(IC) DND 3.5 Enter Planescape

[OneCrappy DM]

Mr. Black
As the Gem slips from your grasp and drops toward the ground, you lunge after it. At the same moment, Mr. Pink dives as well. The two of you plummet together, fingers outstretched, desperately reaching for your long-awaited payday.
Your detect magic spell, still active, suddenly flares. An aura floods your vision where before there was none. Before you can react, a portal opens in the archway. You and your companion tumble through, swallowed by a maelstrom of fire, echoes, and distant screams.
Then—silence.
When you come to your senses, the Gem is gone. Mr. Pink is gone. You find yourself standing alone in the cold grey drizzle of a sprawling metropolis. As you steady yourself and look up, buildings close in around you, covering the vistas all around there is no sky.
Before you lies a city unlike anything you’ve ever known.

 

[InVinoVeritas]

Spoiler: Exhaustion roll

Exhaustion Roll: 1D20+3 = [15]+3 = 18

Wawaate presses on. He knows what he must do.

 

[OneCrappy DM]

Wawaate

You press on, hiking toward the mouth of the cave. Focusing on the task, you force yourself to ignore the ache in your limbs. The snow shelf rises nearly a foot and a half, and as you climb, the entrance comes into view—a dark pit in the mountainside.
Inside lies a vast frozen chamber. At its center, the white-feathered dragon slumbers in a suit of ancient armor crafted by the very people whose ruins you passed on your way up the mountain. The creature has been in hibernation for centuries, waiting for an adversary bold—or foolish—enough to fly into it's territory.
Scattered across the cavern floor you spot molted feathers, brittle with age. Or, if you wish to tempt fate, you could attempt to sneak closer and pluck a fresh one from the dragon’s folded wing.

 

[TaranTheWanderer]

Spoiler: Mr. Black (mini-sheet)

Mr. Black Perception: 4 Sense Motive: 2 Search: 5	AC: 14; FF: 13; Touch: 11	Spell Slots" 0: [X] [] [] [] [] 1st: [] [] [] []
HP: 8 Init: 1	Fort: 2 Ref: 1 Will: 2	Buffs - none-

---

where the F. am I?

Moving towards a wall he looks around and makes sure he's not going to get jumped. He takes in his surroundings, This isn't the Free City.

Was it a trap? Maybe a teleportation trap?

I’m alone. Somewhere. There's no way I'm getting back to Jane any time soon.

He wants to cry out in frustration.

deep breath

“Mr. Black”, as he’d been codenamed, wasn't the sort of person to panic but he sure as hell had been thrown a loop. Days of planning his escape from murderous mafiosos - some of the most powerful people in the City of Greyhawk - was now dissolving. No money, no allies, no way to contact his loved ones. He wondered if the Guild had known his plans the whole time and this was their punishment. Some kind of sick joke. "He wants to leave Town? Leave us? Well, we got a place where they'll take real good care of you's. For good!"

He pushes the image out of his mind.

Talking to himself,

"Okay let's take inventory: I've got this huge bag, I'm dressed for an expedition into the jungle and I stick out like a sore thumb."

He curses under his breath

I've got ten gold. That's enough for an inn for a couple of days to get my bearings.

He groans, Why didn't I not pocket some money?

He moves towards the nearest cross-street trying, quietly hoping to observe anyone who might walking by. This isn't the first time he's been in an awkward situation so the plan is to blend in until he can get his bearings. He drops his bag on the ground before he gets too close.

---

Spoiler: OOC ROLLS

If you're wondering why I keep picking up and dropping my bag: it's a medium encumbrance. So I'm getting penalties to lots of stuff.

Plan: observe a local and use disguise self to blend in.

 

[Steve Gorak]

Bimble

Your companion takes you through the trail and deep into the grove, you have heard stories of the great oak in the center of the Forrest. Not many are permitted to enter the premises, with the conversation you had with the elder it seems as if you have unofficially been granted access to the parts of the inner circle. As you get closer and closer you can hear the sound of crashing water, then through the woods you see archways shaped from the living wood of the great oak tree. Something familiar reminds you of the saying "A tree as strong as Iron", looking on it now you can see it's origin.

Spoiler: Roll Required

((Roll Knowledge Nature, Search, Perception))

View attachment 423907

Bimble admires the beauty of the archway and the tree, a perfect blend or nature and art. He pats Rao as he looks around trying to get a sense of the surroundings.

OOC: Rolls: Knowledge nature: 19 Search: 12 Perception: 20 In case it is relevant, Rao the dog perception: 15

 

[InVinoVeritas]

Wawaate considered his instructions. Do not wake the sleeping dragon. As much as taking a fresh feather would be good, that is not the instruction.

He spends a bit more time sitting in the chamber with the sleeper, listening to the dragon's breathing as he seeks an intact molten feather, and whether one freshly loosens itself from the slumbering beast.

 

[OneCrappy DM]

Bimble

The archway was designed with a wood shape spell and strengthened with Ironwood enchantments. It remains alive, still connected to the great oak from which the entire grove was born. Every tree around you is one of its saplings. Along a well trodden path, your eye catches something unusual. An acorn resting on an amber colored fall leaf. Both are out of place for it's a couple of days before the spring equinox, yet you recognize the sign instantly. Baervan Wildwanderer, the patron deity of your circle, leaves such tokens only with purpose. The path it lies on is the inner sanctum courtyard at the heart of the great oak grove.

 

[OneCrappy DM]

Wawaate

You take a step with each exhale, moving closer and closer to the feathered dragon. When the thunderous breaths pause, you freeze still as the icicles all around you. On the glassy floor lies an intact feather from the revered White Dragon, its pale barbs shimmering with frost.
After what feels like several long minutes, the dragon resumes its slow, rhythmic exhalations. You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding and carefully pick up the feather, grateful that you won’t need to pluck one from the great creature’s wing.
Your exit mirrors your approach: each step timed with the dragon’s steady breath, a quiet dance of caution and respect. Soon the sound fades behind you, and with every footfall farther and farther from the White Dragon’s lair.
At last, you reach the mouth of the cave. The sun is sinking below the horizon, painting the snow in fading gold. Night is gathering. A time when the winter wind deity Negafook (Telchur) is said to be at his strongest.

 

[OneCrappy DM]

Mr. Black

Out on the streets, you notice a pair of men in drab, colorless robes moving methodically along the cobblestones. They sweep around in the shadows, peering beneath shanties and overhangs in search of anyone trying to sleep out of sight it looks as if their checking the bodies for something. You've seen one or two get dragged away by these men, in an almost nonchalant walk as if this is normal. As you set down your bag, the door of a nearby building bursts open you see the dim household door close as the figure moves. A drunk Aasimar stumbles out, wings sagging and feathers unkempt. He lurches toward you, breath thick with ale and something far more acrid. Pale faces stare out from windows, most people shuttered inside hiding.

“OIY! BITER!” he bellows, jabbing a finger in your direction. “You lathly quiper… a crude rube—hic—ye smell o’ Styx, you do! Oughta earn a page fer that lathly face o’ yours!”

His slurred insults echo down the narrow street, accompanied by another unsteady hiccup as he sways in your path.

((Edited))

 

[Neurotic]

Luke Cinder

Bendon Mawl sees you out The Hive sprawls around ,surrounding you in a gray warren of run-down buildings, filthy streets, and desperate people. The cold drizzle has driven many of the street people to shelter. Condemned buildings glow with the red light of cooking fires, and haggard faces peer at you from almost every window. The streets have a maddening tendency to confuse your senses of direction.

Spoiler: For DM

Luke easily catches the purse, unconvinced. But he doesn't see a good way to accept the job and keep pushing for more information.
"Bar'd as a keyless portal."

Quickly finding his way around, he uses next few hours to get some information on the guy before actually meeting him.

OOC: Gather info?