The Tol Haggerun Prophecy - 3.5 D&D [Ended]

[Steve Gorak]

Ralan | With the House Myrrkal Caravan, Abils Fields, Lurien

As the caravan starts to turn, dozens of bandits pore forth from the forest, setting upon the caravan!

OOC: This is a mass battle, but Ralan need only be involved in part of it, or not at all if you wish to flee. Otherwise, post what you would like to try to do, and I'll do my best to accomodate.

As soon as Ralan realises that an attack is taking place, he draws his morningstar and tries to locate where Talia, Venang and Avrick are. He will stay close to them, while trying to protect the caravan folk. He won't directly engage any banidits unless they attack the people close to him. If this happens, he will yell: "do not approach, as you will not live to regret it" and will feign [OCC: bluff +6] and attack [occ: (+3 melee, 1d8+2].

 

[Insight]

Clare

Clare Karaby | Darisant, Lurien

*Clare looks at Father Laertes in shock.*

"Oh no... Spenzer... Oh Father, my dream was more real than I knew. How horrible, such a terrible death..." she cries, trying to make sense of this tragedy. "He wanted me to unite 'them,' who are they? And where must I go? I must honor his dying wish Father, I have to. Please, I think there is something terrible there I must help combat, to reveal its true form of evil. Where is this place, this Chapel of Unity?" she says in a halting voice, suddenly realizing that her life is about to change forever.

Father Laertes smiles. Not a smile of pleasure, but a smile of a coming insight. "You have come a long way," he says. "And there is much farther for you to go. I fear that my time as your mentor has come to a temporary end."

He takes a walk across the large atrium. "Our Mistress Sophia... Pray to her. Meditate on this. I know nothing of a 'Chapel of Unity', but I believe you do... or will in any eventuality."

He turns back to face Clare. "There is much power in you to do great things, Clare. You journey to your destiny begins now."

 

[Insight]

Jacoby

Jacoby | Shrine of Bahamut, Outside the Village of Cumberland, Mitea

Jacoby's mind spins at the power and glory of the voice. Is it the voice of Bahamut? The voice of the Silver Dragon? Is it the one who sent me the dream? Did it guide me here? What does it want of me? Jacoby has a hundred questions to ask of it. But I can only ask one?!? It will mark my soul? What does that mean?... Jacoby feels at a loss to sate his curiosity with but a single question. But it's not my own curiosity that matters. What I want doesn't matter. I took up arms and sought the Jabberwock because I wanted to protect my kin from it. I left Amberlea because I wanted to fight to help those who were in need. That's what really matters.

Finally Jacoby looks up into the shadows, clears his throat nervously and says with as much conviction as he can muster from his small frame: "How am I to do the most good for others?"

"Thou shalt be assigned a... minder," the voice says, again causing the walls of the small stone shrine to tremble. "Tarry not long in this place, Follower of the Dragon, and thou shalt be rewarded, as shall we all."

The darkness dissipates, revealing a small green dragon, about Jacoby's size. "Hello," he says in Mitean. "I am Zanpher. Bahamut sent me to show you the way. Let's get going." Zanpher takes to the air on impossibly small, fluttery wings. He flies out the door of the Shrine of Bahamut and into the night air.

"C'mon, c'mon," Zanpher urges, waving his small clawed hands in Jacoby's general direction. "We have a lot to do!"

 

[Insight]

Shuelsai

Shuelsai Deng | Island of Marvoe, off the Coast of Lurien

Sighing to himself, he dusted off the beach sand and slogged tiredly back into the water and out to his small boat. Smiling at Moro wanly he erected his sails again as the sun slipped over the edge of the world, and he whistled half-heartedly through his missing teeth as he made his way slowly against the night beachwinds toward the presumed delta settlement. If nothing else perhaps he can beg a few foreign coins and buy a pot of beer soon.

"Ah Moro...If only more people were like you." he said. "That is, excepting the pretty girls," he finished sagely.

It wouldn't take long before Shuelsai pilots his fishing boat into the small river delta where he had spotted the evidence of a settlement. Moro swings long around the village that Shuelsai now sees is a fishing village, with evidence of foreigners in residence. Dropping anchor once again, Shuelsai sees that his boat is not alone out here in the bay - in fact, he sees three other small fishing boats not entirely unlike his own.

A woman, probably a mother in her mid thirties, smiles at Shuelsai's approach. She calls out in the Trade Language, with a Mitean accent, "Hello there!" As a small girl runs to the woman's side, she takes the child in her arms, still keeping an eye on Shuelsai's vessel. "Welcome to Marvoe Island," she says.

 

[Insight]

Misha

Misha Koldun | Veltune, Lurien

Misha flicks the beads by his left ear, and stands; his mind at first racing when the obvious washes over him like a hot morning bath he nods, “My lord, I am the vessel for your will command me as you wish.”

There is a certain electricity in the air as Misha rises to his feet. The armored figure, a mass of gleaming metal and red fabrics, does not move in response. He merely stands, cutting a lordly figure against an otherwise mundane backdrop.

"Misha Koldun," the figure says. "You have been chosen for a special mission. This mission will test your honor, courage, and tenacity in the face of Ultimate Evil. Prepare yourself for a journey. You will be leaving this place, not to return for some time, perhaps never. You already know where it is you need to go. Raziel has shown you."

The figure takes a step forward drawing its massive, two-handed sword that the being holds with impossible strength and leverage in one gauntleted hand, pointing the weapon to Misha's chest. "Press your hand to this blade, and draw blood," the voice says. "Demonstrate your allegiance to Raziel. This is your first step on a journey that will surely change your life - YOUR VERY SOUL!!!

 

[Ambrus]

OOC: Out of curiosity, could you please clarify Zanpher's appearance for me? Does he look like a typical small-sized green dragon or a pseudodragon or a fairy-dragon or perhaps something else?

Jacoby whirls around in bewilderment at the sudden appearance and equally sudden departure of the strange emerald drakeling. He spins back around, quickly bows towards the empty spot where the darkness used to be and rushes out the door of the chapel to seek the wyrm. As he emerges, Jacoby looks around for the whereabouts of Clelind and whistles for Amber to join him. Assuming that Clelind is still nearby, Jacoby will say his goodbyes to him while saddling Amber for the unexpected departure: I... I have to go... right now. I want to thank you for all your help. I wouldn't have found this chapel if it wasn't for you. Here. You certainly deserve better than the little I can provide you here and now. I don't have very much but please take this with my gratitude. Jacoby quickly hands the crippled knight ten gold coins from his purse, more than half of all his remaining money. I'll try to return to see you again if I can. Goodbye.

In but a few seconds after exiting the chapel, Jacoby is mounted and ready to follow the odd little dragon into the night. Raising his pennon, Jacoby says: Guide the way Zanpher.

 

[Insight]

OOC: Out of curiosity, could you please clarify Zanpher's appearance for me? Does he look like a typical small-sized green dragon or a pseudodragon or a fairy-dragon or perhaps something else?

Zanpher is about the same size as Jacoby, with a pot belly, and faerie-like gossamer wings. He has an everpresent smirk on his face, and tiny puffs of greyish green smoke are emitted when he breathes or speaks. His head is dotted with tiny ivory-colored horns, but he is otherwise a forest green in color. The wings have a greenish hue to them, although they are translucent for the most part.

Other than those features, Zanpher looks exactly like a dragon of Halfling size.

 

[Ferrix]

Sharma | Refelis, Refel
The Dwarf spits. "Damn their hides, these Miteans think they own us," he says. Sharma recalls that Jaroth had served for a long time on the Council for the Restoration of Refel, a sort of rebellious group that had helped to win Refel's freedom from Mitean occupation. "It's a sort of diplomatic effort, allegedly, though I for one don't believe it. Letting the Miteans back into Refel, even if it's for the cause of peace between our cultures, I dunno. This festival is just an excuse for those Miteans to steal a share of our market."

Sharma listens, a thin smile on his face, knowing that despite his friends anger for the Miteans, he can't help but find his friends paranoia, well, just paranoia. "We'll see shall we not, perhaps with the influx the Miteans for the festival you can persuade them to purchase some of your fine wares. I'm sure the ones that will come will have money to jingle around."

"Oh, Hrux?" Jaroth asks rhetorically. "A Mitean port city. It's where I buy a lot of my goods. Popular place. Huge port. One of the biggest in the world. It's located within a large bay, right on the coastal border between Mitea and Lurien. Long ways from here. About three to four days each way by merchant ship."

Jaroth considered Sharma's questions. "Them Druids, they keep to themselves," he says. "Not sure what they want with the mistletoe. All's I know is they pay good coin for it. It must be part of their rituals or something."

"Hrux... how often do you make trips back to this port? And surely, if you deal with Miteans there, surely you can deal with them spending their hard earned coin here as well," Sharma says trying to play to Jaroth's general weakness for the clink of coins in his purse.

Taking a moment to consider the druids, "are there druids local to here? Or are they more often found in Mitea? I would be interested in talking to one about the rituals they use mistletoe for."

 

[Insight]

Sharma | Refelis, Refel

Sharma listens, a thin smile on his face, knowing that despite his friends anger for the Miteans, he can't help but find his friends paranoia, well, just paranoia. "We'll see shall we not, perhaps with the influx the Miteans for the festival you can persuade them to purchase some of your fine wares. I'm sure the ones that will come will have money to jingle around."

"Har, I've not met a Mitean yet who could resist my merchandise!" Jaroth says with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "But sadly, I may not be here when the festival starts," the dwarf adds.

"Hrux... how often do you make trips back to this port? And surely, if you deal with Miteans there, surely you can deal with them spending their hard earned coin here as well," Sharma says trying to play to Jaroth's general weakness for the clink of coins in his purse.

Jaroth waves a few beggars away from his booth, shooing them back to the dregs from whence they came. Returning to Sharma, he dusts himself off yet again. "Well that's what I was getting at," Jaroth replies. "There's been such demand for my wares, I'm heading back to the continent. Should be in Hrux shortly."

"And no jokes about my height neither!"

Taking a moment to consider the druids, "are there druids local to here? Or are they more often found in Mitea? I would be interested in talking to one about the rituals they use mistletoe for."

"Thinking of becoming a Druid are ya?" the dwarven merchant joked. He knew, of course, that Sharma was well-entrenched in his own closely-held faith. "There's a few I know, here and in Mitea. The ones here are... strange. But their coin is good! They keep to themselves. Now the ones in Mitea, I would recommend. A fun lot."

"Well, I don't wanna keep ya. Sure you got lots of other things to do," Jaroth says, patting Sharma on the back.

 

[Evil Ujio]

Misha Koldun | Veltune, Lurien

The figure takes a step forward drawing its massive, two-handed sword that the being holds with impossible strength and leverage in one gauntleted hand, pointing the weapon to Misha's chest. "Press your hand to this blade, and draw blood," the voice says. "Demonstrate your allegiance to Raziel. This is your first step on a journey that will surely change your life - YOUR VERY SOUL!!!

Misha cracks a wry smile at the words, The things I do for my faith in the higher powers… He raises his hand smoothly, and grips the point of the blade, his jaws go tight as he applies slight pressure to draw blood. He never lets out a sound using his warrior discipline to ignore pain, he will not be weak, he is a champion of Raziel and he will carry himself accordingly!

But I like my soul, he muses in his mind, but focuses back on the divine task at hand.