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Session Stories - Moments in Roleplaying (updated 6/15/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 8262096" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p style="text-align: center"><strong><em>Story II - Ill at Ease</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: center"></p><p></p><p>Arnara sighed quietly in the darkness. The air was warm and damp, and the sound of the nearby underground river echoed in the cavern beyond the iron door, where they were hiding. She had done her Reverie early, but the others seemingly unaware that she still could hear them, if not react to their activities, while the others ate and talked. Mostly about nothing, but their conversation drifted to the practical or at least semi-relevant occasionally:</p><p></p><p></p><p>“So, I know <em>her</em> name but what are yours?” Ametrine said.</p><p></p><p>“Why is that important?” responded the half-elf, looking at the woman suspiciously.</p><p></p><p>“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Ametrine responded. “Just call you ‘Hey you, bow guy’ or ‘Hey angsty basher,’ or ‘hey you woman, heal me?’ Sounds kind of rude.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, you were kind of rude to her after she offered her hand,” Kianna remarked jerking her thumb at Arnara, while giving the other woman a scornful look.</p><p></p><p>“What do you mean?” Ametrine and several others said.</p><p></p><p>“You mean you <strong><em>don’t</em></strong> know what a hand offered that way means?” Kianna said, rolling her eyes at the paladin.</p><p></p><p><silence for a while></p><p></p><p>“Should I?” Ametrine said, still confused.</p><p></p><p>“Maybe you should ask <strong><em>her</em></strong>. Then you should probably apologize,” Kianna said finally, as she shook her head in disbelief.</p><p></p><p></p><p>But now there was nothing but the darkness and the quiet snores of the band. She stood and clutched her arms across her chest; she felt cold and somehow off. Her head was throbbing with pain and she shivered. Fortunately, it would be a while before the <em>N’Tel’Quess </em>would be ready to move again. Until then, it left Arnara alone for what passed for a night and morning, this far away from the sun. And she hoped some quiet would put her body at ease to whatever was ailing it.</p><p></p><p>She looked at their new companion, Amertine. Her face was pale, as if chiseled from marble, her hair long and blonde. Her closed eyes were almost violet in color as Arnara recalled. But it was during one of the brawls with the orcs within the caverns, that gave her away for what she was. As she fought, bright ethereal wings unfurled from nothing, appearing like a swan ready to land on the water. This meant she was a rare type of person: an Aasimar.</p><p></p><p>What was strange, for as rare as they were, this was the second one she had ever met. The first she was introduced to years ago in the Misty Forest, and she called herself Myrai. She became a dear friend, and after she departed, Arnara honestly had never expected to meet another one. Amertine’s features were so close to Myrai’s, that Arnara wanted to touch and embrace her as a missing friend. But this woman was not her, not by a good measure. Myrai’s hair was gold, and her eyes like polished silver mirrors, and was more petite. This woman was stronger by far and had less grace that Myrai. Her armor and weapons heavier and well-worn with use, while Myrai said once to Arnara that she had never drawn her sword in anger. But the resemblance was still strong; especially those ephemeral wings, although Arnara was sure that Myr couldn’t fly.</p><p></p><p>She watched this new woman sleep peacefully there on the jail floor; this too was very unlike Myrai.</p><p></p><p>Myrai rarely had ever slept peacefully:</p><p></p><p>She thrashed.</p><p></p><p>She shivered.</p><p></p><p>She screamed.</p><p></p><p>It was disturbing enough, that it caused Arnara to become curious on how or even if she could help her friend. And this led Arnara to do something…forbidden. One day she approached one of the priestesses of Sehanine Moonbow to ask how it was done. The priestess, a good friend, gave her a mixture of chamomile, poppy and lavender to be mixed in hot water, and consumed in the evening. She told Arnara how to ignore the call to the Reverie, how to avoid reviewing and reflecting on the memories. To instead, surrender and succumb to madness lurking within. And so Arnara did something that perhaps many elves tried once, and never talked about:</p><p></p><p>She slept.</p><p></p><p>She dreamt.</p><p></p><p>She experienced.</p><p></p><p>Myrai watched over her as she did this forbidden thing, and waking was the most terrifying part of it all. To regain control of oneself, to separate memory from dream. She couldn’t say her dreams were horrors like Myrai, but she didn’t enjoy the experience. But it did answer for her, why elves never did it; there was nothing to learn from them. They weren’t real, they weren’t wisdom, they weren’t the past, they were nothing. And yet, everything else did it. Everything but the <em>Tel’Quessir</em>. Even the evil <em>Dharrow</em> didn’t dream. Myrai knew this as well yet tried everything she could to avoid it; the number of wine and liquor bottles scattered around were a constant testament to her searching for a dreamless sleep.</p><p></p><p>But as Arnara watched, this woman dreamed peacefully, unconcerned with the contents of whatever drifted through her mind. But as she slept there quietly and contently, so did the others: the half-elf Rafelor, the strange woman who called herself Kianna, the Sigilite crossbowman Hawthorne, and the dragonborn Balthasar. Not that there was a logical reason for any of them to have a peaceful slumber at all.</p><p></p><p>The troglodytes were bad enough, their stench was overpowering, and several of the others lost their meals engaging them. Arnara, hung back and used the orcish longbow she had taken to great effectiveness. The bow wasn’t one of great quality but was good enough to land arrows in the weak scaled hides of the troglodytes. Even the larger lizard and the chieftain were not too bad, although there was a lot of fire being thrown by the chief. By comparison, the chained lizard was just hungry. Later on, a pack of gricks surprised them. But in the end, they were only annoying. They just were disturbing to look at and a pain to fight as their rubbery hides resisted most of their blows. But they were not terribly coordinated, and they posed no risk to the group. The door they defended was a bigger problem, for it withstood all attempts to open it being firmly locked. This forced them all to scour the other areas and followed the river looking for places that a key might be. This led to another group of troglodytes this time they had a pet bear all eager for a fight. Nearby a different danger awaited as they avoided a deadly chamber of exploding molds and poisons. Then below they found a living wet ooze that shimmered in forty-nine shades of grey, but it too was brought down. But it was the roper that seemed to be a waking nightmare to most of them.</p><p></p><p>Arnara wasn’t sure why the others were afraid…at first. But as the creature pulled each of the adventures towards it, to get a taste of their flesh it became abundantly clear. Arnara saw the gaping maw slice through Ametrine’s armor with ease. Unable to easily escape, they one by one jumped desperately into the river nearby to escape its sticky tendrils.</p><p></p><p>Fortunately, Arnara avoided being caught in its clutches, but this created a new problem, as the river quickly battered any that attempted to tread its waters. Arnara, ran back to a point where it emerged from the rock, and managed to land them like fish on the rocky outcropping above. No sooner did she land a bedraggled Rafelor, then she landed a sputtering Hawthorne, followed by another a half-drowned Kianna. Somehow, the dragonborn Balthasar was undeterred and managed to slay the monstrosity as the others raced back to aid him. This was followed by the disgusting search of the creatures’ innards by the Warlock. He reached deep within the roper and found a powerful ring that Arnara wore for now, along with a small horde of gemstones.</p><p></p><p>All that real horror, and all of the others slept quietly, peacefully, not frightened by their dreams. It made Arnara wonder why Myrai could never escape her personal Hell. What had…damaged her that badly and so deeply she almost never escaped unless a bottle was involved?</p><p></p><p>As Arnara stood there, leaning against the damp jail wall, she noticed that she was sweating and unable to think clearly. She felt tired and her head was beginning to pound. They found in the cells, an iron key; one they hoped would unlock the door and lead them deeper into the mountain fortress. But right now, Arnara felt queasy, and on edge. She sat down and shivered, desperately hoping it would pass soon, just like a bad dream in the morning.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"></p><p><strong>Session notes: </strong>This is in the bowels of Forge of Fury, as disease is about to set in, and a lack of someone prepping lesser restoration. As the characters were just feeling out each other, one of the off screen moments was when Baron Althon introduced the party together. Arnara was staying as a guest (her background is Noble), and she offered her signet ring out for a kiss because "That's how humans do that" per her father with the commoners. This went over the heads of the party, and then became an inside jokes as each one figured out what that meant. Minor point that it is a gesture used more in religious contexts but hey...who knows what those humans are doing these days.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 8262096, member: 6971069"] [CENTER][B][I]Story II - Ill at Ease[/I][/B] [/CENTER] Arnara sighed quietly in the darkness. The air was warm and damp, and the sound of the nearby underground river echoed in the cavern beyond the iron door, where they were hiding. She had done her Reverie early, but the others seemingly unaware that she still could hear them, if not react to their activities, while the others ate and talked. Mostly about nothing, but their conversation drifted to the practical or at least semi-relevant occasionally: “So, I know [I]her[/I] name but what are yours?” Ametrine said. “Why is that important?” responded the half-elf, looking at the woman suspiciously. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” Ametrine responded. “Just call you ‘Hey you, bow guy’ or ‘Hey angsty basher,’ or ‘hey you woman, heal me?’ Sounds kind of rude.” “Well, you were kind of rude to her after she offered her hand,” Kianna remarked jerking her thumb at Arnara, while giving the other woman a scornful look. “What do you mean?” Ametrine and several others said. “You mean you [B][I]don’t[/I][/B] know what a hand offered that way means?” Kianna said, rolling her eyes at the paladin. <silence for a while> “Should I?” Ametrine said, still confused. “Maybe you should ask [B][I]her[/I][/B]. Then you should probably apologize,” Kianna said finally, as she shook her head in disbelief. But now there was nothing but the darkness and the quiet snores of the band. She stood and clutched her arms across her chest; she felt cold and somehow off. Her head was throbbing with pain and she shivered. Fortunately, it would be a while before the [I]N’Tel’Quess [/I]would be ready to move again. Until then, it left Arnara alone for what passed for a night and morning, this far away from the sun. And she hoped some quiet would put her body at ease to whatever was ailing it. She looked at their new companion, Amertine. Her face was pale, as if chiseled from marble, her hair long and blonde. Her closed eyes were almost violet in color as Arnara recalled. But it was during one of the brawls with the orcs within the caverns, that gave her away for what she was. As she fought, bright ethereal wings unfurled from nothing, appearing like a swan ready to land on the water. This meant she was a rare type of person: an Aasimar. What was strange, for as rare as they were, this was the second one she had ever met. The first she was introduced to years ago in the Misty Forest, and she called herself Myrai. She became a dear friend, and after she departed, Arnara honestly had never expected to meet another one. Amertine’s features were so close to Myrai’s, that Arnara wanted to touch and embrace her as a missing friend. But this woman was not her, not by a good measure. Myrai’s hair was gold, and her eyes like polished silver mirrors, and was more petite. This woman was stronger by far and had less grace that Myrai. Her armor and weapons heavier and well-worn with use, while Myrai said once to Arnara that she had never drawn her sword in anger. But the resemblance was still strong; especially those ephemeral wings, although Arnara was sure that Myr couldn’t fly. She watched this new woman sleep peacefully there on the jail floor; this too was very unlike Myrai. Myrai rarely had ever slept peacefully: She thrashed. She shivered. She screamed. It was disturbing enough, that it caused Arnara to become curious on how or even if she could help her friend. And this led Arnara to do something…forbidden. One day she approached one of the priestesses of Sehanine Moonbow to ask how it was done. The priestess, a good friend, gave her a mixture of chamomile, poppy and lavender to be mixed in hot water, and consumed in the evening. She told Arnara how to ignore the call to the Reverie, how to avoid reviewing and reflecting on the memories. To instead, surrender and succumb to madness lurking within. And so Arnara did something that perhaps many elves tried once, and never talked about: She slept. She dreamt. She experienced. Myrai watched over her as she did this forbidden thing, and waking was the most terrifying part of it all. To regain control of oneself, to separate memory from dream. She couldn’t say her dreams were horrors like Myrai, but she didn’t enjoy the experience. But it did answer for her, why elves never did it; there was nothing to learn from them. They weren’t real, they weren’t wisdom, they weren’t the past, they were nothing. And yet, everything else did it. Everything but the [I]Tel’Quessir[/I]. Even the evil [I]Dharrow[/I] didn’t dream. Myrai knew this as well yet tried everything she could to avoid it; the number of wine and liquor bottles scattered around were a constant testament to her searching for a dreamless sleep. But as Arnara watched, this woman dreamed peacefully, unconcerned with the contents of whatever drifted through her mind. But as she slept there quietly and contently, so did the others: the half-elf Rafelor, the strange woman who called herself Kianna, the Sigilite crossbowman Hawthorne, and the dragonborn Balthasar. Not that there was a logical reason for any of them to have a peaceful slumber at all. The troglodytes were bad enough, their stench was overpowering, and several of the others lost their meals engaging them. Arnara, hung back and used the orcish longbow she had taken to great effectiveness. The bow wasn’t one of great quality but was good enough to land arrows in the weak scaled hides of the troglodytes. Even the larger lizard and the chieftain were not too bad, although there was a lot of fire being thrown by the chief. By comparison, the chained lizard was just hungry. Later on, a pack of gricks surprised them. But in the end, they were only annoying. They just were disturbing to look at and a pain to fight as their rubbery hides resisted most of their blows. But they were not terribly coordinated, and they posed no risk to the group. The door they defended was a bigger problem, for it withstood all attempts to open it being firmly locked. This forced them all to scour the other areas and followed the river looking for places that a key might be. This led to another group of troglodytes this time they had a pet bear all eager for a fight. Nearby a different danger awaited as they avoided a deadly chamber of exploding molds and poisons. Then below they found a living wet ooze that shimmered in forty-nine shades of grey, but it too was brought down. But it was the roper that seemed to be a waking nightmare to most of them. Arnara wasn’t sure why the others were afraid…at first. But as the creature pulled each of the adventures towards it, to get a taste of their flesh it became abundantly clear. Arnara saw the gaping maw slice through Ametrine’s armor with ease. Unable to easily escape, they one by one jumped desperately into the river nearby to escape its sticky tendrils. Fortunately, Arnara avoided being caught in its clutches, but this created a new problem, as the river quickly battered any that attempted to tread its waters. Arnara, ran back to a point where it emerged from the rock, and managed to land them like fish on the rocky outcropping above. No sooner did she land a bedraggled Rafelor, then she landed a sputtering Hawthorne, followed by another a half-drowned Kianna. Somehow, the dragonborn Balthasar was undeterred and managed to slay the monstrosity as the others raced back to aid him. This was followed by the disgusting search of the creatures’ innards by the Warlock. He reached deep within the roper and found a powerful ring that Arnara wore for now, along with a small horde of gemstones. All that real horror, and all of the others slept quietly, peacefully, not frightened by their dreams. It made Arnara wonder why Myrai could never escape her personal Hell. What had…damaged her that badly and so deeply she almost never escaped unless a bottle was involved? As Arnara stood there, leaning against the damp jail wall, she noticed that she was sweating and unable to think clearly. She felt tired and her head was beginning to pound. They found in the cells, an iron key; one they hoped would unlock the door and lead them deeper into the mountain fortress. But right now, Arnara felt queasy, and on edge. She sat down and shivered, desperately hoping it would pass soon, just like a bad dream in the morning. [CENTER][/CENTER] [B]Session notes: [/B]This is in the bowels of Forge of Fury, as disease is about to set in, and a lack of someone prepping lesser restoration. As the characters were just feeling out each other, one of the off screen moments was when Baron Althon introduced the party together. Arnara was staying as a guest (her background is Noble), and she offered her signet ring out for a kiss because "That's how humans do that" per her father with the commoners. This went over the heads of the party, and then became an inside jokes as each one figured out what that meant. Minor point that it is a gesture used more in religious contexts but hey...who knows what those humans are doing these days. [/QUOTE]
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