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PHDungeons Nentir Vale homebrew
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<blockquote data-quote="PHDungeon" data-source="post: 5096360" data-attributes="member: 86320"><p>A rare journal from Deryl Androsax regarding her activities since returning to Grimsburg from Ahlastar.</p><p></p><p>Since her return home Deryl has been restless and given to agitated ramblings; the word you catch most frequently whispered to herself seems more a question… “Where?” While the party has always thought the child-sorceress 'strange' this behavior does seem out of character...</p><p></p><p>On the third night home Derren awakes in the night with a sense of foreboding heavy upon him...he hears slow, shuffled footsteps in the hallway outside his room.</p><p></p><p>He finds Deryl making her way down the hall like a mad, blind woman; muttering to herself in a mixture of common and the sorcerer’s cant she uses during only the most strenuous of arcane feats. With one hand grasping and clutching before her, her second hand claws along the corridor halls.</p><p></p><p>Derren makes to grab his sister; she is hot to the touch, feverish and slick with sweat. He realizes then that she is asleep, in some sort of trance and moving like one possessed. He hesitates in his attempt to restrain her and Deryl turns to face him. As she ‘looks’ up at her brother he notes that her eyes are open and the irises shift left and right in rapid succession. She claws her hand in front of her chest, twists her ‘clawed’ hand to face out from her and goes through the motion of ‘pushing’ outward…it is an ancient gesture meant to ward off evil. Derren registers blood on her hand and realizes that where she has been groping along the wall, she has done so with enough urgency and force to bloody the tips of her fingers.</p><p></p><p>Satisfied somehow, she resumes her ‘journey’…without turning around she continues walking, backwards.</p><p></p><p>It takes a moment for Derren to collect his wits and some deep, purposeful breaths to slow his heartbeat. Concern etched deeply in his face he follows cautiously behind his sister. Her movement remains slow and searching as if she had no familiarity with the building, but she eventually makes her way to the main room. The last of the fire still burns in the fireplace and shadows dance along the walls as it flickers. For a moment Derren worries that Deryl will exit the house but she makes her way, groping and muttering still, towards the fireplace.</p><p></p><p>A tendril of emotion, fascination perhaps, mixes with the sense of foreboding and her brother watches her progress towards the fire; realizing too late that she is headed directly for the fire itself! Fraternal instinct finally kicks in and he calls out. His muscles coil and tense, preparing to react…when he finds himself suddenly plunged into complete darkness. He fears some sort of magical darkness, so complete is it, but slowly his eyes begin to adapt.</p><p></p><p>Deryl is in the fireplace, crouched down and appears to be digging through the ashes and remains of the fire pit. Even as he registers this he is moving toward her…fearing for the burns she must be enduring, amazed that she isn’t crying out in pain.</p><p></p><p>And then it registers: no heat radiates from the fireplace, the fire and embers have been completely snuffed out. Deryl doesn’t even register her brother’s nearness. Not for one second has she ceased digging around in the ashes.</p><p></p><p>Panic renders Derren immobile and he watches in curious horror. No longer is Deryl digging through the ashes. Instead she appears to be tracing runes in the soot. The sorcerer’s cant is now deep and guttural, inhuman even. She is sweating profusely and swaying to the silent rhythm of her magic working.</p><p></p><p>Quite suddenly it is over, the cant ceases and Deryl becomes still. The silence lasts only a moment. Derren hears, and feels, the stonework shift beneath him. A piece of the fireplace stone inlay shifts up and out of is ‘place’ with the grinding mechanic similar to a long disused door. From beneath the stone a soft light, like the earliest tendril of sunlight just before dawn, suffuses the fireplace. Deryl reaches into the cavity and withdraws…a dagger!! Cradling it in her hand she traces the flat of the blade with her finger. To Derren it seems she is reading something, tracing outlines and mouthing silently, but he sees no rune work.</p><p></p><p>Derren doesn’t catch the next words on Deryl’s lips but they are more of that arcane language. Faster than he’s seen his sister move before, she scores the palm of her hand with the blade, drawing blood. Holding the bloodied blade before her it becomes sheathed in flame.</p><p></p><p>Looking from the blade to his sister’s face Derren realizes that Deryl is staring back at him with an unnerving focus.</p><p></p><p>“Mine” is all she says before rising and making her exit, leaving a stupefied Derren in the ashes of the fireplace.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="PHDungeon, post: 5096360, member: 86320"] A rare journal from Deryl Androsax regarding her activities since returning to Grimsburg from Ahlastar. Since her return home Deryl has been restless and given to agitated ramblings; the word you catch most frequently whispered to herself seems more a question… “Where?” While the party has always thought the child-sorceress 'strange' this behavior does seem out of character... On the third night home Derren awakes in the night with a sense of foreboding heavy upon him...he hears slow, shuffled footsteps in the hallway outside his room. He finds Deryl making her way down the hall like a mad, blind woman; muttering to herself in a mixture of common and the sorcerer’s cant she uses during only the most strenuous of arcane feats. With one hand grasping and clutching before her, her second hand claws along the corridor halls. Derren makes to grab his sister; she is hot to the touch, feverish and slick with sweat. He realizes then that she is asleep, in some sort of trance and moving like one possessed. He hesitates in his attempt to restrain her and Deryl turns to face him. As she ‘looks’ up at her brother he notes that her eyes are open and the irises shift left and right in rapid succession. She claws her hand in front of her chest, twists her ‘clawed’ hand to face out from her and goes through the motion of ‘pushing’ outward…it is an ancient gesture meant to ward off evil. Derren registers blood on her hand and realizes that where she has been groping along the wall, she has done so with enough urgency and force to bloody the tips of her fingers. Satisfied somehow, she resumes her ‘journey’…without turning around she continues walking, backwards. It takes a moment for Derren to collect his wits and some deep, purposeful breaths to slow his heartbeat. Concern etched deeply in his face he follows cautiously behind his sister. Her movement remains slow and searching as if she had no familiarity with the building, but she eventually makes her way to the main room. The last of the fire still burns in the fireplace and shadows dance along the walls as it flickers. For a moment Derren worries that Deryl will exit the house but she makes her way, groping and muttering still, towards the fireplace. A tendril of emotion, fascination perhaps, mixes with the sense of foreboding and her brother watches her progress towards the fire; realizing too late that she is headed directly for the fire itself! Fraternal instinct finally kicks in and he calls out. His muscles coil and tense, preparing to react…when he finds himself suddenly plunged into complete darkness. He fears some sort of magical darkness, so complete is it, but slowly his eyes begin to adapt. Deryl is in the fireplace, crouched down and appears to be digging through the ashes and remains of the fire pit. Even as he registers this he is moving toward her…fearing for the burns she must be enduring, amazed that she isn’t crying out in pain. And then it registers: no heat radiates from the fireplace, the fire and embers have been completely snuffed out. Deryl doesn’t even register her brother’s nearness. Not for one second has she ceased digging around in the ashes. Panic renders Derren immobile and he watches in curious horror. No longer is Deryl digging through the ashes. Instead she appears to be tracing runes in the soot. The sorcerer’s cant is now deep and guttural, inhuman even. She is sweating profusely and swaying to the silent rhythm of her magic working. Quite suddenly it is over, the cant ceases and Deryl becomes still. The silence lasts only a moment. Derren hears, and feels, the stonework shift beneath him. A piece of the fireplace stone inlay shifts up and out of is ‘place’ with the grinding mechanic similar to a long disused door. From beneath the stone a soft light, like the earliest tendril of sunlight just before dawn, suffuses the fireplace. Deryl reaches into the cavity and withdraws…a dagger!! Cradling it in her hand she traces the flat of the blade with her finger. To Derren it seems she is reading something, tracing outlines and mouthing silently, but he sees no rune work. Derren doesn’t catch the next words on Deryl’s lips but they are more of that arcane language. Faster than he’s seen his sister move before, she scores the palm of her hand with the blade, drawing blood. Holding the bloodied blade before her it becomes sheathed in flame. Looking from the blade to his sister’s face Derren realizes that Deryl is staring back at him with an unnerving focus. “Mine” is all she says before rising and making her exit, leaving a stupefied Derren in the ashes of the fireplace. [/QUOTE]
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