The Shattered Soul

[Silanon]

This is where our story will take place - eventually. For now, there's only the void of nothingness waiting...

 

[Silanon]

Chapter One: The Bird


Nothing ever happens in the Barony of Roots.

That's what the people say. History shows that they have a point. When its lords declared the barony's independence from the southern realms, not a single life was lost for it. Shortly after, the Duke's army under Hydra's command marched eastwards, but did not quite reach Roots' borders. And ever since then, the peace continues, and the barony prospers. To the west, the Duke's domain has become eerily quiet, its old dreams of conquest seemingly forgotten. In the north, ratfolk and orcs regularly fail to break through the dwarven fortresses, but that's far away. The south is a place of law and order, first under dwarven, then under the church of Abadar's control. Nothing bad comes from there, surely. And to the east, tribes and mercenaries keep their fighting away from the barony's green lands, both dependent on its trade routes to keep their squabbles going.

Your time in Westport has not been an exception to the rule. There have been birth and death. Agreements and disputes. Anger and sorrow. Riches and poverty. Thievery, and generosity. After all, there are people living in Roots, and these things happen where people live. But the uncontrolled excitement of other places, the threats and dangers that you might know from elsewhere - they are mostly absent. In Roots, even attempted burglary can turn into a pleasant conversation. People here like to live in peace, and are quick to find compromises to preserve it. And no one represents that better than your host, Lord Jordenin Whitefeather.



This, however - is not his beloved Westport. Nor is it the Roots you have grown familiar with. This is... different.


You are on your own. Around you, there is nothing but fog. Gleaming from within. White and cold, and thick enough to let you barely see your fingertips when you stretch out your arm. It covers the muddy ground. It obscures the sky. It barely moves despite the steady, icy breeze you're facing head-on. Indeed, the fog seems to have a mind of its own, sometimes. Moving against the wind. Swirling in place for no apparent reason. Watching. Yes, that's right. There are no eyes. No forms. Nothing. And yet, there's that undeniable feeling of being watched - no, of being examined. Assessed.

You do not know how you came here. Only that you came prepared, carrying everything you would bring to a long road trip. You do not know why you came here, only that there is a purpose. You do not know where this place is, only that it is... elsewhere. It feels different from every place you have been to before. From every place you have ever heard of. And yet, somehow, you are here. There is a sense of direction. Turning right would lead you closer towards... somewhere.

You can see nothing but the fog - no living being, no other shapes. Indeed, there is no light, other than the fog's shine.You can feel nothing but its coldness, and the even colder wind. You can hear no sounds, other than your own movements, and even those appear muffled. The air tastes sweeter than it ever should, with a hint of... cinnamon? And its scent... it carries the same sweetness, with a whiff of rot.



Facing the unknown, and on your own - what do you do?

Captain Hesperus Purr jaydude Kaerri Psychie Sherwood

Spoiler: ooc

Let's be a bit more precise - you're free to do anything that comes to mind and takes about as long as a full-round action, for now.

To avoid the problematic rule of 'never split the party', we'll just start with a split-up party right away - every character is alone, as of now. Makes it easier for me to take them out one by one.

 

[Purr]

Dreamy's feels no fear as the fog thickens about her. She tries not to let this chill bother her, for she is used to dark and cold places far beneath the ceaseless ocean waves of her beloved home of Twilight Reaches. But wherever she is, she feels she is not there now.

Dreamy of Desna stays completely still, all senses aware. What kind of cinnamon? Her mind asks. What kind of rot? Rot implied something was dead. That brings up the hair on the back of her lovely neck. She mouths a silent prayer to Desna, singing it on the inside where her great heart beats:

"As we flooow down life's riiivers...
I see the stars glow one by one...
All angels of the magic constellation...
...Be singing us nooow."

While the traveler in her is excited to be somewhere new, Dreamy calls upon her ability to Sense Evil. "Looking through Desna's eyes, feeling with Desna's wisdom," she calls it. She senses all around her - especially to her right.

Her armored hands slowly slip the round wooden shield from her shoulder. Quietly she pulls the mirror-keen Elven Wave Slicer from its starry sheath. "Moonwise and Shimmer, be with me now," she murmurs as she steels herself.

She listens to what Desna's power reveals to her before she takes a single step. She feels as wary and ready to fight as a Sea Lioness with her claws and fangs bared. But if there is indeed evil present, she looks and listens in its direction...

...and strongly thinks to head toward it. But if there is none, then she cautiously turns to her right and slowly treads on to whatever fate awaits her.

 

[Sherwood]

Aysik is puzzled, and feeling more than a bit cautious right now. He shakes his head, as if that would clear away some of the fog that he's feeling in his skull, but with little success. The fog is everywhere, with no features or sounds to tell direction or distance to anything. His hands go to the greatsword that is on his back, and the warrior bares his steel, listening to the muffled sound of metal on metal as the blade comes free and rests easily in his hand. At least I have my sword and armor. That's something going for me, at least.

He pauses and lets his senses try to find something to give him a clue as to what is going on here, a direction to go in, something to guide him. Is he alone here? Where is 'here', anyways? What is this place that he's in?

 

[Psychie]

Amber crouches down to one knee as she yanks one of her daggers from the sheath on her belt. What is this? How did she get here? Where is here, and where are the others? A bit of panic tries to rise up inside of her, but she swallows hard to push it back down and keep her wits about her. She briefly considers calling out, but at this moment decides against it. Who knows what else might be here with her that she can't see in this cursed mist!

Rising up slowly, the nimble thief takes a hesitant step towards the right, towards the feeling of something out there in all this whatever-it-is that has her turning about in confusion. If nothing bad happens, she tries another, until she is slowly walking along.

 

[Kaerri]

Fijit stares back at the watching-thingy in the fog. Not having something to stare at might make this seem problematical, but she's a problem-solver. So she revolves in place, staring up and down all the while until she's covered her (extremely limited) visual range. The turning also leaves her with the impression that there is something, some place, or someone, at some unknown distance to her right, or at least what was her right before she started. She checks her footprints to be sure. Yes. To the right. Well then, that's where she will go. But first, she digs out her cloak and wraps it close. It's cold here, and the fog makes it wet, which makes it colder. As she starts to walk, she raises her head to sniff at the chilly air, trying to identify the scents it carries. Is that really cinnamon? Or allspice or even nutmeg? And why is the air sweet? If she'd just come from the coast to wherever this was, then maybe it would only seem sweet by contrast to the sea's brine. But Roots was landlocked so that can't be it. Still, it could indicate large amounts of fresh water nearby (other than all the water in the air, of course, which was probably sourced from said large amounts and therefore reflected the properties of it, hence the smell and taste.) And the rot -- was that the rot of dead animals, or dead plants, or dead water? Was she near a swamp, or just a corpse? These and thoughts like them occupy her mind, while her hands sort through the reagents in her belt pouches. There was entirely too much fog here, and if anything tried to sneak up and attack, she wants to be ready to give it a surprise.

Spoiler: OOC

Fijit wants to roll Knowledge (Nature), Profession (Cook), and/or Craft (Alchemy), if applicable, to try to determine what she's smelling.

 

[Psychie]

Making my Perception roll at a +3

Total of 15

 

[Sherwood]

Roll for Aysik. No bonus; just a straight die roll.

 

[jaydude]

Chapter One: The Bird


Nothing ever happens in the Barony of Roots.

That's what the people say. History shows that they have a point. When its lords declared the barony's independence from the southern realms, not a single life was lost for it. Shortly after, the Duke's army under Hydra's command marched eastwards, but did not quite reach Roots' borders. And ever since then, the peace continues, and the barony prospers. To the west, the Duke's domain has become eerily quiet, its old dreams of conquest seemingly forgotten. In the north, ratfolk and orcs regularly fail to break through the dwarven fortresses, but that's far away. The south is a place of law and order, first under dwarven, then under the church of Abadar's control. Nothing bad comes from there, surely. And to the east, tribes and mercenaries keep their fighting away from the barony's green lands, both dependent on its trade routes to keep their squabbles going.

Your time in Westport has not been an exception to the rule. There have been birth and death. Agreements and disputes. Anger and sorrow. Riches and poverty. Thievery, and generosity. After all, there are people living in Roots, and these things happen where people live. But the uncontrolled excitement of other places, the threats and dangers that you might know from elsewhere - they are mostly absent. In Roots, even attempted burglary can turn into a pleasant conversation. People here like to live in peace, and are quick to find compromises to preserve it. And no one represents that better than your host, Lord Jordenin Whitefeather.

This, however - is not his beloved Westport. Nor is it the Roots you have grown familiar with. This is... different.

You are on your own. Around you, there is nothing but fog. Gleaming from within. White and cold, and thick enough to let you barely see your fingertips when you stretch out your arm. It covers the muddy ground. It obscures the sky. It barely moves despite the steady, icy breeze you're facing head-on. Indeed, the fog seems to have a mind of its own, sometimes. Moving against the wind. Swirling in place for no apparent reason. Watching. Yes, that's right. There are no eyes. No forms. Nothing. And yet, there's that undeniable feeling of being watched - no, of being examined. Assessed.

You do not know how you came here. Only that you came prepared, carrying everything you would bring to a long road trip. You do not know why you came here, only that there is a purpose. You do not know where this place is, only that it is... elsewhere. It feels different from every place you have been to before. From every place you have ever heard of. And yet, somehow, you are here. There is a sense of direction. Turning right would lead you closer towards... somewhere.

You can see nothing but the fog - no living being, no other shapes. Indeed, there is no light, other than the fog's shine.You can feel nothing but its coldness, and the even colder wind. You can hear no sounds, other than your own movements, and even those appear muffled. The air tastes sweeter than it ever should, with a hint of... cinnamon? And its scent... it carries the same sweetness, with a whiff of rot.

Facing the unknown, and on your own - what do you do?

"How in the world did I get dragged into this mess?" Rodrik muttered to himself as he wandered through the fog, his crossbow loaded and in his hands, his eyes and ears seeking any sign that he wasn't alone here. So far, he had found nothing.

 

[Captain Hesperus]

Thomas paused and looked around him, cautiously. He had left the Hendricks farmstead, well Old Man Hendricks' farmstead now that his wife had finally shuffled off her mortal coil, and had planned on visiting Goodwife Meldreth's home two miles along the old highroad to see how far along she was with her sixth child when this dense fog had fallen from a bright clear sky. It felt ominous, close and full of portents. That was the fanciful language some of his colleagues back at the seminary would have used had they been faced with this situation. Thomas was, however, more pragmatic.
"A phantom fog fallen from nowhere. Strange odors, both spicy and rotten, to the nose and the palate. A cold wind sprung up from Pharasma-knows-where. This is no natural phenomena.", he sighed, as he calmly unhitched the aspergilium from his belt loop and brought his shield, that had been placed in his quarters at the Manor but now hung from the straps across his shoulders, to bear.
He thought deeply and carefully. He was armed and armored, even though he'd not brought his armor and weapons on what amounted to a clerical visitation. His pack was settled on his back and, by the way it bore down on his shoulders, it was filled with his provisions. He mused whether the magic that had brought this situation to pass had also carefully folded his clerical vestments and placed them in the bottom of his pack. He shook the idle thought away and addressed the fog around him in a calm, friendly tone.
"I sense your attention upon me, neighbor, and I bid you come forth and reveal yourself. This chicanery is unnecessary. If you wish to test my measure, approach and speak. Or, if your intent is more malign, draw steel and let's have at it. I have little time for such foolishness as this."

To reinforce his own intent, Thomas' hands worked arcane movements and his mouth gave voice to a prayer to Pharasma, resulting in him casting Detect Magic in the direction he felt his concealed observer strongest.

 

[Silanon]

Spoiler: Rolls

Concentration check for Dreamy: The roll's a three, so 3+2(cha)=5
Cooking check for Fijit: Rolled an eight, so 8+4=12
Perception check for Rodrik: Rolled a 14, so 14+6=20

Purr The attempt to look through Desna's eyes does reveal a peril that might be more concerning than an evil aura - indeed, when Dreamy tries to call forth the familiar power, it seems... distant. Faint. And if the strength it offers usually resembles a roaring river, it is little more than a trickle now. Simply too little to reveal anything about the fog around her. At least in the way that she intended - since as soon as she reaches out for Desna's aid, the fog's movements seem more agitated, though not less confusing than before. And that feeling of being watched... it is amplified tenfold, as if the attempt alone demands the attention of... something. Or someone.

Sherwood As Aysik musters his surrounding in hope for some answers, the fog itself reveals very little. Once, the fog moves to reveal... something, in the distance. A shadow. Perhaps a figure, perhaps an upright object of the size of a small man - but before he can spot any more than that, the fog already closes the gap that allowed for this quick glance in the first place. And after that, there is only the cold whiteness to be seen. Thicker than any weather he has ever witnessed, and with the unnatural gleam that he is not trained to make sense of. Still, that short glimpse tells that there is more than just the fog, at least.

Psychie The place reveals its first secret quickly after Amber kneels. Indeed, given the muddiness, it's to be expected that her legwear of choice gets soaked. What's not expected is the sudden warmth, and the weird tingling feeling on her skin that comes along with it. As she rises, she can't help but notice a violet, slimy residue covering the cloth and soaking into the fabric. While she definitely can't place it at a glance, a quick check reveals that there is a lot more of it soaking the ground; and where it isn't, the earth - soil, with a few darker stones here and there - is painted in a bloody red, utterly drenched.

There's one more thing - somehow, the fog feels... familiar, even though she has never seen any weather like it, neither on the streets nor in Lord Jordenin's care. There is just something about it that she couldn't really describe... but the fog seems to share the sentiment, as the feeling of being watched fades a little, and wafts of mist seem to swirl away for her to make the discoveries above.

Kaerri For now, there are no surprises - other than being here in the first place. Enough time to give the odd combination of scents some thought. It is... puzzling. Surely, this is indeed cinnamon; coming from the trade cities, Fijit knows that scent. And yet, it feels wrong. It's not like one heats up cinnamon and is done with it. It's used as a spice. But there's no other smell that goes along with that. Not the usual scents of baking, or cooking, or anything of the sort. Unless someone is seasoning corpses, since that rotting smell is the scent of death, like one might smell it near a rotting animal. The sweetness, though... hard to tell. It could be anything, or nothing at all.

jaydude As Rodrik trudges onward, there is little more to see than just more fog that behaves just the same way. The wind stays the same, and so do the scents, and most of the other impressions. Added to it is now the sound of his boots on a ground that sounds vaguely like a dirt road after heavy rain, but is mostly flat and without any tricky spots. Smooth walking, so to speak - until a fortunate moment reveals more. The wafts of mist drift apart, a coincidence of its seemingly random motions; and there, just about thirty feet away, Rodrik can make out the silhouette of a person from behind. And something is clearly off about it. It looks a bit like two halves of different people, stitched together; the right side is hunched - leaning on a staff or similar walking aid - while the other side stands as tall as possible. On the left, the clothes look fine, while they're ragged on the right. For all he can say, it is just one person, but not like one he has met before. The person seems to be walking away from Rodrik, against the wind - more like limping, where the left leg and the staff carry most of the weight. Something moves around the shoulders, but one can not quite make out what it might be.

Captain Hesperus The priest's words go unheard - or unanswered, at least. If there is someone lurking nearby, they are happy to stay hidden in the fog around Thomas. The spell, however, reveals more than that - and some of it before it is even cast. Indeed, as Thomas reaches out for that familiar strength of his Goddess that few can feel, it seems... distant. Weak. Like he has to drag the magic into this place, where it would usually come freely. Still, there is enough of it to work the spell - death reaches all places eventually. And it reveals... the undeniable presence of magic all around the cleric. In addition to that, the fog itself seems to react to the spell - there is more movement, and it seems to thicken, if that is even possible - where it was hard to see his fingertips before, it is now difficult to spot his own elbows. The attention he felt before seems stronger now, and a sound reaches his ears - like the faint echo of an angry shout, though he can not make out words.


For all characters:

Once the respective discoveries have been made, there is a change that everyone can feel - it is a bit like feeling the blood pumping through your veins after hard labor, only that it lacks the regular rhythm. At the same time, your vision seems to become slightly blurry, and it feels like the air around you presses against your skin (instead of just being there, like it should). Other than that, though, there seem to be no further changes in your environment.


What would you like to do?

You may attempt to shake off these new effects with a fortitude save, disregard them with a willpower check, or simply see if they fade after a moment, just as quickly as they began (no roll required). You can, of course, surprise me with another idea as well. No matter what choice you make, the effects are not enough to stop you from making another action similar to the ones before.

 

[Sherwood]

With a frown, Aysik begins to walk towards this mysterious figure that he briefly spotted off in the distance, moving without rushing, but with a purposeful stride. He does his best to control his breathing, trying to overcome the effects of this mist with his exceptional physical conditioning thanks to years of swordsmanship training.

OOC will attempt a Fort Save at a +5 to resist the effects of the mist.
Modified 20

Spoiler

Level: 1
Class: Fighter
Hit Points: 14

Fort Save: +5
Reflex Save: +0
Will Save: -1

Armor Class: 15 - 19 with Shield of Swings
Touch AC: 10
Flat-Footed AC: 15
CM Bonus: +4
CM Defense: +15

Base Attack: +1
Initiative: +0

Weapons
Greatsword - +5 to hit, 2d6+6 Damage (+4/2d6+9 w Power Attack), Crit 19-20/x2
Dagger - +5 to hit, 1d4+4 Damage (+4/1d4+6 w Power Attack), Crit 19-20/x2

Shortbow - +1 to hit, 1d6 Damage, Crit x3, Range 60ft
--20 Arrows

Armor
Scale Mail +5 AC, Armor Check -4

Feats
Cleave - Strike at Multiple Opponents, -2 to AC
Power Attack -1 to Hit/+2 Damage (+3 with Two-Handed Weapons)
Shield of Swings - +4 to AC when Active, reduce melee damage done by half

 

[Psychie]

Amber grimaces at the gook stuck to her pant leg, but doesn't try to brush it off with her hand. Who knows what this stuff is, and what it might do to her bare skin? It's bad enough that it is on her pants. She continues on in the same direction, trying to control her breathing to keep her heartbeat from going berserk.

OOC Fort Save total of 19

Spoiler

Level: 1
Class: Rogue
Hit Points: 10

Fort Save: +1
Reflex Save: +7
Will Save: -1

Armor Class: 18
Touch AC: 15
Flat Footed AC: 13
CM Bonus: 0
CM Defense: 15

Base Attack: 0
Initiative: +5

Weapons
Dagger x4 +5 to hit, 1d4 damage, Crit 19-20/x2 - (+3 to hit with TWF), range 10
Rapier +5 to hit, 1d6 damage, Crit 18-20/x2 - (+3 to hit with TWF)
Shortbow +5 to hit, 1d6 damage, Crit x3, range 60
--20 Arrows

Sneak Attack Damage: +1d6

Armor
Studded Leather +3 AC, Max Dex +5, Armor Check -1

Feats
Two-Weapon Fighting - Reduces penalties for using two weapons at once
Weapon Finesse - Use Dex to determine to-hit instead of Strength

 

[Purr]

The attempt to look through Desna's eyes does reveal a peril that might be more concerning than an evil aura - indeed, when Dreamy tries to call forth the familiar power, it seems... distant. Faint. And if the strength it offers usually resembles a roaring river, it is little more than a trickle now. Simply too little to reveal anything about the fog around her. At least in the way that she intended - since as soon as she reaches out for Desna's aid, the fog's movements seem more agitated, though not less confusing than before. And that feeling of being watched... it is amplified tenfold, as if the attempt alone demands the attention of... something. Or someone.

No promises.

Desna had never made any promises to her followers to always be there for them. During her first days of worship, Dreamy had found this particular discovery refreshing. It was basically saying, "I love you but you are on your own," though the brave goddess had many a time ventured into the darkest, scariest pits of hells unknown to most to retrieve or avenge those who loved her. In the Paladin's mind, Desna was Dreamy's friend, but... Dreamy was never so naïve to believe she alone was worthy to command her goddess's soft yet powerful attentions. Nor would have Dreamy wanted it thus - many more needed Desna than she. This proud daughter of the Twilight Reaches was but one of many.

When the presence goes from watching to what feels like intently staring, Dreamy cannot help but be reminded of audiences past. She has stood on bright colorful stages before great crowds in the cities deep below the waves where she and her parents' band performed. She was used to having eyes on her. Until this presence did something more than watch, they were simply another audience, though more than once did her her feeling to ignite her Smite Evil power rise to mind.

She remembers. "Only through love changes come." This was something her parents said often. Heck, the entire band they were in believed it. Dreamy had too; it was one of the reasons she left. Dreamy was an Asiyanithe ("ahs-ee-YON-ith-ay"), her line was filled with strong wills and free spirits, hard-working dreamers and curious doers. Theirs was not the way to sit lazily before the fire to read tales of old - their way was to make the tales themselves - to feel alive in the doing. The Asiyanithes had always been a breed of self-reliant creators - each a kingdom unto themselves with a little piece of heaven - inside them - for where else was heaven to be found but from within?

So let the audience look, Dreamy muses. "Yeah. I feel you out there. Keep on watching," she calls out. "Maybe I'll perform a trick?" She tauntingly tosses her long blonde hair and briefly wiggles her hips. But then another thought strikes her as she continues to stride along. She has an audience. She has a destination. Therefore, she is on a journey. What made journeys better than a song?

"Okay! You're here for a show? How about this?"

Sword and shield in her able hands, Dreamy lifts her voice, her feet stepping to the beat of the music as her merry feet carry her along. The steps help stave away the chill and the singing keeps her heart high. After all, lost or not, it is her life, her journey to enjoy!

Spoiler: These Dreams

"Heart - These Dreams (Official Music Video)"


Full lyrics. Credit: Genius.com
[Verse 1]
Spare a little candle, save some light for me
Figures up ahead moving in the trees
White skin in linen, perfume on my wrist
And the full moon that hangs over these dreams in the mist

[Verse 2]
Darkness on the edge, shadows where I stand
(Shadows where I stand)
I search for the time on a watch with no hands
I want to see you clearly, come closer than this
(All that I remember)
But all I remember are the dreams in the mist

[Chorus]
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night, I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away
(The further I'm away)

[Verse 3]
Is it cloak 'n dagger? Could it be spring or fall?
I walk without a cut through a stained glass wall
(Weaker in my eyesight)
Weaker in my eyesight the candle in my grip
(Words that have no form)
And words that have no form are falling from my lips

[Chorus]
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night, I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away
(The further I'm away)

[Bridge]
There's something out there, I can't resist
I need to hide away from the pain
There's something out there, I can't resist

[Verse 4]
The sweetest song is silence that I've ever heard
(Feet don't touch the earth)
Funny how your feet in dreams never touch the earth
In a wood full of princes, freedom is a kiss
(The prince hides his face)
But the prince hides his face from dreams in the mist

[Chorus]
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night, I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away
These dreams go on when I close my eyes (Every single se—)
Every second of the night, I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away...

 

[Captain Hesperus]

Thomas felt vague alarm at the failure of his spell. What manner of sorcery could interfere with the workings of a cleric? And for so mundane a spell? The likelihood of this being the work of hostile forces increased massively. Remaining here would resolve nothing and his opponent was not forthcoming. He nodded to himself and started to walk. The direction, he decided, was irrelevant. Until he found something that might act as a landmark, any direction would do.

 

[jaydude]

As Rodrik trudges onward, there is little more to see than just more fog that behaves just the same way. The wind stays the same, and so do the scents, and most of the other impressions. Added to it is now the sound of his boots on a ground that sounds vaguely like a dirt road after heavy rain, but is mostly flat and without any tricky spots. Smooth walking, so to speak - until a fortunate moment reveals more. The wafts of mist drift apart, a coincidence of its seemingly random motions; and there, just about thirty feet away, Rodrik can make out the silhouette of a person from behind. And something is clearly off about it. It looks a bit like two halves of different people, stitched together; the right side is hunched - leaning on a staff or similar walking aid - while the other side stands as tall as possible. On the left, the clothes look fine, while they're ragged on the right. For all he can say, it is just one person, but not like one he has met before. The person seems to be walking away from Rodrik, against the wind - more like limping, where the left leg and the staff carry most of the weight. Something moves around the shoulders, but one can not quite make out what it might be.

Once the respective discoveries have been made, there is a change that everyone can feel - it is a bit like feeling the blood pumping through your veins after hard labor, only that it lacks the regular rhythm. At the same time, your vision seems to become slightly blurry, and it feels like the air around you presses against your skin (instead of just being there, like it should). Other than that, though, there seem to be no further changes in your environment.


What would you like to do?

You may attempt to shake off these new effects with a fortitude save, disregard them with a willpower check, or simply see if they fade after a moment, just as quickly as they began (no roll required). You can, of course, surprise me with another idea as well. No matter what choice you make, the effects are not enough to stop you from making another action similar to the ones before.

Rodrik figured that he might have found an idea - or at least inspiration - for a monster, if he ever decided to make a foray into writing eldritch horror. Of course, that was assuming he managed to get out of whatever this fog was.

He raised his crossbow in case he had to get a shot off quickly, but then he started to...experience things. His blood pumping for a reason besides fear, his vision starting to blur, and the feel of the air pressing against him. He tried to put them out of his mind, hoping that it was just the place playing tricks with him.

[Will save. 14.]

 

[Kaerri]

Kaerri For now, there are no surprises - other than being here in the first place. Enough time to give the odd combination of scents some thought. It is... puzzling. Surely, this is indeed cinnamon; coming from the trade cities, Fijit knows that scent. And yet, it feels wrong. It's not like one heats up cinnamon and is done with it. It's used as a spice. But there's no other smell that goes along with that. Not the usual scents of baking, or cooking, or anything of the sort. Unless someone is seasoning corpses, since that rotting smell is the scent of death, like one might smell it near a rotting animal. The sweetness, though... hard to tell. It could be anything, or nothing at all.

For all characters:

Once the respective discoveries have been made, there is a change that everyone can feel - it is a bit like feeling the blood pumping through your veins after hard labor, only that it lacks the regular rhythm. At the same time, your vision seems to become slightly blurry, and it feels like the air around you presses against your skin (instead of just being there, like it should). Other than that, though, there seem to be no further changes in your environment.


What would you like to do?

You may attempt to shake off these new effects with a fortitude save, disregard them with a willpower check, or simply see if they fade after a moment, just as quickly as they began (no roll required). You can, of course, surprise me with another idea as well. No matter what choice you make, the effects are not enough to stop you from making another action similar to the ones before.

Not a swamp, then, which might have been relatively healthy and a good place locator, assuming it was part of the marsh system northwest of Roots. Which, now that she thinks further on it, might not be so healthy, that being close to if not part of the Duke's domain. Just as well she isn't in a swamp, then. So, just a corpse. Of some kind. Possibly being seasoned with cinnamon for who-knew-what reason. Or maybe sugar. No, that's just silly. Cinnamon is at least used to cover the taste of just-starting-to-rot meat, sometimes, but sugar would just be odd, and anyway the air doesn't smell like sugar, it's just... sweet. Well, maybe there is a freshwater lake around. Or a lake of honey. That would be something to see, and even less likely than someone sweetening a corpse. Fijit looks around, but the fog hasn't lessened a bit, and since she still can't see even her own boots, obviously hunting for a corpse is out of the question. Unless she goes by her nose. But really, does she want to look at a dead animal (or whatever)? No. Finding out where she is, and how to get back to what she was doing (or what she's supposed to be doing here), is more important. She keeps walking towards the "somewhere" that had been to her right when she first arrived, but then something new happens. The air seems to squeeze in on her, and her vision blurs. It feels sort of like the opposite of when you're on a high mountain and the air thins. Has the air become too thick? Is she underground, far enough that there's too much air instead of the too little when you're too high? But if so, why is it happening just now? She doesn't think any sort of teleporting happened, not since she got here. Maybe it's the fog thickening. That would be too much water in the air instead of too much air around the Fijit, but it could have a similar effect. It's not like she's an expert on fog, and anyway this fog never did seem natural. Well, she's breathed moderately unhealthy things before, and got through them just fine. She marches onwards, keeping time with her feet as she breathes slowly and steadily, and pulls her scarf out of her pocket to wrap around her nose and mouth lest something more unhealthy enter the air (or fog) around her.

Spoiler: OOC

Fijit wants to make a Fort save. She's also now putting on her filter scarf ("Filter scarf: Made of heavy material, this scarf filters out dust, sand, smoke, and other airborne contaminants. When worn over your nose and mouth, this scarf grants you a +1 resistance bonus on saving throws against inhaled poisons and other airborne effects that require breathing."), which I doubt will help on the current roll, but she's hoping will be of use on any subsequent ones. Assuming it's an airborne contaminant and not just a spell or whatever.

 

[Silanon]

Part 1 of 2

Spoiler: Rolls

Perform for Dreamy: 14+6=20
Will Save for Dreamy: 10+5=15
Fijit's Fortitude: 14+4=18
Fijit's reflex save: 17+4=21

Sherwood As Aysik moves forward, one thing becomes abundantly clear quite quickly - despite his outstanding condition, he is fighting a lost battle against the mist's effects. With every step, it seems to sap a little more of his strength as he trudges through the fog, trying to stay on track towards the figure. That, too, seems like a lost cause - there is nothing but mist. And more mist. And even more mist. He could run in circles without even noticing, probably.

But he doesn't. Instead, he suddenly stumbles into a clearing within the fog - perfectly round, without a trace of the mist within. There's no sky - just more fog over his head - and it kind of looks like an invisible sphere keeps the unnatural weather at bay. The ground is covered by dead grass, with traces of some kind of violet goo all around; in the middle of the clearing, there's a single, black rock, about the size of a smaller stool. It's the first non-flat piece of ground around; and on it is the first person Aysik has seen. A familiar figure. In front of himself, he sees a dwarf, clothed in chainmail. One hand holds a mighty axe made to cut down foes, not trees; the other holds a pipe. Long, untamed grey hair surrounds his face, and the mighty beard is carefully braided. You have seen Old Raulyn often enough by now - the old, dwarven veteran who lives in one of Lord Jordenin's guest rooms. But never quite like this. It's his posture, mostly. This man in front of you does not seem too old to fight, like the one you know. In fact, he seems just about ready to smash a few skulls. And those eyes - they aren't tired, and they don't stare at some point far in the distance... no, they are focused, and Aysik is sure that they catch every single motion of his as he stumbles into the clearing.

"Easy, lad." The voice is the same. Aysik can see how the dwarf rises, dropping his axe without care. How he steps towards the noble, closing the distance with short, but firm steps. "That's quite enough for a night. Trust me. I've been there myself." And as the dwarf speaks those words, Aysik can only agree. It's been more than enough. There's a wave of fatigue hitting him all of the sudden, crushing down on him. He feels like his legs give in under his own weight. The world turns black. And the last thing he notices is that mighty arms catch him before he can hit the ground.


Psychie Controlling her breath - that's easier said than done as Amber continues through the fog. With every step, it seems like the fog around her thickens just a little bit. It becomes harder to breathe. The feeling of blood pumping through her veins becomes stronger, and more erratic. And yet, somehow, her steps lead her further and further towards an unknown destination... until they don't. It's like there's an invisible force holding her back. At first, it's subtle. Her steps just become a bit shorter, without her really noticing. But at some point... it's hard to explain. She lifts her foot to make another step forward, and it still comes down in the very same place where it just stood. No matter how hard she tries. No matter what she does. There's that sense of direction, but this is as far as she can follow it, or so it seems. Weird. Puzzling. Scary, perhaps.

Still, it's not all for nothing. Or so it seems. For a single moment, the mist seems to fade away, in front of her, a lucky coincidence of its random movements. And through that breach in the never-ending mist, Amber manages to spot... towers. Three of them. Standing in the fog, there is no way to compare their size to the surrounding; and yet, there's the distinct feeling that they are large enough to touch the sky. They are thin, and there's something off about their form...they're neither round, nor do they have the common quadratic shape; instead, they look like they were built on triangular foundations. No windows can be seen; but three ghastly blue flames can be spotted on their spires, coloring the mist around them in an unnatural light.

That's all that Amber can spot before the fog around her suddenly comes to life. As if it has noticed the silent watcher, it seems to move towards her, blocks the view - and crushes down on her mind like an avalanche. Before she can even stumble, blackness takes her. And yet, the last thing she remembers is not the fog, but a distant voice singing. A familiar voice. Dreamy's voice.


Purr The mist does not respond to Dreamy's teasing; but the song on her lips carries her forward all the same, following that guiding feeling. Maybe it's just a trick of her mind, but it feels like her surrounding becomes just a bit brighter, and less threatening as soon as her own voice fills the void, and the weight of the fog's effects is almost forgotten. There's another change - the mists's attention never fades away, but the farther she goes, the more she can feel the attention of a single being ahead of her; just like one sometimes notices the attention of a single person in a larger crowd. And then, without a word of warning, the fog suddenly splits, and reveals... a stone pillar. It's base seems to be some kind of polygon; from there, the edges of the different sections do not go straight up, but instead spiral around the pillar, up to its height of about thirteen feet. And on top of that lies a creature like you have never seen one. At a glance, what little you can see looks like a lioness; but from the back, mighty, feathered wings spread out. One eye is closed, the other is half-opened, looking down at Dreamy from the height. Its stare feels ancient; and the icy blue of its iris seems to cut right through the paladin's mind.

If Dreamy did not stop her song already, it ends as soon as the creature raises its left paw. From one moment to the next, there is no sound. Neither steps, nor armor, nor Dreamy's voice. And yet, there are words right in her mind. They a soft, and there's the hint of amusement. "Not too bad, for one of her lackeys. Some of you might be worthy after all." The eye closes, but the silence remains. "But not yet. He walked all paths. You barely begin to understand your side of the coin." Her paw waves, almost dismissively. "Leave. This is not your path to follow. Don't try me."

As if Dreamy could. As soon as the creature seemingly ends the conversation, it is as if her body suddenly remembers the strains of her march through the fog, and there is no song to hold them back, now. Like an avalanche, they crush down on her mind, and blackness takes her. Not without seeing how the creature suddenly opens both eyes, and flies off into the mist, however.


Captain Hesperus Walking in a random direction, Thomas eventually finds himself facing the wind once more; and notices that the scents are much stronger here than they were at the beginning. Again, there is cinnamon in the air, and this sweetness, and the rotting smell of decaying flesh. Even without the fog's effects, it might be hard to breathe; with the irregular pumping of Thomas' blood and the air's heavy pressure, it's an effort to make a single step.

And yet, that step is rewarded - all of the sudden, the mist splits in front of Thomas to reveal... more mist. But it's different. It is like the plumes form the image of a place. The priest can make out the forms of of a flat hill, covered by rocks of different sizes. There is an unease, as if there is something fundamentally wrong with it. You can see several entrances, little more than holes in its sides; and it looks like fumes rise from there, as if the hill would burn from within. And suddenly, there is more. It begins like a stinging pain in his lungs. And spreads from there through his body, a piercing sensation that rips through his mind. And then, there comes a realization: There is no air. No matter how much his lungs try to draw it in, there's just not enough. The world begins to spin. The image of that hill... dissolves into regular fog. The scents... feel distant. Everything does. As his vision fades away, the priest first drops to his knees, then to the floor. But before he blacks out completely, he hears inhuman howls to his right. The howl of lifeless abominations.


jaydude As he tries to shake off the mist's effects, Rodrik quickly realizes one thing - that he is fighting a losing battle, and that he is losing it quickly. Taking aim - becomes a hassle. It feels like however he tries to point the crossbow, it's just off. And that's very much unlike him, is it not? Luckily for him, there seems to be no need to fire; indeed, the creature simply seems to walk away from him, focused on other matters. That does, however, not change Rodrik's own precarious situation. It feels like that irregular pumping of his blood gets out of hand with every breath he takes; and whenever he blinks, the world seems to begin to spin. Slightly, at first, then more and more rapid. He tries to fight down that feeling, muscles tense up. And then there is a familiar sound. The sound of a crossbow being fired. His crossbow.

The shot goes astray. Of course it does. But through the spinning, Rodrik can see how the creature stops, and how its head turns as if the side in better condition would try to turn around - but the face is yanked back by the other half, until she looks forward once more. And continues its leave. For a moment, it seems like two glaring, red eyes appear over her shoulder. But in the mess that his senses are right before he hits the ground and fades into blackness, it's hard to tell.


Kaerri Trudging forward despite the mist's effects, Fijit - her face now covered by the scarf - comes to two conclusions, supported by her experience with not-so-safe experiments: Firstly, the scarf does nothing to stop, or lessen the effects she is feeling.. And secondly, those actually become worse with every step. But not at a pace that she couldn't get a bit closer towards... whatever it is that's out there. And so she marches onward, through the fog, toughing it out like so many other gnomes before her. Until the ground seems to dry up underneath her boots, and turns into something hard and smooth shortly after. That's pretty much when she hears the singing somewhere behind her. Familiar singing - Dreamy's voice. That abruptly stops. About as abrupt as the ground right in front of Fijit. Without prior warning, it seems like it falls down at a ninety-degree angle, a sudden cliff in the landscape. For a moment, she struggles for balance - then she's right back on her two feet, safe on solid ground. In the mist's gleam, it looks like... glass, actually. Lots of it. Covering both the ground she is standing on, and the cliff below. It's not just a thin layer, but thick enough to see nothing beyond it. Curious.

But there's more. The beat of mighty wings behind her. Fijit does not see anything through the fog but two icy blue eyes, staring down at her. Not bad. The voice appears right in her mind, soft and almost... amused? Never thought you'd make it this far. Perhaps, there is potential, after all. But this... this is no place for mere mortals, gnome. Stay away. You do not wish to test me any further. If Fijit tries to speak, not a single word leaves her mouth. Indeed, it seems like all sounds are... gone. And so is her time, here. She can feel her head spin as a wave of exhaustion suddenly hits her. The world fades. She feels how her legs give in, how she falls backwards... and how a clawed paw suddenly yanks her forward instead, onto solid ground. Blackness surrounds her before she can make much sense of that.

 

[Silanon]

Part 2 of 2

And with that... you suddenly find yourself wide awake. There is no period of sleepiness. Just an abrupt end to... whatever that was. Above you, you can see the well-familiar ceiling of your guestrooms (that includes Thomas, even though he was on the road when the mist caught him). Underneath... the same mattresses you have spent most of your nights on, lately. A short glance around shows that everything is left as if you had arrived late in the night; your choice whether you would leave things in a mess, or still sort them away. But you do not just feel like you arrived late. Instead, you feel like you marched throughout the entire night, right until this moment, and didn't sleep, but barely blinked to awaken here.

Everyone is fatigued, which means that you take -2 penalty on str and dex. You cannot run or charge. Eight hours of complete rest can fix that.

Other than that, you feel mostly fine. Maybe confused. But fine. You can breathe freely. There is no pain. No dizziness. Nothing.


There's a commotion outside - for the first time ever since you arrived here, really. You hear horses. Shouts. Someone bangs against the outer door of the guesthouse, the one that leads into the common guest area - from there, your own rooms can be entered. Those all have a bed in them, as well as a small writing desk, a wardrobe, several cupboards, and perhaps a thing or two that you personally requested. Most things are made from the local, lighter conifer woods, with the occasional darkness from walnut wood added in for contrast. The initial furniture was definitely chosen with practicality in mind - sturdy and built to last for a while. Fijit was kindly asked to do any unfamiliar or dangerous experiments outside, behind the stables - the well is a lot closer, there - but if she so wishes, she can have a smaller workspace for harmless alchemy in her room.

Through the slits of the shutters, you can guess that it must be early morning; the time period where there is some light, but the sun hasn't climbed the sky yet.

What would you like to do?

 

[Sherwood]

Aysik struggles to rise to a sitting position, wondering what in the name of all that is holy has happened. Was that all a dream? Or was it real? Why is he so flaming tired? Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fuzz from his mind, three things come to mind. The first, coffee. Lots of coffee. Next, see what is going on outside. Finally, find Raulyn to see if he remembers the encounter in the mist, and see if the old dwarf can offer up any answers to him.

Rising to a standing position, Aysik struggles into his armor and straps his sword on his back, feeling the weight of both much more than usual. Rubbing at his face, the warrior heads for the door to see what the commotion is outside.

 

[Purr]

"Now what in Desna's name just happened?" Dreamy mentally exclaims. It had been a dream and a most-unusual one at that. Dreams were something she knew a little bit about.

"Remember, remember! Write it all down before my own thinking erases what I remember!"

Being wide awake was a plus. She grabbed her journal and writing utensils and began writing everything down that she could recall, starting with the thoughts she thought would leave her first - the creatures words.

When she was finished, she rolled over, put her journal aside on the bedstand, and allowed the ink to dry.

"Maybe if I sleep now... I can go back? Pick up where I left off?"

Dreamy curls up in her bed, puts a cloth over her eyes, and is hardly settled down when, without warning, she hears the shouting and the knocking at the guesthouse door. Realizing there is no way she can get back to sleep now, she grabs her pillow with both hands, buries her head in it, and lets out a huge muffled scream of frustration. She kicks her feet wildly until the scream is finally out of her.

"Darn it!" She shouts without meaning to. "Now there's no way I'll get back!"

Donning her tunic and a pair of swimming shorts, she grabs her starknife and with bare legs and feet, storms out of her room despite the fatigue and aching. Down the hallway she goes goes to answer the front door.

"Hold your sea-horses! I'll be right there!" It does not yet dawn on her that she is far from alone in the house, and at this early hour she could be waking someone else up. Not that anyone could sleep through this ruckus.

She is reaching for the door when she pauses. She takes a deep breath, straightens, and tries to compose herself all the while thinking, "My hair must look as if it just came out of a windstorm."

But more importantly to her, in that moment she takes for self reflection, the "shore-born" half-elf swiftly realizes that whomever is on the other side of this door is probably no one has earned her anger. In fact, it might be someone who needs real help. And for that, she must put herself and her dire need of rest aside.

So the fatigued Dreamy of Desna tries to do just that. Reaching for the door, she unlocks and opens it just a bit to see who is outside.

She tries to form a pleasant greeting, but what comes out is, "Hi! What's so urgent at this hour?"

 

[Captain Hesperus]

Thomas' eyes flickered open, the memory of asphyxiation live in his memory. He sat bolt upright in bed, heaving in a huge lungfull of air as if he'd been in the fathomless depths of Dreamy's realm but moments before. His eyes cast about, searching for any emergent threat that might present itself but they found only the accoutrements of his cell. His desk upon which lay his aspergillium and holy symbol of shaped glass, his armor hung from the stand made for that purpose, his shield hung behind his door and his robes neatly folded on the solitary chair in the room.
His mind set about sifting through the fleeting memories of the dream, for such was the way of the Followers of the Lady of Mysteries, she who presides over Fate. Oneiromancy was not one of his talents, sadly. He'd often scoffed at those who felt drawn to make sense of their dreams, as if they were Pharasma's very words dripped into their sleeping minds. Now he wished he had some of their divining skills to better make sense of the imagery he'd experienced.

Fog. Beyond the physical meaning of the stuff, that of a meterological and geographical phenomena often encountered in swamplands, bogs and along shorelines with a steep drop-off into deep, cold waters, a metaphysical concept might be that of concealment, of obfuscation. Someone or something was attempting to hide itself or something of importance or value from prying eyes. The scent of cinnamon? He wasn't sure about that, although the pervasive scent of dead, rotting things was forboding. Perhaps something needed to be put to rest. Could the cinnamon be some sort of offering? A means of masking the scent of death? The shout. A voice in the distance, words unintelligible. Someone was trying to impart knowledge, maybe a victim trying to decry their murderer? A guilty soul offering up their confession in the concealing mist in an attempt at absolution? So many possibilities, so many-

The sounds outside finally drew his attention, even as flurried hands pounded on the door. Thomas rose swiftly from his bed, donned his vestments and opened the door. As he drew the portal open, his sight was crossed by an early morning vision of a blue-skinned, blonde haired nymph who padded to the communal outer door to the quarters, clad in little more than a tunic and small clothes. The Half-elf Paladin, Aerdreamifafalierie or 'Dreamy' as she had offered as an appeasement to those who could not manage the complicated cascade of syllables of her full name. She called out for patience from their early morning visitor and, despite a moment of self-composition, still greeted the person without with a mildly terser greeting that she might normally have given.

For his part, Thomas moved down the corridor in her wake, was there the slightest scent of sea water in the air after her passing?, and arrived at the door moments later. His own voice spoke up in greeting.
"What I'm sure the good Paladin meant was 'Well met and what great worry brings you to our door at so early an hour?'." he asked, shooting her a kind smile, as he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his habit.

 

[Psychie]

As Amber slowly shrugs off sleep, the first thing she does is to check her pants to see if the stain that was on her knee is still there or not. If it is not there, it is likely that all of that was a wild dream. But if it is there, that would mean that there was actually something that happened to her in the night, seeing those three strange towers with the blue flames on them. What was that?

Then, her attention turns to the commotion outside. Rising with a groan, she checks her gear to make sure that all of her things are in place, then she heads out the door and looks around.

 

[jaydude]

Part 2 of 2

And with that... you suddenly find yourself wide awake. There is no period of sleepiness. Just an abrupt end to... whatever that was. Above you, you can see the well-familiar ceiling of your guestrooms (that includes Thomas, even though he was on the road when the mist caught him). Underneath... the same mattresses you have spent most of your nights on, lately. A short glance around shows that everything is left as if you had arrived late in the night; your choice whether you would leave things in a mess, or still sort them away. But you do not just feel like you arrived late. Instead, you feel like you marched throughout the entire night, right until this moment, and didn't sleep, but barely blinked to awaken here.

Everyone is fatigued, which means that you take -2 penalty on str and dex. You cannot run or charge. Eight hours of complete rest can fix that.

Other than that, you feel mostly fine. Maybe confused. But fine. You can breathe freely. There is no pain. No dizziness. Nothing.

Once he'd gotten over the surprise of being back in his room, Rodrik let out a grumble. Partly because of his bewilderment at the strange dream, partly because of the realization that he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep.

"Urrgh...next time I go down to the tavern in Westport to play cards, remind me to never have that particular brand of ale again, Rodrik." he told himself in a low, gravelly baritone.

There's a commotion outside - for the first time ever since you arrived here, really. You hear horses. Shouts. Someone bangs against the outer door of the guesthouse, the one that leads into the common guest area - from there, your own rooms can be entered. Those all have a bed in them, as well as a small writing desk, a wardrobe, several cupboards, and perhaps a thing or two that you personally requested. Most things are made from the local, lighter conifer woods, with the occasional darkness from walnut wood added in for contrast. The initial furniture was definitely chosen with practicality in mind - sturdy and built to last for a while. Fijit was kindly asked to do any unfamiliar or dangerous experiments outside, behind the stables - the well is a lot closer, there - but if she so wishes, she can have a smaller workspace for harmless alchemy in her room.

Through the slits of the shutters, you can guess that it must be early morning; the time period where there is some light, but the sun hasn't climbed the sky yet.

What would you like to do?

Hearing the noise outside, Rodrik would get himself decently dressed. Thinking that he had no reason yet to assume danger, he didn't bother with his leather armor, and he'd left his crossbow by the room's door. Had he not felt reasonably safe here, it would be within reach of his bed, and already loaded.

Peering out from behind his door, he saw that Amber had opted to do the same as him, while Thomas and a half-dressed Dreamy were stood by the entrance to the guesthouse and asking who was there. Rodrik squinted, trying to see through the open doors and get an answer himself.

 

[Kaerri]

Kaerri Trudging forward despite the mist's effects, Fijit - her face now covered by the scarf - comes to two conclusions, supported by her experience with not-so-safe experiments: Firstly, the scarf does nothing to stop, or lessen the effects she is feeling.. And secondly, those actually become worse with every step. But not at a pace that she couldn't get a bit closer towards... whatever it is that's out there. And so she marches onward, through the fog, toughing it out like so many other gnomes before her. Until the ground seems to dry up underneath her boots, and turns into something hard and smooth shortly after. That's pretty much when she hears the singing somewhere behind her. Familiar singing - Dreamy's voice. That abruptly stops. About as abrupt as the ground right in front of Fijit. Without prior warning, it seems like it falls down at a ninety-degree angle, a sudden cliff in the landscape. For a moment, she struggles for balance - then she's right back on her two feet, safe on solid ground. In the mist's gleam, it looks like... glass, actually. Lots of it. Covering both the ground she is standing on, and the cliff below. It's not just a thin layer, but thick enough to see nothing beyond it. Curious.

But there's more. The beat of mighty wings behind her. Fijit does not see anything through the fog but two icy blue eyes, staring down at her. Not bad. The voice appears right in her mind, soft and almost... amused? Never thought you'd make it this far. Perhaps, there is potential, after all. But this... this is no place for mere mortals, gnome. Stay away. You do not wish to test me any further. If Fijit tries to speak, not a single word leaves her mouth. Indeed, it seems like all sounds are... gone. And so is her time, here. She can feel her head spin as a wave of exhaustion suddenly hits her. The world fades. She feels how her legs give in, how she falls backwards... and how a clawed paw suddenly yanks her forward instead, onto solid ground. Blackness surrounds her before she can make much sense of that.

Not airborne then, or at least not physically so. Still, the scarf is comfortingly familiar, and she leaves it on for moral support. Dreamy's singing is likewise familiarly comforting, and she's about to turn and call the paladin's name, when the ground changes precipitously to a precipice. Her former intent completely forgotten, Fijit is about to inspect the glass-like substance when someone new arrives and talks to her. In her head, which is... unexpected, but what in all this is expected? Fijit tries to ask the unknown, presumably winged entity who they were and where this place (not for mere mortals, indeed!) is, but no sound emerges. Further attempts are cut off as she's suddenly too tired to talk. Too tired to stand. She feels herself falling back, over the glass-lined cliffside, and a clawed hand -- no, paw, her tired brain notes --pulls her forward to safety. And then nothing.

Part 2 of 2

And with that... you suddenly find yourself wide awake. There is no period of sleepiness. Just an abrupt end to... whatever that was. Above you, you can see the well-familiar ceiling of your guestrooms (that includes Thomas, even though he was on the road when the mist caught him). Underneath... the same mattresses you have spent most of your nights on, lately. A short glance around shows that everything is left as if you had arrived late in the night; your choice whether you would leave things in a mess, or still sort them away. But you do not just feel like you arrived late. Instead, you feel like you marched throughout the entire night, right until this moment, and didn't sleep, but barely blinked to awaken here.

Everyone is fatigued, which means that you take -2 penalty on str and dex. You cannot run or charge. Eight hours of complete rest can fix that.

Other than that, you feel mostly fine. Maybe confused. But fine. You can breathe freely. There is no pain. No dizziness. Nothing.


There's a commotion outside - for the first time ever since you arrived here, really. You hear horses. Shouts. Someone bangs against the outer door of the guesthouse, the one that leads into the common guest area - from there, your own rooms can be entered. Those all have a bed in them, as well as a small writing desk, a wardrobe, several cupboards, and perhaps a thing or two that you personally requested. Most things are made from the local, lighter conifer woods, with the occasional darkness from walnut wood added in for contrast. The initial furniture was definitely chosen with practicality in mind - sturdy and built to last for a while. Fijit was kindly asked to do any unfamiliar or dangerous experiments outside, behind the stables - the well is a lot closer, there - but if she so wishes, she can have a smaller workspace for harmless alchemy in her room.

Through the slits of the shutters, you can guess that it must be early morning; the time period where there is some light, but the sun hasn't climbed the sky yet.

What would you like to do?

Fijit's eyes fly open, and she takes in her very familiar surroundings. I'm awake. Was I not awake before? Was it real, or a dream, or what? Visions aren't really her thing. Fortunately, there's someone right there in the guest house who is better at them. If what she'd just woken from had been a dream or vision, then Dreamy (who'd been in it, after all) might have some better explanation than an alchemist who focused on more definite things. Fijit takes a few deep breaths just to enjoy being able to do so, then starts to get dressed. Everything seems to be in its proper place, which... doesn't mean much, really. Except the rare times when she comes home stumbling-drunk, she always takes the time to put her belongings away, the better to start the next morning's work. Sounds from outside her room, probably outside the house, finally interrupt her thoughts. Bootless, in stockings, shirt, and trousers, she pokes her head out her door to see what's going on. Dreamy and Thomas have the greetings underway, so Fijit props her door fully open, then finishes getting dressed while awaiting events.