Prelude: Daybreak

[Inash]

Thia

---

Human (Duskwalker) • Printer• Thaumaturge 1
Medium • Neutral Good • Humanoid

AC: 16 | HP 16/16 | Fort +4 Ref +4 Will +4 | Resistance: None | Speed 25 feet | Class DC 16
Swordcane +4 1d6+1 P, Hand Crossbow +4 1d6 P

Arcana +4, Deception +6, Diplomacy +6, Intimidation +6, Medicine +2, Nature +2 , Occultism +4, Society 4, Stealth +2, Lore (scribing) +4, Lore (Esoteric) +6, Lore (The Bone Fields) +4

Tarnation! I wanted to get here at the beginning to make sure I didn't miss anything. Oh well, still lots to record. Thia pulls out a journal and pencil and begins wandering the crowd, making note of any prominent figures seen or interesting happenings. He catches wind of the proposed archery demonstration and makes note of Mehri shutting down the dangerous activity. Well, a small sparing session could make an interesting flavor piece. He wanders closer and joins the spectators, turning his attention to Jack. "Interesting rules. Don't they seem a touch light? how do we know when someone has won?"

 

---

Actions:

[Althrion]

Jack looked over and up to Thia.

"Oh, someone is fond of rules? Maybe I should write a book full of rules, but I am afraid the festival would be over already before I am done." He said.

"So my rules will suffice. If someone gives up, gets knocked out or is clearly outclassed, I am gonna declare them the loser. Good enough for you? Or do you want to make a point system and write it down in your little book?"

Jack pointed at the journal in Thias hands.

[Zen Gypsy]

Vharak, Ilmateri Martyr

AC: 18 | HIT POINTS: 23 | CURRENT: 23 | HERO POINTS: 1

FORTITUDE: +6 | REFLEX: +7 | WILL: +6 | PERCEPTION: +4

FOCUS POINTS: 1 | CURRENT: 1

ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.

CONDITIONS: None.

---

Vharak watched the exchange between the Clarion's apprentice chef and Sunrise's newsman, the broad shouldered orc nodded. "Thia has the right of it, Master Broadfoot. Last one standing has it's place on the field of battle, but in a bout between friends," he looked to Salva and smiled, "rules do have a place."

He slowly approached the willowy droomar farmer, "Vharak, born to the Mor'dosh Mal, raised in an Ilmateri Chapel, and student under the instruction of Sister Cassandra, of the Order of the Crimson Ember." He placed his right fist into the open palm of his left hand, rotated his hands so the left covered the right, bowed to this opponent, and dropped into a powerful stance, his knees bent, his hips cocked forward, his left foot swept out as his hands shifted to the right side of his body. A furrow appeared between his brow, and he waited, watching the young farmer's movements. He paused, they were remarkable fluid, she moved with a fluid grace that reminded Vharak of water flowing from one container to the next, she then began to advance towards him, he prepared to defend, to parry and block, before counter attacking. She shifted into striking range, feinted a thrust, he swept across her feet and she, nimbly, hopped over, a knee thrust coming towards his face. He snapped his head back, but not before she shifted her weight, an elbow swinging across, he snapped back, bringing his left arm up, and she scored the first hit.

Vharak exhaled, anger rising, before he closed his eyes, exhaled, calmed himself, this was sparring, between two, competent, fighters, to further their training, it was not a battle, there was no failure, no shame, unless he disregarded the lessons Salva deigned to share with him. He regarded her again, she was no, mere, farmer, despite her vocation, she moved with a grace and fluidity that reminded him of Sister Cassandra, his own instructor, she moved like water, she ... flowed. Interesting. She feinted, he saw it coming this time, swept a forearm across his body, slamming into her strike, she hopped back, shaking off the numbness from his scythe sweep block. Now, he pressed his advantage, only to be greeted by a series of rapid fire blows that came like crashing waves, catching him once in the abdomen, and another in his chest. He lashed out, she dodged, his crushed the thick bark of the oak tree which she had retreated to, she slipped under the missed punch, dropped low, he brought up a knee, she tumbled back, he grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her, wrenching her into a grapple. She rewarded him with a quick elbow, he released the grapple, slammed a fist into her shoulder, unbalancing her. She flowed forward, elbow, punch, her left, her right, another elbow, high, low, he blocked what he could, but she flowed around his defense. He stumbled back, she advanced, he stood up, slamming the crown of his thick skull into her chin, she stepped back, dazed, before rewarding his aggressiveness with a crashing wave of blows, slipping past his defense, until she landed a series of blows, stomach, ribs, then she was beside him, and slipped an uppercut that caught him square, her elbow slamming into his solar plexus as her fist connected with his stone jaw.

He stopped, staggered, "Yield, yield." He laughed around a bloodied lip, spitting a god of phlegm onto the archery green. "You move like a dragon fly, flowing this way and that. Well done," he laughed, "well done." It was at that point, he decided he needed to determine where the woman had learned how to fight. "Where, may I ask, have you trained? And who is your Master?"

Out of Character

Free Action:

Reaction:

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Action 1:

Action 2:

Action 3:

[Alex Sloane]

Mehri

---

Human • Maestro • Bard 1
Medium • Neutral Good • Humanoid

AC: 16 | HP 17/17 | Fort +4 Ref +5 Will +7 | Resistance: None | Speed 25 feet | Class DC 14
Shortbow +5 1d6 P, Shortsword +5 1d6 P/S

Deception +7, Diplomacy +7, Medicine +6, Nature + 5Natural Medicine: You can apply natural cures to heal your allies. You can use Nature instead of Medicine to Treat Wounds. If you’re in the wilderness, you might have easier access to fresh ingredients, allowing you to gain a +2 circumstance bonus to your check to Treat Wounds using Nature, subject to the GM’s determination. , Occultism +3, Performance +7, Society 3, Stealth +5, Survival +6, Thievery +2, Lore +3

If one could describe Mehri's look as Vharak and Salva, it was the older sister that was left to watch over her younger siblings only to watch them get out of hand with a mixture of exasperation and disappointment. She would have so many things to say about this if not for the fact that she wanted to keep things somewhat fun and calm during the Daybreak Festival. She speaks up once the two are done, "Vharak, Salva, you two could have solved this by going to the wrestling tent. I'm sure they'd be happy to have another couple of folks fighting or wrestling it out in there. You really, really need to worry about where you go fighting. There's a lot of pointy and sharp objects around that could have caused so many messed up injuries. Gods above, if I had to try to sew an axe wound or something." She starts muttering, half to them and half to herself at this point.

Mehri can be seen taking a deep breath, "Vharak, I'm going to participate in the archery competition. You can sit there with your busted lip and bruises for a few minutes. Then I'll show you where my dad is. Then you can explain to him why you look like you fought a cave bear." She tells him in a stern voice probably reminiscent of his instructor before she turns to grab one of the bows and take her place on the archery range. She breathes deep and relaxes her body as she awaits the person running the stall to tell her to start.

---

Actions:

[TheWhitefire]

Shayla
Shayla - Human (Skilled) - Cultist
Witch 1 | Neutral Good | Female | The Dusk Mother

 

Shayla observed the impromptu sparring match, watched the curious would-be journalist taking notes, and kept an eye on Alba as she sought out her friend Mina.

All these observances the young farmer took into her mind. Once the match was over, Shayla called out to Mehri. "Send them over here, Mehri. I can patch them up before they see your father."

Shayla was known as a healer amidst the townsfolk, after all. Yet another of the mysterious gifts that this woman (whom, if rumor was to be believed, cursed the very names of the gods themselves!) brought to the simple village. An unmarried woman, living on the edge of town by herself, was not one to be easily trusted after all.

[Inash]

Thia

---

Human (Duskwalker) • Printer• Thaumaturge 1
Medium • Neutral Good • Humanoid

AC: 16 | HP 16/16 | Fort +4 Ref +4 Will +4 | Resistance: None | Speed 25 feet | Class DC 16
Swordcane +4 1d6+1 P, Hand Crossbow +4 1d6 P

Arcana +4, Deception +6, Diplomacy +6, Intimidation +6, Medicine +2, Nature +2 , Occultism +4, Society 4, Stealth +2, Lore (scribing) +4, Lore (Esoteric) +6, Lore (The Bone Fields) +4

Thia laughs as he jots down a rough blow by blow account of the fight. "No. I'm not jotting down the rules. Just writing what happened. I'm going to try and get a newspaper going. The impromptu fight here should make a good flavor piece for the overall story about the festival." He looks around at the rest of the festival goings on, then rubs his belly. "Tell you what, I'll buy you some drink to go with that chicken leg and you can tell me all about what you've seen and done at the festival so far."

 

---

Actions:

[Althrion]

"Easiest drink I ever got, I would say." Was the simple reply of Jack to Thia.

"Was cooking from 3 in the morning till half an hour ago, before I got the rest of the day off. The fun is just starting now. And the bar is set high after this lil brawl."

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear into the direction of Shayla and Mehri.

"But that does also sound like a hard day for the two of you."

[Blue Firebird]

On 12/5/2023 at 12:18 AM, Mourning Star said:

Alba Thompson the cooper's daughter Description: average height, athletic; fin-like ears, scales and gills on her neck; deep blue eyes, shortish white hair with flecks of blue and green Dress: clean beige linen work shirt; heavily worn brown duck pants; scuffed black leather boots Weaponry: none

————

After helping Sally with her bundle, Alba purposefully walks across the festival grounds, towards the feasting area. She nods and greets more than a few people on the way, though she doesn't stop. When she finally reaches the tables, and she sees Mayhew Everbright sitting before a loaded plate, she pauses, fading away into another daydream. After a few moments she shakes if off, and moves to the seat across the table from him.

"Hey, Mr. Everbright. Where's Mina? It's like trying to find a booger in a bilge out here today."

Mayhew Everbright

Smith • Retired Adventurer

---

Just as Alba approaches him, Mayhew is taking an enormous bite off a drumstick that looks like it came from a dinosaur, not a bird. He looks up with round eyes, beard glistening with poultry grease, and meat still sticking out of his mouth. "Ohh haa Albmm. I ohmm oh whar Eena us. I hink—"

One of the others at the table, a nice older halfling lady named Mrs. Lilac Dunflower, a farmer from a large family that lives north of Sunrise, soon pipes up. "Oh, Mayhew, by gods, chew your food first! The lass doesn't speak Ogre!"

With a rather sheepish grin forming around the cheek-bulging mouthful of food, Mayhew quickly chews and loudly swallows the last bite. "Aye, better! Of course, Mrs. Dunflower! Where are my manners?" He grins broadly, and bits of meat and globs of grease still fleck his beard.

"Alba, lass! It's good t' see you, of course! Are ye enjoyin' the fair? Mina is...Mina's about, aye. I think I last saw her over by the high-striker, but who knows with all this noise and fun about? Ye want me to call for her? I can get th' bullhorn...."

[Mourning Star]

On 12/8/2023 at 7:18 AM, Blue Firebird said:

Mayhew Everbright

Smith • Retired Adventurer

---

Just as Alba approaches him, Mayhew is taking an enormous bite off a drumstick that looks like it came from a dinosaur, not a bird. He looks up with round eyes, beard glistening with poultry grease, and meat still sticking out of his mouth. "Ohh haa Albmm. I ohmm oh whar Eena us. I hink—"

One of the others at the table, a nice older halfling lady named Mrs. Lilac Dunflower, a farmer from a large family that lives north of Sunrise, soon pipes up. "Oh, Mayhew, by gods, chew your food first! The lass doesn't speak Ogre!"

With a rather sheepish grin forming around the cheek-bulging mouthful of food, Mayhew quickly chews and loudly swallows the last bite. "Aye, better! Of course, Mrs. Dunflower! Where are my manners?" He grins broadly, and bits of meat and globs of grease still fleck his beard.

"Alba, lass! It's good t' see you, of course! Are ye enjoyin' the fair? Mina is...Mina's about, aye. I think I last saw her over by the high-striker, but who knows with all this noise and fun about? Ye want me to call for her? I can get th' bullhorn...."

Alba Thompson the cooper's daughter Description: average height, athletic; fin-like ears, scales and gills on her neck; deep blue eyes, shortish white hair with flecks of blue and green Dress: clean beige linen work shirt; heavily worn brown duck pants; scuffed black leather boots Weaponry: none

---

Alba stares at Mayhew, half in admiration and half in horror, as he eats and talks. "I haven't seen much of it," she admits. "I spent most of the morning helping Mrs. Edwards set up her sewing circle booth. Then I came straight over here." Because there's too damned many people out there, she didn't say.

She winces at the mention of a bullhorn. "No, no, Mr. E. Please, no bullhorn." She shakes her head and stifles a smile. "I can find her."

Alba turns to stare at the festivities behind her. "Thanks," she finally says, heaving a weighty sigh. "Be sure to leave some for the rest of us!"

After flashing a sideways grin at Mayhew, Alba settles into a look of resignation then determination, then heads across the grounds, towards the high-striker.

Character Vitals

Will populate this as needed.

Edited December 11, 2023 by Mourning Star (see edit history)

[Blue Firebird]

Archery Course

North of the town proper lies the archery course. The rhythmic twang of bowstrings singing strikes a melody beneath the sunny blue skies. Many young people of Sunrise have taken their turn at target shooting; some are practicing real hunting skills, while others delight in the novelty of it all. For some, the competition is itself the draw, but most want to have fun. Bearing their treats, like Stelle Riverfox's famous sticky buns (and gunking up more than a few of the bowstrings!), they line up to shoot at the heavy targets made of painted wood affixed to stacks of straw. Thunk! go the arrows—when an amateur is lucky enough to hit one—though a great many more fall short of the mark or sail wide into the flat, grassy space.

A tall Elf clad in green, with long blonde hair, greets Mehri and the others stepping up to an open target. "Welcome," she says, and gestures to the table nearby, upon which lie bows. Quivers fastened to each end of the table offer arrows for the would-be sharpshooters.

"Feel each arrow as if it is its own thought," she says with a practiced, if weary, tone. Clearly, she's been telling the young wannabe rangers and markspeople something similar all day. "Do not shoot the target. Do not see it. Feel it. Let that thought connect with the arrow in hand and you will find your mark."

 

OOC

You get three shots! It's pretty simple. You can use your ranged attack bonus, Athletics, or Survival, whichever is higher. The higher your roll, the closer to the bullseye you do. Beyond a certain DC, you might even do better.

 

---

 

Festival Grounds

Many fun games and stalls with colorful wares stand amid the bustle of townsfolk and visitors. Contests of strength and skill are always popular, helmed by flashily-dressed entertainers and drawing cheers and jeers from the crowd. One such game is the high striker, a test of both control and pure strength. Smash the lever, ring the bell, win the game. "Step right up!" calls the mustachioed dwarf who built the rig, wearing a pinstriped suit with a red jacket, his mustache waxed to a tapered point. "Test your might, test yer strength, do whatever ye can do! Ring the bell and you win!" He turns to a group standing nearby, including a well-built redhead. "'Ey, lass, you look like ye know how to swing a hammer! Come on, give it a try!"

The "lass" in question is none other than Mina Everbright, daughter of the Sword Coast's most famous (and reclusive) blacksmith, who looks more than up to the challenge. With bright blue eyes and a stout arm, Mina steps up to the striker, brings the hammer overhead, and—

—spots Alba approaching and brightens up even more. Letting the hammer slip through her fings (and nearly fall on the foot of an admirer standing just a little too closer behind her), she beams as she runs over and scoops Alba up into a rather crushing hug! "Alba! It's good to see you!" The girl is very warm and her hair smells of cinnamon and maybe a little bit of forge-smoke.

[Alex Sloane]

Mehri

---

Human • Maestro • Bard 1
Medium • Neutral Good • Humanoid

AC: 16 | HP 17/17 | Fort +4 Ref +5 Will +7 | Resistance: None | Speed 25 feet | Class DC 14
Shortbow +5 1d6 P, Shortsword +5 1d6 P/S

Deception +7, Diplomacy +7, Medicine +6, Nature + 5Natural Medicine: You can apply natural cures to heal your allies. You can use Nature instead of Medicine to Treat Wounds. If you’re in the wilderness, you might have easier access to fresh ingredients, allowing you to gain a +2 circumstance bonus to your check to Treat Wounds using Nature, subject to the GM’s determination. , Occultism +3, Performance +7, Society 3, Stealth +5, Survival +6, Thievery +2, Lore +3

Mehri was no woodland archer. She wasn't a huntress at all. She had some basic self-defense training from her father and some of the folks in town, but it was hardly to the level of her being an expert. Yet, she heard the woman's voice and focused on her body. The tension between her arm and bow would blend. Her straight stance colliding with straightness of the arrow. That was it - it was like the magic that flowed through a mage, she thought. Picture what you wanted to happen in the world and it would.

I am the arrow. I will fly true to my target. 

---

Actions: As discussed, 3 separate shots at the attack modifier.

Edited December 14, 2023 by Alex Sloane (see edit history)

[Mourning Star]

Alba Thompson the cooper's daughter Description: average height, athletic; fin-like ears, scales and gills on her neck; deep blue eyes, shortish white hair with flecks of blue and green Dress: clean beige linen work shirt; heavily worn brown duck pants; scuffed black leather boots Weaponry: none

---

When she sees Mina, Alba's expression relaxes, gills rippling slightly. She opens her arms wide to her charging friend, turning her head and clenching her eyes in preparation for impact.

Oof!

Once her feet are back on the ground, Alba steps back and smiles. "Your dad," she says. "I swear. His hawser's come loose! He just threatened to get out his bullhorn. Again!" She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then a happy sigh escapes her. "I've been looking all over for you! Whatcha doin'?"

She glances at the scene behind Mina. "Oh," she murmurs abruptly. Half the people in the high striker line are staring at them. Alba's gills seal shut, disappearing back into her neck. She looks over the aspiring bell-ringers, her eyes pausing on the group of three young men in a tight cluster at the end of the line. They're laughing loudly, posturing and boasting in preparation for their turn with the hammer.

"You know," Alba says, nodding her head towards the group and smiling drily, "If you go to the back of the line right now, when your turn comes around we will see a grown man cry."

"C'mon," she says, grabbing Mina's hand and heading to the line. "I gotta see this."

Character Vitals

Will populate this as needed.

[VennDygrem]

Dendrick | HP 20/20 | AC 16 | Fort +7 | Ref +6 | Will +6 | Speed: 25 | Perception: +4
Hero Points: 1/3 | Focus Points: 1/1 | Conditions: None | Effects: N/A

---

A small figure trots down the main road towing along a cart which would be miniscule for some, but is clearly a hefty, sizeable burden for the figure dragging it. At first glance, the figure could be mistaken for a human child, but it is quickly evident that this is a fully-grown gnome. Even so, he appears to be on the short side and far from athletic, if his struggle with the cart is any indication.

Eventually, the gnome reaches one of the fairground stalls. He huffs out a breath and wipes a bit of sweat from his brow before removing a sheet from over the cart. Within is a monstrously-sized tomato, larger than a grown man's head, sitting atop a variety of other fruits and vegetables. The giant tomato is clearly the scene-stealer and the gnome's entry into the garden competition. He hoists it up onto the stall's surface.

 

"Whoof, I was afraid I wouldn't make it in time to place my entry! There's still time, right?"

The plump, older woman sitting at the stall looks down at the gnome, leaning over the tomato to see the gnome below.
"Love, the judging don't take place until tomorrow! Ye've got plenty o' time!"

The gnome's cheeks turn red as his embarrassment shows.

"I guess I've got time to check out the festivities, then... after I get the rest of these to Auntie Kessra, of course."

Grabbing the handle of the cart, the young gnome navigates to a small area designated for the market. The crowd is normally thick with townsfolk buying and trading goods, but given the festival, there are far more varied tents and stalls selling local goods and somewhat more exotic fare. The small gnome becomes anxious, the majority of the crowd towering over him. He reaches into a pouch on his belt, fumbling around for something while the anxiety grows.

"Dendrick! Denny, dear, over here!"

The gnome looks up toward the sound of the voice and his face brightens. Excusing himself through the crowd, he brings the cart to a stop before a stand with a middle aged human woman, her sandy hair just beginning to gray.

"Auntie Kessra! I brought the extra produce from my garden! Has it been busy?"

The two carry on their conversation for a while until the woman encourages Dendrick to go explore the festival. As he wanders, he notices the games, as well as some folk clearly catching up. He looks up when he gets a whiff of some of the festival food, however, and his attention drifts to the heavenly smells in the distance.

 

---

Skog | AC 17 | Fort +8 | Ref +5 | Will +6 | Speed: 25 | Perception: +4

OOC & Actions

No Skog just yet, though Dendrick was close to summoning him. Seems he's doing alright for the time being, however!

Edited December 14, 2023 by VennDygrem (see edit history)

[Zen Gypsy]

Khyron drae Zeizerer, Drow Blademaster

AC: 18 | HIT POINTS: 15 | CURRENT: 15 | HERO POINTS: 1

FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +7 | WILL: +5 | PERCEPTION: +7

ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.

CONDITIONS: None.

---

Khyron approached Sunrise from the east, he had been following the Chionthar west for a number of days, Matron-Daughter ... No, he shook his head, long, unkempt, strands of silver white hair fluttering in the breeze, Jhael'rynn was Matron-Mother now. Zeizerer's Matron Mother had tasked him with the goal of traveling the length of the Chionthar River, to track the movements of Baenre's agents, assumed to be using the low-roads to travel from Menzzoberranzan to the Fields of the Dead. As he moved through the forest, the open sky, the towering trees, and the seemingly endless horizon felt both liberating and disconcerting. The vastness of the open space was unnerving to someone accustomed to the enclosed and claustrophobic tunnels of his upbringing. However, the colors of the forest, unseen in the perpetual darkness of the Underdark, were like a revalation. The vibrant greens of the leaves, the dappling sunlight filtering through the branches, and the myriad hues of flowers filled him with awe and wonder. The sheer beauty of the natural world was, almost, overwhelming, offering a stark contrast to the monochromatic existence he had known in the depths below.

As he approached the town of Sunrise, the first thing he encountered was the fluttering banners, snapping in the breeze, they were dyed in vibrant crimson, brilliant azure blue, oranges and yellows in warm, welcoming hues. A scent came to him, it, too, was strange to him, foreign, odd, baked goods, sugared sweets, it was ... decadent. He was used to a diet of cave fish, fungi, and broth served with ground spices and lichen, savory, utilitarian dishes, meant to provide one's body with the strength and nutrients it needs to confront the threats that lurked in the dim shadows of the deep roads.

As he moved across the feasting grounds, he drew back his hood, while it protected his eyes, he thought that presenting this, his truer self to these people may, in fact, earn some measure of their trust, or respect. As his hood fell back, a storm of silver white hair tumbled down, spreading over his shoulders to reach down his back. A narrow, chiseled face, deep set, violet eyes, watching the world around him with curious intensity, narrow chin, and a hard set mouth, long, pointed ears stood out from his riotous tumble of hair. Battered, but well maintained armor, pauldrons that bore the emblem of House Zeizerer, a large, thick lined circle, off set trailing above it, a series of connected circles that would form the the constellation commonly referred to as the 'Dancing Maiden.' A pair of drow blades at his hip, one longer, more viciously curved than the other, a long pike on his back, held in a worn leather baldric. Hoping to show the citizens of Sunrise that he meant no harm, he planted the pike in the soft loam, hung from it's cross guard his sword belt, leaving himself unarmed, a sign of weakness in his own society.

He observed the crowd moving around him noting things like clothing, heraldic symbols, the dynamics between the various groups, this took some time, and eventually, having grown slightly more confident that he had identified those that would be most open to approach he stood up, moving cautiously towards Master Everbright's table. The man had the broad shoulders and barrel chest of a dwarf, yet the height of a man, standing above even Khyron himself. The drow warrior moved through the crowd, holding the gaze of the massive smith. "Greetings Master Smith," the drow nodded, bowing his head slightly, he was careful to keep his hands at his sides, his weapons suspended on his pike twenty yards away. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Khyron, an emissary of House Zeizerer, a devotee of Eilistraee, the Lady of Dance. I have traveled a long road to come to your humble town, and find myself, my supplies, low. What is the manner in which a man may purchase a meal? I am, as you may understand, somewhat unfamiliar with surface culture and customs."  He hoped that, perhaps, mentioning his devotion to Eilistraee it may mitigate the notoriety of his drow heritage.

Out of Character

Free Action:

Reaction:

---

Action 1:

Action 2:

Action 3:

[Blue Firebird]

On 12/13/2023 at 4:52 PM, Alex Sloane said:

Mehri

---

Human • Maestro • Bard 1
Medium • Neutral Good • Humanoid

AC: 16 | HP 17/17 | Fort +4 Ref +5 Will +7 | Resistance: None | Speed 25 feet | Class DC 14
Shortbow +5 1d6 P, Shortsword +5 1d6 P/S

Deception +7, Diplomacy +7, Medicine +6, Nature + 5Natural Medicine: You can apply natural cures to heal your allies. You can use Nature instead of Medicine to Treat Wounds. If you’re in the wilderness, you might have easier access to fresh ingredients, allowing you to gain a +2 circumstance bonus to your check to Treat Wounds using Nature, subject to the GM’s determination. , Occultism +3, Performance +7, Society 3, Stealth +5, Survival +6, Thievery +2, Lore +3

Mehri was no woodland archer. She wasn't a huntress at all. She had some basic self-defense training from her father and some of the folks in town, but it was hardly to the level of her being an expert. Yet, she heard the woman's voice and focused on her body. The tension between her arm and bow would blend. Her straight stance colliding with straightness of the arrow. That was it - it was like the magic that flowed through a mage, she thought. Picture what you wanted to happen in the world and it would.

I am the arrow. I will fly true to my target. 

---

Actions: As discussed, 3 separate shots at the attack modifier.

Thunk!

Thunk!

Two of Mehri's arrows hit the target well, one in the outside band, the other in the nearest band to the bullseye.

THUNK!

Guided by fortune or fate, or perhaps by a hidden talent, the final arrow buries its bladed head into the red of the bullseye, just off the center. The arrow shaft wobbles loudly for a moment before falling still. Several bystanders cheer for her, having had the best shot of the day.

"Not bad, for a complete amateur," says a voice. Striding up to the range is Jeht Garen, son of the Captain, and his two cronies, Malek and Brand, all three in the guard. Jeht is skilled, as anyone would expect from the son of Theo, but he's well known for his attitude problems. "Luck will only get you so far out in the field." He stops, bow in hand, and looks Mehri up and down. A light breeze rolls through the grassway. "Though you're kind of cute. I guess that counts for something. You need some pointers? I could give you some private lessons in how to handle a bow."

On 12/14/2023 at 2:39 PM, VennDygrem said:

Dendrick | HP 20/20 | AC 16 | Fort +7 | Ref +6 | Will +6 | Speed: 25 | Perception: +4
Hero Points: 1/3 | Focus Points: 1/1 | Conditions: None | Effects: N/A

---

A small figure trots down the main road towing along a cart which would be miniscule for some, but is clearly a hefty, sizeable burden for the figure dragging it. At first glance, the figure could be mistaken for a human child, but it is quickly evident that this is a fully-grown gnome. Even so, he appears to be on the short side and far from athletic, if his struggle with the cart is any indication.

Eventually, the gnome reaches one of the fairground stalls. He huffs out a breath and wipes a bit of sweat from his brow before removing a sheet from over the cart. Within is a monstrously-sized tomato, larger than a grown man's head, sitting atop a variety of other fruits and vegetables. The giant tomato is clearly the scene-stealer and the gnome's entry into the garden competition. He hoists it up onto the stall's surface.

 

"Whoof, I was afraid I wouldn't make it in time to place my entry! There's still time, right?"

The plump, older woman sitting at the stall looks down at the gnome, leaning over the tomato to see the gnome below.
"Love, the judging don't take place until tomorrow! Ye've got plenty o' time!"

The gnome's cheeks turn red as his embarrassment shows.

"I guess I've got time to check out the festivities, then... after I get the rest of these to Auntie Kessra, of course."

Grabbing the handle of the cart, the young gnome navigates to a small area designated for the market. The crowd is normally thick with townsfolk buying and trading goods, but given the festival, there are far more varied tents and stalls selling local goods and somewhat more exotic fare. The small gnome becomes anxious, the majority of the crowd towering over him. He reaches into a pouch on his belt, fumbling around for something while the anxiety grows.

"Dendrick! Denny, dear, over here!"

The gnome looks up toward the sound of the voice and his face brightens. Excusing himself through the crowd, he brings the cart to a stop before a stand with a middle aged human woman, her sandy hair just beginning to gray.

"Auntie Kessra! I brought the extra produce from my garden! Has it been busy?"

The two carry on their conversation for a while until the woman encourages Dendrick to go explore the festival. As he wanders, he notices the games, as well as some folk clearly catching up. He looks up when he gets a whiff of some of the festival food, however, and his attention drifts to the heavenly smells in the distance.

 

---

Skog | AC 17 | Fort +8 | Ref +5 | Will +6 | Speed: 25 | Perception: +4

OOC & Actions

No Skog just yet, though Dendrick was close to summoning him. Seems he's doing alright for the time being, however!

A large (to him), well-built human girl with hair red as the embers of a forge tromps by, nearly bumping into Dendrick before she notices him. "Oh, gods, I'm sorry! I almost ran you over!" She bears a roll in each hand, still steaming, each covered in a melted icing that drips onto the grass. Each one exudes the aromas of cinnamon and other spices, and a sweetness that even a stone golem could smell. "Welcome! I don't think I've seen you around here before. I'm Mina. What's your name? And do you want one of these?"

On 12/14/2023 at 5:59 PM, Zen Gypsy said:

Khyron drae Zeizerer, Drow Blademaster

AC: 18 | HIT POINTS: 15 | CURRENT: 15 | HERO POINTS: 1

FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +7 | WILL: +5 | PERCEPTION: +7

ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.

CONDITIONS: None.

---

Khyron approached Sunrise from the east, he had been following the Chionthar west for a number of days, Matron-Daughter ... No, he shook his head, long, unkempt, strands of silver white hair fluttering in the breeze, Jhael'rynn was Matron-Mother now. Zeizerer's Matron Mother had tasked him with the goal of traveling the length of the Chionthar River, to track the movements of Baenre's agents, assumed to be using the low-roads to travel from Menzzoberranzan to the Fields of the Dead. As he moved through the forest, the open sky, the towering trees, and the seemingly endless horizon felt both liberating and disconcerting. The vastness of the open space was unnerving to someone accustomed to the enclosed and claustrophobic tunnels of his upbringing. However, the colors of the forest, unseen in the perpetual darkness of the Underdark, were like a revalation. The vibrant greens of the leaves, the dappling sunlight filtering through the branches, and the myriad hues of flowers filled him with awe and wonder. The sheer beauty of the natural world was, almost, overwhelming, offering a stark contrast to the monochromatic existence he had known in the depths below.

As he approached the town of Sunrise, the first thing he encountered was the fluttering banners, snapping in the breeze, they were dyed in vibrant crimson, brilliant azure blue, oranges and yellows in warm, welcoming hues. A scent came to him, it, too, was strange to him, foreign, odd, baked goods, sugared sweets, it was ... decadent. He was used to a diet of cave fish, fungi, and broth served with ground spices and lichen, savory, utilitarian dishes, meant to provide one's body with the strength and nutrients it needs to confront the threats that lurked in the dim shadows of the deep roads.

As he moved across the feasting grounds, he drew back his hood, while it protected his eyes, he thought that presenting this, his truer self to these people may, in fact, earn some measure of their trust, or respect. As his hood fell back, a storm of silver white hair tumbled down, spreading over his shoulders to reach down his back. A narrow, chiseled face, deep set, violet eyes, watching the world around him with curious intensity, narrow chin, and a hard set mouth, long, pointed ears stood out from his riotous tumble of hair. Battered, but well maintained armor, pauldrons that bore the emblem of House Zeizerer, a large, thick lined circle, off set trailing above it, a series of connected circles that would form the the constellation commonly referred to as the 'Dancing Maiden.' A pair of drow blades at his hip, one longer, more viciously curved than the other, a long pike on his back, held in a worn leather baldric. Hoping to show the citizens of Sunrise that he meant no harm, he planted the pike in the soft loam, hung from it's cross guard his sword belt, leaving himself unarmed, a sign of weakness in his own society.

He observed the crowd moving around him noting things like clothing, heraldic symbols, the dynamics between the various groups, this took some time, and eventually, having grown slightly more confident that he had identified those that would be most open to approach he stood up, moving cautiously towards Master Everbright's table. The man had the broad shoulders and barrel chest of a dwarf, yet the height of a man, standing above even Khyron himself. The drow warrior moved through the crowd, holding the gaze of the massive smith. "Greetings Master Smith," the drow nodded, bowing his head slightly, he was careful to keep his hands at his sides, his weapons suspended on his pike twenty yards away. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Khyron, an emissary of House Zeizerer, a devotee of Eilistraee, the Lady of Dance. I have traveled a long road to come to your humble town, and find myself, my supplies, low. What is the manner in which a man may purchase a meal? I am, as you may understand, somewhat unfamiliar with surface culture and customs."  He hoped that, perhaps, mentioning his devotion to Eilistraee it may mitigate the notoriety of his drow heritage.

Out of Character

Free Action:

Reaction:

---

Action 1:

Action 2:

Action 3:

Mayhew looks the Drow in the eyes, but if he's surprised, beyond a slight furrowing of his wiry brows, he doesn't show it. Others, however, are not so stoic, and there are some whispers, even some hushed gasps, and many stares. No outright hostility, in word or action, but some also move away from the Drow. Mayhew seems unperturbed.  "House Zeizerer, eh? Aye, never heard of it. I know of Eilistraee, sure enough, but 'round here, we ain't so formal as all that. If ye want a meal, there's plenty t' be had here. Just look around, son. If ye want supplies, we have plenty o' those, too, but look around. 'Tis a festival! Come, have ye a bite or ten, and join us. No need for all th' fancy talk here!"

 With Mayhew's seeming approval, or at least lack of alarm, most of the nearby spectators begin to relax around Khyron as well.