Neurotic
I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
Ready to be offered a deal, hopefully a good one because he's ready, Luke goes to The Crooked Sword.
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(IC) DND 3.5 Enter Planescape
- Thread starter OneCrappy DM
- Start date
InVinoVeritas
Adventurer
Wawaate starts his journey back to the temple, ready to cross the lake again, trusting it to be better to be out in the open and exposed to the chill.
Steve Gorak
Hero
Bimble recoils as he adjusts to his new surroundings. He instinctively reaches for Roa's reassuring presence and protection, and jumps on the dog. Taking it all in from his higher vantage point, he stares at the petrified trees and leaves and tries to repress a feeling of horror at the petrified trees and leaves. He looks around, tring to understand where he is.
TaranTheWanderer
Legend
As he watches the two walk away, wrapped up in their own troubles, he turns the opposite direction, down the main thoroughfare, looking for a place to sleep.
OneCrappy DM
Explorer
Wawaate
You leave the dragon’s lair behind and begin the long descent toward the frozen lake below. As you pick your way down the mountain path, a flicker in the sky catches your eye a brief spark of light. Focusing on it, you realize it’s the fiery silhouette of a dragon cutting across the heavens. A moment later, a thunderous roar rolls over the peaks, not from behind you, but from above, growing louder as it rushes toward your position.
The mountain trembles beneath your feet. Another roar, deeper and colder resonates from deep within the stone itself. A sickening understanding dawns on you, two dragons are about to clash over their territory, and you are caught in the middle of their battleground. The mountainside shifts. Snow cracks. Then the world gives way.
A massive avalanche tears loose, roaring down the slope with unstoppable force. There is no dodging it, not here perched on the exposed face of the mountain. Survival is reduced to a single instinct endure. The snow slams into you with the strength of a storm. You’re swept off your feet, sliding helplessly with the churning white wave. You cling desperately to the white dragon feather you fought so hard to obtain, refusing to let it slip from your grasp as you hurtle downward.
The ruins of the ancient city below surge up to meet you far too quickly. Through the swirling frost and blinding brightness, you catch one final image: the stone façade of a once mighty edifice rising from the foothills, its shadow swallowing your vision. Then the snow crashes over you, and everything goes white. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the bone shattering impact of the ancient wall rushing up to meet you. Instead of stone, however, the avalanche delivers you into an unexpectedly soft, shallow drift more like falling into a snowbank than crashing through a ruin. For a heartbeat, you lie still, stunned.
Then the noise hits you.
Not the roar of dragons or the thunder of collapsing mountains children, laughing, whooping, cheering as if winter itself had come as a gift. Confusion needles through your thoughts. There shouldn’t be anyone here. You were nowhere near civilization… or at least, nowhere near any civilization that should still be breathing. You push yourself up, snow sliding from your arms, and stare. Buildings crowd around you, crooked towers of stone and metal, walls patched with rusted plates, balconies supported by beams that look like they were scavenged from a dozen different worlds. Narrow alleys twist away like roots burrowing through the city’s flesh. And above you… nothing. No sky. No horizon. Just the endless, smoky curve of an inner ring, arching overhead like the inside of a great iron shell.
A sudden snap behind you draws your attention. The portal a stone window of shimmering frost you seemingly crashed through. Snow swirls as the last tendrils of planar energy disappear, sealing off the world you came from. As it closes, the distant howls and clashing roars of the battling dragons fade, thinning into silence until they are nothing more than a memory pressed between your ears.
You leave the dragon’s lair behind and begin the long descent toward the frozen lake below. As you pick your way down the mountain path, a flicker in the sky catches your eye a brief spark of light. Focusing on it, you realize it’s the fiery silhouette of a dragon cutting across the heavens. A moment later, a thunderous roar rolls over the peaks, not from behind you, but from above, growing louder as it rushes toward your position.
The mountain trembles beneath your feet. Another roar, deeper and colder resonates from deep within the stone itself. A sickening understanding dawns on you, two dragons are about to clash over their territory, and you are caught in the middle of their battleground. The mountainside shifts. Snow cracks. Then the world gives way.
A massive avalanche tears loose, roaring down the slope with unstoppable force. There is no dodging it, not here perched on the exposed face of the mountain. Survival is reduced to a single instinct endure. The snow slams into you with the strength of a storm. You’re swept off your feet, sliding helplessly with the churning white wave. You cling desperately to the white dragon feather you fought so hard to obtain, refusing to let it slip from your grasp as you hurtle downward.
The ruins of the ancient city below surge up to meet you far too quickly. Through the swirling frost and blinding brightness, you catch one final image: the stone façade of a once mighty edifice rising from the foothills, its shadow swallowing your vision. Then the snow crashes over you, and everything goes white. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the bone shattering impact of the ancient wall rushing up to meet you. Instead of stone, however, the avalanche delivers you into an unexpectedly soft, shallow drift more like falling into a snowbank than crashing through a ruin. For a heartbeat, you lie still, stunned.
Then the noise hits you.
Not the roar of dragons or the thunder of collapsing mountains children, laughing, whooping, cheering as if winter itself had come as a gift. Confusion needles through your thoughts. There shouldn’t be anyone here. You were nowhere near civilization… or at least, nowhere near any civilization that should still be breathing. You push yourself up, snow sliding from your arms, and stare. Buildings crowd around you, crooked towers of stone and metal, walls patched with rusted plates, balconies supported by beams that look like they were scavenged from a dozen different worlds. Narrow alleys twist away like roots burrowing through the city’s flesh. And above you… nothing. No sky. No horizon. Just the endless, smoky curve of an inner ring, arching overhead like the inside of a great iron shell.
A sudden snap behind you draws your attention. The portal a stone window of shimmering frost you seemingly crashed through. Snow swirls as the last tendrils of planar energy disappear, sealing off the world you came from. As it closes, the distant howls and clashing roars of the battling dragons fade, thinning into silence until they are nothing more than a memory pressed between your ears.
InVinoVeritas
Adventurer
Wawaate rises. He stares at his gloved hands, at the feather he clutches. He thinks about the welcome he expected to receive. Of all the things he had been taught, of all the things he believe, he would never have imagined... this.
There are so many people. They look nothing like his nation. But Negafook will spread his claws farther than just one nation, so surely these are his brethren?
He carefully wraps his feather and stows it under his coat. He watches as the children play fascinated with the snow that arrived with him. Do they miss the cold that much here? Is there so little of winter's breath here? He sets his glove alight, a pale glow of magical light, ice blue, and feels that his connection is still there.
He shakes his head. At least his body will be buried under the snow. It is an acceptable fate.
But he still has his gear? It was buried with him, he supposes that makes sense.
He turns to the children weaving around him.
"Is this the Winter Court? Is this the afterlife?"
There are so many people. They look nothing like his nation. But Negafook will spread his claws farther than just one nation, so surely these are his brethren?
He carefully wraps his feather and stows it under his coat. He watches as the children play fascinated with the snow that arrived with him. Do they miss the cold that much here? Is there so little of winter's breath here? He sets his glove alight, a pale glow of magical light, ice blue, and feels that his connection is still there.
He shakes his head. At least his body will be buried under the snow. It is an acceptable fate.
But he still has his gear? It was buried with him, he supposes that makes sense.
He turns to the children weaving around him.
"Is this the Winter Court? Is this the afterlife?"
