Recent Posts

Popular tags: (See More...)
Heimkehr
Die hölzernen Dielen knarzten unter seinen Stiefeln, als er durch die, mit feinen Schnitzereien und Glaseinlassungen verzierte Tür nach draußen trat. Der frische Wind, der vom Pandlaril her an der nahen Außenmauer emporstieg, vereinte sich hier mit der tobrischen Brise, die von der Schwarzen Sichel her über das Land strich. Feiner Blütenstaub bedeckte das weiß getünchte Geländer der Veranda, als sich seine ledernen Handschuhe darum schlossen und er sich auf dem hölzernen Querbalken abstützte, um das Treiben auf der Herzöglichen Straße zu beobachten, die hier ohne sichtbaren Übergang mit der Reichsstraße gen Süden verschmolz. Der Duft der Blumen, die in voller Blüte die Töpfe vor dem Eingang des Hotels Pandlaril mit Farben und leuchtendem Leben erfüllten und sich leicht im Windhauch regten, erfüllte die Luft. Ein leichtes Schmunzeln glitt über seine Lippen, als der drehende Wind den Stallgeruch unzähliger Rinder durch das Südtor in seine Nase trug, den Paske nicht müde wurde zu jeder Gelegenheit zu erwähnen. Er störte ihn nicht, ebenso wenig wie der beißende Geruch des billigen Knasters, den der blonde, sommersprossige Bursche an einen der Stützpfeiler gelehnt, nur wenige Schritt von ihm entfernt schmauchte.

Die Glieder seines meisterhaft gearbeiteten Toschkril-Kettenhemds klimperten leise, als er sich streckte und mit langsamen Drehbewegungen seines Kopfes seinen Nacken lockerte. Zum ersten Mal seit langer Zeit hatte er wieder den weißen Wappenrock angelegt und über seiner Brust spannte sich umrahmt von einem gleichfarbigen Schild der schwarze stürzende Falke, der mit angelegten Flügeln und vorwärtsgeworfenen Krallen nach unsichtbarer Beute griff. Er hatte die Farben seines Hauses lange nicht getragen. In der Wildermark … außerhalb Weidens maß man Ihnen wenig Bedeutung bei und er war auch schon Rittern begegnet, die sein Wappen nicht erkannt hatten. Es fehlte die goldene Borte mit den goldenen Kugeln, die heraldische Abbildung des Orden vom Blute, die Ardariel ums Wappen trug und hier auch am Tor, das zur Südstadt führte, nur träge im Wind bebte. Er selbst führte das unverfälschte urtümliche Wappen der Nordfalks, dass sein Vater selbst fast ausschließlich auf Turnieren getragen hatte, die er aufgrund der unruhigen Zeiten, auf die sich sein Wirken beschränkte, nur selten besucht hatte. Der Kampf gegen die Answinisten, die Schwarzpelze und das Jahr des Feuers, ein Leben im Schatten der vielen Konflikte … das er aber, wann immer seine Pflichten es ihm erlaubten in der alten Feste über Moosgrund bei seiner Schwester und ihm verbracht hatte.

Er sah zwei schmutzigen Gestalten mit dreckverkrusteten Stiefeln und staubigen Gesichtern dabei zu, wie sie ihre Pferde an den schweren Messingringen am Brunnen neben der Straße vertäuten und sich gestenreich unterhielten. Der Mann, ein schlacksiger, fast hager zu nennender Kerl mit dunklen, schulterlangen Haaren und einem nicht ganz gleichmäßig seine dreckstarrenden Wangen bedeckenden Bart zog die Handschuhe von den Händen und klopfte sie an seiner abgewetzten Wildlederhose ab. Zeitgleich entrang sich ein grobes, aber deshalb nicht weniger aufrichtiges Lachen seiner Brust, während seine Begleiterin mit den blonden, von der Sonne ausgebleichten Haaren und der niedlichen Stupsnase mit fröhlich glitzernden Augen eine Geschichte, eine Zote, einen Witz, was er alles von hieraus nicht hören konnte zum Besten gab, während sie zeitgleich einen Eimer aus dem Brunnen nach oben zog. Er betrachtete sie nachdenklich. Abgenutzte Lederkluft, breitkrempige Strohhüte, die sie auf den langen Ritten vor dem zunehmend durchdringenderen Blick von Praios flammendem Auge schützten.

Handbeile in Axtgehängen an den Satteln der Pferde und schwere Dolche an den Gürteln. Die Packtaschen aufgebläht, ausgebeult von allem, was man auf einer tagelangen, ja wochenlangen Reise so brauchen konnte. Am Sattelknauf des Pferdes des Mannes baumelte noch der frisch erlegte Hase, den er wohl noch auf dem Weg in die Stadt geschossen hatte. Ein hartes, unerbittliches Leben … das hatten die Stimmen in den Absteigen, den Kneipen der Viehtreiber immer verkündet, die meisten davon gehörten aber den Rinderhirten selbst. Ein freies Leben? Nein, eher die Weite des Weidener Landes vor sich und dennoch die Gewissheit die kühle Kette zu spüren, an der die Rinderbarone sie an die Herden und ihren Zug fesselten. Was nützte die Freiheit, die ein Pferderücken versprach, wenn man sie nicht auskosten konnte … sich nicht überall hinwenden und reiten konnte, wohin Aves einen lockte? Seine Mundwinkel krümmten sich zu einem schiefen Lächeln, auch er hatte seine Freiheit, das größte Geschenk seiner Entscheidung gegen den Werdegang eines Weidener Ritters eingetauscht … abgegeben, ja vielleicht besser … eingeschränkt. Gegen Zweimühlen.

Eine Entscheidung, die er nicht bereuen konnte, ganz gleich wie sehr er es versuchte. Auch gemessen an dem, dass sie alle einen Preis dafür bezahlt hatten. Nichts war umsonst, aber wenig fühlte sich besser an als die Erkenntnis um das, was sie taten. Für die Kaiserin … das Reich … und für die Menschen. Die Wildermark.

Und jetzt, hier, an diesem Ort schien es, als hätte Satinav diesen Ort auf seinen Reisen übersehen, vielleicht gar gemieden. Etwas von dem erhalten, was sich seit einem Dutzend Götterläufe unberührt vor der Schwelle des Hotels Pandlarin ausbreitete. Ganz so als würde die Zeit stillstehen. Eine Reise in seine Vergangenheit. Lediglich der Blickpunkt hatte sich geändert. Damals war er ein Teil Balihos gewesen … heute kehrte er zurück als Reisender. Doch die Menschen, die sich hier über die Hauptstraße drängten, schien es nicht im Geringsten zu stören. Er war nur ein kleines Rad in diesem Mühlwerk und solange er nicht zum Grund wurde, warum das Räderwerk in Stocken und Rattern geriet, war er einer von ihnen. Das liebte er an Weiden. Paske schob sich an ihm vorbei, seine Satteltaschen geschultert und pfiff leise ein fröhliches Liedchen, während er auf den Stall zuhielt, in dem Grimmerich und die anderen standen. Esra folgte ihm in ihrer bunten, an den Ärmeln hochgekrempelten Robe und vereinzelte Wortfetzen ihres Tuschelns wehten zu ihm herüber, die sich allerdings im Gemurmel und Lärmen der Gassen verloren. Es war an der Zeit. Er stemmte sich hoch, schritt zur Tür und griff um den Rahmen herum nach den Packtaschen, seinem in Leder eingeschlagenen Zweihänder und wuchtete die schweren Beutel vom knarzenden Boden hoch. Sie waren auf dem Weg. Nach Hause. Zu dem Ort, an dem er das Licht Deres erblickt hatte.

Zu dem Ort, den er damals ein Knirps in Leder und Leinen im Sattel vor seinem Vater sitzend verlassen hatte. Und zu dem er jetzt unter dem Banner Zweimühlens wieder zurückkehrte.
Session: Wind in den Weiden - Moosgrund - Monday, Jun 11 2018 from 2:00 PM to 5:30 PM
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Tags: Background
Epic!
Just got here
Hey, what's up with all you crazy dudes?
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Pointer-left Skyryderavatar_thumb
Eric
Posted by the GM
Campaign For Dummies
Haven't Posted anything in a while
Here is a new post. One that has been posted several months after the initial post.
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Pointer-left Dm_thumb
Bragi
Posted by the GM
Deadly Quests
31st Session Summary - part 1
The Feast of Winter - The Year of Shadows 1358 DR

Xaehyd and Sevrin find themselves in a small cave with opens upon a vast mountainous landscape. A dome of crackling blue energy can be seen half of a mile away. They are soon greeted by Elara and the others who accompany them through the teleport circle and in to the city of Evereska.

Xzar, excited to see his friends eagerly shows them the powers of the mythal. Sevrin attunes to the Everskan Mythal and is soon flying along with Xzar. Elara then conveys to the group that she is giving a speech at the temple of Labelas Enoreth. She hands out several program guides that she has collected which detail the various activities that are occurring to celebrate the holiday.

Wyatt, Sevrin, Nix, and Xaehyd accompany Elara to the temple while Roslyn, Pickle, Jarna, and Sevrin make their way to the Hall of the High Hunt.

The Temple of Labelas Enoreth

The group heading to the temple cross a bridge over the Singing Waters river and emerge upon a stand of enormous weirwood trees. Similar in appearance to giant oak trees, weirwoods are branchless at their bases with tops that expand outward like an umbrella. They begin to hear conversations which appear to originate from the trees above them and as they turn their gazes skyward, the temple of Labelas Enoreth built amidst the branches of the mighty weirwoods is revealed. A complex series of rooms are connected via vine bridges with appear to have been grown from the branches of the trees themselves. Elves can be seen walking from structure to structure. A few other elves are standing at the base of the central tree and upon closer inspection they realize that the tree is mostly hollow. An opening in to the tree holds a spiral staircase serving as an access point to the temple itself.

They proceed to make their way in to the central chapel where the last rays of sunlight streamed in through stained glass windows and reflected upon the polished wood floor. A massive golden sundial inlaid in the floor is bathed in the colorful hues of the dying light. The front half of the chapel is in the form of a hollowed out bowl with descending semi-circular rows of seating. The back half of the chapel is a stage which appears to levitate in mid-air. Upon the stage stands Elara accompanied by several elves dressed in light-gray robes of wispy, gossamer construction, which shine with deep reds, purples, and oranges where touched by the sunlight. Around their necks they wear semi-circular golden disks carved to resemble the setting sun. Wyatt, Sevrin, Nix and Xaehyd all choose to sit in the audience as the event commences.

Elara pauses before starting her speech and looks around the room. Her gaze wanders across the rows of seated elves, up the ceiling, and out towards the windows, an uncomfortable silence follows before she begins speaking:

"Hello Quessir, animals, trees, and all other intelligent life forms," Elara smiles and the faces of the robed figures standing near Elara take on a bemused look.

"As you know, my friends and I have been wandering across this beautiful land of ours... I do have a suggestion, you should let your trees grow wild. Don't try to manipulate them." Elara jumps a little as she is nudged by one of the robed figures.

"As I was saying, we've been searching for the menhir circles. Oh let me back up. We were contacted by Labelas in the Sunglade. He's in a dark place right now, but not to worry, I have complete confidence that we'll be able to bring him back. Well not to bring him back here but, you know, to bring him back to his home. It's only natural for us to have homes. I miss my home. Maybe I'll go back there." Elara's speech abruptly stops as she day dreams about her homeland.


"I've spoken to the Seldarine on Evermeet and they've told me that there are eight circles, the sunglade, obviously, then the mirrorglade. Oh yes, speaking of the Llewyrr elves, we have copies of some of their artifacts that Labelas said we could borrow. Not to worry, they've all been returned. There arn't any Llewyrr elves here, are there?" Elara looks around nervously.

"Where was I? Oh yes, the glades. There's also the Coralglade under the sea. I haven't been there personally but I hear there's a lovely little Nixie society which lives there. And of course there's the Dreamglade." One of the priests whispers something in to her ear before she continues.

"Right. There are still four glades left to find. The Wyllowglade, the Sandglade, the Frostglade, and the Bloodglade. The Wyllowglade sounds quite nice doesn't it! Once we find these glades then everything should be back to normal. Right?" The priest again whispers something to Elara.

"Oh, I should introduce my friends." Elara points out Wyatt, Sevrin, Nix and Xaehyd, increasing their recognition throughout the city.

"Someone has started a rumor that we're the Fellowship of the Circle. I guess that's a good name. I don't know. Maybe we should be the fellowship of the semi-circle, since, you know, Labelas. If you have any questions someone will be around and happy to answer them. Thank you."

Elara finished speaking and those who had purchased VIP badges were invited to stay and speak with the members of the fellowship. Sevrin spoke with Leokas Galeen, a half-elf from the village of Relkath's Foot. He invited the fellowship to stop in the village and receive a gift on their behalf. Meanwhile...

The Hall of the High Hunt

Roslyn, Pickle, Jarna, and Sevrin arrive at the base of a great open air pavilion encircled by a tightly packed colonnade of ancient shadowtop trees. The grove of trees extends outwards creating narrow, spoke-like paths which lead away from the pavilion. At the center of the pavilion is a melodic fountain of silver waters whose beauty is both captivating and soothing. The air within the pavilion smells of moss and sweet water. The shadowtops form two concentric rings around the pavilion. Each tree has been carefully grown to form one or more natural hollows within its trunk at various elevations, and looking up you see, vine rope bridges threaded through each tightly packed grove to connect the chambers in the heart of each tree. At ground level, roots, rocks, earth, and plants are woven into near impregnable defensive fortifications. Earthen chambers are hewn from the dirt beneath the grove, nestled among the tightly woven root structures.

A small line of elves had formed near the fountain in front of a broad-shouldered, young, muscular, elven woman who appeared to be handing out something.

Jarna's presence in the line with her newly acquired antlered helmet caused some distress to the other elves in the line and the group quickly made their way to the front. Jarna attempted speaking to elven lady but she only spoke elvish so Roslyn acted as interpreter. The group was offered a series of challenges which could be entered for 1 gold per challenge. During the translation, Jarna thought that there was a bone crushing challenge but it was actually a bone carving challenge.

Roslyn, Sevrin, and Jarna entered the archery competition, Jarna entered the axe throwing competition, and both Roslyn and Jarna entered the "bone crushing" competition. Roslyn was the only one to win a prize, a token, for 1st place in bone carving.

Roslyn, Nix, and Xaehyd all attended the Mystic Rites of the Luminous Cloud during deepnight while the others returned to the Leeke Towers.

Mystic Rites of the Luminous Cloud

A large crowd of elves has gathered on a hill just across the river from the Soaring Towers. A stone circle surrounds the crown of the hill with a serene wind-instrument ballad that can be heard drifting across the landscape. A crisp mild air circulates gently within the mythal as it brushed across their face and arms. Several of the elves have already entered in to a deep meditative state when the group arrives and they catch the faintest hint of jasmine perfume from a nearby participant. In the center of the circle, leading the ceremony, is a feminine elf with long blue hair that has been pulled back from her rounded face, small dark blue gemstone earrings which match the color of her eyes, a silvery-white diaphanous gown and a silver lace sash. She begins speaking in elvish.

"Blessed Sehanine let the mystery of the moonlight be revealed tonight."

A clear bell rings out across the city and silence unfolds like a curtain in the night. The ever-present glow of lantern light from the city dim enhancing the elves darkvision. The glow from the mythal itself vanishes to reveal moonlight which aligns with the capstone arch of the circle. Looking up, the clear night sky reveals a tail-shaped constellation of heavenly bodes, known as the tears of Selûne, that trail behind the moon itself. The moonlight appears to form a pale mantle upon the shoulders of every elf present. Cold air begins to settle on the hilltop as Roslyn closes her eyes and her consciousness is overtaken by a memory.

As her consciousness returns to the present a nimbus of light begins to rise up in to the sky and dart across the heavens before returning back in to the circle and sinking in to the earth. Silence. The glow from the mythal and the city lights return. The voices of the followers of Sehanine crescendo in to song, instruments begin playing, and elves start dancing as the festival concludes.

Well after midnight the remainder of the group arrives back to the inn, the Leeke Towers, where they are met by the smiling face of the inn-keeper.

"Welcome back. Don't worry we have around the clock service here to cater to your every fetish. I'll be going to bed now. I suggest you do the same." He moves towards the front entrance, locks the door, and dims the lantern on the front desk before heading in to a door behind the desk.

1st Nightal - The Year of Shadows 1358 DR

Waking late from the previous night's activities the group proceeds downstairs for breakfast. Elara looks at the group and begins to speak

"So, if you don't mind I think it's best to only perform one circle invocation per day. I'm tired of everyone getting lost and I know we can avoid that by using them less. It might delay us a day or two but there could be worse places to have to spend an extra day."

Everyone agrees and Elara uses the circle to take Sevrin and Xaehyd to the Sunglade.

2nd Nightal

Elara uses the circle to take Jarna to the Moonshae while Wyatt, Roslyn, Nix, and Xzar remain in Evereska.

Session: Chapter 5: Evereska - Sunday, Jun 10 2018 from 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Epic × 2!
Retirement?
Mirilda stared in the mirror. The image staring back was her, but not her. The dark hair and eyes were hers, but the greenish tint to her skin was replace by a creamy, fair complexion. Her tusks were replaced with smooth even teeth. She was not beautiful by most standards but Mirilda was mesmerized by the reflection. The image in the mirror was fully human, not a sign of orc remained. This is what Mirilda had always thought she wanted.

But, she was not Mirilda Warbane, the half-orc anymore. She was Mirilda Warbane of the Unchained. The people at First Light still stared at her, but not because of greenish tint or tusks, but because of her reputation. The children of First Light did not sneer at her like the children of her youth, they pretended to be her when they played. They did not see a half-breed, they saw a hero.

Yes, Mirilda had always dreamed of being human. She knew this place was offering her the chance. The reflection was its way of showing her she could have this. In her youth, when she was Mirilda Warbane, the half-orc, she would have eagerly grasped at this chance even at the cost of her soul. But she was Mirilda Warbane of the Unchained now and she would not give that up for anything.
Viewable by: Public
0 comments