood Darey. But until then I'll post this:---
"Help me, please!" the crumpled figure pleaded from his place beyond the bars.
He had been a prisoner in the foul caves for at least a tenday at this point. It was impossible to judge for sure without benefit of the sun's warm, gentle rays. In the deep there was only the sparse light of the mold and the omnipresent stench of heady musk. As far as Elwood was able to determine, the noxious scent came from the lizards themselves, skulking bipeds that he had overhead speaking a pidgin form of Draconic. Nothing that he had overheard gave any clue to the fate of his companion, though. It seemed almost an eternity had passed since the two minstrels were sitting at their campfire, each with instrument in hand and joined in a duet to celebrate the coming winter. Yet the harmony of their voices betrayed an underlying anxiety, and it was an anxiety that became justified as quickly as the troglodytes' stench and their ambush came upon the two adventurers. Darvin was first to rise and meet the challenge, immediately beginning to sing in a strong tenor that conjured forth powerful magic. Elwood followed in turn by exchanging his lute for the quarterstaff at his feet, prepared to defend his mentor long enough to repel the assault. Yet Darvin choked upon his words, overcome by the smell, and Elwood's staff was of no avail against the scaled hunters.
Elwood still bore some cuts and bruises in his place within the cell. When first awakening days ago he had found himself stripped of instruments, pack, and belt. The creatures were not so stupid after all to deny him his component pouch, and while the bard had a fine singing voice it would not be enough to compel his captors for a release without the use of a charm. So Elwood was left alone, shackled in the crude stone cell to worry over the fate of his companion and to lament their shared failure. For days this had continued, left alone but for the company of his own voice and clapping, sustained by the rationing of wet, edible mosses within the chamber and beginning to regret the smell of his own waste as much as that of the troglodytes. Why am I kept here? Who is your chief? He would attempt to communicate in simple Draconic whenever a lizard could be heard outside, but their only answer was silence and that silence's implication grew to terrify him. Perhaps he was being kept for food, or even yet a sacrifice to their foul god? What news of Darvin? Whatever plans the creatures had were obviously disturbed when some time after Elwood had resigned himself to whatever fate may bring, the monsters disappeared. And now he had been roused by the sound of voices. Voices speaking Common!
"I beg of you, release me!" The bard's hoarse call was met by the sounds of clanking steel and hurried footsteps across the unworked stone. A voice responded in turn, rather oafish, but nevertheless having what Elwood's trained ear could pick out as an accent peculiar to Elven's Crossing. "We're the good guys, hang on!" The pitch suggested a half-elf: a burly, enthusiastic half-elf. Elwood could pick out several other pairs of feet approaching, one moving with appreciable stealth and almost drowned out entirely by the noise of heavy armor. "Wow, they had a prisoner down here!" When the voice bellowed out again Elwood grimanced and rolled his eyes, regretting the notion of being rescued by amateurs as much as he relished the prospect of freedom. No sooner did the half-elf speak then another voice chimed in, murmured with exaggerated disgust but intentionally clear enough to be heard: "And you figured that out by yourself? Congratulations." Elwood would later recognize the voice as belonging to the company's druid, and that none of their members were in good spirits due to the loss of a wizard from their number earlier in the caves.
The bard retrieved his belongings from the chamber outside while sharing the story of his capture. An agreement was quickly struck to join them and discover Darvin's fate. For at least a while, Elwood Darey had joined the Company of the Eleventh Hour. After a search of the surrounding tunnels he was forced to concede there was no sign of the senior minstrel. But by this point Elwood had determined that these yokels were in desperate need of his services. Or, more truthfully, that they were now the best chance for him to liberate the treasures of the Forge. If Darvin still lived then time would tell, but Elwood knew that his mentor would prefer he press on. You must be prepared to make many sacrifices combating evil. And Elwood had pledged to make those sacrifices, just as Darvin had. By the light of the silver moon they would prevail and on a silver harp they would celebrate victory. Someday.
Someday.
"I miss you, friend." Elwood whispered the words and clutched at a pin in the recess of his pocket while trailing after the party into a veritable forest of tall fungi. For all the pain that Toril could bring it truly remained a fantastic world full of beauty and hope. He relaxed his grip upon the pin and smiled for his first time under the mountain.
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