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 Act 3: North Through The Foothills

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The Master
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PostSubject: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Thu Jan 26, 2017 12:37 pm

The wagon trundles gently through the snow as it falls softly around you, a mouthful of hardtack or frigid water keeping your spirits through the late-afternoon greyness.

Tall pines are dispersed around you, the dusting of white powder accumulating upon them. They reach up into the sky, shivering in the wind as you pass beneath their branches.

Ahead of the wagon, Amon, Syrillian, Coyote and Xander scout the road. They walk determinedly through the ice, boots crunching louder than any would like. Sweat beads under armor, chafing and uncomfortable.

The temperature has dropped significantly in the past hour. And visibility has worsened.

The donkey presses onward, impervious to the inclement weather. At times, the rocky terrain makes it treacherously slow going.

The Valkurian border was still a day's travel ahead.

(...)

The day stretches into night, and soon you can feel your limbs begin to weaken in the frost. The wind picks up considerably, and the blue pallor of your skin warns you of the dangers of pressing on.

Even the donkey brays now, in the dark. The cloudcover leaves precious little moonlight to guide you by...and it is evident by the howling winds that finding shelter is of the utmost importance.

Syrillian scans the way ahead, ice caking in his boots. Up ahead, he can see a narrow shelf atop a large hill, that expands into a shallow cave. It would require a small climb, but would offer a comprehensive vantage point of the area, and would be impossible to sneak upon. However, there's no way the wagon would make it up... it would need to be parked, with the donkey, at the base of the hill.

Conversely, Xander can see a thicket of woods on the west side of the rough path ahead. Brambles and pine trees create some shelter, and could hide you from dangerous parties on the road. But visibility in and out would prove difficult, and if any were to find you, you would be undoubtedly surrounded.

==================

OK guys, camping for the night. High shelf upon a hill, offering vantage and safety...however, you'll need to leave the wagon and the donkey at the base of it

The thicket would offer you greater concealment and you could be together with the wagon...however, if discovered you'd be surrounded easily.

Please make a solid decision and relate it to me. I want to move things forward tomorrow without delay

Best,

-The Master
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Thu Jan 26, 2017 10:13 pm

Amon took off down the wagon path almost the moment the decision was made, causing Santiago to have to hurry to catch up. It probably seemed rude, but it had been a deliberate act. Amon wanted to put distance between them and the rest of the group so that they could peak without being overheard. Amon walked with an arrow nocked, keeping his eyes peeled for danger. He wasn't about to let the necessity of his conversation with Coyote allow him to lose his focus. That's how people got themselves killed.

They were about 50 yards ahead of the rest of the group. Plenty of distance to be able to speak without being overheard, so long as they didn't shout. Amon looked at Coyote.

Amon kept his voice low when he spoke. "I've been trying to find a moment to speak with you since this trip started... I never figured you for a mercenary. Did you get tired of fine wine and personal chefs... Santiago?" Amon said to the man as he pulled the mask down from his face.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Fri Jan 27, 2017 11:48 am

Coyote would be perplexed at the sudden dash from the masked one. He'd grunt and follow suit. It was no issue as he was quite fleet of foot himself, but seemed unnecessary- At least, at the time being. He'd come to a steady pace beside the masked one and was about to complain about the sudden dash, but was cut off.

Coyote's eyes narrowed as the masked man said his name. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He said flatly. He remained calm and seemed he was quite practiced at claiming not to be who he was- as would be expected. Still, he didn't expect to be called out this far from his homeland.

As Amon pulled down the mask, Coyote's disposition changed. "What in the hells are -you- doing here?" He'd ask in a fairly hushed tone. "Your folks finally letting you out of the house?" He smirked.

((I don't actually know how much Coyote knows about Amon- If that's a bit too much, then I'll edit the post.))
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Fri Jan 27, 2017 12:59 pm

Syrillian had decided to walk ahead of the wagon to wake himself up. Sitting upon that rumbling seat had made him drowsy. Rubbing his eyes he noticed an outcropping ahead of the group upon a hill. The vantage point from up there would be immeasurable and would be a great place for them to rest their heads if it wasn't already inhabited.

However upon further inspection he realized that there was no safe way to bring the wagon up there. He'd be surprised if Tiberius would agree to park his wagon at the bottom with the donkey by itself.

Syrillian dropped back moving to walk beside where Tiberius sat upon the wagon. "Looks to be a shelf upon that hill over there. However I doubt we could get the wagon up which of course defeats the purpose of us bringing it." he said stretching. "I believe I saw a group of trees, can't be too sure, but perhaps we could rest there. I'll ask the others." Syrillian patted the donkey running his hand across it before heading back to talk to Everyone else.

"Seems we have a wooded area or the shelf along the hill over there. I'm not sure if everyone is in climbing condition. And the wagon would undoubtedly have to be left at the bottom. Is the wooded area okay with y'all?" Syrillian relayed this question to Rholf and to the others who were walking ahead of the wagon. Xander had confirmed what Syrillian thought he had saw, a thicket to the west ahead of them.

When walking up to coyote and the masked man he kept his distance enough not to disturb them, relaying to them the same information.
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Fri Jan 27, 2017 1:38 pm

Once Santiago recognized Amon for who he was, Amon pulled the mask back up.  No need to take chances.

"I couldn't handle my parents smothering me anymore, so I ran.  Got out in the real world and saw too much oppression and suffering to ever go back, so I carved out a living delivering karma to bad people who thought themselves beyond reproach.  Ended up getting caught up in a conspiracy and arrested by an evil Guard Captain by the name of Blackfield.  I escaped, but now I'm running from my parents who want me to come home, and Blackfield and his goons who want me dead to cover up his part in the assassination.  Incidentally, I'm going by the name of 'Flyingarrow' now to try to stay incognito.  But just because I'm on the run doesn't mean I can turn my back on my mission either.  The Jarl funding this little expedition is a terrible man, surrounded by terrible men, and I need to earn my way into his good graces to get close enough to take care of him..."

Amon turned to look at the wayward prince.  "So, 'Coyote', what brings you out here?"
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Fri Jan 27, 2017 2:14 pm

Xander paced ahead of the wagon, borrowed ashen crossbow in hand.  The cloaked figure gave Amon and The Coyote space, the two were quick to convene, the ranger setting the speed and the gun toting mustached man in tow.

As the day withered into night,a rising moon did little to light the path ahead, barely piercing the blue grey sky.

The soft braying of the ass echoed the throbbing of  Xander's feet, it was time to rest. the cloaked furry figured scanned a nearby thicket. It would serve them as a good place to camp, albeit somewhat exposed. He shook the snow from his pelt

pacing back to the wagon, Rholf, Freya and Tiberius, and motioned to the clearing.

"It's as good a place as any make camp"  the voice crackled

Xander set up upon the task of creating a fire, clapping flint into steel  sparks shot into the nestling of twigs, but not flames too purchase flame caught.

Instead the fumes poured from Xander's brow. Frusterated turned his skills to another task.

Walking around the perimeter of the makeshift encampment, Xander spread dry fallen branches in select methods of ingress,  in others he endevoured to set as many snared as he could muster.

survival 1d20 +1  (3) fail
Set trap 1d20+1 17+1 18

**  I flipped a coin to see which roll would apply to which for fairness.


Last edited by Xander Pzul on Sat Jan 28, 2017 10:26 am; edited 1 time in total
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Sat Jan 28, 2017 9:43 am

Rholf marched along the ruts left by the wagon, thankful that he didn't have to plow snow with each boot step. He reflected on the events so far. The marching through the crags, the trolls and the coincidental meeting of his companions with Tiberius and Freya. "Too soft to be in the wilds. Too much weight in their cart. A man does not need such bulky things when they are trying to sneak," he reasoned.

The barbarian saw the thicket and agreed with Xander that it was a good a place as any to camp for the night. "I agree, it should provide more cover than being out in the open atop a hill," he rumbled to Xander. "I will take third watch, in the meantime I will collect firewood. Need to build a blind to hide the light of the flames," he added. Rholf began scouring the area for tinder and firewood for the fire.

Actions:
Rholf will gather firewood, take third watch and setup his own tent wherever they decide to set camp.
Rholf votes thicket.
Survival= 7+4= 11


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Sat Jan 28, 2017 9:46 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : survival roll)
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Tiberius

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Sat Jan 28, 2017 10:16 am

Syrillian wrote:
I believe I saw a group of trees, can't be too sure, but perhaps we could rest there. I'll ask the others.

Tiberius nods and pulls the heavy furs he wears tighter up around his neck.  The bitter cold of the wind bit into every piece of exposed skin, and his face was flushed red from the assault.  "Aye, any cover from this weather will do."

He snaps the reins with his one good hand and leads Gladys to the copse of tree's Syrillian and Xander point out.  Some branches scrap against the fabric of the wagon's cover, tearing a small hole into one side.  Tiberius could hear the ripping and Freya's frustrated groan.  He turns and pulls the curtain to the side to look at Freya and the dull light of dusk slipping through the hole.  He frowned, "No problem, my lady.  I will mend the tear as soon we are camped."

He looks back to Gladys and steers her to circle the wagon facing back to the road.  "Whoa, girl."  He stops her and carefully lowers himself to the ground to free her from her harness and lead her to a patch of grass peeking up through the snow.  He uses his boot to clear some of it away so that she could eat, and then looped her rope around a nearby tree.  He returned to the wagon to fill a bowl with water and return it to Gladys.  He pets her mane a moment, reassuring her for good work.

Returning to the wagon, Tiberius climbs up into the back with Freya, and offers her a thin smile.  "This is where we will rest for the night, my lady.  The weather has turned and we cannot push through it.  I will take first watch to make sure you may sleep undisturbed in the wagon."  

He studies his lady laying among the heavy winter blankets on the floor. He looks at the tired curves of her face and into the vivid expanse beyond her eyes.  His face was painted with a tender concern for her comfort and mood.  He kneels down and reaches a hand out, daring to brush the wild hair from over her eye to drape it behind her ear.  "How are you feeling?"

She closes her eyes and hums beneath his touch. Rolling and turning away from him, her changing gown falling from her shoulder to reveal her warm smooth skin. "In desperate need of rest, Ti."

He pulls the gown to cover her, gently patting her shoulder. He then turns his attention to the tear.  He pulls the fabric together and mutters a short prayer to Tantorus.  A brilliant white light zips up the fabric, mending the tear to restore it as if it had never been torn at all.  He smiled at himself and then turned back to the wooden trunks and sacks of supplies.  "I shall make our travel companions a meal."

Tiberius emerged from the back of wagon holding a rolled leather pouch of cooking utensils, an Iron skillet, and an Iron pot.  He announced to the group, "When the fire is hot, I shall prepare us all a stew of carrots, potatoes, onions, peppers, and venison.  I have some two day old bread to soak up the broth, but few bowls or spoons.  Do any of you have cups, bowls, or spoons?"

....

Tiberius will cook, then exhaust his spells to heal himself and cast endure elements on the donkey to survive the night. Will post healing roll later.

Tiberius perception 7
Freya perception 21
Tiberius cooking 10
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Coyote

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Sun Jan 29, 2017 6:06 am

Sal smirks at Amon's story- He wasn't so different, really. They were both good- or perhaps naive- young men who decided against the suffering of their fellow men and left what they had behind. Well, almost- Amon left, then saw the suffering of his fellow men... But it'd be clear both were synpathetic towards each other.

"Well." He said, folding his arms. "I left because I was sick of it. All of it. All of Thaycia's royalty." He'd shake his head. "I don't wanna get into specifics, but I just couldn't do anything from where I was. So I left, and I'm out here to become a better man- Not a "Better", like more worthy of praise, man like the Nobles of my land think they are, but just a man with skills and experience. When I'm ready, I'm gonna go back and make things right."

He'd laugh a bit, shaking his head. "Lofty goals, I know, but a man can dream."
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Sun Jan 29, 2017 1:05 pm

[...]

The cold ground creeps frost into your bones as you sleep, the thick furs and winter clothing doing little to numb the bite of winter's touch. This thicket is full of brambles and dense conifers, and it shelters you from the whistling wind enough that a fitful night's sleep is possible.

But restful, it is not.

The moon scarcely pierces the sky above, and most of you waken throughout the night to the sound of wolves or other beasts, howling in the distance. The Croal Peaks are wild and unforgiving, and it is not lost upon you the danger of your position. Trolls and other ogroids might dominate the foothills, making passage treacherous... but the crags of the mountains and the upper peaks were home to predators and ancient beasts far more powerful and dangerous than they.

In the frigid depths of night, it is difficult to think of anything else.

[...]

Tiberius retired a half hour ago, by Rholf's infallible internal clock. The barbarian sits, swathed in furs, watching over the camp as he fights back the fog of sleep.

The long day had taken its' toll on even Rholf, who was used to the rigors of travel and combat.

To the east, where the roughshod pathway bent toward the north, he could see a small group of wolves padding along in a sliver of moonlight. They stopped, sniffing the air...but whether it was the foreign smells, or the scent of the fire, they decided to move along.

A few moments later, in a deep stare, Rholf's eyes catch suddenly upon a silhouette cresting the veil of the clouded moon. Many miles off, above the Croal Peaks, the shape of a graceful schooner races across the night sky. Her sails are full of the winds of magic, and she leaves a bluish trail behind her.

His eyes widen at the marvellous sight.

[...]

Amon sits, shrouded by the dense trees. His is the second-to-last watch, and Syrillian will be reliving him within the next ten minutes or so.

His fitful rest did little to ease his tiredness, and his bones ache for the comfort of a hearth and a bed. Still, the marksman is diligent in his surveying of the thicket that shelters his adventuring companions.

An owl flutters to the west, catching his attention. Masterfully, he does not give away his position, returning his field of vision to the area in front of him.

But what he does see sends a fresh wave of adrenaline down his spine. From the northeastern front of the thicket, he can see three figures moving swiftly through the trees towards his fellows. They are clad in black garb, and each raises a crossbow in front of them with the military presence that the Armebrost carry.

Amon prepares his shot as one of the men shouts out in common -

[Amon, I'll allow you to have an additional shot readied if you can pass a perception check DC 15]

[...]

The rest of the fellowship's eyes flash open as the booming voice of a man echoes across the darkened thicket.

[Those of you with a perception check DC15 are up, and have your weapon in your hand. Otherwise, you've just awoken]

Your vision snaps to the east, where three men have emerged from the fringe of the thicket with crossbows trained upon your camp. They are of medium height, and clearly human. Through bleary-eyes and the darkness of early morning, you can tell that they are armoured and clad in light black furs, with linen coverings over the majority of their faces.

"HOLD! DO NOT MOVE!" the man's voice decrees, as the men settle into an offensive position 20 feet away from you. Amon is right next to the southern flanker, not five feet away. He has a clear shot.

*CRACK* "AAAGH! FUCK!"

To the north, you hear one of the men cry as he falls to the ground. Clearly, he has stepped on one of Xander's traps.

The man in the center trains his crossbow across the wagon, to the rest of you, the other two following suit. Harshly, he shouts again.

"Raise a weapon against us and forfeit your life! This is Valkurian crown land, and we find you in contempt of the Duke of Valkur and the lord of Kethuna. The remainder of our cadre rides for this location as we speak, and they will surely bring a swift death to you, should you resist. You will be arrested and questioned when they arrive, under the law of Valkur."

Their crossbows glimmer in the shallow moonlight.

=======================

Ok guys, a few things.

Freya and Tiberius, you're seen because of your position in the wagon. However, the rest of you have an opportunity to remain hidden and to get the drop on these guys.

Syrillian and Rholf, a stealth check DC 18 will allow you to remain unseen and to move up to 5 feet unseen. And, of course, to have weapons in your hands.

Xander and Coyote, a stealth check DC 15 will allow you to remain unseen and to move up to 5 feet unseen. And, of course, to have weapons in your hands.

Amon, they failed their perception roll to see you. Like I said previously, with a perception check you can take not 1, but 2 actions as if you had readied your shot.

If you guys succeeded at your perception check (above) and have weapons in your hands, you can go ahead and take an turn as usual. If you failed the perception check AND the sneak check, you can take an action but the crossbowmen will attack you first as if they had readied against you.

***THE NORTHMOST STRANGER S3 has a broken ankle from one of Xander's traps.
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Sun Jan 29, 2017 2:16 pm

Amon sat up on watch, keeping his eyes peeled while he guarded his resting companions. His thoughts kept going back to his conversation with Santiago. The prince would be a valuable ally in Amon's quest if they could stick together through all this. Not to mention having someone who knows his situation would be invaluable in keeping his true identity a secret.

Amon listened to the wilds around him. The sound of wolves and other forest dwellers did not concern him, however, he was listening to the birds. Birds would be the first warning if danger were approaching. The soft hooting of owls helped put his mind at ease. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself. These cold northern climates were not doing much to impress his Summer Isle upbringing.

Amon considered the whetstone in his bag. If the night continued to be so quiet, he could sharpen his arrow heads, and be that much more prepared for the next battle, but he quickly decided against it. He was almost perfectly concealed in the shadows, and fetching the whetstone would mean moving, not to mention the noise would make his concealment useless. He sat with an arrow nocked and ready in the bow, and gazed around at the wintery night.

The quick flapping of wings. The owl's hooting stopped. The birds were flying away. Danger. Amon looked around quickly, but did not move from his place in the shadows... There! Humanoid shapes moving through the darkness. Damn, they were too close for Amon to shout a warning to the others, but one of them was walking right by Amon, completely unaware. Amon might not be able to warn the others, but if he were quick and precise, he might be able to eliminate the threats before they become a problem...

The man was all of five feet away now. Amon drew back on the bow string very, very slowly, so as not to cause the bow string to creak and possibly give away his position. One of the men shouted a threat towards his companions, but the attempt at intimidation was quickly followed by a sharp snap and scream as one of the would-be ambushers discovered one of the traps that had been laid out. That was the signal if Amon had ever heard it.

Amon let the arrow fly before quickly reaching back, drawing another, and firing that as well. The man, only a few feet away, was about to have a very bad night.
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Jan 30, 2017 8:20 am

One-Two-Three

The music was enchanting; it soared about the ball room bouncing off the fresco laden ceiling, decorating the towering buttresses in equal parts as the flowers that seemed to grow from the walls woven into thick ivy. The smell of exquisitely baked angel food cake and figs intermingled with a sensation that he was twirling.

One-Two-Three


The strings played on their metered chorus, string plucking out the very familiar imperial Waltz "valse des roses", the sound flowed like a river and he was carried away by it. He could feel his feet moving to the rhythm, carried to the tempo by a hand gripping him firmly about the waist and another placed in his palm.

One-Two-Three

His eyes traced the line from the two clasped hands to see the ornate canary dress adorning his budding bodice and rose to meet the shimmering blue gaze of the handsome Earl Marchion Robert (Row-bear). Comforted by Roberts face he nestled his own into the Earls powerful chest.

One-Two-Three


"Take me away Robert..." his voice came out soften and sweet feeling safe again.

One-Two-Three


Take me away before she ruins everything,

One-Two-Three

Quote :
"HOLD! DO NOT MOVE!"*CRACK* "AAAGH! FUCK!"

Xander woke standing at attention disoriented and groggy, enshrouded in blackness.  It was darkness deeper than any night, as it was no moonless sky but the several layers of scratch woollen blanked blocked all light

Reacting on sheer instinct and against all better sense Xander charged toward where he thought he heard the sound, while trying to get his arms free.

Xander charged through the thicket like a baguette with legs threatening to snap an ankle with every step like a stale breadstick. He felt thick brush catch his **** cocoon urging him press through with all the strength he could muster. With great effort he came bursting through the thick brush a voice sounding out with fear.

"What in the nine blazes, a wild bandersnatch!" as any man would cry out if confronted with a man sized burr, glistened in the haze of darkness and fear.

Xander launched himself in a diving tackle toward the completely justified shrieks of disbelief. Hitting the man the blanket finally came loose freeing his arms, the force of the release launching the blanket forward in enshrouding the man as it did Xander.

The emerging moth that was Xander Pzul hugged the brown trappings tight attempting to immobilize the man in his own crystalis- wrapped into a metamorphic cocoon.

Perception failed
Stealth passed
Stength check (18+3) 21 VS S2
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Tiberius

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Jan 30, 2017 11:48 am

In his sleep, Tiberius rolled over on the hard floor of the wagon. He draped his arm over Freya's body, resting a hand on her breast. He nuzzled his face into her hair and was not awoken by the noise outside.
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Jan 30, 2017 1:04 pm

Rholf's watch was as pleasant as it could, considering the harsh conditions. The weather made him ache for his homestead and a hot fire. His mind slowly wandered to other things that barbarians think about. Then he recounted the number of mountains and valleys he passed through just to arrive here. The number of commoners he crossed paths with, the hunters, the craftsmen and the fisherman.

"All are want for a life worth living. Primitive as the soft skins call it. But it is the only way to live. Take only what you need, and defend what little you have," he reflected. Soon his watch was over and he laid his weapon at his side, with the heavy end near his feet. The cold seeped into his bones as he drifted asleep. His eyes snapped awake at the sound of the voice booming voice. It was like his own, but leaner.

The barbarian slowly rolled over his weapon and crawled forward slowly while remaining low to the ground. He heard the soft crunch of weak bones breaking in the distance too. Rholf grabbed the haft of his weapon where it met the eye of the head. He listened and waited for the others to move. He dared not speak or give away his position.

"If it be true that they have others, we may remain in here and not be overwhelmed by a large number immediately," he thought.
________
Actions:
Rholf failed Perception (2), woke up at the voice.
Rholf passed Stealth (20, very sneaky barbarian) and has his weapon at the ready.
Rholf advanced 5ft and kept low and out of sight.
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Jan 30, 2017 3:16 pm

Syrillian awoke from his slumber to the barking of orders. He wondered if he had missed his shift and was being confronted. However after wiping the sleep from his eyes he realized that the scene before him was more dire.

No time to be sneaky, no time to think. Raw instinct kicked in as he surveyed his area. The wagon had not been disturbed and it was likely Tiberius either slept or hid inside. The amount of adversaries was unclear but he was sure to find out.

He watched as arrows embedded themselves into the man who had been yelling and immediately drew his daggers. "Damned dogs, have they no respect to the sleeping." He said as he ran foward attempting to bring his blades down upon the arrow impaled man.

-----------------------------
Failed perception 6

Failed sneak 2

Attacking S1

1st attack hit 18 vs AC/ second misses

Damage 9
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Jan 30, 2017 7:32 pm

-thump, thump, thump-

The rising sound of blood in your ears carried out ten seconds of tense silence, as the Valkurian's command died upon the wind.

And then.

*Slitch*

Amon's arrows rained down, coupled with the reckless charge of Xander through the clearing.

"Hells-" uttered one of the interlopers, as the arrows slid through bone and muscle into the crossbow-toting stranger, who screeched like a barn owl as his loosened fingers fired a bolt at Syrillian in panic!

(S1 vs. Syrillian, miss!)

The bolt shot over his head, going wide as he barely has time to pull up his crossbow in a desperate parry of the attacks!

(...)

Breathing hard, Xander launches himself through the air with canvas in hand, a merciless *thud* availing as he crashes into the crossbowman.

(Xander, opposed STR vs. Crossbowman...critical success (he rolled 1) )

The canvas wraps tightly around the man's face, the awkward fall into the snow pinning his crossbow beneath him.

A moments pause-

*CHINK*

"GRAAAAAAAAAGH!" -

the muffled screams beneath the fabric can mean only one thing. The crossbow has discharged into the man's stomach.

(11 damage to S2)

(...)

A pitiful mewling comes from the man to the north, who straightens himself haphazardly upon his snapped ankle.

"Shit...shit!" he shouts, stumbling backward and loosing an arrow at Xander!

(S3 vs. Xander, miss!)

The bolt goes wide, disappearing into the thick snow.


========

Bad fuckin rolls eh?

NOTE: Xander, you shouldnt have had an action this turn as you failed the perception test. However, in our private message I mistakenly told you that your action was valid. Totally my bad, and a cool action anyhow. SO, Rholf, please go ahead and take two actions this turn, as you stepped aside this round due to the perception check and thats not fair.
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Jan 30, 2017 9:35 pm

Amon was surprised and impressed with his comrades response time... A little too much in fact. They were now all but surrounding the man that Amon had just shot. Amon might be able to take another shot, but at this range there was way too high of a chance that a missed shot might find itself in one of his companions throats. Amon grumbled to himself. There was a reason he favored the bow. He was by no means a close combat fighter. He didn't even own a sword. But this close, and with allies straight across from him, there was really only one choice. Amon grabbed his dagger in his right hand, and went for an upward jab into the man's lungs.

The man jerked, at least that's what Amon told himself, causing Amon's thrust with the dagger to go wide, failing to do little more than threaten the man's shadow and leave Amon himself vulnerable to a counter attack. 'This is why I hate being up close...' Amon thought to himself.
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Jan 31, 2017 7:02 am

Rholf watched Xander charge headlong into the fray with the Valkurian curs. Without a word, the barbarian dashed into the thick woods to his left and circled about the skirmish. Adrenaline flowed through him like a river. He felt his rage swell to the surface and focused his mind.

Rholf saw the Valkurian struggle under the canvas. The man cursed his bad luck. "It will be worse," thought Rholf. He brought Mountainfall crashing down on the man!
(Attack is d20+10+2= 26) (Damage is 2d6+9= 18)

Rholf dragged Mountainfall across the body of the wounded Valkurian he smashed. He lifted his weapon and held it in both hands and trudged over to the Valkurian filth that flanked Xander. This time Rholf swiveled in place, gaining momentum for his weapon to smash into the side of the enemy!
(Attack is d20+10+2= 15) (Damage is 2d6+9= 20)
_____
Actions:
Rholf Rages while passing through the thick trees to his left.
Rholf attacks the prone Valkurian. (used stamina pool 2 pts). Hit!
Rholf moves and attacks second Valkurian. (used stamina pool 2pts). Miss!


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Tue Jan 31, 2017 7:07 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Added Roll Results, identified hit and miss.)
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Jan 31, 2017 11:30 am

Standing over the cocooned stranger, Xander softly dropped his knee into the approximate area that a man's neck would me. The guess became truth as his appendage naturally slipped into the nape between chin and chest bone.

There he would levy his full weight until the fight was out of the man.


===========

Xander attempts to choke S2 unconscious .

10 vs str?
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Jan 31, 2017 2:03 pm

Syrillian ducked as a arrow went flying overhead, stepping foward he was able to slip under the mans guard and bring a dagger into his stomach. The other missed as the man pulled to the side, Syrillian pulled his blade free and stepped back. He watched as Rholf brought his hammer done sending their adversary crumpling to the ground.

His eyes followed Rholf and decided he'd back him up on the other side. Trying his best he skirted around the back of the wagon and once the man was in range let loose a dagger at him. Not calculating his speed the dagger slipped to the left and embedded itself in the dirt. He hoped that maybe he had caught his attention enough to give The others some time.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Jan 31, 2017 7:56 pm

The flustered Valkurian to the north stumbles backward, loading his crossbow with a grimace on his face. He hobbles toward the treeline, his breath fogging before his face as he looses another bolt at Xander.

(S3 vs. Xander; Hit!
5 damage to Xander)

The bolt cuts through the assassin's armor, even as the Valkurian takes off running upon his broken ankle, to the northwest.

(S3 fleeing...)

He disappears into the treeline, snow crunching beneath his boots.

(...)

Rholf's hammer drips blood onto the snow, bits of sinew and brain caked upon the broad edge. Xander wrestles with the figure beneath him, drawing his hands around the throat of the victim...

A sudden surge of movement, and the unnerved muffled scream of the man beneath him pierce the clearing.

(S2 vs. Xander, opposed STR check on the grapple. Success)

Xander is flung backward into the snow as the man frees himself, flapping around desperately in the canvas. Blood pools beneath the fabric, crimson red on the snow.

*FLAP*

With a swift gesture, the fabric is thrown in the air, the Valkurian rolling over painfully and grabbing at his crossbow!

(S2 frees himself)

===============

OK lads, make sure you let me know your target in your post, so that Im 100% sure who youre attacking at a glance)
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Jan 31, 2017 8:50 pm

As the man in front of Amon fell, he took the opportunity to breathe to look around the battlefield. The other man that was still fighting would not be doing so for long, but the man that had found the trap with his foot had decided better of fighting injured and was trying to slip away.

Amon had no desire to be run down by a band of angry soldiers or mercenaries at some future date, so he gave chase. The woods hindered him and kept him from running at his top speed, but even slowed as he was, he was in better shape than the man with the shattered bones. Amon would catch him, and put him down, in short order.
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Jan 31, 2017 10:47 pm

Rholf watched the man squirm and free himself from the canvas. The Valkurian grabbed his crossbow. The barbarian had other ideas for the cur. Rholf reared Mountainfall back and then swung it like an inverse pendulum and brought it down on his foe!

(Attack is d20+10+2= 21 ) (Damage is 2d6+9= 16)

_____________
Actions:
Rholf Attacks S2 while Raging. Hit!


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Tue Jan 31, 2017 10:49 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Edited in Attack and Damage Rolls)
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Wed Feb 01, 2017 10:51 am

The impact of the arrow made a sickening wet thud as it slipped past fir and steel. Xander moved a gloved hand to where the arrow had lodged in the meat of his back and drew it back covered in his own blood.

He staggered, falling to a knee as his pulse started to race, his hands grew clammy and the forest around him began to spin.

In his vision black spots crept in from the edges, and he began to feel faint.

If felt like it was the first time.

Xander was jolted by a sudden spray of blood as Rholf enormous hammed smashed the man whom he has tackled flat, like it was a wet sack of tomatoes. The swath of bodily fluid sprayed, covering Xander, the warmth of the man dripping down his face.

Xander rolled back slumping onto his ass, motionless, staring into the tree's, pupils wide as the night sky, drawing each breath like the world was running short of air.

======

Xander is in shock and can take no action
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Wed Feb 01, 2017 12:46 pm

Syrillian watched as his target haphazardly shot his crossbow and attempted to make off into the treeline, behind him Syrillian saw the masked figure dart after the man. Looking back toward where Xander and Rholf had been, he saw only the muscle bound body of their berserking comrade. Looking back to the tree line he cursed under his breathe and trodded over to where Rholf stood. As he skirted around he saw Xander laying on the ground motionless.

"What happened?" Syrillian asked Rholf as he got down on one knee beginning to examine him. "Xander....Xander whats wrong?" His pleas fell short upon xanders unmoving expression. "Damned it all. Rholf!" Syrillian barked as he removed his own winter coat, he brought his head down so that his ear met xanders mouth. His breathing was shallow and strained. "Rholf, I need you to lift his legs up." Syrillian said "I need to get him off of this cold ground." He thought as he lifted xander carefully, intitally he thought the wetness from Xander's back might had been presperation; however upon removing his hand he realized it was his blood.

Syrillian bent over and found where the problem stemmed from, He had been hit with a bolt. pulling cloth from his shirt he began to try to pack the wound. He had to deal with this first before he could do anything else. he used mud as a cohesion to keep the patch sealed and began to put his winter coat under Xander. He then wrapped him up trying his best to make him comfortable. "Okay I patched the wound, we need to keep him warm and if all else fails ill have to start compressions on him." A grimace fell upon his face he rather hoped that it wouldnt come to that.

"You're gonna be okay Xander." Syrillian said as he made sure that his legs were lifted well enough.

-----------

Heal Check (21) made on Xander Treating for shock and back wound
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Tiberius

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Thu Feb 02, 2017 10:14 am

His eyes snap open, but for why he did not know.  His face is buried in raven black curly hair, and his hand rested on the soft supple curve of her chest.  He pulls his head back and gently lifts his arm.  She were still sleeping and he were careful not to wake her, else she would have words with him about his groping her.  

He leans up and looks over her resting body, studying her face.  He brushes her hair over her ear with his fingers.  Her lips and eyes twitch.  She were dreaming.  He would not disturb it.

A scream of pain snaps his attention outside.  He throws the winter blanket off his body and stands.  Pulling his winter coat from the pile of blankets, he drapes it over his body.  He grips his wooden holy symbol around his neck and mutters a short prayer to Tantorus, then moves for the back of the wagon.

He unties and pushes the curtain aside to peer out, the light of the day causing his still tired eyes to squint.  He shields them with a hand as he looks over the camp and studies the scene.  The mercenaries they now traveled with were scrambling about, weapons in hand.  The large man named Rholf stood over Syrillian, Xander, and... something.  His maul dripped blood and gore.  Tiberius's eyes focus on the two on the ground, and he can see Xander is covered in the blood that is also spread across the ground.

Tiberius jumps down from the wagon and sprints over.  "What in Tantorus' name happ-."  Close now, his eyes observe the mess of what was once a man.  His stomach flops, and he turns away from them, crouching as he begins to vomit bits of last night's fine meal into the snow.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Thu Feb 02, 2017 8:53 pm

Amon brushes through the trees like a ghost, moving nearly silently as he pursues the injured man. Breaking through a bow of pine trees, he can see the dark-cloaked Valkurian pressing forward with staggered breath.

The man looks backward, grimacing as he looses another crossbow bolt.

*CHNK*

(S3 vs. Amon, miss!)

The bolt goes wide as the bowman closes in on him....!

(...)

Rholf stands over the crumpled form of the Valkurian assailant, his lifeblood spread about the small clearing as if he had combusted. The barbarian has rent his face to the consistency of pie filling, and any that are squeamish feel their stomachs turn at the sight.

The woods are quiet. A calm in the early dawn. Before the storm.

Syrillian leans next to Xander, patching his wounds...

(Syrillian, good heal check. Xander, you can recover 2 wounds, and are fully stable)

======================

Syrillian, please make a perception check also.

Ok guys - its' clear from the words of the Valkurians that they are expecting reinforcements to this position shortly. Obviously, its' time to make some hasty decisions.

You can try backtracking south along the road. You can flee west into the deeper woods (very steep checks to keep the wagon with you). You can flee east into the mountains (steep checks to maintain the wagon). Or you can head north along the path you were following.

Amon, unless you can restrain or kill the Valkurian you're pursuing in (3) actions, he will have escaped. That's 3 combat actions; don't worry about the battle map Ive calculated it out thusly. Take those 3 actions right now if you like.

Guys, deliberation and a decision on which way youre headed for the weekend rotation please!

-The Master
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Fri Feb 03, 2017 1:15 am

Amon chased his quarry through the trees. The man wasn't making very good time on his crippled limb, but the trees and terrain weren't doing Amon any favors either. Amon made it to within 15 feet of the man, and drew down on him. He couldn't let the ambusher get away. He fired an arrow... into a tree next to the man's head. Damn. Amon decided to try a risky shot and keep the man from getting any further away, so he aimed for the man's legs to trip him up or pin him in place... and his arrow landed in the hard ground. Shit!

'Damn these cursed trees!' Amon thought to himself. Well, there was nothing for it. Amon couldn't risk another shot or the man would get too far away to continue pursuit. Amon ran through the woods, using his superior speed and the man's injured leg to quickly gain ground. Amon leapt and grabbed the man in a tackle, and attempted to restrain the man's arms.
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Freya

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Sat Feb 04, 2017 9:23 am

The bite of the cold, the low rumble of Tiberius’ voice and the swaying of the…

Freya screams out from the churning grey smoke of her soul as the shackles bite into her wrists, dried blood crusts, the metal congealing with her infected wounds. It is so dark. So dark, she isn’t sure she’s alive at all. But her father is too cruel to grant her wish of death, isn’t he? Her muddy white gown is torn open and her sweaty body has grown so thin that she swims in the lace bodice that had fit her perfectly that day. Her magic had been stolen from her blood before she was thrown in the dungeon; bottled up somewhere and tossed into the Great Sea.

Something is not right. Frost creeps in on the walls of the hot dungeon and she hears the somehow familiar crunch of snow under wheels; The familiar feel of a hand resting gently on her breast and the warm weight of a man at her side. She tries to reach above the surface, back to the wagon, back to… him… but waking life evades her.

She screams again, her voice echoing into the nothingness of the long-abandoned chambers beneath the castle. So long as she could see that one sliver of sunlight through the crack of the wall, she decided, she would scream until her voice left and resume again when it returned. On the days the guard coated her lips in small drops of water she would scream until her lungs burned and she began coughing up blood. She sags in her chains, her fragile body no longer able to stand. She had been too young, hadn’t she? A marriage at 14 wasn’t unheard of in Aulbard. Freya would have rather died than be whisked off to the North by an old man with a harem of underage brides. She wouldn’t be someone’s one of many. Not now, not ever.

She heard her mother’s screaming, calling out to her. “Wake up! Freya, Wake up!” Her mother’s voice warps into Tiberius’ and Freya tries to call back to him but she’s beneath the surface of it all. She opens her mouth to scream once more and nothing but flimsy grey moths fly out of her lips. She coughs and sputters as their wings tickle her throat. Scream after scream of bugs fill the air around her sticking to her tears and sweat.

“Wake-up! My Gods, wake up!”
She hears faintly before sinking even deeper beneath the surface of her nightmare.
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 06, 2017 11:06 am

Rholf dropped the head of Mountainfall into the snow and roughly washed the head in the snow and brought the weapon's haft to rest on his shoulder. "It would be a shame if the weak ankled Valkurian escaped. I better help Amon," he thought. "I will return in a moment, I will help Amon," he said to the others.

He left Syrillian and Xander at the camp and followed the ragged footsteps of the Valkurian through the dense thicket of trees. It was easy enough to follow, the right foot had dragged sloppily in the powdery snow. It wasn't long and Rholf arrived to see Amon had the Valkurian immobilized. "Do we kill him or ask him questions first?" he asked Amon.

____________
If Amon agrees to ask the Valkurian questions, Rholf will begin with: "Are there Valkurian reinforcements on their way? How many?" (Intimidate Roll= 5+5= 10) If the Valkurian does not comply, Rholf will smash the Valkurian's hand.

If Amon disagrees with asking the Valkurian questions, Rholf will Coup de Grace the Valkurian with Mountainfall.
_____________
Back at camp...

Rholf returned to camp and spoke with the others. "Which path do we take? Continue as normal down the road or lose the Valkurians to the East, in the mountains? I am more comfortable with being away from the common areas that are guarded. You may lose your cart Tiberius," he rumbled.
______
Rholf votes for heading East.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 06, 2017 12:46 pm

The heavy steps of Rholf crunching through the snow echo in Amons ears, as he straddles the Valkurian. Beneath him, his quarry screams, the bowman placing pressure upon his broken appendage.

"Beregosi dog!" He grits through clenched teeth.

The shadow of the barbarian looms over them, as Rholf presses his questions.

Defiantly, the man looks up from the snow. His beard is bloodied and matted with frost and spit, and he quakes slightly.

[Rholf, intimidate]

Despite the barbarians harsh tone, the Valkurian will not answer. Amon sees the faintest hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Mountainfall descends, pulverizing the man's head like a melon.

====================
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 06, 2017 9:03 pm

Amon felt a sense of satisfaction as the man's expression of arrogant contempt had barely a moment to turn into outright terror before his head exploded beneath the hammer. Amon stood, brushing the detritus of the man's skull from his cloak. Amon nodded to the barbarian.

"Thanks. I really didn't want to have to clean my knife after the torture ended..." Amon said to the big man. "We should hurry back to the others. I doubt the pathetic excuse for a man would have been quite so cocky if his reinforcements hadn't been fairly close behind. We need to move."

Amon turned and retrieved his bow from where he had dropped it in the snow and began moving back to the others, being careful not to get too far ahead and leave Rholf behind.
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Tiberius

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Wed Feb 08, 2017 1:38 pm

(Posted from mobile.)

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Glancing to the gore again, he flips the hand to cover his mouth as he gags again, looking away. He pushed himself up out of the snow and sprinted for the wagon.

He threw the curtain aside as he hurriedly climbed up and inside. The winter coat fell to the floor as he cast it off his shoulders and reached down for his heavy scale mail. Pulling it tight around his body he called out to her. "My Freya, we once again must depart with haste."

Hearing no response he turned to look down upon her sleeping form to find her skin pale and glistening with sweat. Her hair stuck to her cheek and her breathing ahallow. 'Another nightmare my sweet love?' He thought as he finished buckling down the simple, worn mail, the shoulder of it still tattered by the trolls blow. He knelt beside her and caressed the soft moist skin of her face, lifting the damp hair and draping it behind her ear. 'Every time I see you like this seems to hurt worse than the last, my wild love.,' he thinks as he leans down to touch his lips to hers. He pressed them hard into the kiss and closed them tight around her bottom lip, squeezing and pulling on it as he lifted his face to watch her. Still, she did not stir. He knitted his brows together, puzzled. Grasping her shoulder, he shook her gently. Concerned, he raised his voice as he called to her. "Wake up, Freya! Wake up!"

Her head rolled to the side from his shaking, but her eyes remained shut. Her lips quivered as iftrying to call back out to him, but she did not wake. Gently he tapped her cheek with his open hand, fuitily trying to wake her. He looked up to glance outside the back of the wagon. The voices of the others floating to his ears through the canvas cover of the wagon. They needed to leave now, of the he was certain. He looked back down at her, heaving his shoulders as he sighed. A tear formed in the corner of his eye as he lifted his hand and dropped it hard across her cheek.

Yet she still slept. He pulled her body up to his, embracing her as he screamed, "Wake up! My gods, wake up!"
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 13, 2017 3:36 pm

Syrillian sat back unsure of what to do next, they needed to start moving but he couldn't risk moving Xander in his current state. Screams erupted around him yet he couldn't bring himself to move. "Shit." He thought as he was brought back to his body.

"Agreed east may be the best option, we cant be sure how many more of them their are." Another yell from within the confines of the cart distract him. "Dammit, okay hurry we need to get moving." Syrillian moves to enter the cart to the scene within. Tiberius's plea's radiate over him as he sees Freya's unmoving body.

"Tiberius Relax!" Syrillian places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Check if she's breathing." He says as he scoots over bringing his index and middle finger up to her neck he checks for any signs of a pulse.

----------
Agreed to go to east

Heal Check 18 to check for a pulse on freya
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 13, 2017 8:06 pm

(...)

The wagon erupts from the confines of the wood, the donkey barrelling hard onto the road as the rest of you sit, cramped.

Tiberius steers her east, just in time to see a commotion lurking upon the horizon.

The day has dawned beautifully, rays of pink and golden light illuminating the freshly fallen snow through towering pines. The sky is a scorching blue, a stark contrast to the grey and ashen cover you've become accustomed to.

And yet, this picturesque vista beneath the towering Croal Peaks does little to quell your anxiety in the face of the threat looming north.

There - on the near horizon - a dozen riders tear through the snow towards you. They are garbed in black, similar to the men you have just dispatched.

And they ride with haste.

Quickly, Tiberius kicks the donkey into gear and you lurch forward, barreling into the mountainous pass.

To the north, they descend upon you... perhaps a half-mile...

And they are gaining at an impossible rate.

==============

Ok lads! No time to slow down.

Firstly, +240 XP each for the previous encounter.

I've placed everyone in the wagon, though feel free to place yourself outside of it if required. The wagon is headed dead east, into the foothills of the Croal Peaks. It is jagged, unfriendly territory gnarled by roots and boulders and rock. Traversing at a normal pace would be nigh impossible... with speed, a death sentence.

Up to two of you can make a perception check as a spotter to aid Tiberius' driving. DC15 grants him +2.

Tiberius, I've got a DC20 on your check to steer this bad-boy through the foothills without incident.

In addition, the riders are a close 1/2 mile behind you... failing that check means that you only have a minute or so to prepare for their interjection.

Oh, and Tiberius...

You could attempt to ride northeast, on the low ridge that borders a pine forest. It would be much faster...and might keep you at distance. However, failure would be a grave accident indeed.

Or, you could head east and deeper into the mountains. You may be able to lose them that way, but it is a treacherous, boulder-ridden pass that will almost surely destroy the wagon, and will take you deeper into the dangerous crevices of the Croal.

Your call!
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Feb 14, 2017 11:51 am

Rholf gripped the side of the wagon while Tiberius steered the donkey as best he could. The barbarian looked ahead of them along the path to see the best possible route to take. He looked back at the riders gaining on them, they would never outrun them unless they hid themselves well. "Damned idiots and this cart. A cart is not worth a man's life." Rholf played back Tiberius's refusal to part with the cart. He wondered if the whole lot of them would be subject to death because the man and woman had not let go.

An idea occurred to Rholf and he turned to the ranged fighters. "We should slow to get them into range of your arrows, shoot their horses. We will not outrun them in this blasted cart. Too much weight," he called out over the roar of the wagon wheels.

___________
Actions:

Rholf looks out for Tiberius to steer the cart effectively.
Roll Results: 11+5 for 16. Tiberius gains +2 to his roll.
Rholf suggests slowing the cart to shoot the rider's horses.


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Tue Feb 14, 2017 11:53 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Roll Results plus Mod)
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Wed Feb 15, 2017 12:03 pm

Syrillian clung to his seat within the cart instinctively he held two daggers at the ready. He peaked through the flaps as they swung open. There were dozens of them and they were gaining on them. He sat back as Rholf began to shout back at them about a plan he had. He looked around and knew that if they did in fact slow down they'd be within range of the men's crossbows as well.

"Well, if all else fails. You know where the pointy end goes." Syrillian gestured with his blade.
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Tiberius

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Wed Feb 15, 2017 4:02 pm

The warmth from the runes on her chest burned against him through their clothes as he held her close. He lowered her body and looked to Syrillian as he reached for her neck. He caught the man's hand by the wrist and met his eyes with a stern gaze. Their looked lasted a long moment before Tiberius let Syrillian's arm go with a nod.

He looked down at his love as Syrillian checked her pulse. His own hand floated to her chest, feeling it rise and fall with her breathing. Once again it was the heat that furrowed his brow. He had seen her runic markings before. With closed eyes he could draw them in perfect detail. Never once had he felt the hot as he traced his fingers over her smooth skin to trace them as he silently spoke their meaning in his thoughts.

With a quick glance to Syrillian and a sigh, he moved his fingers inside her robe and parted the sheer fabric to bare her chest. His intention was to carefully drape the fabric so that it kept her bust covered, but as he saw the red irritated skin around runes he didn't recognize, he threw the robe aside with little regard for modesty.

"What is this?" The question floating from lips parted by his concern. He moved his hand to trace the runes as he read them, but he instinctively recoiled it as the heat of them burned him with a sizzle. "Oh gods, Freya. What have we done?"

(Knowledge check 23)

...

Tiberius' ass hovered over the hard wood of the bench as he kept his weight on his feet. He snapped the reigns hard, "Get on with it, Glades! Yehah!"

The donkey brays in response as she strains against he harness to pull the now overweight wagon over the gnarled roots and rocks of the valley floor. Tiberius glanced to Rholf and then through the curtain to the others and his Freya in the back. He felt a prisoner at the mercy of murderers. The morning had turned to nightmare so suddenly, he had little time to absorb it or even ask questions as to what transpired. Who were the men his new mercenary companions had killed? Who were the men chasing them? Why will Freya not wake up?

He turned his head back to Gladys just as she charged past a large rock. 'Too close,' he thought as he pulled her hard to the right and watched the wheel of his wagon take aim for it...

(Handle Animal 18)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 20, 2017 10:50 am

Tiberius' jaw clamps down hard, the blow in his mouth nearly knocking him unconscious as the wagon slips down the hard slope in an icy skid.

*CRACK*

Rholf feels the impact of the wagon wheel as it cracks violently against a boulder, the sound of splitting wood crackling in your ears as the back half of the vehicle drops into the snow.

You prepare for what can only be a brutal impact.

*CRRRRRRRRRR-

The sensation of being lurched and thrown from where you sit as the wagon goes into a free-roll, is ended immediately by the echoing crack of your head colliding with-

(...)

You are cold. Snow is piled up around you, torn fabric and splintered wood angled and torn in the wreckage of the wagon. There is a horrible sound... like the braying of a dying animal.... the donkey. Certainly.

Pain and cold shoots through your exposed skin, and breath returns slowly to your body. There is a ringing in your ears, and a pounding in your head.

Tiberius looks up from the snow, his knee throbbing wickedly. Ahead, he can see Gladys in tortured form, the poor animal flailing weakly with a pitying sound. The beast's back has been broken in the crash, and it twitches unnaturally in the snow.

Syrillian's eyes crack open, his ears alerting him to the sound of hooves.

Looking up the valley, he can see their pursuants amassing at the peak. One of them shouts something that his ringing ears cannot hear -

Silence.

Then, the call comes again.

"Surrender."

-------------------------------------

OK guys, the wagon crash was brutal, and now you find yourselves half buried in the wreckage and snow. The riders are a good ways' off, and none of you have moved yet.

I need a DEX check to see how you fared in the collision, DC15. Failure means you take 2D8 damage, success means you take half damage. Make a CON check after, DC12, to halve any damage taken.

I've placed the wagon's remains in the battle map. Go ahead and place yourself anywhere in the purple square, and feel free to RP where you lay and what happened to you in the collision.
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 20, 2017 4:15 pm

Rholf watched the wagon careen toward the large rock. The barbarian's grip tightened on the rail and braced for impact. A lesser man's arm would have been torn from it's owner. Rholf's grip tore the rail from it's home when the wagon wheel slammed into the large rock. The ground became the sky, then the ground and the sky again as Rholf's body slammed and tumbled against the rocky path behind the damaged cart.

In his kaleidoscopic vision, he saw the wagon crumble and smash the donkey. Rholf's vision abruptly ended sideways, the earth and sky filled his right eye, while his left eye remained buried under snow and blood. He did not realize it yet, but his tumble after the wagon was devastating. Debris and belongings from the cart had either been smashed by, or made for fine instruments to shred Rholf's body.

The barbarian's vision blurred and then went black. Snow melted and mixed with Rholf's blood, making for a rich streak of crimson ending a large splotch like an artist would make with their brush. Rholf's eyes snapped open at the sound of the donkey still screeching in pain. The soft rumble of hooves slamming into the snow could also be heard. He wiped the snow and blood mixture from his face and he slowly rose to one knee. He found Mountainfall a few feet away.

The world spun as stars formed in his vision, giving the snow an iridescent quality. He moved to stand up, but quickly slumped back against the tree. He realized he was still clutching a piece of the rail in his hand and lazily tossed it to the side. He wiped his face again with the back of his hand and more blood came away with his bracer. "Would have been easier to walk into the mountains. Now this." His mind swam with thoughts of the man and woman. Were they dead now because they held onto the wagon? Perhaps this was their god's reward for their stubbornness.

He could only guess at a god's will, and the barbarian's thoughts left him after a voice called out for their surrender. He remained angled against the tree. He did not reply to the voice. He watched the snow from under heavy eyelids, waiting for movement.

____________
Actions:

Rholf is slumped against a tree and is a mess. (11HP/20)
Now waiting to see if anyone is dead.
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 20, 2017 4:47 pm

Amon trudged through the foothills, with his bow at the ready.  The cold snow was really beginning to sour his disposition, so he elected to alternate between scouting ahead and covering the rear rather than communicating with his companions, as he feared the snow's effect on his Summer Isle blood would lead to him being snappish.

'We could have made far better time if we left the damn wagon.'  Amon thought to himself.

It seemed like no sooner had the thought occurred to him than everything seemed to happen at once:  A creaking, shouts of surprise, a snapping, yells, and finally, the wagon tumbling and crashing to the ground below.  Amon was quick on his feet, however, even with the cold slowing his reflexes, and he was able to tumble aside to avoid the crashing wagon taking him down with it.  He tried to reach out to grab one of his comrades and spare them the fall as well, but he was too far away to be of any help.

Amon hurried quickly, but carefully, down the hillside.  It wouldn't do anyone any good for him to get himself injured falling down the hill as well.  He could see some movement, so there were at least some still alive, through the donkey was mewling his last...

"Surrender."  Came a voice from far in the distance.

"Damn."  Amon thought.  There was no way the sound of the crashing wagon had gone unnoticed, but the donkey was acting like a damn lighthouse, drawing attention straight to them.  Amon unsheathed his dagger and knelt beside the animal, quickly stabbing the blade into the animal's neck, ending its suffering, and, more importantly, silencing the beast.  At least now their pursuers would have little more than a direction to travel in, and not their exact location.  Rholf was stirring, and seemed relatively unharmed, so Amon moved to check on the others.  They would be swarmed by enemies soon, and needed to move quickly if they were to survive...
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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Feb 21, 2017 11:21 am

Those of you that lie awake can hear the slow thunder of horse hooves edging down into the valley from overhead. Through bleary eyes, you can see the Valkurians descending towards you, the riders no doubt training crossbows upon the wreckage of the wagon.

The blunt entreaty comes again, echoing down from overhead.

"Surrender or die!"

Unimaginative, perhaps. But poignant.

-------------------------

OK guys, no one has been seen moving by the riders above yet. I've adjusted their location on the battle map.

I only gave them a half move action, because many of you havent posted yet. Next rotation will be a full move regardless.

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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Feb 21, 2017 12:53 pm

A distant ringing had filled his ears he opened his eyes to a blinding light to which he held a hand up. Around him gentle waves of grass danced along to a cozy breeze. Behind him he could hear the sounds of lapping water against the cliff side. "Cliff side?" He rose and turned to see a beautiful sunset that had began its descent beneath the horizon. His eyes had adjusted and as he watched the repeating roll of the waves he heard the crash of rain. Confused he turned to his right to see that a stretch of the field had been down pouring rain the plants seemed as though they had just began to sprout.

"What the?" he said as he realized that his tiny square of land was confronted on all four sides. To his front he realized that the blinding light was the sunlight bouncing off the snow. But how was there snow? When it felt like summer behind him yet it was raining to the east and to the west he saw that the leaves on the trees had begun to turn orange and yellow and had began to fall.

"Fall, Summer, Spring, Winter." He mumbled as he turned in a circle.

"Balance." A heavenly but authoritative voice boomed. Before he could question where the voice had come from or who had spoke it rang again. "Balance, all life contains balance. such as when one is born another must be taken." Syrillians lips pursed "Wh-Who are you? Where am I?" His voice quivered "Am I?" "No." The voice had cut him off.

"No. You are not dead. Maybe bruised, but not dead. As I said all life needs balance good, evil, happiness, depression. However evil has plagued, balance must be met. Do what you do best. Ill be watching, waiting. Nonbeliever." The woman's voice had been swallowed by another noise around him. His body had begun to turn cold his back ached once again he opened his eyes.

Slowly he looked around, the wreckage had left carnage around him. somehow as he was tossed from the crash he hand landed in a pile of snow enough to brace his impact. his body had slid from the rest of the momentum and now he lay ruffled on the stone floor. "Where did you go?" he whispered.

"Surrender." The woman's voice had turned to a coarse undertone and the sound of lapping waves and beating rain had turned to the sound of crashing hooves. Syrillian winced as he retrieved a dagger and slowly stood. Besides the slight pain in his back Syrillian had faired quite well in what he could only remember as a crash. "Balance, must be balance." he said as he wiped the snow from his forehead. "The others." He thought as he shuffled. He noticed that Rholf had survived looking a bit worse for wear, Amon also seemed to have escaped the deadly clutches of the crash. But where were the others?

"Tiberius, Freya, Xander." He groaned "We need to go." He mumbled as he approached the wrecked wagon.
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Tiberius

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Tue Feb 21, 2017 4:18 pm

The wind rushed past his face, ripping tears from his eyes as he was catapulted from the seat. His feet kicked into Glady's head as she reared up, behind pulled over the edge. His body flipped, crashing on its back as he rolled into a tumble, cascading down the slope end over end. The sky then the snow tumbling over and over in his vision.

He caught a glimpse of the cart rolling, striking rocks and breaking apart. Freya flew from the splintering wood, crumpling on the ground just as the cart rolled over her. He tried to scream out, but the branch of a tree caught him in the jaw and shut him up with a sharp snap as the wood broke and pain shot through him.

Still he tumbled down, snow spraying in a cloud around him. He collapsed head first into a bank of it, buried to his waist. Just as soon as his body came to rest, the pain of the fall and the shame of the failure burned through him in a fierce wave. He struggled to pull himself out of the snow, instinctively ignoring his feelings as panic took him over.

He stood and looked around the slope, seeing Glady's braying out in agony just before Xander ended it. His eyes darted across the wreckage and followed the trail of debris and still falling rocks and sheets of loose snow. He spotted her, pressed flat into the rocks, her limbs twisted unnaturally around her.

"FREYA!" He screamed as his feet pounded into the deep snow, plowing it around his legs as he ran up to her. Everything else fell away as he focused on her, his eyes wide and burning from the cold and his tears. He dropped to her side, looking her body up and down as his hands floated helplessly over her. "Oh dear gods, what have I done?"

He looked up to the sky and yelled loud, his frustration and anger blaring throughout the valley and bouncing off the walls in echo. He turned his red face down to look at her again, and bent his body to collapse over her. Wrapping his arms around her body, he pressed his cheek against hers and closed his eyes. 'Oh, Freya. I am so sorry.'

He began to pray, 'Tantorus, my lord. I have failed you in protecting your child. Forgive me. Help me. Heal her. Wake her. Work through me.' He saw Tantorus's divine form reaching down, taking her in his hands. Tiberius leaned back, moving his hands to hover over her as her body began to float and glow with divine energy. Her legs and arms straighten, the bones snapping back into place and healing. She settles gently back down on the snow.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at her still sleeping. He moves a hand to brush over her forehead as his face frames his worry, then contorts to his anger. His head snaps to look up the slope at the descending riders, his eyes narrowing. He looks back to Syrillian, "They will run us down. Why must we not simply surrender?"

...

Tiberius Damage 3
Freya Damage 7
Freya healed for 3

HP updated on battlemap
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Wed Feb 22, 2017 10:26 am

If rolling of the wagon didn't shake Xander to his senses as it tossed him hap hazzardly through the air, the harsh inelegant impact certainly did.

Xander takes 7 dmg.

Xander continued the inertia as best he could parlaying the movement into a roll and attempted to land unseen in the brush.

The landing had re opened the gouge left by the arrow, kindly wrapped by Syrillian. blood seeped down his sign.  

Xander gathered his courage,  this was no time to bleed.
Stealth 20+
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Wed Feb 22, 2017 1:56 pm

Tiberius wrote:
"They will run us down. Why must we not simply surrender?"

"If they had any sense they would kill us outright," groaned Rholf as he lurched toward his weapon. He squeezed his hands tightly, before bending down slowly to pick up Mountainfall. He measured the forces riding towards them slowly. The barbarian surmised that they may end up killing them all anyway, whether they ran or surrendered. "No man wants to be slowed by wounded people, not in the mountains," he surmised.

Rholf sighed heavily and looked at Tiberius and his woman. "They will do things to your woman you do not want to be alive to witness," warned the barbarian. "We need to move and attempt an escape, or we can stay and you can pray to your God that they will not kill us," he concluded. He slowly started searching for his pack among the debris. If he was going to have to make a run for it, he would need it to survive.

_________
Actions:
Rholf picked up his weapon and looked for his pack.
Meanwhile, he warns Tiberius about the dangers of surrender.
If he has to choose, he will side with Syrillian and make a run for it.
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Freya

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Thu Feb 23, 2017 12:06 am

The blood that drips from Freya’s body is the only sound she’s heard in days; isolated in her cell in the interminable darkness of her own making. She sees nothing, tastes only blood, only drip… drip… drip. Her bones have begun to break under her own weight as the obsidian nights blend together, her infection worsening with each breath.

Something shifts and a chill rushes through the room. The drips turn into repetitive screams, but they do not take form.

It’s only a matter of time now that the infection has clearly driven her mad. Moments, really. She’s been comforting herself with the promise of death for weeks now. The promise of peace in the gentle caress of her ever-loving God, as he welcomes her into his Kingdom. The promise of no more drip… drip…

The drips turn into repetitive screams, but they…  “Freya! Freya!” Her eyelids widen as her frail body is shaken by frantic ice-cold hands. It’s only a matter of time.

When it happens again she recognized the kiss, not the words. Tiberius’ soft cool lips brush gently along her bloodied, boiling skin and the desperate murmur of their God’s prayers. She allows herself for a moment to imagine it but as her lips come alive with a small smile they begin to crack and bleed.

She falls limp again as the iciness of the other world beckons her forth, her mind blank as she slips under.

…..

When the guards finally come to get Freya she is no longer capable of sight, she cannot speak or comprehend. She is a body that is dead with a heart that won’t quit beating. She is vaguely aware of being fed pieces of bread and small sips of water. Time passes as she rests on a stiff bed where medicine women chant in Tantorean and apply herbs to her wounds after brutally resetting her bones themselves.

From time to time the screams come. The cold ones from the lips of Tiberius and some other distinct voices in a place where the wind won’t stop. She wonders if she’s headed where they are when she dies.

When she begins to slowly come to she finds that she’s in a carriage and still outfitted in the filthy wedding dress she’d worn whilst being imprisoned. She is carried by one of the servant men into the Great Temple where she is made to stand in front of her father and the other pure-born Tantorean men of Aulbard. Her father approaches her and speaks but she can only hear the hurried words of the cold men on the other side and so she closes her eyes to listen. They were in pain. Some were ready for battle. Some were ready to flee. Tiberius is screaming her name again.

Her father becomes enraged when she does not respond to his questioning and slaps Freya across the face. The wedding dress is ripped from her small body as he drags her naked by the hair into the sacred water to drown her; an ancient practice to cleanse the shamed father of his daughter’s sins.

He will show no mercy. Freya was meant to survive only at Tantorous’ will.

Freya doesn’t fight her father at first, her body too weak to stand on its own. She simply waits to die with a tiny smile on her face. There was sunlight reflected at the bottom of the majestic pool. She hadn’t seen sunlight since before her wedding night. How lovely, she thinks in earnest. How lovely to see sunlight one last time.

She is suddenly wracked by screams as she feels her body colliding with the world of the cold men, tumbling in the ice and crushed. Water fills her lungs as her body instinctively tries to fight back in those last moments. She hears the men of the cold shouting, too. A barn animal cries as her bones audibly crack beneath the weight of something impossibly heavy. She hears him then, calling her name. Oh, Tiberius. She begins to scream back at him but her lungs won’t oblige.

She opens her eyes and focuses on the light as her father roughly holds her under with little effort. She hears the men of Aulbard cheering and clinking glasses as they would have if she’d shown up to her wedding.

Momentary silence falls over the world of the cold men.

The light twists and swirls as the iridescent head of her God appears before her under the depths of his pools. He smiles at her the way a lover would.
He silently speaks. “Beloved, do not panic. Where do you want to go? It is so lovely where I am, would you like to come with me?”
Tiberius’ voice pierces the moment with a depth of ferocity unmatched by the most valiant of warriors. “Freya!”

“Save him!” she pleads with her God.

Tantorus laughs good-naturedly and smiles, “My job is to send you where you want to go, child. Your job is to save him.”

……

The cold air whistles through Freya’s burning lungs, frozen tears stuck to her eyes as life rushes back into her aching body.

“Ti!” she sobs weakly. “Tibeius, where are you!”
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Thu Feb 23, 2017 5:15 pm

Amon watches the others slowly get to their feet, some more groggily than others. It seemed that everyone had survived at least, which was more than could be said for the mule at his feet. Although if they did not move quickly, their fates might well make the mule seem like the lucky one...

"There is no way everyone will be able to run. After that wreck, some are lucky to even be standing. We can't out race them, and a child on his first hunt would have no trouble tracking us through this snow..." Amon told the group. "If we are to survive, our only hope is to run a short way into the woods, to make it appear as if we are trying to retreat, and set an ambush. We would be hard pressed to face them in open combat as we are now."
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Sat Feb 25, 2017 9:05 pm

Amon wrote:
"If we are to survive, our only hope is to run a short way into the woods, to make it appear as if we are trying to retreat, and set an ambush.

Rholf liked the idea of setting an ambush. It was better than dropping their weapons and being at the mercy of Valkurian scum. "We would need two of you to double back and start picking them off before they enter the treeline," suggested Rholf with a low growl. "Split their focus enough for us, use their numbers against them in the confined spaces between the trees. Should work. Ready?" asked the barbarian.

He had renewed vigor, despite being heavily wounded. He would have to make his few moments count while the ranged fighters did their part.

"Is your woman capable with blade or witchery?" Rholf asked Tiberius. "Are you prepared to fight for her life and yours?" The barbarian looked Tiberius intensely, they were running short on time, they had to move quickly.
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Tiberius

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PostSubject: Re: Act 3: North Through The Foothills   Mon Feb 27, 2017 9:53 am

Rholf wrote:
Rholf sighed heavily and looked at Tiberius and his woman. "They will do things to your woman you do not want to be alive to witness," warned the barbarian. "We need to move and attempt an escape, or we can stay and you can pray to your God that they will not kill us," he concluded.

His eyes floating from Syrillian to Rholf, they widened and he considered Rholf's suggestion.  He turned his head to look back up the hill at the threat moving towards them, brandished crossbows aimed for his love.  The fate Rholf suggests is not one he would live to see her suffer through again, no matter the cost...

Freya wrote:
The cold air whistles through Freya’s burning lungs, frozen tears stuck to her eyes as life rushes back into her aching body.

“Ti!” she sobs weakly. “Tibeius, where are you!”

His head snaps down as he pulls her up to him, embracing her cold body against him once more.  A hand moves over her head, cradling it into his shoulder.  He closes his eyes, 'Thank you, my lord.  Thank you.'  He moves his lips to her, pressing them closed over hers.  Tantorus stern visage smiles slightly in Tiberius' mind, and brings a closed fist over his heart.  A pulse of divine energy explodes from their kiss, the aura flowing through all of them, briefly warming the skin of his allies from the depth of their soul.

[All creatures within 30 feet roll 1d6 heal.]

Rholf wrote:
"Is your woman capable with blade or witchery?" Rholf asked Tiberius. "Are you prepared to fight for her life and yours?" The barbarian looked Tiberius intensely, they were running short on time, they had to move quickly.

He pulls back from their kiss, and rubs his fingers into her hair.  Would it that he could, he would hold her here for hours, warming her with his magic.  He knew well he had little time.  His voice was focused and stern. "My sweet Freya, I am here.  Fate descends upon us.  You must rise and stand with me, lest we be at its mercy once again."

He hooks his arms under hers and lifts her as he rises, snow falling away from their bodies and out of the folds in his scale mail.  Around them is the debris of their wagon, the body of their dead donkey Gladys, and their belongings spilled and scattered among the rocks and piles of snow.  The torn canvas of the wagon cover and Freya's courtesan dress flaps against the wind.  He kisses her on the forehead and looks to Rholf, nodding once.

As the move for the trees, Tiberius scoops a heavy winter blanket from the snow and drapes it over the shoulders of his love.

....

Everybody roll 1d6 heal.
*prays to the dice gods.*
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