Age of Mystery: Measure of Being A Manipulative Drow Elf In A Fantasy World
- Thread starter Birdsie
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
In Strange Eons, Even Intrigue Gets Intrigued, Part 2
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
The tavern's atmosphere speaks to you and it says that you're unwelcome. Shady thugs, armed mercenaries, and a human bard with a mustache. The place is crawling with lowlives who you can only assume are here on less-than-respectable jobs, hired by less-than-reputable people.
In other words, the average.
You, wreathed in a black cloak, walk down the middle of the inn. You turn around, frantically looking for someone. And that's when the big, tough orc sitting by the counter stands up and walks up to you. His shadow looms over you and you notice it, which makes you turn to look at him.
"Take off the hood, little elf," he says with a scary voice.
Your eyes glance around. Let's play along. Your hands go up and take off the black hood from your head. Your face stares back with a smug grin at the orc.
He folds his arms. "We've got ourselves a noble, boys!" he proclaims loudly. You hear a shriek of thuds and footsteps as a group of four thugs surround you.
"And what will you do with him?" you ask, not intimidated in the slightest.
"I'll politely ask him to borrow me all of his money, or beat his ass for being rude." The orc spits on the ground, loosening his bad posture. You've had enough of this brainless pissant's drivels.
Before any of the thugs can react, your cloak flies up into the ceiling's direction. Morningstar in hand, you spin around your own axis, hitting the bandits' legs with it. The robbers all land on their feet under the supernatural force that swept them off balance. All it takes to finish them off is to follow it up with four slices of the sword before they get up.
The orc, however, manages to get up before that. He draws his own sword and clashes it against yours. Your sword lets out a fiery shriek like water being poured on flames as its acid very slowly digs into the orc's weapon and corrodes a part of the blade. Your smug eyes look and invade his angered ones, only extending his hatred.
He jumps back very suddenly. He's swifter than you thought and doesn't lose control easily. Rare traits for an orc. This brings a thought that you decide to point out,
"Why is it that you orcs are always the brutes in the group?" You look at the fallen bodies of his friends, shrugging.
He grunts. "Because we're made for fighting!"
The bandit suddenly lunges at you, raising his sword above his head and preparing to bring it downward. The last mistake of his life, as your saber cuts a nice gash in the left side of his stomach. As he realizes the deadly wound, standing behind you, you twirl your saber around for show and then sheathe it before making a quick turn and kicking the orc in the back acrobatically. His body flies a little and joins his graveyard of friends.
You stare for a moment, perusing the waste of life. Then, you realize this is a public domain and you instantly turn to the slightly concerned barman. The fact he's not shitting his pants means this happens often. "They started it," you insist diplomatically. "You saw it, right?"
The barman nods in a way that tells you more than words could: 'I don't really care, dude, I'm not responsible for cleaning up around here.'
You pick up your cloak and wrap it around your back. Everyone returns to their drinks. Some are frightened by the fight and others merely enjoyed the sight of fresh brutality in the morning. Some others just don't care. You sit down in the corner booth of the inn and wait, a minute, two, three, and he arrives.
"You're finally here," you say, to the woman in a leather outfit.
"Is this the place for business?" Your informant's eyes wander to the sides of the bar, giving suspicious gaze to the occupants of the building.
You smile at her doubt. "Most would see it as dangerous, but I see it as advantageous," you answer. You decide, ah, what the hell, and go full poet: "No noble can have his prying eyes on us and the sound of clinking cups muffles the quiet whispers in the corners of this schemeful class."
"That's really disgusting. And bad," she insults your poetry, cocking her head upward with tired eyes.
"What did you find out?" Injured, you skip to business.
"This job wasn't easy," she asserts, laying her hands down on the table and staring you in the eyes intensely. She nods heavily as she affirms, "She's in love with you, alright."
"Why?"
"I dunno," she answers, loosening her body in her seat and seeking comfort in the red cushions. "You might not believe it, but she has an altar devoted to you."
"An altar?" Your eyes widen in terror at the spy's words.
"An altar. I'm talking proper, religious worship. There's a painting of you, very clean and immaculate with lively paints. And around it, there's candles, some white and some red, all lit. In addition to rosebuds and petals and some incense."
"You're joking, right?" You refuse to believe a High-Priestess of Lolth worships a Drow Demigod and not Lolth, and has also fallen in love with him.
"I am," she answers. A stone falls from your heart. "All of the candles are red," she corrects herself, once again throwing you into shock.
"But why worship me? Why be unloyal to Lolth? You'd think her indoctrination is particularly pervasive, and yet..." You muse over the possibilities in your mind, and by muse over possibilities I mean look for possibilities because you have none on your mind. "Alright. I need to think this through. Is that all?"
She summarizes the rest, "She prays to you five times a day; in the morning, twice in the afternoon, once in the evening, and before sleep. She has a huge doll shaped like you that she hugs in her sleep in favor of her old spider plushie. Also, not that I'm good at politics, but she seems to actively select a policy that would favor your House."
The spy shrugs, "If that's not true love, I don't know what is."
Your face goes blank as fear creeps up your back.
"You know, you should be happy," she gestures at you, almost accusingly, but you ignore her. "A High-Priestess not wanting you as breeding stock, but has an actual romantic interest in you? You, Cesimir, have an easy life ahead of you. All it takes is a few dates, several 'I-love-yous' and a bouquet of cheap flowers."
You are still blankly staring.
"Cesimir?"
You blink and your attention is drawn to the spy. Terrified, you ask, "S-S-S...he... she has a plushie... of me?"
"She made it herself," the spy adds.
You feel light in the head. You pay her for the spying services then leave the inn, suffering twelve paranoia attacks on the way home and turning around and frantically looking for any spiders about to inject their venom into your neck.
You think this through and you quickly realize that you're feeling something you haven't felt to this degree, ever, in your life. No, it's not love, if that's what you're thinking. It's anxiety. Pure, social anxiety at the thought of being the Angaless' cuddly boy-toy. You squirm at the thought.
Sitting on your bed, wrapped in a blanket, and with a face full of shock, you lay down. You haven't slept for even a minute in the past thirty-two hours and slowly, the exhaustion is killing you.
Suddenly, the door barges open. You turn to the other side to look at the perpetrator who dares enter while you brood. You see Brorna, your sister, enter the room followed by three guards.
"Go away," you order, just as she was about to open her mouth and speak.
"Say that to me one more time and I will castrate you," she threatens.
"Fuck off," you step up your game.
She growls at the insult and picks up the nearest candlestick, throwing it at you.
Your hand peeks out from your blanket, turning in a circular manner. The candlestick flies back at her at twice the speed, but surprisingly, Brorna narrowly leans back with her whole body and the candlestick flies in front of her face and through a window. It hits a random passerby in the courtyard; collateral damage.
You peek out from your sheets. "What do you want?"
"You haven't come out from this room for the last thirty hours!" she says, putting her hands together behind her back and looking at you maliciously. "Mother inquires about your state and wishes for you to return to trading and working for me as soon as possible."
"Why do I have to be a soldier, anyway?"
Brorna doesn't hesitate with the answer, "Mother told me she wants you to gain some practical skills."
"I have practical skills," you answer, digging yourself from your bed and kneeling on the mattress. "I can convince a guy to buy a malnourished goblinchild and have him pay twenty golden coins for it, which is already seven for her. She should be happy."
"That doesn't count," Brorna objects. "Inherent abilities don't c–––"
"Ah!" You raise your finger, then motion to the guards outside. Family secrets.
She changes topic, "Help me, would you?"
"Sure," you answer.
"Sure?"
"Sure, I'll help you get out." You point your open palm at Brorna. She's lifted off the ground telekinetically and squirms for freedom. You gently carry her outside, place her on the ground, close the door, lock it, and release both telekinetic binds. After that, you cover yourself in your warm blanket and continue laying upon the bed.
"You are a disappointment to this family," she mutters from behind the door. You don't care.
You count Flumphs. One dead Flumph. Two disintegrated Flumphs. Three destroyed Flumphs. Four decapitated Flumps. Five incinerated Flumphs. Six... seven... eight... ten... eleven... twelve... thirteen... fourteen... fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... eighteen... nineteen... twenty... twenty-one... and so on. With every Flumph, you add in a new method of execution.
Eventually, you fall asleep. Not just meditate, like the tel-quessir do. You're actually sleeping. Partly to make up for the lost night and recuperate and partly just because it feels good.
You wake up early in the morning and go to meet with your mother. You inform her personally that you're fine, then you go to the market with your favorite slaves and open up the shop. You don't have as many clients as other traders because you haven't yet built up a reputation, but it will happen one day. One day, you will own a slave imperium.
The next day, word reaches you from one of your informants that last night, a bebilith managed to sneak into the city and went on a rampage, killing twenty-six citizens, thirty slaves, and eight guards before it was stopped. The news had spread rapidly. During breakfast, you ate with Brorna and Lledrith. The latter of the sisters was tasked with being apart of a strike team to hunt the source of the demonic spider because demons don't just appear.
You, however, are leading an investigation of your own.
For you see, where there is a demon, there is an infernalist who summoned it to this world. And he can be used as a pawn. Or, there is a rift through which it came, that can be utilized as a tool.
Unfortunately, thus far, you have no solid leads.
You need a place to look. A way of finding a solid lead and explanation for this.
[] Ask your mother for assistance and claim that you have an interest in helping catch the perpetrator.
[] Ask Angaless if she knows anything.
[] Spread word around the street you're looking for someone with a reputation for... being one hell of a mage.
[] Write-in.
In other words, the average.
DC: 12
Roll: 8+3=11
Failure!
Roll: 8+3=11
Failure!
You, wreathed in a black cloak, walk down the middle of the inn. You turn around, frantically looking for someone. And that's when the big, tough orc sitting by the counter stands up and walks up to you. His shadow looms over you and you notice it, which makes you turn to look at him.
"Take off the hood, little elf," he says with a scary voice.
Your eyes glance around. Let's play along. Your hands go up and take off the black hood from your head. Your face stares back with a smug grin at the orc.
He folds his arms. "We've got ourselves a noble, boys!" he proclaims loudly. You hear a shriek of thuds and footsteps as a group of four thugs surround you.
"And what will you do with him?" you ask, not intimidated in the slightest.
"I'll politely ask him to borrow me all of his money, or beat his ass for being rude." The orc spits on the ground, loosening his bad posture. You've had enough of this brainless pissant's drivels.
DC: 12
Roll: 12+4=16
Success!
+500 XP!
Roll: 12+4=16
Success!
+500 XP!
Before any of the thugs can react, your cloak flies up into the ceiling's direction. Morningstar in hand, you spin around your own axis, hitting the bandits' legs with it. The robbers all land on their feet under the supernatural force that swept them off balance. All it takes to finish them off is to follow it up with four slices of the sword before they get up.
The orc, however, manages to get up before that. He draws his own sword and clashes it against yours. Your sword lets out a fiery shriek like water being poured on flames as its acid very slowly digs into the orc's weapon and corrodes a part of the blade. Your smug eyes look and invade his angered ones, only extending his hatred.
He jumps back very suddenly. He's swifter than you thought and doesn't lose control easily. Rare traits for an orc. This brings a thought that you decide to point out,
"Why is it that you orcs are always the brutes in the group?" You look at the fallen bodies of his friends, shrugging.
He grunts. "Because we're made for fighting!"
The bandit suddenly lunges at you, raising his sword above his head and preparing to bring it downward. The last mistake of his life, as your saber cuts a nice gash in the left side of his stomach. As he realizes the deadly wound, standing behind you, you twirl your saber around for show and then sheathe it before making a quick turn and kicking the orc in the back acrobatically. His body flies a little and joins his graveyard of friends.
You stare for a moment, perusing the waste of life. Then, you realize this is a public domain and you instantly turn to the slightly concerned barman. The fact he's not shitting his pants means this happens often. "They started it," you insist diplomatically. "You saw it, right?"
The barman nods in a way that tells you more than words could: 'I don't really care, dude, I'm not responsible for cleaning up around here.'
You pick up your cloak and wrap it around your back. Everyone returns to their drinks. Some are frightened by the fight and others merely enjoyed the sight of fresh brutality in the morning. Some others just don't care. You sit down in the corner booth of the inn and wait, a minute, two, three, and he arrives.
"You're finally here," you say, to the woman in a leather outfit.
"Is this the place for business?" Your informant's eyes wander to the sides of the bar, giving suspicious gaze to the occupants of the building.
You smile at her doubt. "Most would see it as dangerous, but I see it as advantageous," you answer. You decide, ah, what the hell, and go full poet: "No noble can have his prying eyes on us and the sound of clinking cups muffles the quiet whispers in the corners of this schemeful class."
"That's really disgusting. And bad," she insults your poetry, cocking her head upward with tired eyes.
"What did you find out?" Injured, you skip to business.
"This job wasn't easy," she asserts, laying her hands down on the table and staring you in the eyes intensely. She nods heavily as she affirms, "She's in love with you, alright."
"Why?"
"I dunno," she answers, loosening her body in her seat and seeking comfort in the red cushions. "You might not believe it, but she has an altar devoted to you."
"An altar?" Your eyes widen in terror at the spy's words.
"An altar. I'm talking proper, religious worship. There's a painting of you, very clean and immaculate with lively paints. And around it, there's candles, some white and some red, all lit. In addition to rosebuds and petals and some incense."
"You're joking, right?" You refuse to believe a High-Priestess of Lolth worships a Drow Demigod and not Lolth, and has also fallen in love with him.
"I am," she answers. A stone falls from your heart. "All of the candles are red," she corrects herself, once again throwing you into shock.
"But why worship me? Why be unloyal to Lolth? You'd think her indoctrination is particularly pervasive, and yet..." You muse over the possibilities in your mind, and by muse over possibilities I mean look for possibilities because you have none on your mind. "Alright. I need to think this through. Is that all?"
She summarizes the rest, "She prays to you five times a day; in the morning, twice in the afternoon, once in the evening, and before sleep. She has a huge doll shaped like you that she hugs in her sleep in favor of her old spider plushie. Also, not that I'm good at politics, but she seems to actively select a policy that would favor your House."
The spy shrugs, "If that's not true love, I don't know what is."
Your face goes blank as fear creeps up your back.
"You know, you should be happy," she gestures at you, almost accusingly, but you ignore her. "A High-Priestess not wanting you as breeding stock, but has an actual romantic interest in you? You, Cesimir, have an easy life ahead of you. All it takes is a few dates, several 'I-love-yous' and a bouquet of cheap flowers."
You are still blankly staring.
"Cesimir?"
You blink and your attention is drawn to the spy. Terrified, you ask, "S-S-S...he... she has a plushie... of me?"
"She made it herself," the spy adds.
You feel light in the head. You pay her for the spying services then leave the inn, suffering twelve paranoia attacks on the way home and turning around and frantically looking for any spiders about to inject their venom into your neck.
You think this through and you quickly realize that you're feeling something you haven't felt to this degree, ever, in your life. No, it's not love, if that's what you're thinking. It's anxiety. Pure, social anxiety at the thought of being the Angaless' cuddly boy-toy. You squirm at the thought.
Sitting on your bed, wrapped in a blanket, and with a face full of shock, you lay down. You haven't slept for even a minute in the past thirty-two hours and slowly, the exhaustion is killing you.
Suddenly, the door barges open. You turn to the other side to look at the perpetrator who dares enter while you brood. You see Brorna, your sister, enter the room followed by three guards.
"Go away," you order, just as she was about to open her mouth and speak.
"Say that to me one more time and I will castrate you," she threatens.
"Fuck off," you step up your game.
She growls at the insult and picks up the nearest candlestick, throwing it at you.
DC: 16
Roll: 18+3+2=23
Success!
+250 XP!
Roll: 18+3+2=23
Success!
+250 XP!
Your hand peeks out from your blanket, turning in a circular manner. The candlestick flies back at her at twice the speed, but surprisingly, Brorna narrowly leans back with her whole body and the candlestick flies in front of her face and through a window. It hits a random passerby in the courtyard; collateral damage.
You peek out from your sheets. "What do you want?"
"You haven't come out from this room for the last thirty hours!" she says, putting her hands together behind her back and looking at you maliciously. "Mother inquires about your state and wishes for you to return to trading and working for me as soon as possible."
"Why do I have to be a soldier, anyway?"
Brorna doesn't hesitate with the answer, "Mother told me she wants you to gain some practical skills."
"I have practical skills," you answer, digging yourself from your bed and kneeling on the mattress. "I can convince a guy to buy a malnourished goblinchild and have him pay twenty golden coins for it, which is already seven for her. She should be happy."
"That doesn't count," Brorna objects. "Inherent abilities don't c–––"
"Ah!" You raise your finger, then motion to the guards outside. Family secrets.
She changes topic, "Help me, would you?"
DC: 14
Roll: 2+3=5
Failure!
Roll: 2+3=5
Failure!
"Sure," you answer.
"Sure?"
"Sure, I'll help you get out." You point your open palm at Brorna. She's lifted off the ground telekinetically and squirms for freedom. You gently carry her outside, place her on the ground, close the door, lock it, and release both telekinetic binds. After that, you cover yourself in your warm blanket and continue laying upon the bed.
"You are a disappointment to this family," she mutters from behind the door. You don't care.
DC:8
Roll: 15+3=18
Success!
+50 XP!
Roll: 15+3=18
Success!
+50 XP!
You count Flumphs. One dead Flumph. Two disintegrated Flumphs. Three destroyed Flumphs. Four decapitated Flumps. Five incinerated Flumphs. Six... seven... eight... ten... eleven... twelve... thirteen... fourteen... fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... eighteen... nineteen... twenty... twenty-one... and so on. With every Flumph, you add in a new method of execution.
Eventually, you fall asleep. Not just meditate, like the tel-quessir do. You're actually sleeping. Partly to make up for the lost night and recuperate and partly just because it feels good.
You wake up early in the morning and go to meet with your mother. You inform her personally that you're fine, then you go to the market with your favorite slaves and open up the shop. You don't have as many clients as other traders because you haven't yet built up a reputation, but it will happen one day. One day, you will own a slave imperium.
The next day, word reaches you from one of your informants that last night, a bebilith managed to sneak into the city and went on a rampage, killing twenty-six citizens, thirty slaves, and eight guards before it was stopped. The news had spread rapidly. During breakfast, you ate with Brorna and Lledrith. The latter of the sisters was tasked with being apart of a strike team to hunt the source of the demonic spider because demons don't just appear.
You, however, are leading an investigation of your own.
For you see, where there is a demon, there is an infernalist who summoned it to this world. And he can be used as a pawn. Or, there is a rift through which it came, that can be utilized as a tool.
DC: 22
Roll: 18+3=21
Failure!
Roll: 18+3=21
Failure!
Unfortunately, thus far, you have no solid leads.
You need a place to look. A way of finding a solid lead and explanation for this.
[] Ask your mother for assistance and claim that you have an interest in helping catch the perpetrator.
[] Ask Angaless if she knows anything.
[] Spread word around the street you're looking for someone with a reputation for... being one hell of a mage.
[] Write-in.
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
I would feel very underappreciated if it isn't a sacrificial one.
This is true love. If I had a spider plushie, I would not have given it up for the world!
I am endlessly amused by the GM's ability to picture an ancient drow city as a kindergarden of petulant dickbags and edgy teenage school bullies. Complete with sibling spats one has when they are twelve. It makes it extremely entertaining.
[x] Ask Angaless if she knows anything.
We only have one contact among those not in our family.
Well, that, and the High Priestess. Hmm...
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Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
Asking your brother for help is plausible, I doubt Jarlaxle would help but I will add in both options as, while unlikely, they are plausible.
D'aww, come on. You're making me blush!
But really, I am basing all of this on whatever I read up on the Forgotten Realms wikia. I had literally zero idea of what I was doing when I started this, not that I have any idea now.
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- Location
- US
[x] Ask Angaless if she knows anything.
Pathetic King
"I Speak To The Audient Void."
- Location
- Colorado
[X] Ask Angaless if she knows anything.
ThatGuyWithIdeas
Treize died for our sins
- Location
- Romania
[X] Ask Angaless if she knows anything.
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
The authorities don't care until a giant demonic affront to Lolth kills tens of drow showing that said summoner could be of use.
- Location
- Pilipinas
UHHHHH Hello Helga? Have you taken your medication today?
On a more serious note could this be a path to power? Assuming the Matron is not like fucking insane and wants to keep us from everything but herself?
Hey
[X] Spread word around the street you're looking for someone with a reputation for... being one hell of a mage.
- we don't need more tangles
In Strange Eons, Even Intrigue Gets Intrigued, Part 3
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
Upon contemplation, you realize you have an advantage. Angaless should have access to any information available to the city unless people are having secrets. Regardless, this is something to take and use. In the morning, you go to her House and you're instantly welcomed by the guards and servants who call the mistress to you.
Waiting in the parlor, on a huge couch with cushions, you look around. The room is dark and poorly lit, save for a warm campfire. The walls and carpet are black in color with red accents, save for the light gray ceiling and dark, veneered, wooden floor. There is also a venerable, potted Belladonna herb growing in the corner; possibly maintained through the magic of the city, as light of any kind doesn't seem to reach it, meaning photosynthesis is impossible.
Finally, you hear the door open behind you, followed by a short series of footsteps. The next thing you hear is a warm, "Why, hello, Cesimir," said with the tone of a flirtatious teen girl.
You cringe internally and bottle up your embarrassment. "Hello," you say with a sparkling voice, turning your face to the side, sitting comfortably on the couch.
From her facial expression, you guess Angaless has a good humor today, or perhaps her mood underwent a sudden betterment when she heard you're coming in for an unannounced visit. It is indeed your style to go in unannounced. You don't like to bother with waiting for messengers.
She sits down on the couch, just next to you and makes herself even more comfortable than you are. She offers you tea, or to eat dinner with her, but you turn her down and say that today you are here strictly on 'business.' You tell her a teensy lie,
"I'm on a mission from Brorna," you state confidently, carefully adjusting your body language and eyes so she buys it. "I am to investigate the demon attack."
"Ah, right," she giggles at that for some reason. Way to be creepy, especially that somewhere in your current establishment lies a shrine of your personage.
"So, I came to you for help."
She cocks an eyebrow. "Cesimir?"
Did you say something wrong? What if she felt insulted, or a tool at that remark? Oh, crap. "Yes?" you ask, masking your fear.
"Just tell me what you need and you can have it." She leans forward and bats her eyelashes at you seductively. The fireplace behind you two is either too hot, or you're starting to sweat due to some unknown, subconscious reaction.
Alright. Take it slow and put your mind at ease. This is the high-priestess, even if she is secretly a heretic that worships and admires her crush and possible future sex-slave. "Do you have any information I could use?" you ask as politely as you possibly can.
"Of course," she leans back, pouting slightly as if disappointed. Was that leaning forward on her part supposed to mean something?
She gives you the information she has. Her spies believe that the one responsible is someone from the surface who discovered the city. As witness report, the bebilith crawled in from an open hole in the cave ceiling that leads to a short and curt system leading directly to the surface. Wherever the monster came from, it was surely aboveground, and because bebiliths are creatures that prefer to craft lairs and wait for victims patiently, this one must have been controlled and roused into action.
What you gathered from this is:
There is an active and experienced infernalist on the surface and he doesn't like this city too much, or he wants to create chaos in it, or just kill people for some reason. In addition, he appears to have a grim sense of humor by sending a murder-spider-demon after the one race of beings on the entire planet that worships a spider-goddess.
With these clues, you decide to...
[] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[] Investigate the kilometers of deserts surrounding Teme-Napish.
[] Investigate the temples of Teme-Napish.
[] Write-in.
The kobolds gather round. A five-year-old kobold elder rouses the six-month-old warriors around him and tells him the tales of the Dark Slayer, using stone tablets carved with images of a monster with a spear, bow, and an obscenely huge, glowing head killing their people. The draconic cuneiforms confirm everything the elder says.
Despite their age, many of these warriors already have families and many of them will die before turning two from violent causes like infighting, accidents, or being mauled by a displacer mole, deep dragon, or particularly bored illithid. The elder, with already five years of life ––– a very venerable age ––– could be likened to the village shaman or their equivalent of Gandalf. He is a wise teacher.
"The Dark Slayer is far more powerful than any kobold," he explains, waving his fingers to create a creeping sense of subtle dread in the kobold warriors. "His powers of manipulation are godlike and his words thunder with an authority that cannot be refused. Fear his gaze, for it turns dracons into slaves. Fear his words, for they turn anxiety into dread. And fear his blade, for its embrace is the last sensation you will feel."
"When was the last time he was seen?" a kobold warrior raises his hand and asks.
"Months ago my friend," the respected elder answers. "Back then, you were four or five months old, barely an adult."
"If he ever comes back, we can beat him," another interjects.
The elder smirks. "I doubt it. It is a truth that the Dark Slayer wears kobold skins over his own body as trophies and a way of mocking our weakness. He covers himself in our bodies to show us how futile our efforts are. My childe, in a fight with the Dark Slayer, the best thing to do is run. Even then, your survival is not sure."
"But you said he was beaten," a warrior scoffs, folding his arms.
"Only once," the elder says. "The fight was truly epic; it lasted for three days and three nights. They say that the Dark Slayer drew his dagger and charged V'zlak Kuz and the two fought, until V'zlak disarmed the Dark Slayer of his dagger and thrust his own weapon to beat the monster."
The elder stands up from the rocky ground. "Now, it is the time I return to my alchemy."
The warriors disperse with nods of respect to the teacher.
+Nemesis added: V'zlak Kuz; Kobold Hunter. (Remember that guy that laughed at you and then knocked you unconscious and brought you in? That's him.)
EXPLANATION:
A Nemesis is a being glorified by your own legend. Because of it, they can very lightly tap into the weave of Fate for their own benefits. They have their own Character Sheets, Fate points, and improve at a rate similar to yours. Do not underestimate them, because they will change from the last fight as much as you did.
At the end of the week, you are re-inducted into the military and your documents have to be codified anew for the keeping of orders. Naturally, you dislike having your information written anywhere, even if it is as simple as name and age. But, whatever.
Brorna decides to assign you to train more before fighting, to ensure you don't die to a wraith... again.
Select one training option:
[] Endurance Training. (+1 Constitution, +1 Willpower.)
[] Obstacle Course. (+1 Dexterity, +1 Acrobatics.)
[] Unarmed Combat. (+2 Brawl, +1 Strength.)
[] Swordsmanship. (+2 Fencing.)
[] Morningstar Training. (+2 Blunt.)
[] Archery. (+2 Marksman.)
[] Train Bautha Z'hin, LEVEL 4. (+2 to hit an enemy who was attacked by an ally on the same round, +2 Dexterity.)
[] Train Draa Velve, LEVEL 4. (+2 to Strength, can dual-wield Heavy weapons.)
[] Learn new combat style.
-[] Luth Alur, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Dexterity.)
-[] Jivvin Golhyrr, LEVEL 1. (+1 to CMB.)
-[] Kyone Veldrin, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Wisdom.)
-[] Kyorlin Plynn, LEVEL 1. (+1 to CMB, +1 to CMD.)
-[] Orb Alur, LEVEL 1. (Gain 'Combat Reflexes' feat for free.)
-[] Sargh'elgg, LEVEL 1. (Gain 'Weapon Finesse' feat for free.)
-[] Ust Sreen, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Initiative.)
Waiting in the parlor, on a huge couch with cushions, you look around. The room is dark and poorly lit, save for a warm campfire. The walls and carpet are black in color with red accents, save for the light gray ceiling and dark, veneered, wooden floor. There is also a venerable, potted Belladonna herb growing in the corner; possibly maintained through the magic of the city, as light of any kind doesn't seem to reach it, meaning photosynthesis is impossible.
Finally, you hear the door open behind you, followed by a short series of footsteps. The next thing you hear is a warm, "Why, hello, Cesimir," said with the tone of a flirtatious teen girl.
You cringe internally and bottle up your embarrassment. "Hello," you say with a sparkling voice, turning your face to the side, sitting comfortably on the couch.
From her facial expression, you guess Angaless has a good humor today, or perhaps her mood underwent a sudden betterment when she heard you're coming in for an unannounced visit. It is indeed your style to go in unannounced. You don't like to bother with waiting for messengers.
She sits down on the couch, just next to you and makes herself even more comfortable than you are. She offers you tea, or to eat dinner with her, but you turn her down and say that today you are here strictly on 'business.' You tell her a teensy lie,
DC: 15
Roll: 17+3+8=28
Success! +250 XP!
Roll: 17+3+8=28
Success! +250 XP!
"I'm on a mission from Brorna," you state confidently, carefully adjusting your body language and eyes so she buys it. "I am to investigate the demon attack."
"Ah, right," she giggles at that for some reason. Way to be creepy, especially that somewhere in your current establishment lies a shrine of your personage.
"So, I came to you for help."
She cocks an eyebrow. "Cesimir?"
Did you say something wrong? What if she felt insulted, or a tool at that remark? Oh, crap. "Yes?" you ask, masking your fear.
"Just tell me what you need and you can have it." She leans forward and bats her eyelashes at you seductively. The fireplace behind you two is either too hot, or you're starting to sweat due to some unknown, subconscious reaction.
Alright. Take it slow and put your mind at ease. This is the high-priestess, even if she is secretly a heretic that worships and admires her crush and possible future sex-slave. "Do you have any information I could use?" you ask as politely as you possibly can.
"Of course," she leans back, pouting slightly as if disappointed. Was that leaning forward on her part supposed to mean something?
She gives you the information she has. Her spies believe that the one responsible is someone from the surface who discovered the city. As witness report, the bebilith crawled in from an open hole in the cave ceiling that leads to a short and curt system leading directly to the surface. Wherever the monster came from, it was surely aboveground, and because bebiliths are creatures that prefer to craft lairs and wait for victims patiently, this one must have been controlled and roused into action.
What you gathered from this is:
There is an active and experienced infernalist on the surface and he doesn't like this city too much, or he wants to create chaos in it, or just kill people for some reason. In addition, he appears to have a grim sense of humor by sending a murder-spider-demon after the one race of beings on the entire planet that worships a spider-goddess.
With these clues, you decide to...
[] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[] Investigate the kilometers of deserts surrounding Teme-Napish.
[] Investigate the temples of Teme-Napish.
[] Write-in.
The kobolds gather round. A five-year-old kobold elder rouses the six-month-old warriors around him and tells him the tales of the Dark Slayer, using stone tablets carved with images of a monster with a spear, bow, and an obscenely huge, glowing head killing their people. The draconic cuneiforms confirm everything the elder says.
Despite their age, many of these warriors already have families and many of them will die before turning two from violent causes like infighting, accidents, or being mauled by a displacer mole, deep dragon, or particularly bored illithid. The elder, with already five years of life ––– a very venerable age ––– could be likened to the village shaman or their equivalent of Gandalf. He is a wise teacher.
"The Dark Slayer is far more powerful than any kobold," he explains, waving his fingers to create a creeping sense of subtle dread in the kobold warriors. "His powers of manipulation are godlike and his words thunder with an authority that cannot be refused. Fear his gaze, for it turns dracons into slaves. Fear his words, for they turn anxiety into dread. And fear his blade, for its embrace is the last sensation you will feel."
"When was the last time he was seen?" a kobold warrior raises his hand and asks.
"Months ago my friend," the respected elder answers. "Back then, you were four or five months old, barely an adult."
"If he ever comes back, we can beat him," another interjects.
The elder smirks. "I doubt it. It is a truth that the Dark Slayer wears kobold skins over his own body as trophies and a way of mocking our weakness. He covers himself in our bodies to show us how futile our efforts are. My childe, in a fight with the Dark Slayer, the best thing to do is run. Even then, your survival is not sure."
"But you said he was beaten," a warrior scoffs, folding his arms.
"Only once," the elder says. "The fight was truly epic; it lasted for three days and three nights. They say that the Dark Slayer drew his dagger and charged V'zlak Kuz and the two fought, until V'zlak disarmed the Dark Slayer of his dagger and thrust his own weapon to beat the monster."
The elder stands up from the rocky ground. "Now, it is the time I return to my alchemy."
The warriors disperse with nods of respect to the teacher.
+Nemesis added: V'zlak Kuz; Kobold Hunter. (Remember that guy that laughed at you and then knocked you unconscious and brought you in? That's him.)
EXPLANATION:
A Nemesis is a being glorified by your own legend. Because of it, they can very lightly tap into the weave of Fate for their own benefits. They have their own Character Sheets, Fate points, and improve at a rate similar to yours. Do not underestimate them, because they will change from the last fight as much as you did.
At the end of the week, you are re-inducted into the military and your documents have to be codified anew for the keeping of orders. Naturally, you dislike having your information written anywhere, even if it is as simple as name and age. But, whatever.
Brorna decides to assign you to train more before fighting, to ensure you don't die to a wraith... again.
Select one training option:
[] Endurance Training. (+1 Constitution, +1 Willpower.)
[] Obstacle Course. (+1 Dexterity, +1 Acrobatics.)
[] Unarmed Combat. (+2 Brawl, +1 Strength.)
[] Swordsmanship. (+2 Fencing.)
[] Morningstar Training. (+2 Blunt.)
[] Archery. (+2 Marksman.)
[] Train Bautha Z'hin, LEVEL 4. (+2 to hit an enemy who was attacked by an ally on the same round, +2 Dexterity.)
[] Train Draa Velve, LEVEL 4. (+2 to Strength, can dual-wield Heavy weapons.)
[] Learn new combat style.
-[] Luth Alur, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Dexterity.)
-[] Jivvin Golhyrr, LEVEL 1. (+1 to CMB.)
-[] Kyone Veldrin, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Wisdom.)
-[] Kyorlin Plynn, LEVEL 1. (+1 to CMB, +1 to CMD.)
-[] Orb Alur, LEVEL 1. (Gain 'Combat Reflexes' feat for free.)
-[] Sargh'elgg, LEVEL 1. (Gain 'Weapon Finesse' feat for free.)
-[] Ust Sreen, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Initiative.)
Valkur
The True Valkyria, Valkur!
- Location
- Fólkvangr
Hmmm
I think Angelesh needs the D. Lots of D.
Maybe give her some Orange Juice? She seemed thristy
[X] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[X] Swordsmanship. (+2 Fencing.)
Lets go see what our Bro is doing and use our swordsmanship to slice something in half. Hopefuly it'll be enough to hunt and kill this monster alongside our big sis.
I think Angelesh needs the D. Lots of D.
Maybe give her some Orange Juice? She seemed thristy
[X] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[X] Swordsmanship. (+2 Fencing.)
Lets go see what our Bro is doing and use our swordsmanship to slice something in half. Hopefuly it'll be enough to hunt and kill this monster alongside our big sis.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
lol:lolA thought of a kobold nemesis would insult me a month ago. But Cesimir was trained by a flumph, so I guess the Powers That Be scaled the encounter down to our level.
[x] Investigate the temples of Teme-Napish.
If we don't find the infernalist, we will at least get to answer the pressing question if surface priestesses are also into the plushies of their deities. Maybe Angaless is a perfectly sane individual, and it's just a religious thing an unbeliever like you doesn't get? There must be a rational explanation in there somewhere!
[x] Morningstar Training. (+2 Blunt.)
Our most glorious weapon, which we aren't even remotely proficient with.
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ThatGuyWithIdeas
Treize died for our sins
- Location
- Romania
[X] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[X] Morningstar Training. (+2 Blunt.)
[X] Morningstar Training. (+2 Blunt.)
- Location
- United States
[X] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[X] Learn new combat style.
-[X] Kyone Veldrin, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Wisdom.)
Cesimir needs to learn to embrace the yandere waifu. He'll never get a more loyal ally in his hometown.
[X] Learn new combat style.
-[X] Kyone Veldrin, LEVEL 1. (+1 to Wisdom.)
Cesimir needs to learn to embrace the yandere waifu. He'll never get a more loyal ally in his hometown.
Pathetic King
"I Speak To The Audient Void."
- Location
- Colorado
[X] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[X] Learn new combat style.
-[X] Orb Alur, LEVEL 1. (Gain 'Combat Reflexes' feat for free.)
[X] Learn new combat style.
-[X] Orb Alur, LEVEL 1. (Gain 'Combat Reflexes' feat for free.)
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SoixanteZio
Dead man walking
- Location
- anywhere
This is interesting.
- Location
- US
[X] Investigate the Teme-Napish palace.
[X] Morningstar Training. (+2 Blunt.)
[X] Morningstar Training. (+2 Blunt.)