Kassarock

Returning Writer

Always nice to see old faces returning, even under new names, welcome back!

What Are You Listening To?

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

There's all those NPCs I was talking about lol, haven't had this many people in one scene since the feast.

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

There was something different about her, Ozragad thought, as she took his hand and he led her to where their horses awaited their riders. He couldn't quite place his finger upon it. There was a listlessness to her perhaps, and the hand he held, it was cold in his grasp. It was nothing like when she had taken his hand before, in the council chamber. That sudden spark of connection, like electric current flowing between them, was completely absent.

Then she commented on the weather. Good weather? Good weather for hunt? Ozragad looked up to the small patch of sky that was visible in the shadowed cavernous depths that Cirith Anyr was set in. Yes, he supposed it was fine weather for a hunt. But who paid attention to the weather in a cave? He was sure of it then, there was definitely something off about the Eorzian Princess this day. His gaze scrutinised her even more closely than before. He made note of the shadows under her eyes. She was not sleeping well.

And why do you even pretend that you care?

But he had to care, somewhat at least. They had an agreement, an arrangement. She was to play her part, he was to play his. Today was most definitely part of that, a piece of political theatre to make their upcoming marriage and the peace it would bring to both their nations more palatable to his nobles and his people. That was the reason why he cared, there did not need to be anything personal about it.

"Yes, the weather, is certainly... nice." Ozragad replied flatly, before quietly sighing to himself, turning aside and mounting up. As soon as he did so there was a flurry of activity as the rest of the hunting party hurried to get on horseback themselves. One of the first to appear and trot his horse to take a place beside Ozragad was his trusted councillor, Manawyndan.

"I still have my reservations about this whole thing." The old Fomori began in al low tone, pausing to hack out a dry cough before he did so.

"Reservations? Last time I checked this was your idea, councillor."

"That was before the assassination attempt. I have increased our escort and have men already posted at the hunting grounds, but still we'll be out in the open, exposed. Someone may try again."

"Being inside the my Palace did not stop them last time. I doubt it will stop them again if they are determined." Ozragad did not know who or what to believe anymore. Manawayndan wanted him to take part in this foolish ritual, then he wanted him to stop because he feared assassins. And yet he thought his councillor could be one of the masterminds behind this plot, or it could be his betrothed, or it could be his former brother-in-law, Zakylwe Ahoraa. But what reason would Manawyndan have to remove him? Manawyndan wants peace, maybe he doubts your conviction to it, after all... you do.

The party was quickly gathered. There was The King, the Princess, her ladies, her guards. There were councillors like Manawyndan and Lord Iria and Lord Urathon. There were notable courtiers like Lady Cheldarine and her two sons, Elethiomel and Piebio. As well as assorted minor nobles, huntsmen and grooms in abundance. And finally, making up a large portion of the party, was the entirety of Ozragad's personal guard, led the fearsome female Formori with a shaven head, Captain Rhiathon. It was her who left one of the strongest impressions of all the hunting party, riding circles around the yard, barking orders as she whipped her troops into formation before they departed through the palace gates.

Beyond the streets of the upper city were busy with onlookers, but not as crowded as they had been when the Princess had first come to Cirith Anyr. While the crowd wasn't particularly hostile, there was a strong presence of city watchmen and guards posted on every street corner. They rode a different route than the one they had taken coming to palace, travelling along a street that snaked its way long up upper terraces rather than winding its way down to the lower city.

At the end of the street another dark tunnel disappeared into the side of the cavern wall, overlooked by battlements, murder holes, and secured by strong gates. These were thrown open upon the arrival of the royal entourage, and they proceeded into the darkness. After an indeterminate amount of time, pale daylight could be seen filtering in from the other end of tunnel, and they emerged blinking into a bright blustery morning.

The city's north gate was seldom used compared to the southern one, they did not open out onto any major roads or routes, but rather onto the tight valleys of barren grasslands and dark pine forests that made up the mountainous country that sprawled to the north of the city. There were farming villages and logging camps and quarries scratted around these lands, but little else, the only other thing the land was good for was hunting, and so a large portion of it was given over to the King's personal use.

As they continued down a stony track to camp prepared for their excursion, the party began to spread out. As they did so, Ozragad motioned for Princess to join his side. Sending whatever minor noble that had been talking his ear off thus far packing. When she drew near enough for them to speak without being overheard easily, he spoke.

"Does the fresh air agree with you? You did not seem yourself this morning. I hope it will not become a problem."

Game: Gnome Town

Now that the healer's hut is done, I can finally do the thing I've wanted to for ages:

>[X] Go into the woods and hunt 'the beast'

Lost Mine Of Phandelver (D&D 5e) (CLOSED)

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Azra Flametongue

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Azra stumbled back in abject horror as the party healer brought the mace down on the head of their fallen comrade with a sickening crunching sound. A shower of blood and gore spat out from beneath its spiked head, splattering Azra across the face and torso. Still on his hands and knees he drew away, not quite believing what he had just witnessed. He reached up to wipe the blood from his face, only to realise his own hand was even more covered in it than his face was.

"I thought you were supposed to be some kind of bloody healer?!" He snapped angrily at the tortle. "Well, what fucking good are you if that's the first thing you try?! Remind me to never come to you for any kind of injury, I am rather attached to my head, and would prefer the sort of treatments that kept it in one piece. And y'know, NOT DEAD!"

Azra got to his feet and cast prestidigitation on himself, using the charm to quickly clean the blood and dirt off of his clothing, returning them to their unsoiled state. When he was finished he rounded on the Eldarin mage who seemed to have suddenly found his tongue.

"And you! You're one to talk! Maybe if you hadn't been so busy reading your precious fucking book this whole time, we might have spotted that ambush earlier and none of this would have happened?! So maybe you should learn that lesson, perhaps I'll even write it in a fucking book for you if that make's it easier!" He took a deep breath and regained what little was left of his composure. When he continued it was in a somewhat calmer tone, though a single tear did roll down his cheek as he spoke. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I am going to help send off our dearly departed Ironhunk."

Azra walked over to where the tortle laboured with the makeshift funeral pyre, passing close by the fighter's gathered effects as he did so. Though his face still looked genuinely distraught, anyone paying close attention to the tiefling's prehensile scarlet tail, might have noticed the tip of it suddenly dart into the pile of belongings. When it flicked back around to its owner, it was carrying something: the rest of the fallen warrior's coin purse.

Unfortunately, the coiled tip of the tail was not strong enough to hold the small pouch securely, and instead it scattered the remaining coins across the ground in front of Azra. He stopped dead in his tracks, looked the other party members in the eyes, and then very noticeably and very visibly bent down to pick up the fallen coins.

"Oh what?! He probably would have probably wanted me to have it anyway! Being the only one to show some goddamn compassion!"

The tiefling walked off with a huff and helped finish the pyre. When commanded he cast a brief spell, and the logs below it burst into flame. As the flames took, he listened to the words the tortle whispered to him silently. Nothing to say, for once.

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Azra's Actions

• Azra cast prestidigitation on himself and made use of the clean object effect.
• Azra attempted a slight of hand check to take Ironheart's remaining gold and failed, with a 7.
• Azra cast create bonfire setting the flammable objects beneath Ironheart's body aflame.

Azra's Rolls

Lost Mine Of Phandelver (D&D 5e) (CLOSED)

@Dark Cloud Tibor has already began preparing the body, and yes I would like to roll a sleight of hand check.

Which will be: 7

Fucking hell, I am rolling shit with Azra thus far. Oh well, all in service of the comedy.

Lost Mine Of Phandelver (D&D 5e) (CLOSED)

@Dark Cloud Hey DM, I would like to swipe the other half of Ironheart's coin, discretely if possible.

When all that's done I would also like to light the funeral pyre using create bonfire.

Lost Mine Of Phandelver (D&D 5e) (CLOSED)

sad tiefling noises

Lost Mine Of Phandelver (D&D 5e) (CLOSED)

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Azra Flametongue

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"Aha! Excellent work everyone, we certainly showed them, did we not!" Azra twirled the hand from which he had shot the bolt of fire that had completely missed its target and blew the smoke from his fingertips, as if he had actually played a role in the fight that had just occurred. He was grinning from ear to ear. "And look barely a scratch on us besides of course our dear friend the driver and... oh... oh dear..."

His exuberant tone began to trail off as he made note of the prone form of their brave human warrior, sprawled on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. A crude arrow sprouted from the torn remains of one knee, a crimson gash had been cut across the powerful muscles of his throat, severing windpipe and arteries. Azra was by no means a medical man, but even he could see that his companion was not long for this world. Maybe now wasn't the time to celebrate.

"Sh-shouldn't we do something?" He spoke in a small faltering voice, completely different to his usual bravado, his eyes busily darting between the other members of the party. The tortle was already busy healing the driver. Azra didn't know any healing magic, he didn't know if any of the others did either. "We can't just let poor Ironhead, I mean Ironblood, I mean... whatever his fucking name is just die?! Can we?"

He jumped off the cart and walked over to where the warrior was bleeding out, dropping to one knee beside him, not caring how the blood stained his clothes. He reached out and took the dying man's hand.

"Come on big man." He slapped at his cheek, trying to keep him concious. "You'll pull through. Be right as rain in no time. Right guys? ...right?"

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Azra's Rolls