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Just a little arcane energy between friends
Solera was honored that Valindra asked her to help her train with the sword and was really enjoying it/. Valindra’s skill with the sword was impressive even though she used it so rarely.

Up until recently, Solera had only seen Valindra with her bow, with which her accuracy and speed were unmatched. Her arrows flew so perfectly straight it was as if they were bound to some imaginary line drawn to her target.

As with all of Winter’s Bane, Solera felt a real bond with Valindra. However, something changed that morning as they were practicing.

Advance.
Fade.
Lunge.
Pass back.
Pivot.

Then Valindra stopped. She was watching Solera with an expression she had never her previously seen her make. She could not define the expression, but she knew something had just changed between them. Something was different. That look had sparked something in Solera that had been bubbling beneath the surface. Could she be misreading Valindra’s expression?

Advance.
Pass back.
Lunge.

That last lunge led to them grappling. As they touched, a spark shot through Solera. It as like a burst of arcane energy passed between them.

Something is definitely different and Solera definitely did not misread the Valindra’s expression.
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Epic!
Hope
The camaraderie is unmistakable. For even the most casual observer, the threads weaving the six of us together are both strong and intricate. We eat together, sleep together, pray together, play together, and fight together. We heal one another, we risk life and limb for one another, and we cling to one another for warmth against the cruel, unrelenting winter. There is little we have not shared.

Of late though, a stronger weave has formed between the elves. Whereas before, time was fairly equally shared among the six of us, Valindra and Solera have recently been found paired off with increasing frequency. It seems only natural that two elves would have an affinity for each other in general, but an intimacy beyond lineage has evolved, and both, usually reticent creatures, are often caught smiling, heads bent toward one another. In the pain and chaos characterizing our existence, I cannot help but rejoice in the hope that whatever is burgeoning between them, will flourish and endure as the long winter and violent upheaval persists.
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Silver
The fire is bright tonight. Blair leans forward, polishing her dagger. A lock of hair escapes her hood, streaked with silver like gleaming metal. For a moment she can’t breathe. Is that the color of my hair? But I am young. Maybe not so young anymore. She pictures the elder clerics who trained her - powerful priests and crones with their glory behind them. Dedicated to Gwydion, no real families.

Her future suddenly spreads out before her, a bleak landscape. She thinks of the lives of other women she has met over the years: peasants, barkeeps, queens. Soft hair and skin, a man by their side and children at their feet. Blair can’t recall if she deliberately chose the solitary warrior life, punctuated occasionally with a brief tumble with a handsome man, or if the days just ticked by unnoticed, leading to this moment with strands of gray in her hair.

The fire is warm and she stretches out a hand. The unforgiving light casts shadows on the sinews and scars of her long thin arms. She is proud of these strong hands, which can wield a sword or conjure protection for her companions. But never has someone reached out in the night to grasp one, checking to make sure she is still there. If she died in battle tomorrow, Winter’s Bane would be less protected, but they would move on after a very brief period of mourning.

They say everyone dies twice, once when they take their last breath and again the last time someone speaks their name. How long before the name Blair Weala is lost to all memory?

Earlier today she noticed a tender glance pass between Solera and Valindra. She suddenly wants to cry out: Cling to each other!

Shouldn’t a deeper connection exist for everyone? Blair tips her head back so a tear will not fall onto her dagger, and pulls herself back a bit from the fire, returning the silver of her hair to the cold shadows.
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Pointer-left Me_thumb
Daniel
Posted by the GM
Skyrates
Eye of the Beholder
As the crew initially entered the rift to the Realm of Stars, Miles immediately took ill. The usual voice in his head became a feedback loop and he lost connection to his patron. After defeating the Void Dragon, the party ran for the portal but it closed before they could return to their realm. After searching around, they discovered invisible platforms that would illuminate when stepped on. A trail of steps led away from the safety of their barren island and off into the void. They followed these steps until they were ambushed by Voidlings. The party defeats them and then makes a deal with them. The Voidlings think of the parties as anomalies and themselves as defenders of such intrusions into this realm. They tell them of another such anomaly. If the party helps resolve this anomaly, they may return to their own realm. After another long walk, they reach an island with stone steps. Orbiting all around this island are creatures that look like beholders, which is this world look a bit like space jellyfish.

Miles' amulet which first triggered his connection to his patron is always rusty. He assumed it was a tentacled symbol from beneath the Nethersea, but as the rust now finally cleared, the tentacles were stalks - it was a symbol of a beholder.

The party fights their way into the temple and finds an enraged beholder. After defeating it, the beholder reveals himself to be an Observer. They watch our world through the eyes and actions of people like Miles. The party asks questions of the Observer and he answers as best he is able. They are then guaranteed a return to their realm.
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Ensnarl a Jarl
Deep in the Glacial Rift taunts hollered from our tongues wagging.

The Frost Giant Jarl, unawares, sends another beastly white dragon.

Little did he know, Winters Bane fights like crazed demons.

You see, our crew was covered in magical bear semen.

As a result, ‘twas the softheaded Jarl’s loot we started bagging.

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