On This Misham, the 25th Day of Brookgreen,
in the 351st Year After the Cataclysm
(Thursday, March 25, 351 AC)

★The 5th Day of the Campaign - About 8:30ish★

   When Mery turns invisible and jumps away, the old ladies hiss. When she looks up to speak to Kalasääski, what she finds instead is Bulbazard holding a half-eaten dead bird in its sharp talons, pecking away at its bloody flesh.

   “She’s not accepting the deal!” ‘Auntie Dentdever’ screeches angrily.

   When she looks back at what were the old ladies, she instead sees three horrific monstrous hags. The youngest of them takes out a staff with a human eyeball mounted atop it. The eye swivels around until it locks onto Mery. “Ah! There you are, girl!” the youngest of the three hags says, grinning.

   ‘Granny Mélanie’ pinches some talc and powdered silver from a spell component pouch, spreads it around her hand and holds it up to her eye, like a scope. She shouts, “H₁énweyddʰliem sékʷeh₂!” and turns to look right at Mery.

   “H₃migʰstos stóbʰos,” ‘Auntie Dentdever’ says, disappearing, and appearing right behind you. She places withered, bony hand on your shoulder, in a mocking gesture of comfort. “Don’t you want to give me your name? Won’t you let me go free? I’ve been here so long . . . so . . . very . . . long!”

   “Yes!” ‘Granny Mélanie’ punctuates Dentdever’s plea. “Besides, what do you care if it can be forgiven or not? Does it even matter? Just give Aunti Dentdever your name, and stay in the coven with us! We can teach you all manner of magics those insolent, new-fangled upstarts over in Istar want to try to found—the Robes of the Moon, or some-such silliness! We could teach you true magic! Just. Give. Us. Your. Name. And. Stay! Don’t be an ungrateful brat and deny poor Auntie Dentdever’s chance at freedom!”

   Handsome is snorting and stomping restlessly.

   The map of the Kalaman region in Maps & Game Information illustrates this area.

   Mélanie: French form of Melanie. From . . . the Latin name Melania, derived from Greek μέλαινα (melaina) meaning “black, dark”.

   “Cochonjarret”—Lit. “Pig knuckle” in French.

   “Dentdever”—Lit. “Worm tooth” in French.

   I got the idea for this particular “price” from a Japanese “Twilight Zone”-like T.V. show I once saw—and cannot find now! ARGH!—wherein a delivery man rides his bike along a road and spots a barber shop, he decides to go in for a shave and a haircut. When he finishes, all the barbers congratulate their senior-most member on his retirement and say goodbye to him. The barber hangs up his apron and leaves. The customer comments on how young the man looks, and wonders just why he’s retiring!

   When the customer tries to leave, he discovers that there’s nothing outside; there’s no place for him to leave /to/.

   The other barbers explain that he’s now trapped and must become a barber. Of course he’s always rebellious and trying to leave or not do work, but eventually they get to training him—sweeping the floors, then cleaning, then teaching him to cut hair, etc. Each time a new customer comes in, the senior-most member gets to ‘retire’.

   Eventually, after becoming the senior-most (there are several dozen men there!), it’s finally his turn. They congratulate him on his retirement, much to the confusion of a very bewildered customer, wondering why a man so young-looking is retiring, and he leaves. There, at the end of the walk, is his bicycle, which he’d seemingly left there, no more than 20 minutes ago. At the end of the show, he rides away, but after only a moment, he rides, desperate to get back into the barbershop again, as he’s unable to give up his routine, now. The mysterious barbershop is not there, only a hedgerow.

   The verbal components for their spells are in Proto-Indo-European, the 5,000–7,000-year-old great-great-great-grandmother of English, as well as two-thirds of the languages spoken on the planet, today. I use it—as well as mention the ‘new-fangled upstarts’, ‘the moon robes’—to illustrate that they predate the founding of the Mages of High Sorcery, and even Istar, itself.

   Note: They are not attacking, so there’s no initiative order, right now, nor strict adherance to action economy at the moment—which applies to Mery, too: i.e., she can do multiple things, unless she does attack, in which case, roll initiative.

   Note 2: Kalasääski has not actually been there with you for quite some time. They replaced him in the first real post I made in this thread, specifically, in the line: “As your eye follows his ascent he briefly disappears against the deepening purples and blues before he circles back and begins leading you in the darkness.”

   Note 3: And yes, your insight tells you that they’re lying. No, it can’t be ‘forgiven’, nor retracted. In fact, without rolling, I’ll throw in a freebie for you. Mery suddenly recalls in her historical readings, a very strange tale of no less than five lizard-folk tribes—cumulatively consisting of tens of thousands of members—that claimed they couldn’t be healed by even the gods, and all went extinct, when the very last of them died before it could move into another tribe and infect them with its ‘curse’. The tale was considered a nonsense bedtime story meant to scare children into behaving—or something of the like—passed down from time immemorial, whose source is completely forgotten.

On This Misham, the 25th Day of Brookgreen,
in the 351st Year After the Cataclysm
(Thursday, March 25, 351 AC)

★The 5th Day of the Campaign - About 8:30ish★

   When Mery turns invisible and jumps away, the old ladies hiss. When she looks up to speak to Kalasääski, what she finds instead is Bulbazard holding a half-eaten dead bird in its sharp talons, pecking away at its bloody flesh.

   “She’s not accepting the deal!” ‘Auntie Dentdever’ screeches angrily.

   When she looks back at what were the old ladies, she instead sees three horrific monstrous hags. The youngest of them takes out a staff with a human eyeball mounted atop it. The eye swivels around until it locks onto Mery. “Ah! There you are, girl!” the youngest of the three hags says, grinning.

   ‘Granny Mélanie’ pinches some talc and powdered silver from a spell component pouch, spreads it around her hand and holds it up to her eye, like a scope. She shouts, “H₁énweyddʰliem sékʷeh₂!” and turns to look right at Mery.

   “H₃migʰstos stóbʰos,” ‘Auntie Dentdever’ says, disappearing, and appearing right behind you. She places withered, bony hand on your shoulder, in a mocking gesture of comfort. “Don’t you want to give me your name? Won’t you let me go free? I’ve been here so long . . . so . . . very . . . long!”

   “Yes!” ‘Granny Mélanie’ punctuates Dentdever’s plea. “Besides, what do you care if it can be forgiven or not? Does it even matter? Just give Aunti Dentdever your name, and stay in the coven with us! We can teach you all manner of magics those insolent, new-fangled upstarts over in Istar want to try to found—the Robes of the Moon, or some-such silliness! We could teach you true magic! Just. Give. Us. Your. Name. And. Stay! Don’t be an ungrateful brat and deny poor Auntie Dentdever’s chance at freedom!”

   Handsome is snorting and stomping restlessly.

   The map of the Kalaman region in Maps & Game Information illustrates this area.

   Mélanie: French form of Melanie. From . . . the Latin name Melania, derived from Greek μέλαινα (melaina) meaning “black, dark”.

   “Cochonjarret”—Lit. “Pig knuckle” in French.

   “Dentdever”—Lit. “Worm tooth” in French.

   I got the idea for this particular “price” from a Japanese “Twilight Zone”-like T.V. show I once saw—and cannot find now! ARGH!—wherein a delivery man rides his bike along a road and spots a barber shop, he decides to go in for a shave and a haircut. When he finishes, all the barbers congratulate their senior-most member on his retirement and say goodbye to him. The barber hangs up his apron and leaves. The customer comments on how young the man looks, and wonders just why he’s retiring!

   When the customer tries to leave, he discovers that there’s nothing outside; there’s no place for him to leave /to/.

   The other barbers explain that he’s now trapped and must become a barber. Of course he’s always rebellious and trying to leave or not do work, but eventually they get to training him—sweeping the floors, then cleaning, then teaching him to cut hair, etc. Each time a new customer comes in, the senior-most member gets to ‘retire’.

   Eventually, after becoming the senior-most (there are several dozen men there!), it’s finally his turn. They congratulate him on his retirement, much to the confusion of a very bewildered customer, wondering why a man so young-looking is retiring, and he leaves. There, at the end of the walk, is his bicycle, which he’d seemingly left there, no more than 20 minutes ago. At the end of the show, he rides away, but after only a moment, he rides, desperate to get back into the barbershop again, as he’s unable to give up his routine, now. The mysterious barbershop is not there, only a hedgerow.

   The verbal components for their spells are in Proto-Indo-European, the 5,000–7,000-year-old great-great-great-grandmother of English, as well as two-thirds of the languages spoken on the planet, today. I use it—as well as mention the ‘new-fangled upstarts’, ‘the moon robes’—to illustrate that they predate the founding of the Mages of High Sorcery, and even Istar, itself.

   Note: They are not attacking, so there’s no initiative order, right now, nor strict adherance to action economy at the moment—which applies to Mery, too: i.e., she can do multiple things, unless unless she does attack, in which case, roll initiative.

   Note 2: Kalasääski has not actually been there with you for quite some time. They replaced him in the first real post I made in this thread, specifically, in the line: “As your eye follows his ascent he briefly disappears against the deepening purples and blues before he circles back and begins leading you in the darkness.”

   Note 3: And yes, your insight tells you that they’re lying. No, it can’t be ‘forgiven’, nor retracted. In fact, without rolling, I’ll throw in a freebie for you. Mery suddenly recalls in her historical readings, a very strange tale of no less than five lizard-folk tribes—cumulatively consisting of tens of thousands of members—that claimed they couldn’t be healed by even the gods, and all went extinct, when the very last of them died before it could move into another tribe and infect them with its ‘curse’. The tale was considered a nonsense bedtime story meant to scare children into behaving—or something of the like—passed down from time immemorial, whose source is completely forgotten.

On This Misham, the 25th Day of Brookgreen,
in the 351st Year After the Cataclysm
(Thursday, March 25, 351 AC)

★The 5th Day of the Campaign - About 8:30ish★

   When Mery turns invisible and jumps away, the old ladies hiss. When she looks up to speak to Kalasääski, what she finds instead is Bulbazard holding a half-eaten dead bird in its sharp talons, pecking away at its bloody flesh.

   “She’s not accepting the deal!” ‘Auntie Dentdever’ screeches angrily.

   When she looks back at what were the old ladies, she instead sees three horrific monstrous hags. The youngest of them takes out a staff with a human eyeball mounted atop it. The eye swivels around until it locks onto Mery. “Ah! There you are, girl!” the youngest of the three hags says, grinning.

   ‘Granny Mélanie’ pinches some talc and powdered silver from a spell component pouch, spreads it around her hand and holds it up to her eye, like a scope. She shouts, “H₁énweyddʰliem sékʷeh₂!” and turns to look right at Mery.

   “H₃migʰstos stóbʰos,” ‘Auntie Dentdever’ says, disappearing, and appearing right behind you. She places withered, bony hand on your shoulder, in a mocking gesture of comfort. “Don’t you want to give me your name? Won’t you let me go free? I’ve been here so long . . . so . . . very . . . long!”

   “Yes!” ‘Granny Mélanie’ punctuates Dentdever’s plea. “Besides, what do you care if it can be forgiven or not? Does it even matter? Just give Aunti Dentdever your name, and stay in the coven with us! We can teach you all manner of magics those insolent, new-fangled upstarts over in Istar want to try to found—the Robes of the Moon, or some-such silliness! We could teach you true magic! Just. Give. Us. Your. Name. And. Stay! Don’t be an ungrateful brat and deny poor Auntie Dentdever’s chance at freedom!”

   Handsome is snorting and stomping restlessly.

   The map of the Kalaman region in Maps & Game Information illustrates this area.

   Mélanie: French form of Melanie. From . . . the Latin name Melania, derived from Greek μέλαινα (melaina) meaning “black, dark”.

   “Cochonjarret”—Lit. “Pig knuckle” in French.

   “Dentdever”—Lit. “Worm tooth” in French.

   I got the idea for this particular “price” from a Japanese “Twilight Zone”-like T.V. show I once saw—and cannot find now! ARGH!—wherein a delivery man rides his bike along a road and spots a barber shop, he decides to go in for a shave and a haircut. When he finishes, all the barbers congratulate their senior-most member on his retirement and say goodbye to him. The barber hangs up his apron and leaves. The customer comments on how young the man looks, and wonders just why he’s retiring!

   When the customer tries to leave, he discovers that there’s nothing outside; there’s no place for him to leave /to/.

   The other barbers explain that he’s now trapped and must become a barber. Of course he’s always rebellious and trying to leave or not do work, but eventually they get to training him—sweeping the floors, then cleaning, then teaching him to cut hair, etc. Each time a new customer comes in, the senior-most member gets to ‘retire’.

   Eventually, after becoming the senior-most (there are several dozen men there!), it’s finally his turn. They congratulate him on his retirement, much to the confusion of a very bewildered customer, wondering why a man so young-looking is retiring, and he leaves. There, at the end of the walk, is his bicycle, which he’d seemingly left there, no more than 20 minutes ago. At the end of the show, he rides away, but after only a moment, he rides, desperate to get back into the barbershop again, as he’s unable to give up his routine, now. The mysterious barbershop is not there, only a hedgerow.

   The verbal components for their spells are in Proto-Indo-European, the 5,000–7,000-year-old great-great-great-grandmother of English, as well as two-thirds of the languages spoken on the planet, today. I use it—as well as mention the ‘new-fangled upstarts’, ‘the moon robes’—to illustrate that they predate the founding of the Mages of High Sorcery, and even Istar, itself.

   Note: They are not attackingA, so there’s no initiative order, right now, nor strict adherance to action economy at the moment—which applies to Mery, too: i.e., she can do multiple things, unless unless she does attack, in which case, roll initiative.

   Note 2: Kalasääski has not actually been there with you for quite some time. They replaced him in the first real post I made in this thread, specifically, in the line: “As your eye follows his ascent he briefly disappears against the deepening purples and blues before he circles back and begins leading you in the darkness.”

   Note 3: And yes, your insight tells you that they’re lying. No, it can’t be ‘forgiven’, nor retracted. In fact, without rolling, I’ll throw in a freebie for you. Mery suddenly recalls in her historical readings, a very strange tale of no less than five lizard-folk tribes—cumulatively consisting of tens of thousands of members—that claimed they couldn’t be healed by even the gods, and all went extinct, when the very last of them died before it could move into another tribe and infect them with its ‘curse’. The tale was considered a nonsense bedtime story meant to scare children into behaving—or something of the like—passed down from time immemorial, whose source is completely forgotten.