A Gnoment in Time, Part 7
Log Info
- Title: A Gnoment in Time, Part 7
- Emitter: Whirlpool
- Characters: Dirk, Zyla, Skielstregar, Paenitia, Ravenstongue, Vaera, Lyme
- Place: Alexandros Wilderness, the Fernwood
- Time: Thursday, October 27, 2022, 9:43 PM
- Summary: Away from the dead Moss Dragon, the party is able to recover. Paenitia bandages Skielstregar and Vaera's healing potions are shared. Cor'lana and Farland discuss the issues with the ley-lines and the Magus Point. Farland believes the landscape itself is corrupted and will need to be fixed. This is something the expedition will have to do. They return to the location and fortify it while Cor'lana and Farland enact some hedgewizard horticulture. All is going well, until, well... the trees have eyes.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing in Order =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ravenstongue 5'0" 99 Lb Half-Elf Female Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair. Lyme 7'2" 435 Lb Orc Butch Black-skinned oruch of suitable stature Vaera 7'0" 262 Lb Sith-Makar Female A tall, dark red Makari with a metallic leg. Dirk 4'11" 295 Lb Mountain Dwarf Male A rugged old dwarf, dressed for the outdoors. Skielstregar 7'2" 330 Lb Sith-Makar Male A brilliantly silver scale with fangs and empty eyes. Paenitia 3'0" 34 Lb Halfling Female A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery. Zyla 7'5" 310 Lb Giantborn Female Massive woman in simple clothing and robes. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= NPCs of Note =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Farland Gnome Male Associate of Griva, Resurrectionist, Wizard -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Whirlpool Otyugh I am stinky! -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--
Previously
Farland's expedition ventures deeper into the Felwood. It's growing darker, and there is something in the air that's aggravating everyone's allergies. Further in the source becomes apparent. It's a dragon! It attacks! They attack back! Cor'lana determines it might not really be a dragon, as Skielstregar and Paenitia lay into it, and Vaera and Dirk shoot away. Lyme wails on it too, but it doesn't go down. Instead, it breathes on the party.
The gunslingers Vaera and Dirk are blinded by the pollen, Lyme also, and they struggle to successfully shoot or strike the moss dragon. Paenitia and Skielstregar also struggle to land blows that do meaningful damage, while Ramirez fails completely. Farland is overcome by the pollen.
The dragon is a flurry of claws, wings and a snapping jaw. Skielstregar, Paenitia are struck. Ramirez barely avoid being hit.
It's hard to breathe. It's hard to think. Even with one of Telamon's sashes tied around her mouth as a makeshift mask, there's only so much protection that the fabric offers. Cor'lana must concentrate on what has to be done. What /needs/ to be done.
She looks at her allies, and she realizes--an opening.
Cor'lana lifts a hand, murmurs the incantation, weaving the magic. A cough, a sneeze, either act will ruin this opportunity. There will be no relief. She has to concentrate.
The magic sparks in her hands. And this time, it's under control.
Cor'lana thrusts her hand forward, unleashing the arc of electricity. And to her amazement: the 'dragon' falls.
By her hand.
Now
"Ovale! It is down! You take the bull by the horns and cook him with them!" Paenitia cheers happily, thrusting her lance in the air. Ramirez caws, shaking his tailfeathers in a victory dance. The little knight and large steed clearly happy. She makes an audible sniff from behind her mask, "the smell though, he a great stink. It is not the good home cooked meal. Not safe to eat, ah?"
Dirk all but melts with relief as the moss dragon falls. He hunkers down, his eyes nearly swollen shut as he presses a fist to his mouth. Hacking, tearing coughs wrack his burly frame, making his beard ruffle. "Urrk! Sknnnnnnh! Gods! Is id -dead-?!" he finally manages to croak. He fumbles in his hip satchel for a handkerchief and buries his big dwarven nose under neath. He honks loudly as he fights to clear his sinuses. "Oh... brilliad sbellcastid, Bissus Cor'lada," he says. The poor old woodsman is utterly stopped up. "Dow cad we -please- ged oud o' this bloody -bess-? Afore I caddae breathe oud be dose anybore?"
Skielstregar huffs and puffs as his knees wobble, red and black ichor dripping on the ground underneath him. Just as he's ready to hunker down and get deeper into his fury, Cor'lana blasts it to smithereens, smoldering grass flying everwhere and fluttering down.
The Warrior caste reins it back in, the Forgotten features recede, and he falls to both knees, the halberd keeping himself aloft as he leans heavily against it.
"...oowwww...."
Farland is righting himself up and brushiung himself off. He's all but blinded by his horrifically bad allergies thanks to the pollen on the pollen monster.
"AUGH." He's making various 'splort' and 'gngsnoo!' sounds.
Cor'lana is dumbfounded, to put it bluntly. "I..."
She looks down at her hands, and then back at the moss dragon that thumped down as a result of her magic. "I didn't think that would work," she says. "Or that I'd be the one to bring it down. I know it's not a real dragon, bu--"
Her thoughts are interrupted by another one of those high-pitched sneezes that's a little more like a squeaky mouse trying to speak. Sniff. "--but... Yes, we shouldn't hang around here longer. Err. Where should we go from here?"
"HNGNGH!@" HONK! HONK! HONK! Farland is blowing his nose. It sounds like peace was never an option.
"Good fight. It the good fight, comrades. Ramirez, keep your head up, you do not want to be sneezing in the pollen cloud." Paenitia says, turning her mount in a circle as she watches the trees.
"The where to go is the direction of the expedition leader. Farland, he will tell us, when his nose clear."
The little lucht laughs, "he is the gnome, it is the big nose. It will take some time."
Vaera flinches when the dragon splinters and falls, until they realize that it is completely dispatched, and the sith-makar can relax.
Which in their current state involves a lot of sneezing and wiping at their eyes, very relaxing. They bus themselves with folding their weapon back up, and scraping the pollen from every bit of the weapon they could manage.
"The sooner, the better." The red makari snorts.
Dirk is all too sympathetic with Farland's plight. When it comes to snoot-stature, dwarves and gnomes are in the same weight class. He coughs again, honking and hurrking some more. But despite his own discomfort, he gives Skiel a worried look. "Och, Skiel... *snurrrrrf*... are you a'right, laddie?" He looks over to Vaera. "Och, Bissus Vaera, I thig Skiel could use somb healin'."
Skielstregar, belated in his answer, sneezes. Then emits a groan of pain as he carefully rises up. "N-No, let usss not eat it, Paenitia..." Totally lacerated from the entire endeavor, he's pulling out a pack and unrolling bandages.
He stumbles forward, wrapping up his arms. "Yesss, let usss get out of thisss and take ssstock..." He looks over his shoulder, Dirk blurry in his allergy ridden eyes. "N... no, thisss one isss... bad. Letsss get out of thisss firssst...
Zyla didn't have much luck helping with the drake but she watches around as people work to recover, after all it is the best time to ambush so she tries to keep her attention around them just in case.
"Yes, let's go. Farland! Where are we headed from here?" Cor'lana calls out--followed by more coughing, which she does into the crook of her elbow anyway despite her mask. Hygiene is important.
"Snacks," Pothy suggests.
"There are /no/ snacks to be had in the Felwood, Pothy," Cor'lana says. "You got lucky with the fermented berries."
"Y-yeah. Let's move away. I've got a rope tri- - ACHOO. Wait. That's a bad idea. Any extra dimensional space is a bad idea. Let's move." He moves. Into a tree.
He can't see very well right now thanks to the allergies.
"Yes, he probably needs healing since I was incapable of doing much." Vaera chuffs once. "But I can't stop to heal here, it's already apparent magic is working wrong. I would not wish to attempt to close wounds, only to open up more in the process."
"Lean on me if you need Skielstregar, I am still in good enough shape to put myself in harms way for now, if the need arises."
"Ha! You have the great fortune. Tarien gifts me with the laying on of hands. There will be no magical complications." Paenitia says cheerfully. She glances at Farland, attempting to find a tree, and various others blowing their nose. "Ramirez! I dismount."
The white peacock-andalusian extends a wing, the little lucht grabs her medical box and slides down to the ground. She waves at Skielstregar, "Come Friend Dragon, we are not going places for a while. I have the time."
One of the party will need to guide Farland. He has work to do but he ain't doing shit until his eyes and nose are clear.
Dirk throws up his hands. "Of, piss ub by -arse-," he grunts. He trundles over to Farland, carefully picking his way through the undergrowth. He puts a hand on the gnome's shoulder and turns him. "Which way, laddie?" he grunts. "Tell us where we're goid'. I'll bake sure we gehahh... we gahhh.... HAHSHOO!" He snurrks noisily, scrubbing at his nose with his hankie. "C'mod laddie, get us out o' this hell o' polled!"
Skielstregar, him following slightly behind Dirk, trembles slightly as he slows next to the short knight. "Yesss... yesss. Thisss one can use your attention once we find a spot..." he murmurs gratefully as he carefully leans against Vaera.
The Red Knight stares at the response, her head turning to look at Dirk and Farland, then back to Skielstregar. As always, her expressions are hidden behind her ever grinning mask. The Smiling Man keeps her secrets. She chuckles, "Okay, Ramirez! I mount!"
Obligingly, the white hippogryph sweeps her back up into the saddle. She re-stows her healing gear and takes up land and shield once more.
"Ramirez has the big butt, there much room. Toss Farland up here if he do not say where to go, I will steer the ship."
'Ruaaaaah!' Ramirez objects! He has a perfectly fine equine hind.
Cor'lana steps up to Farland as well--
And then Pothy beats her to the punch. He flaps over and lands on Farland's head. "MARCH!" he commands. He has picked a direction and that is where the party will go. For now.
Cor'lana facepalms. "Thank you for your contribution, Pothy," she says. But she just goes with it. It's not worth fighting him.
The red makari grumbles and sneezes, wanting to walk away and not growing a bit impatient. "We are not accomplishing anything staying here, yes. If Farland need lead, then we should just get away from the corpse of that creature so we can stop breathing in the pollen it is likely still spewing into the air."
Dirk shudders a bit at that. What's worse than dragon pollen? -Dead- dragon pollen. "Oh, blessed Dada defed be," he grumbles. As Pothy alights on Farland's head and gives the order to march, he pumps his fist. "Aye, -there- ye go, lad! You tell 'ib!"
There's a distinct pause from Farland as Pothy lands on him.
"Is... is that your bird, Cor'lana?" he asks after a moment, eyes squeezed shut.
But he follows. Eventually, you're able to get far enough away from the zone of pollen that the worst of its impacts will begin to dissipate.
The Red Knight rides along on her Ivory Steed at a jaunty gait. They have defeated a dragon! Partially. Part dragon, and part defeated. It is still a little accomplishment for a little knight and it puts a spring in brave Ramirez's step.
"Have we the good distance from the deed? Do you want the medical attention now?" She asks, looking around, her goggles snapped down over her grinning mask to give her better sight into the shadows.
"We should have bring the spinny spoons, or the drinky bird, to see where the magic goes wrong." She suggests. "You with the spells, keep the magic sight up, yes?"
"Farland, are you well enough to say what we seek? Why we come here, what is the plan?" Paenitia laughs, "I enjoy the god fight and the dragons in the Vast, you have the same hope for here?"
Skielstregar, once they get far enough away, practically falls to his knees as Paenitia suggests to get patched up. "Y-Yesss, if that is okay, Warrior Paenitia. Thisss one doesss their job well, but their job can only be done ssso much before it isss no longer ssssafe to do."
His head is a bit woozy from the blood loss, him binding his own wounds to staunch them before an actual medical exam. "... ssspinny spoonsss? How can a spoon ssspin...?" he asks mostly to himself. Skiel shakes his head. "Thank you, Warrior Paenitia..."
"Well, we were nearly where we were aiming for when we hit the dragon. I can confirm more when I can see again. We're looking for concentrations of magical energy and wdhat's changed abotu them," explains. He's able to talk a bit better now that he's far enough away. Farland sneezes and sniffles and honks some more.
"Snacks," Pothy says. Yes, it's him. "MARCH." Farland's not moving fast enough for him. They have to find the snacks!
"Be nice, Pothy," Cor'lana commands with a heavy sigh. "I can try and detect more magic in the meantime."
Which she does just that while people patch each other up. Gathering magic... to look for magic.
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Detect Magic. Caster Level: 12 DC: 16 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Spellcraft: (13)+14: 27 <OOC> Paenitia says, "assuming there is time I'd like to TDW on Skiel, which is DC20, I get half my cav levels on the roll because Pillar Cav. If successful, he gets his HD/Level in HP back, if it is 5 over the DC, Skiel gets my wisdom bonus too" GAME: Paenitia rolls heal+5: (13)+15+5: 33 GAME: Paenitia used a Healer's Kit. GAME: Paenitia used a Healer's Kit. <OOC> Skielstregar has 9 HD :) <OOC> Paenitia says, "so, 11. sorry I'm not wiser" <OOC> Skielstregar says, "11 is greater than 0!" GAME: Vaera rolls heal: (10)+7: 17, "helping with heal check"
The Red Knight dismounts with her Healer's kit, and takes the time to bandage up Skielstregar. She has a few tinctures she hands him, "The one drop each eye, and the nose, it should help with the pollen."
As she applies bandages, some wrapped quite tight, she advises, "You need the rest for days, but there is not always the time. This should remind you of the injuries and keep them from get to bad. You are brave in the fight, I am glad you are the ally."
Vaera is finally able to wipe away at their face and come away with eyes watering less, so the moment the group stops, she takes a seat and pulls out her tools to properly clean her thunderbelcher, at least to the point all the parts are moving properly again. Finished with the somewhat rushed cleaning, she instead goes to help stabilize the various bandages as they're applied and work around the armor. "I could not tell how bad things were truly getting out there. I still have some healing potions on hand, you should take some, Skielstregar."
Dirk is grateful for the chance to take a break. He plumps his hefty rear down on a fallen log, setting aside his thunderbelcher and doffing his tricorne. He takes a flask of water from his pack and upends it over his face, burbling and spluttering as he washes the foul pollen of hell out of his eyes. Leaning forward, he presses a fingertip to one side of his nose and SNURRRRRRFS noisily. The color that splats out of his nose must surely come from some kind of hell--no pure, healthy creature could make such an unnatural shade of yellow. But he presses on undaunted, blowing out his other nostril. "Oh! Oh, -gods, that's so much better!" he groans, before pouring another splash of water over his face. He shakes his head, showering water (and snot) in all directions. "Damn it all, I already washed me beard this week!" he grumbles, even as he indulges in a deep breath through his now-liberated nose. He turns his attention over to Skiel and Paen. "How're ye holdin' up there, laddie?"
Cor'lana finishes her assessment, pulling her hands down from the air. She frowns again--very little about casting magic has given her a reason to be happy and laughing today since they entered the Felwood. "Yeah, I think we need to go back in there," she says. "The magic energy was headed back there, and it's... It feels like an infected wound. It's angry and red and it's going to get worse if we don't go there and fix it."
"The bandage go under the armour. The armour, she does not ache." Paenitia laughs. Standing, she's almost as tall as Skielstregar is sitting, so he has to as she tends to him. She expertly replaces a shoulder pauldron, rerebrace, couter and vambrace, tightening down the straps as a practiced squire might.
She nods at Dirk, "he is strong, the bindings will hold."
"Okay! We go back! The warriors will stand without the clue while you fix it." She laughs, "it is the natural way of things. We are the body shields while the great magic is worked."
Farland gives himself a shake off.
"It's a Magus Point," he explains, "or something close to it. We're going to need to make some adjustments. Landscaping changes, to an extent, to settle the energies down. Mind you, we're mostly learning that something is *wrong* and that it's upsetting magical energies in various locales. A particular bard went out of their way to confirm this even further for us."
Skielstregar, once the worst of the bleeding has been stopped, leans against his halberd as the others tend to him. He does his best to drop the tinctures into his eyes and nose, him missing several times but eventually getting them in. And out after a big sneeze off to the side, blasting a patch of grass to be flash frozen. "Goodnessss."
He sighs in relief. "Thisss one underssstandsss," he intones, putting on his breastplate after the tending is done. "If only there wasss more time. Thank you for your kinds wordsss, Warrior Paenitia. You did well assss well."
Dead gaze shifts to Vaera. "Thisss one will take ssssome, if you have them to sssspare. Thisss one feelsss like it would be a time to ussse them. Thank you, Firebrand."
A thumbs up is shot to Dirk, and he slowly rises, steadier on his taloned feet now. "Right. Thisss one isss ready to go back. Erm... Magnusss, Point? Who isss Magnusss, and where are they pointing?"
<OOC> Whirlpool says, "Skiel, roll for CLWs." GAME: Skielstregar rolls 1d8+1: (4)+1: 5 GAME: Skielstregar rolls 1d8+1: (7)+1: 8
"Magus point," Cor'lana corrects. "I think... And correct me if I'm wrong, Farland, because Pothy's the one who holds a lot of my arcane knowledge, and he's currently on your head--it's essentially a spot where leylines converge, right?"
"Snacks," Pothy says. Thanks, Pothy, very helpful.
"And I know that bard," Cor'lana adds. "That'd be my sister-by-choice, Patch. Either way... Landscaping changes, huh. That... will definitely result in some unwanted attention."
Her hand goes to her curuchuil mark on her chest and she breathes in deeply. "Again, if anything fey comes for us, try and let me do the talking," she reminds the group. "Let's go back in once we're all ready."
"Landscaping." Paenitia says, twisting in her saddle to look behind her. "I cannot help with that. I do not bring the battle shovel. Ramirez can make the small scratches, but it is not much."
"You will be using spells to make this adjustment? You want us to fly back to Alexandria, get the dig crew come out to do the work?"
Dirk boggles a little bit at all the talk of magic and things. Such things are far beyond the burly old woodsman's wheelhouse. "Lay lines? As in, lines that're layin' down, as opposed tae floatin' in midair? Och, I wouldn't go disturbin' -those-. I -hate- it when the lines start floatin' in midair. Usually means I've et summat I should nae have et." He sets his tricorne back atop his head and shakes out his beard to get the last bit of moisture out of the whiskers. "So... what is it -we're- needin' tae be doin', then?" he inquires. "I can till a garden well enough, but I expect we'll be needin' more than hoein' some rows tae get these lines layin' where yer wantin' 'em."
"No. Way too dangerous for a crew of regulars two come out this far, and what we're going to do will probably draw attention. Fix this, and we settle down magic in the immediate area and maybe get some clues to why it's happening in the process," explains Farland, glancing towards the others. He nods, though. "Sea of Mana flows into the world through a network of ley lines. Or, more accurately, the sea of mana is all things and everywhere. Ley lines are just ... more concentrated rivers of magical energy flowing across the world."
He facepalms at Dirk's comments.
Skielstregar scratches his head. The explanations don't make sense to him,but after downing a couple of potions and giving Vaera a brief hug, he rises fully. Bloodied, but ready to press on.
Skielstregar says, "So we go back. Thissss one isss ready they think...""
"Agreed," Cor'lana states. "Farland, are you ready to go?"
Pothy is ready. He does tiny little tippy-taps on Farland's head.
"When you have the hammer, everything is the nail." Paenitia observes, laughing, "I have the Composite Longbow, the Halfling Skipball, the Halfling Sling Staff, the Lucht Walking Stick, the Lucht Traveler's Knife, the Warhammer, the Longsword, the Mithral Lance, the Lance, the third lance, the Lucerne Hammer, the Halberd, the Bardiche, the Ranseur, the Bec de Corbin, the Bill, the Glaive, the Guisarme, and the Glaive-guisarme. So not everything is the nail for me."
"But..." She holds up a guantlet, "I still only make the stab, slash or smack. This problem that needs the solution will involve one of those? The killing thing is our trick, not the magic ones."
Vaera pulls a pair of bottles out of her jacked and hands them over to Skielstregar, before she stretches and stands up, collapsing the thunderbelcher only to put it back together almost immediately once she knows it is functional. "Ley lines not working properly, and we are supposed to, oour job is to escort Faarland, so I expect that he will be the one doing the landscaping. I am not keen to return to that forest, but it is necessary."
"Yeah, I will be," Farland lets out a sigh. "This *will* be dangerous. More dangerous than what we just fought. You'll want to take some time to prepare the area defensively, if you can." Farland then nods back in the direction of the deceased 'dragon'.
"...ready when you all are."
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 12 DC: 17
Paenitia says, "I can chop down trees so I can charge, Farland?"
Skielstregar says, "Warrior Paenitia, we got warning not to messss with the treesss, no?"
"Ha ah, that is true. Then I will think of the other things.
<OOC> Paenitia says, "I can roll k/military theory." <OOC> Whirlpool says, "It can certainly help strategize what NEEDS to be defended and how." GAME: Paenitia rolls knowledge/military theory: (4)+11: 15 GAME: Vaera rolls knowledge/military theory: (13)+6: 19, "+2 to Paenitia's roll"
Dirk shakes his head as he hops to his feet and takes up his thunderbelcher, slinging it over his shoulder. "I just need me gun," he grunts to Paenitia. "I'm a simple man. I only need one way tae drop me enemies. Bullets do just fine." He looks around at the others. "I'm ready tae move out when ye all are."
Good news! By the time you return to the site, the pollen has mostly cleared. Farland is surveying the area and clears his throat, a nod towards Ravenstongue.
"Essentially, the flow of magic has been ... twisted here in a way that is interfering with the act of spellcasting under the current systems of magic. Now," he says, "We have to figure out exactly what's causing it. That dragon thing was a product of the concentrated, angry magical energy giving life to things." He prods at its remains. "But before we do anything else, you should all secure the area as best you can."
Paenitia and and Vaera can do just that. There are narrow poiints in the trees that can be secured off, brush placed between them, snappable twigs layered to sound approaches along obvious routes. Plenty of ways to secure an area, to tell you when something is close.
"I carry the arsenal of the Mad Dogs," Paenitia tells Dirk when there is an opportunity, answering his one man, one bullet, observations. "There is always the great surprise, how many people forget their weapons or do not bring the right kind. I have the crossbows."
She glances in Vaera's direction, "For when the boomsticks jam. Well, had the crossbows, they fall off on the long flight with Ramirez."
She blocks the areas between the tight trees and even goes so far as to jam some of her pole-arms in, adding blades to the edges of the arena. "This should keep the monsters out, and in."
She resumes her place in Ramirez's saddle, "it is as good as can be. I am ready."
<OOC> Ravenstongue would like to start laying down any magic prep/groundwork <OOC> Whirlpool says, "Spellcraft would be good. :)" GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Spellcraft: (5)+14: 19 <OOC> Skielstregar will assist with spellcraft GAME: Skielstregar rolls spellcraft: (11)+6: 17 <OOC> Skielstregar says, "+2 to Rt"
Cor'lana helps to prepare with the magic that is to come. Carefully, carefully, she aids Farland in the preparations.
Pothy supervises, of course. When he's not being an absolute snack-fiend, he is surprisingly thoughtful and nudges Cor'lana when it seems like she's about to overlook something. Moss dragons take a bit out of you, okay?
Much of the preparations magically consist of small adjustments to the area. Small changes that will help untangle the knots in the flow of mana that have rendered this area so 'angry' around its central point, where the dragon once sat. The trees around, their roots ganrled and ancient, the mists coiling around your feet, lend an ominous air to the proceedings. It is dead silent here.
"I have a bow still, if I need to use it. Just. And another boomstick, if this one jams. Do not worry, I will hopefully be prepared for what may come. At least assuming I can pierce whatever armor it may have." The red makari chuffs.
"There are obvious points of entry to this clearing. Block them off, set some early detection warnings and, Skiel, how are you feeling? Would you be up for moving some trees into place?"
Lyme mostly just tries to stay out of the way, until called on, keeping an eye out on the woods while plans are made.
Skielstregar, despite his typical manner of profession ends up helping...
Cor'lana. He's not smart. Or learned. Or gifted. He goes more off his gut, and where he can help find weird feelings. And right now, things just feel.. off.
"Thisss one wissshes to sssee the day you arm many with your weaponsss, Warrior Paenitia," he comments idly after the long list of weapons named.
Dead gaze sweeps about the dead silence. A flick to Vaera. "... didn't we mention to not messss with the treesss? Thisss one could do it, but.- Actually. Thisss one's trick for uprooting trees reliesss on magic. They can chop if need be. But, previousss warnings...-" he rolls a hand.
Back to the space at hand. He thinks. Then ambles over to where the 'dragon' was sitting and drags his taloned foot across the dirt.
Ramirez mostly preens as Paenitia works to set up the defenses. He struts and trots about, also clawing at where the dragon was. He defeated it, he is the best, yes.
"Maybe we see the day soon!" The Red Knight laughs. The perimeter is secure. She tilts her wide brimmed hat towards Vaera, clucking, "You have the bow. Do you have the silver or the cold iron arrows? If you need these, Friend Dragon, these I have."
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+6: (19)+6: 25, "ramires perception" <OOC> Paenitia says, "he cannot communicate well what he sees, but if it looks like something he can fight, he reacts to a New Challenger" GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (11)+13: 24 GAME: Vaera rolls perception +2: (5)+13+2: 20 GAME: Dirk rolls Perception+2: (3)+12+2: 17 GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (9)+8: 17 GAME: Lyme rolls perception: (3)+9: 12 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (3)+4: 7 <OOC> Ravenstongue says, "Rerolling that. "With RPP. Take my roleplay coins!" GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (14)+4: 18
Dirk busies himself with helping as best he can. He'll sling his thunderbelcher and draw his hand-axe off his belt, using it for its intended purpose--as a hatchet-slash-camp tool. This lets him lop off dead branches and gather them together for proper distribution. He hums a cheerful dwarven working tune as he works. "Bum bum ba-dum bum ba-dum dum-da dum... diggy diggy hole..."
This isn't easy work but Farland knows what he's doing. Cutting away a certain amount of plants, but not too many. Gently getting an exposed root from a gnarled tree underneath fresh soil. Snapping several branches off trees. It's shaping work.
"The ancient dwarves used to practice a kind of sacred geomancy," he explains. "It's a lost art today, but some of the principles were absorbed by Rune. This geomancy can be used to help ease the way mana flows through a particular ley-line. Think of it as beavers and a dam. We're supporting healthy magical ecology in an area where that's been disrupted somehow."
Indeed, as the work continues over several hours, all of the party is keeping their eyes peeled. It's so quiet that every little sound you make is t hat much more enhanced.
... which makes the rasping creaking sounds in the woods even more ominous in turn. Rasp, creak. Rasp, creak. Rasp, creak.
It's unclear where that's coming from.
Farlan lets out a breath, nodding to Cor'lana. "I think we've done what we can. I'm going to tap the magus point here now, try to draw off some of the excess magical energy. We'll infuse it into ourselves, and maybe we can see what happens." He takes a moment and then readies a spell, beginning to intone it...
... when the tree next to him opens its eyes.
OOC
Spell Prep
To (Dirk, Ravenstongue, Skielstregar, Zyla, Paenitia), Whirlpool pages: raven+Ready for your close up? :)
From afar, to (Dirk, Ravenstongue, Skielstregar, Zyla, Paenitia): Whirlpool meant that for just RT but whatev. XD
<OOC> Ravenstongue says, "Pardon me, let me just... powder my nose and refresh."
GAME: Ravenstongue refreshes spells.
<OOC> Ravenstongue says, "There, I refreshed."
<OOC> Ravenstongue will now cast spells expended.
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Haste. Caster Level: 12 DC: 19
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Hold Monster. Caster Level: 12 DC: 23
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Dispel Magic. Caster Level: 12 DC: 19
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Lightning Bolt/Persistent. Caster Level: 12 DC: 21
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Lightning Bolt/Persistent. Caster Level: 12 DC: 21
<OOC> Ravenstongue says, "Okay, all done!"