D&D 5E [IC] THE CURSE OF AMBERSTAR

[Greenmtn]

Harfik Human Monk

After descending to the hall and realizing he is one of the first to arrive Harfik sits cross legged, eyes closed, motionless but for the slight movement of his chest for several minutes before his arms start moving slowly through a practiced set of movements, each flowing into the next beginning small and increasing in size until the entire body is melded into the movements of the arms.

This continues and his body rises, at times his body supported by his hands, contorting his body into odd poses and holding them for a few seconds before moving on to the next. The movements gradually become faster, moments of complete relaxation broken by occasional bursts of power and speed, audible snaps as the fabric of his pants changes direction to keep up with his movements. All ending as his feet come together, his hands together before he bends at the hip in a low bow and as he returns to the upright position his eyes open.

Harfik eats and listens to what is said, adding his own comments when appropriate, getting to know his new traveling companions, knowing that his life will depend on them soon. As they leave everything but his spear and several small throwing weapons which are tucked into his chain are in the bag over his back.

On the way out of town and into the mountains he takes note of the sites and sounds of the city. Trying to get a feel for it's mood and the conditions in which it's people live. Noting the thin dirty boy stealing root vegetables form a cart as another argues with the merchant and the old woman yelling at a statue about how it needs to watch where it is going.

When they break for camp Harfik assists as much as the servants will allow but when they resist his help he leaves them too it.

When Prosper brings out the crossbow and cuts his sentence short Harfik looks to him.

"Please, continue, I would like to know what they say."

 

[hafrogman]

During the trip through the town square, Yttrian had briefly darted into a shop along the way and purchased a case for the maps on loan from the Duke's library. Now, standing in camp he pulls out the case again and gingerly extracts the map, trying to line up the picture on the page with the reality around him. He listens with half an ear to Prosper's description of the two routes and nods to himself.

"Sounds like it might be a fight just getting to this place, no matter what route we take."

He looks at the Duke's servants, grimacing slightly, but appears to come to a decision. Casting off the traveling cloak he wore while in Wallis, he reveals the bleached white armor that had previously only peeked out from underneath. He also reveals the strange weapon on his back, like a large crossbow without any limbs, string, winch or lever. He sets about checking his gear, tightening straps and generally making sure he's ready for anything. Cradling the weapon in his arms, he looks at his companions.

"Be prepared."

 

[Charwoman Gene]

"I'm always prepared," says Kethra coldly, "and I bear no illusions about the difficulties we may be facing."

 

[industrygothica]

Lyllie stands at the edge of the plateau and looks out over the expanse in the direction where Glimmerdale once stood. What was once a lush, green forest is now nothing but cracked and baked earth. A faint bit of arcane energy crackles between her tiny fingertips, and if there was any life left in her dead, colorless eyes, it'd surely translate into a seething, longing rage.

"At first light, then," she says quietly. "Fill your bellies and your skins; it's going to be a long day."

 

[JustinCase]

Aanzu remains quiet during the walk, and he eats in silence. Rarely does he even glance in the direction of their destination. It's as if the dragonborn is only concerned with the present and does not worry about tomorrow.

 

[Archon Basileus]

HARFIK

On the way out of town and into the mountains he takes note of the sites and sounds of the city. Trying to get a feel for it's mood and the conditions in which it's people live. Noting the thin dirty boy stealing root vegetables form a cart as another argues with the merchant and the old woman yelling at a statue about how it needs to watch where it is going.

As far as the monk can see, this city bears the standing of a once great holding. Shaped in the likeness of old imperial capitals, it’s complex architecture now houses many of the miserable and forgotten souls that suffered after the star fell from the skies. What was once an august place of wealth and wisdom seems to have turned into a mere shelter for the survivors of a land long forgotten. Still, their suffering is not all that remains in sight. Among them, protected by a wealth of bodyguards, the rich and noble of Wellington parade, establishing the restricting lines of survival for those less fortunate. And so, as the high towers flourish over a valley of sorrows, servants and slaves, cast in the shadows, struggle to survive, often predating each other for a place in the sun. The layouts change, but the arenas are always present, pitching their slaves against each other for the benefit of their “protectors”.

When they break for camp Harfik assists as much as the servants will allow but when they resist his help he leaves them too it.

The men only allow enough to make Harfik comfortable. Otherwise, they try to tend to his needs, showing absolute indifference to his social status. In fact, they seem to be quite comfortable around Harfik, especially after he shows a hands-on approach to the tasks and errands of camp-setting.

When Prosper brings out the crossbow and cuts his sentence short Harfik looks to him.

"Please, continue, I would like to know what they say."

“Well…” – Prosper continues – “…This place used to be quite alive back in the day. Gatherers, hunters, even settlers… My family did quite a lot of foraging ‘round these parts.” – he points towards the trail between the rocks. “There was this fountain down below, good place for fishing and this sort of thing. But a few years back it became murky, fetid, and things began… changing around. Animals turned more violent, plants began to grow odd shapes and colors, and people… Well, they grew sick, body and mind… More monster than man, people say.” – he lowers his eyes, a hint of concern upon his brow.

“From then on, disappearances became a regular sight. Sometimes bodies washed up ashore, or appeared in the clearings, up in the mountains. Half-eaten, bloodless… They themselves changed. People fear the Teraphim hunt in these parts, forgotten of their former tasks, made into cannibal vampires, maybe worse.”
The other two listen to him, shadows cast over their faces as the stories were told.

YTTRIAN

As Yttrian pulls out the maps, the younger guide opens a clean area in the back of the wagon, inviting the elf to use it.

“Here, sir… If… you will.” - the juvenile voice eludes Yttrian at first, but closeness and conversation soon denounce him. The ‘boy’s’ outlines reveal themselves as a bit too feminine, as well as ‘his’ voice, too thin for ‘his’ apparent age…

“I’m Port… Portis” – the disguised servant waves towards the map, wholeheartedly helping the elf in his intent. His – or her – eyes widen as the elf reveals his gear, and even though the servant tries to focus on the maps, the apron seems to drive Portis to the inevitable question, one that the servant, holding secrets of her – or his - own, would not dare to ask.

“You have figured most of it out, I take it” – Portis’ hands flow through the map, darting from one note to another.
“After the first slope, you’ll find a hunting post. People say it’s more like a village now, but it’s probably empty. From then on, moving forward leads to the White Hollows. Lots of craters to fall in, and lots of white fog as well. Can see nothing four steps from your nose, trust me.” – Portis continues, keeping a low head and thickening the voice as much as possible.

“To the other side… The lake.” – Yttrian quickly understands the reference, building a mental plane where all the maps fit together. He could guide the others easily, from now on. “And… this is as much as I know. You…” – Portis risks at last – “…you know quite a lot, to dig these maps and come with all this. How… Where did you learn it?” – the sentence falls flat, as if Portis wanted to go on, leaving intentions unattended for the time being.

[Ok, I’m splitting this one in parts, so it does not become too big.]

@industrygothica @Greenmtn @hafrogman @Charwoman Gene @JustinCase [MENTION=4936]Shayuri[/MENTION]

 

[Archon Basileus]

KETHRA/ICOSA/AANZU

"I'm always prepared," says Kethra coldly, "and I bear no illusions about the difficulties we may be facing."

” ’Aaaaaay…” – the third servant drops a few boxes after Kethra’s observation. “You’re the City Watch dearie, aren’t you!? People sing high praise to you!” – he spits on the floor, a reckless, rude attitude in his voice, making evident his words are mocking ones.

“Tired of smashing innocent faces within the walls, are we? Or just out to visit your Teraphim pals?” – he measures her disdainfully. He takes a heavy box and shoves it towards Kethra’s arms, taking an over-the-shoulder look towards Harfik. “Go on, put yourself to good use. Or you guards are only good for winning medals and shaking down the poor?” – the others seem to be engaged in their own tasks, unable to hold the third one’s impulsive tongue.

“What ‘bout you, armor-man? Gear down and help up! ‘Sooner we get this done, ‘sooner you’ll leave!” – he turns to Icosa, the same disdain upon his lips. “No princes or captains here…” – he turns to Aanzu – “…so get to working, hero or not! Your food comes from here, after all!” – he gets over his tantrum, and now looks Kethra in the eye, waiting to see if she’ll take the box from his hands.

AANZU

Aanzu’s thoughts go back to the worldly districts of Wallis. Although rare, his countrymen’ presence has been made noticeable… And widely disliked. In here, the proud desert dwellers of dragon descent have made a reputation for themselves as merchants and bankers, incurring in the wrath of many of the locals. Still, as small as dragonborn footing is in this land, it is of undeniable influence.

Therefore, a disrespectful attitude towards Aanzu wouldn’t be entirely surreal or unexpected. The guides manners become less and less a concern to the prince as he glances around, seeing the woodland overgrowth between and above the high stone pillars around, a deviously inviting scenario, if the dark rumors are to be believed.

As he glides his attention through the tall trees, his hunting instincts focus on a single, vague figure leaping behind the tree trunks, thrown in the shades. Eventually, the creature stops, watching the group from behind a few bushes. Concealed like this, she’s hidden from everyone’s eyes but Aanzu’s. A young female face, pale as the sands of Sethmandu, beckons to the prince and the prince alone, her mouth speaking the moniker “Oathbraker” in a slow pace, as if to allow the dragonborn to understand it. Soon enough, a frail, white and delicate hand emerges, signaling for him to come closer through the path, while another, risen to her lips, calls for secrecy.

ICOSA

The warforged’s initial impression that it might be met with oddness is soon left behind. As Icosa trails the road amidst the others, it becomes clear that most people will only see an armor-clad soldier. Such suspicions are confirmed as the third guide demands that Icosa strips to help, clearly thinking the creature’s body to be a clumsy plate mail, or something just as uncomfortable.

Shortly after the third guide’s burst of ‘orders’, though, Icosa realizes something that had gone unnoticed up to this time: a distinct feeling, something the entity had never actively experienced before. It came around as the party first climbed the mountain. It was almost as the sound of the wind through crevices. It got stronger, then weaker, and then it intensified again. By then Icosa had judged the sounds as characteristic of the mountainous winds, and nothing else. But now… As Icosa approached the stone wall in front of the plateau, those gusts of wind became louder, and all of a sudden turned into something similar to the clashing, competing sounds of winds and whispers. The chaotic, strenuous wave became so strong, in fact, that Icosa almost could hear a female voice, strong and inflexible, amidst the polluting sound waves, a voice almost as direct and monotonic as his own…

LYLLIE

Sun rays would easily fall over these mountains, as well as over Wallis. Glimmerdale, though, is doomed to eternal darkness. Lyllie sees a familiar trail forming in the skies. After the disaster that befell her land, strange storms became more and more common, calcinating any living being that dared travel through the forsaken lands of Glimmerdale once more. Another storm was gathering, clear lightning falling from the skies as a warning of the clouds that rolled, black and cruel, up above.

As Lyllie twists her fingers, she recalls how many times she heard infants asking why such storms would hit so many scorched lands, but never the heart of cruelty, back at Wallis. Among many explanations – most of them, bedtime stories to keep children’s hopes up – one was of particular interest to the gnome.

It is said that, a few years after the Fall of the Star, a great sage appeared. It is said that she visited the sacred halls of the Teraphim and betted her soul in a game of life and death. She emerged victorious, and as a prize they gave her the gift to control such storms, sending them away and calling them forth at will. No one knows it there’s any truth to the legend, but as the arcane residues rolled through her fingers, it seemed, for a second, that the clouds answered her gestures, mimicking them in the distance…

Lyllie glances dawn once more, only to contemplate the path they just came from. A few minutes behind, just below her feet, she sees an ox cart coming up, carrying a pair of dwarves and escorted by four others. Clearly, they’ve been followed, either by allies or by opportunists. Suddenly, Lyllie feels as if she’s been watched this whole time...

@Shayuri @industrygothica @Greenmtn @hafrogman @Charwoman Gene @JustinCase

 

[hafrogman]

Yttrian lays down the maps on the space cleared by Portis. He squints oddly at the girl once he determines she is one, but shrugs to himself internally. If she had her own reasons for protecting her identity, then who was he to judge? He follows along with the maps as she lays out the connections and nods to himself. Her question rouses him from his reverie.

"Me? No. I'm simply cautious. It was assisted with gathering this knowledge by one of the duke's librarians. I'm not much of a scholar."

Distracted from the conversation he turns to listen to the servant's tirade, and the begins putting the maps away in their case again.

"Apparently the wagons must be unloaded now. Time waits for no man... or otherwise."

With the maps safely stowed again, he starts unloading boxes.

OOC: Does the name stumble ring any bells? Is the Duke known for having a young, but impetuous daughter named Portia?

 

[Shayuri]

Icosa regards the angry man impassively, then climbs down to help. He doesn't offer a comment to defend himself from the disdain, nor address it, nor correct the man. His experience with such outbursts was that they passed with time, and that speaking directly to them was unproductive. Collecting some boxes, he takes them to where they are being gathered...then pauses, his head tilting back and canting to one side.

His first reaction: Self-assessment. Was he perceiving a pattern that was not actually there? He had often heard other beings describe seeing images in clouds, or on otherwise random phenomena like forests seen at a distance or cliff faces. He himself did not seem to make those associations automatically, though he could see the patterns when pointed out to him. He had never thought he'd heard his name in the random murmurs of a crowd. This didn't necessarily mean he was incapable of such fallacy though; merely that he hadn't encountered the stimulus that would provoke that reaction before.

Looking around, he verified no one else seemed to be reacting to voices on the wind. The conclusion was that it was either a phenomenon he alone was equipped to perceive or a false positive on otherwise perfectly ordinary sensory input.

Was this what he was here for?

Icosa paused in his labors and listened, struggling to filter out the random noise from that elusive voice that danced just on the edge of perception.

 

[industrygothica]

"Riders," Lyllie warns. She backs up away from the edge. "On the path, just below."