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D&D 5E The Rhyot Break - Chapter One: Endless White


Interlude: Maranos (Unknown Location)


Reverend Maranos, fifth arm of Solovtend, keeper of Lightbreaker, took slow steps upon polished grey tile. The passage was immaculately kept, as would be expected of any of this order’s holy sites. Not a particle of dust was allowed to rest here at length. Nor was the tiniest of spiders allowed to take webbed refuge in the corner of it's walls. This was a place for four things alone. Maranos…. to sweep, clean, wash and maintain, and the holy three he served.

Turning right within the passage, a dark cloud settled upon his thoughts. This place was his home, calling and sole-purpose. The tunnels, the smoothly carved walls and ceiling of stone, not only did he know them, he was them. Every finest detail of this bleak underland was burnt into his mind, every living memory, every dream. It was as though he had never been born, always here within the womb, tending the mother who protected three of her own.

The light was wrong. Weak! Where once rays of amber, red and blue shone to show the way, there were only two. The color of blood and the morning sun.

His steps hurried.

The day?

Yes. At last his eyes met the far wall at the end of the passage. He sank to his knees, grey silken robes catching beneath him as he stared upwards.

It is the day.

He would be born now. To thrust himself into the outside world. A child of Solov to make haste as sworn. As written, he was to head south to the lake, and once there make truth known to Howvlas, sixth arm of Solovtend, keeper of Birds.

One of three is stolen from us.

A finger shall trace lines drawn in blood to the next...

[sblock=notes]From time to time I'll drop in random happenings in other places. Characters and events that may or may not be directly relevant in the future... or past :)[/sblock]

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Interlude: Quasp (Unknown Location)


“You haven’t met my friend Veinrunner yet, have you?”

The smirking Korrud turned to open a rusty metal box, atop a small trolley against a moldy stone wall.

Quasp had met many people and… things… over the years. He’d suffered more than his fair share too. He’d killed Korrud along the way, in fact he prided himself this. How long would it take the Korrud who’d captured him, to sniff those details out? This wasn’t going to end well...

Once a near decade ago, the elven man had fought their land's new imposters, with those of similar inclination out in the forests between the Plains of Or and Reinne town. A resistance group had formed, striking the dwarven threat where local knowledge weighed heavier than numbers. They’d hit supply lines, smashing wagons and caravans, killing the Korrud who manned them. They’d from time to time lurked just beyond the town borders, waiting for small units making their way in. Ah the old days, they’d done so gloriously for a time.

Quasp’s mind drifted to a memory of Gimlak. A true beef of a man! Formidable in form and brutal in his ways. But the barbarian was also kind, upholding of virtue, and favored among the locals. He’d been something of a folk hero, actually. Angry and kind, all in one breath.

It is strange what you ponder upon when chained to ceiling-rings, your whole body tensed and bruised, your enemy reaching for another tool of the trade. But it was enough to make Quasp smile. Perhaps, out there somewhere, Gimlak was still wielding heavy steel and taking Korrud heads from their owners.

“Where is it from!”
The dwarf’s beady black eyes stared into Quasp’s as he questioned him again in the common tongue.

The prisoner spat.

“Well, if you won’t tell me. Veinrunner surely will!”

A stocky arm waved the implement before Quasp’s face. A small silver object shaped like a serpent. Then it began to twist and writhe in the Korrud's calloused hands.

“Open your mouth fool, lest I make a new hole for my friend to enter!”

Quasp looked away to the side, where next to the torturer's tools something red and bright twinkled in the torchlight. It was a ruby the size of a baby’s fist. Winking at him with the color of blood.
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Steve Gorak

Gimlak grabs the fire-stick, and holds it like a spear. It felt amazing to have a semblance of a weapon in his hands. He still looked around for a better makeshift weapon: something he could use a greatclub, with his two hands, woud be best.

As their liberatorpresents the shortsword, he sees the she-elf maiden Zemryn hesitating. He says to her laconically: "Ladies first!", and goes on looking around and playing sentry.

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Main Party: Heading West

Treading west but a few steps, your suspicions are confirmed. Behind the hut lie the motionless bodies of two Korrud guards, throats cut and here and there in each the feathered shafts of arrows protrude. Beside the nearest, a still-loaded light crossbow rests silently in the snow. Clasped to his belt a dagger waits in clear view also. The other body some twenty feet away, appears to have some kind of sword lying beside him.

The woman leading you glances at the nearest of the deceased before turning to those recently released from captivity. You of all people have every right to ransack the dead! But her expression is tight and anxious, as if to say don’t take too long about it. Indeed the sounds of Korrud to the east are worthy of concern.

Carefully then, she leads you off into the darkness. A cold gust of breeze brushes against your backs as you edge away from the immediate mining area, perhaps for the first time in years. High above you, eastwards, the little light provided by a moon’s rays become obscured by cloud as the Korrud sounds too fade away.

“This is good,” she says glancing back from where you have come. “But we dare not yet light any torches. We must get as far as we can before our tracks our found.”

For Zemryn and Faenala the world becomes a circle of monotone shades, it's edges as though painted black. The odd alpine tree stands covered with ice, the soft snow beneath your fur-wrapped feet begins to deepen, as you take steps downhill on a mild decline.

[sblock=Local Map]
OOC: [sblock=Gimlak]Improvised pointy stick does D4 piercing damage. Looks like it would break with repeated use.[/sblock]
[sblock=Goodies]Your guide will wait for the equivalent of two or three rounds if you wish to search the Korrud guard bodies. There are:
  • 1x small aquamarine gemstone in a pocket
  • 1x longsword
  • 2x dagger and sheath
  • 1x light crossbow (loaded)
  • 10x bolts in a quiver
  • 2x unsavory looking dried rations
  • A small metal bottle which when shaken, feels to have liquid inside
  • 2x belts, leather armor and boots (that probably won’t fit - except if Gob is with us they "might" with a lucky roll?)
Faenala: Can harvest some cured leather here. No sand in sight yet.
All: feel free to distribute these goodies as you wish.[/sblock]

[sblock=Darkness]I believe only your guide, Zemryn and Faenala have darkvision. To make things easier we’ll assume the others can learn about their surroundings from the whisperings and guidance of their colleagues. Ability checks and attack rolls however, will be at a disadvantage for those without darkvision, for the time being. [/sblock]

[sblock=Terrain]Difficult terrain now, movement is half speed. [/sblock]

All: Please make perception checks if you wish and do what you'd like to do.

DM Mystery Roll hehe.: 1D20+2 = [18]+2 = 20 :cool:
DM Mystery Roll 2: 1D20 = [12] = 12 :uhoh:


Rolin: Elsewhere

Meanwhile... elsewhere...

The ragged work crews rarely caught a glimpse of one another, deviously segregated to ensure that none of the prisoners could really be sure of their total numbers. All knew however, that there were more. A handful of workers wasn’t enough. Not with three known mines in operation.

One of the prisoners had been stationed at Mine Two this week. Him and four others, grunting and chipping away, tossing precious raw gems into buckets whilst under the watchful eye of vertically challenged foreign scum.

In the middle of the night, a low and gurgling roar had awakened them. Sounds of steel upon steel for a brief moment. Then the door to the hut had flown open.

He was tall, the one who entered. A man broad of shoulder beneath a layer of white furs. Well, mostly white. Splashes of red were scattered up his chest and across a firm and sweaty rectangular face. He stepped heavily into the shelter.

“We leave,” he said commandingly, reaching into a pouch for a key and unshackling the first of the poor dirty bastards within. A silver-eyed man met his eyes as he worked, before the slave’s gaze shifted leftwards. Movement. Out through the door.

Rolin’s senses snapped alert at once. Be this a dream or not, a chill set upon him. A cold shiver through his spine and up through every hair upon his limbs. Freedom. Dread. Fear. Vengeance. Emotions confronted him upon all sides. He opened his mouth to issue a warning, but it was too late.

A twang as a bolt was fired. A groan of pain as the rescuer turned, revealing the shaft of the missile poking out from the small of his back. But still the stranger charged. Out the door, straight at a Korrud who’d dropped his crossbow to the snow-covered ground and was reaching for a hammer.


And run Rolin did. He was fueled by instinct alone in that moment. From the corner of his eye he saw more coming, small dark shapes of Korrud on rapid-approach.

He ran like the old days when the law was at his back, hot pursuit down Rowtil’s narrow city streets. Or darting from a crime scene with a pack laden with spoils. He felt alive, dashing through the snow to the east, then climbing northwards and circling back west. Yes, he hadn’t forgotten the old ways. Doubling back. Leaving confusing trails for pursuers. Going the ways nobody would expect.

Somewhere to the west he stopped to rest and catch a breath. It was cold, so cold out here. How long would he last with little more than the old furs upon his skin? There was something even colder within though. Guilt. Morag, Yas, Verdit, Aleshia… he’d left them all to die. He might never know the outcome of Mine Two’s fate, but at least, he for one, was alive.

One of five.

OOC: Rolin, please make a Stealth (1d20+7) and Perception check (1d20+2) as part of your reply.
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Any unease she had once felt in the presence of dead bodies had long disappeared, one of the Korrud's many gifts she intented to repay tenfold given half the chance. So when she saw those two bodies, the only thing that came to her mind was the desire to know how she could take advantage of it. She didn't even look at the sword or the crossbow: while she could use the longsword, she hadn't ever been particularly good at it, and after so long anyway… Still, she took the dagger. If nothing else, she'd be able to fight to the last or slit her own throat rather than be captured once again.

She took one boot though. Only one, and obviously not to put on her feet, as much as she'd like to. Instead, she just tossed the gem, the small bottle and the rations inside: given their lack of bags, it would make transport much easier and she could better afford than others to have one hand dedicated to that task. Then, while the others were dividing the rest of the stuff, she harvested half a dozen cured leather pieces that she tossed in the boot too.

Still without a word, she followed when their small group started to walk again, trying without much success to not think of the cold. As they walked, she tried to keep her eyes - and ears - open, ready to cast her Mage Armor at the first sign of trouble.

OOC: Perception [ d20+2 = 14 ]


First Post
Atemi! These corpses bring back memories! It has been too long...

Zemryn, her frosty eyes serving her well in the dark, rushed forward to a Korrud corpse and took its head in her hands for a brief moment. A savage look crossed her face in the shadows and she lifted the oppressor's face towards her own.

And spit in it. Then she slammed it back into the snow. Her eyes turned to Faenala then, taking her in briefly and watching her work.

Putting the handle of the shortsword between her teeth to free up her hands, she got to work as well. With quick, almost desperate movements, she stripped the armor free and began shoving things inside of it. Her breath came out in hushed grunts, her teeth gripping the leather handle so hard she grimaced. The remaining dagger, and the crossbow with as many bolts as would fit. To the underworld with the gem...they were blood and death to her.

Glancing back at the others, she tossed the longsword at Gimlak's feet and then quickly lashed a belt around her waist. Taking the shortsword, she slid it between the belt and her fetid furs.

Good enough for now!

Heaving her makeshift pack over her shoulder, she scrambled back to the group.

"Let us leave this place...until we may return to rid the world of it."

<Perception check: 13>
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Steve Gorak

Gimlak looks at the sword that Zemryn threw at his feet, and then looks at his fire stick. The upgrade is without question, so he picks up the sword, and swings it skillfully a few times to get a better feel for its balance. "Better!", he says, still laconically, but grateful for the feeling of cold metal in his hand.

He also proceeds to take a boot and belt, the latter of which he puts around his waist.

He then positions himself to stand guard, even though his human senses were lacking in the darkness.

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First Post
Rolin forced thoughts of his erstwhile mining companions to the side.

Got to keep going!

Fighting off the chill that seemed to penetrate his very bones he continued westward, zigzagging between rocky outcrops and making the most he could of his old friend the darkness. He hoped his old skills would stand him in good stead, rusty as he was after nine years of brutal captivity.

On he went, straining every sense on the look out for danger or a possible advantage.

OOC: Stealth check: [11]+7 = 18; Perception check: [19]+2 = 21


Main Group:

The icy wind against your backs gathers strength as you make your way further from the mines. It blows flurries of snow about your feet, flakes lifting as though a hive of of frozen wisps has been disturbed. All is quiet, cept for the crunch of your fur-lined feet within this dark frozen land.

Gimlak, the tall and strongly built human appears to struggle with visibility, but he is in good hands. The woman leading you away and a few of the other prisoners at least, can see far enough ahead to keep the group's pace and direction steady.

Quickly surveying the surroundings, it would be a fair guess that a storm is coming. What kind though? This is yet to be proven. Sometimes hail, sometimes rain, or just snow… in massive quantities.

“At least it will cover our tracks,” the stranger mentions quietly. “My name is Bria, by the way,” she unveils as you push on, her words accompanied by puffs of cold cloudy breath.

“Perhaps now it is safe to light a torch,” Bria then considers, as she looks to Gimlak and smiles.

Wisssh… crack!

“Or not...” she quickly adds, motioning for everyone to drop and remain still.

The two high-elven once-prisoners heard the sounds too, drifting from somewhere close to your south.

The sound of something sliding along snow follows, then… was that a grunt?

A pair of dark congealed shapes fade into view. Animals leading two sleds, wait… are those wolves? Yes! And each tows a man, their silhouettes small yet wide, thick in form, you know them well.


“Araggahak,” you hear one of them say, slowing as he commands the beasts to a stop, as he raises a hand to shield falling snow from his eyes, looking out upon the surroundings. His colleague then does the same, raising something else in his grip. A crossbow?

“Bespawling saddle-geese...” Bria mutters under her breath.



Off a short way to the southeast, a half-elven man moves gracefully, artfully and quietly through the snow, his directions random at times, as he stealthily leaves a confusing and winding track for any would-be pursuers.

Through darkness and ever-present cold, adrenaline perhaps fuels him, the prospect of freedom! He is alert and careful, ears and eyes focused on all that surrounds. Yes, a storm comes, he might consider.

Then, tracking west a little further, dark shapes and abnormalities in the scene ahead come to be.

To his right side, just on the edge of where the gift of racial darkvision turns to black, there are small depressions like shadow upon the snow. Footprints. Several sets of them. Ah, there are some people there at the end of them, four or more, apparently laying low.

Directly ahead, again lingering on the fringe of his field of view, he then spots two Korrud men. Makes sense that they’d use a sled for hunting. Short dumpy folk aren’t famous for speed in snow so dense and deep. Thankfully, they aren’t looking in Rolin’s direction. No, they appear to be more interested in where the other group hides.... they at least... don't exactly look like Korrud. In fact, some of them look as disheveled as you!

[sblock=Local Map]

OOC: All:
  • Feel free to make a Nature, or Survival check as part of your next post. We'll temporarily waive the one skill/ability check per post rule in case you apply some stealth as well.
  • Gob Ironfoot is MIA (EB hasn't logged in for weeks) and Thorin will post when he can (no need to wait). This will increase our pace a fair bit which is good news.
  • Korrud are 60' away. All speed is halved. Thus, you are looking at a full round of movement to reach them if that is your desire.
[sblock=Main Group Notes]Main Group:
  • You have a free round/post to declare actions and make decisions before any initiative might potentially be rolled. If anyone spends a full round devoted to a stealth check (burying yourself in snow or something you craftily come up with), then I will make the Korrud take a new perception check next post. I'm not recommending this course of action, but its an option.
  • Feel free to scheme your plan for this situation in the OOC thread, or dive right in. However you like to roll. You are more than welcome to whisper to each other IC, as long as its not extensive dialogue because the clock is ticking for you.
[/sblock][sblock=Rolin Notes]Rolin:
  • You are almost certain that none of the people in view are aware of your positioning or existence.
  • As with the main group, you have a full round to do as you wish.
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