Aspiring Aspire-ations, Pt3

Log Info

• Title: Aspiring Aspire-ations, Pt3

• GM: Whirlypool

• Characters: Aelwyn, Eztli, Irshya, Fidget
• Place: Felwood

• Summary: One more step in resolving the riddle of the Spires. One slightly unsettling elf enlists the help of adventurers to find strange magic gemstones in the woods. What could go wrong?

Prev: [[1]]

There is indeed a fel wind in the air. A sense of wrongness carried by the breeze. It's not like it smells of brimsstone or any such convenience to make it obvious... but it feels heavy somehow, smothering. Vae grimaces. "I do not like this feeling," he tells you, "We should return."

Aelwyn doesn't need much more encouragement than that, picking up his glaive. "This one agrees, we have spent enough time here already." He rumbles, looking around the clearing, before gesturing towards the others. "Let us return towards the camp before something... appears." He vaguely says, before starting to head towards the edge of the forest.

"Is it really a good idea to let this bad feeling follow us to camp like a lost puppy?", the pool-shark wonders. A loud gurgling noise is hear then, and she sighs. "I am getting kind of hungry though." Irshya side-eyes Aelwyn a moment, before following in his wake. "I think you need a few more glaives. THere's a bit of a glaive deficit in the group."

"Alright, we're getting out of here? We're getting out of here. Nothing for it, I guess." Eztli shrugs, mostly to herself than anything in particular. "If it's following us it's going to attack when it feels like, and I doubt it isn't aware of the heavily armed camp near the forest, what with these stones showing up in spots with some manner of purpose." "Anyways, let's get going, stay close, if things go tits up, then can teleport us at least a bit farther away from any danger." The sorceress suggests as she turns to follow the others.

"Glaives? How many could a group really need? Seems like a zero to one thing. Unlike wizards - where the more you have the better." Fidget disagrees with Irshya, a little confused but keeping up the pace as they start to head outwards from the forest, rather than inwards. She weaves some protective magic as they walk, keeping her eyes peeled for whatever is giving her the chill feeling up her back.

GAME: Fidget casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 8 DC: 18

"I do not think we have to be concerned that something knows where the camp is -- that's been fairly obvious for a while," remarks Vae, cautiously, "but point taken. Still, I do not m,uch like the idea of lingering."

A nod towards Eztli, then, then a pasue before he mouths 'Tits up?'. Not a phrase he's familiar with.

Aelwyn rumbles at Irshya, "Tch, Sharkie will be glad for the extra glaive when it shall slice the fiend's face in half." He tells her, before shaking his head. "Apparently not enough," He replies to Fidget with a flash of his teeth. As the group start to head off, he begins to take a closer look at their surroundings, to try and see if anything was following them. "We did not wander that far. Surely, the return should be uneventful."

Irshya stares at Eztli, and then at Vae. She lets out a long, lengthy sigh, one of long suffering. "It is a phrase associated with races whose women have mammary glands. It's similar to belly up, in that when a thing dies in water, it tends to float belly up. To say, on it's back. A woman appea.. you know what... nevermind. It means things have gone to hell. Gone to shit. Totally fucked. Situation normal, all fucked up. It's real bad. Screwed. Wrecked." It's almost as if she's enjoying the swearing. The Gobbo peers at Aelwyn, "You mean when you break it on the demon's face and he laughs at you?" She glances around. "Yeah, we're not that far, but we should hurry along. And unless they're made of cold iron, the glaives won't do much against a fiend."

Eztli blinks, and in spite of the situation, the small makari has to stifle a bit of laughter. "What she said, easier for her to explain given circumstances." Is all she offers. "I think he got a few options just in case, he didn't bring several of the exact same metal. Now that would actually be silly."

"I heard it's dwarfish in origin. Sometimes it's 'arse down, tits up'." Fidget adds helpfully, enjoying the poetic exploration of profanity. It takes away from the unnerving nature of this accursed forest. "Yeah, uneventful. Sounds boring, though. Maybe we can have a few events, as a treat? Something non-fatal preferably."

"Ah. That would explain it," remarks Vae, totally straight-faced, "Elven women do not have any." With a sharp nod, he moves on. ... there's a cracking sound none too far from you. Loud. Branches snapping.

Aelwyn points at Eztli. "Not of the same metal." He turns to look towards Vae. "Women or men?" He wonders out loud, before the branches start breaking - and he swings (one of his) glaives about, holding it out in front of him. The Dragoon's eyes then look towards the source of the sound. "Careful, it may be a distraction. Let us keep moving." He suggests then, slowly backing away from the sound.

The pool-shark's grin slowly evaporates as the sound becomes prominent. She glances at Fidget. "You just haaaad to say that, hmm?" Her pace stumbles just a moment and she glares at Vae. "What? I..." Her eyes roll backwards and she grunts in pain. "I'm... going to have to slap you later." The Goblin begins to pray, then, her holy symbol beginning to glow brightly. A moment later, a flash spreads that glow to encompass the pool-shark.

Eztli stops for a moment, and the small makari quickly applies one hand to the side of her face. "I can say that is not the case with one hundred percent certainty." She sighs, shaking her head, at least until other noises catch their attention. "Didn't sound like us breaking any branches. Hopefully it's just an animal or something and we'll be on our way, yeah?"

GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (18)+1: 19
GAME: Fidget rolls perception: (16)+11: 27
GAME: Eztli rolls perception: (6)+5: 11
GAME: Irshya casts Magic Circle Against Evil. Caster Level: 8 DC: 17
GAME: Irshya rolls perception: (15)+13: 28

"We all heard that right?" Fidget asks, certain she knows the rough direction the sound game from - and her gaze is fixed in that direction, unable to spot anything visually just yet, her hands flex anxiously, eager to just throw a fireball that way and have done with it, but not *yet*. She was asked not to burn down the forest last time, so despite this forest definitely deserving being set on fire, she holds it for now. "There's something out there." and the goblin points, "I can't see it yet though. Just feel it. It's getting closer." the goblin warns, and she ruffles around in her outfit for something, producing a single feather and commanding it in arcane words, it glows briefly and then Fidget starts to float away from the ground. Might help with seeing things, but mostly it'll keep her out of harms way for a few minutes.

GAME: Fidget casts Fly. Caster Level: 8 DC: 20

There's a sound, now. A roaring, a buzzing. Vae girds himself, backking up as the wind comes closer. Indeed, the wind *picks up*. It howls, screams, and comes closer to you, pressure on your bodies and ears. Intense enough to make you take a step back, really. A fel stench, a taint in the air. A sickening, baleful greenish smog suddenly starts billowing towards you out of the trees.

Irshya inhales and exhales, taking on a serene expression. "Well, Aelwyn, we've not exactly been hurrying, have we? Perhaps we could attempt running?" She gestures with her trident, little sparks of electricity jumping between the tines of her weapon. "Or we could turn around and face it, hmm? Why die tired?"

"No, I suppose we haven't really been in a rush to get out of here." Eztli sighs, taking a moment to look out over where the smoke was gathering. "Any clue what's causing it before we decide how best to proceed?"

"... I was going to suggest we run," says Vae, thoughtfully. The smoke is about to roll over you, now. "I really do not love the Felwood and will be glad when it is gone," he adds. The *stink* is intense. All around you, smaller little dust-devils of swirling leaves are beginning to form.

Floating up to a few Fidgets high, the goblin keeps pace with the others as they move forward, then notices the green smoke coming up, fast. She doesn't really know what to do about clouds, but she heard *something* snap a twig, and whatever that something is probably doesn't like being on fire, so Plan Fireball it is. While floating backwards at an increasing pace to try to stay clear of the smoke, Fidget conjures a bead of flame out of the air, and with a cry of "Fuck you, creepy forest!" she lobs the bolt of flame into the depths of the smoke cloud, making sure to land it far enough back to avoid her companions...barely.

GAME: Fidget casts Fireball. Caster Level: 8 DC: 20
GAME: Fidget rolls 8d6: (23): 23

Aelwyn tilts his head over and then thwaps at the goblin with his tail. "She would not be able to keep up." He rumbles, then turns towards the elf. "That is what this one has been saying." He replies to Vae, "Burn it all -" And then Fidget does exactly that, the Dragoon holding his hand up as the explosion hits the... whatever it is.

There's a crackling of knuckles, and Irshya turns a toothy grin to Aelwyn. She gestures with her trident at one of his shins. "I don't have to outrun whatever it is. I just have to outrun... you." The Goblin cackles as once more little crackles of electricity jump between the tines of her trident. The ball of flame doesn't phase her, and she slowly raises her trident into the air, somewhere in the distance, the prickle of lightning is followed by roll of thunder. "It's going to taste of Rada's wrath in a moment."

"It's not a matter of keeping up, if I had half a mind, I'd be gone from here faster than whatever that thing is could snap a stick at." Eztli huffs, shaking her head as the fireball explodes just nearby. "Well, did that work? Are they burnable? Oh by the gods, I really hope whatever they are is burnable, because I really need to vent my frustrations with this god forsaken forest at something at this point."

WHOOSH. The fireball strikes, yes, and it strikes true. IT disrupts the dust devils and their leaves, leaving embers and cinders everywhere in a flash of fire. The smell of something foul burns in your nostrils, acrid and awful. Slooooooooowly something begins to coalescene from the mists, drawing together after the blast initially seperated it. It has sometrhing of a humanoid shape. And it howls like the wind.