Rig

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Valmjr weaved and parried, facing his ghastly foe. The familiar feeling of the warrior's high, as he thought of the rush of adrenaline and focus that he felt when his life was on the line, began to push all thoughts of harming the crypt guardians out of his mind. He was regressing to a more primitive state, one of kill-or-be-killed. One he knew very well, a feeling in his body that had kept him alive in the endless battles of Ysgard this long.

The flaming green blade tore through the other two guardians. The masked man attacked the foe that Valmjr currently faced, not landing a hit but distracting it as the swashbuckler moved up to the same target, buying Valmjr the opening he needed. With one might swing of Hela, he sent his trusty battleaxe crushing through the spirit's armor and...body. Valmjr let out a warrior's yell of triumph, and now all feelings of regret in fighting the crypt guardians was gone from his mind. He would stop what ever or who ever got in his way if it meant saving his home from the forces of darkness on the surfaces above.

Mechanics

HP: 40/40
AC: 19
Spell Slots:
-Level 1 (3/3)

Valmjr scores a critical hit on the lone surviving crypt guardian, not needing to roll the additional advantage die. He deals 12 damage with his trusty battleaxe.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

The fight continued. The bard, having taken off down the crypt towards the guardians at the other end, was currently engaged. The mage, Birbin, having done the same. The foe Valmjr faced swung at him, the warrior's faithful battleaxe barely deflecting the first blow. The second swing went wide, making it easy for the large Ysgardian to dodge.

As Valmjr dodged the second attack, another bolt whistled past his head. While normally such a minor distraction would hardly register to the experienced warrior, the wind created by the the bolt flying past him caught him off guard, for at that same moment Valmjr had lifted Hela above his head to bring down upon the Guardian with all his strength. The bolt, however, caused him to hesitate just the slightest bit, and the ax came crashing down, missing the guardian, clanging off the crypt's stone floor.

Mechanics

HP: 40/40
AC: 19
Spell Slots:
-Level 1 (3/3)

Valmjr attempts to strike the Guardian, but misses completely with an attack roll of 9.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Valmjr's attempt to talk the spirits down failed. Somehow, he knew it would be pointless, but the idea of having to attack his own made him give it a try, at least. The spirit guardians approached, taking swinging their weapons at both warriors but failing to land a strike. The two at the far end of the room maneuvered to arm themselves with javelins, while the little gnome summoned some sort of guardian spirit himself.

As Valmjr was readying his next attack, the guardian burst away into nothingness, its armor clattering onto the ground in front of him. The Ysgardian glanced over his shoulder in time to see the masked man reloading a crossbow. Without thinking, as his mind now ran off of reflexes learned from countless battles before, Valmjr moved up to the Spirit attacking the swashbuckler.

As he was swinging his battleaxe at the new target, something in him caused him to hesitate. Though he was mostly working off of reflex, some part of his mind still felt this was wrong. He should not be fighting his own. He was fighting to protect them, after all. To protect these very crypts the guardians existed for. Hela clanged off the armor, failing to strike any vulnerable part of his opponent.

"Hells..." Valmjr muttered under his breath, before gritting his teeth and preparing to react to the spirit's strike.

Mechanics

HP: 40/40
Spell Slots: Level 1 (3/3)

Valmjr attempts to hit the guardian fighting Cesar, rolling an 8. He fails to hit.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Valmjr expected this sort of welcome to the crypt. He knew the spirits below would not be inclined to allow foreigners into their space. He also knew he had to bring these people with him. They knew who, or what, had defiled the crypt earlier. Judging by the recent scarring of the spirits' armor, he knew it wasn't of Ysgard as well.

"Brothers, sisters," he said, holding Hela at the ready but not threateningly, "let us enter. These outlanders have proven their mettle. They have attacked the shadowy beasts besieging our beloved Ysgard. They've fought and bled for our world." he explained, before continuing.

"Let us enter, we seek no quarrel with you. These companions, and their friends upstairs, are hunting the same outsider who so disrespectfully defiled these crypts earlier. Show us where he went, and we will, together, bring swift justice to them!"

Valmjr stared at the restless spirits before him, unsure if his words carried any weight, ready to attack if need be.

Mechanics

HP: 40/40
Spell Slots: Level 1 (3/3)

Valmjr attempts to persuade the spirits to let him and the strangers accompanying him pass in search of the outsider who came through the crypts earlier. Roll: 9.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Valmjr rubbed his chin with his free hand, mulling the text over and over in his mind, trying to determine what was missing. He glanced at the anxious gnome, and the human, seeing neither could make out the script carved into the door. "Ah," he said, then cleared his throat. "This is in the language of the God. I believe it is called, 'Celestial'." he explained, before reciting what remained of the inscription.

He ran his fingers through is beard, trying to recall the poem carved upon the door. He must have heard it recited before, he felt like he should know what was missing. He began mumbling to himself. Willing the missing words to come to him. He didn't care if the others could hear him or not. At this point, the missing words were the key. At least, that's the way it appeared to him.

Mechanics

HP: 40/40
Spell Slots: Level 1 (3/3)

Valmjr attempts a knowledge: religion check to recall the missing portions of the poem, hoping that by reciting them aloud the door will be unlocked. Rolled: 15+2=17.

Return to Ravenloft

▬▬ ⌘ Dalanth Liadon ⌘ ▬▬

▬▬ ▬⍭▬ ▬▬

The tribe was gathered. Torches burned just at the limit of the bonfire's light. Eight sages stood in a ring around the fire, around the ranger next to the flames. The rest of the tribe stood on the edge, in line with the torches. Watching, waiting. The sages chanted under their breath, the moonless night made darker by the canopy high above them.

The ranger had everything he would need for the journey. Weaponry, of course, but also more mundane things. Food. Trinkets to remind him of the tribe and all its people did for him. He could feel the air around him crackle with magical energy as the spell's power picked up. He breathed deeply to calm his nerves, closed his eyes and remembered his training.

The heat from the fire vanished, instantly. He could feel the moist air on his cheeks, his hands. He opened his eyes slowly to see an assembled group of adventurers. He could hear the children playing, the gypsies at their caravan. One of the women in the group spoke, as the oppressive mist that surrounded them seemed to slowly seep closer.

Glancing at each of the strangers before him, Dalanth casually asked, "So. You must be the welcoming party, then?"

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Valmjr moved with haste to the doorway at the end of the Hall, the one that led to the crypts below. Though he was singularly focused on reaching the crypt, the rousing speech by the swashbuckler was impossible for him to ignore. A smile crept across his otherwise serious face against his will. He was more and more impressed with the heroic nature of these strangers with each passing minute.

"I won't allow another world to fall in the clutches of those shady putos... Valmjr, Bourbon, you will have my blade! Let us extinguish these dark invaders, wherever they may hide themselves! Santiago!" the man stated. Valmjr turned to him, to see he had replaced his old weapon with one of the fine swords of the Hall. Valmjr nodded approvingly.

"A fine eye for weaponry, you have." he said, as the trio walked towards the entrance to the crypt. "That is Jarlbane, a sword wielded by one of my long gone companions. It is said that sword was the one that put an end to Jarl Grundiir, the Tyrant of Fjalheim. Split his belly right open, or so the story-tellers say." He sniffed quickly, at the thought of his dead friend, then added, "Best that you honor that weapon by killing the enemies of Ysgard, rather than leave it to collect dust on a rack somewhere."

Finally, the group approached the door. However, Valmjr could tell right away something was off. After the little gnome failed to open, pushing and pulling on the knocker, Valmjr knew that someone had tampered with it. He squinted, searching for a sign of what ever was holding the door shut. They had to get into the crypts below, they had already wasted enough time eating after the last battle. Determined, Valmjr ran his thumb across the grain of the door, eyed the seams between it and the wall, and tried to recall anything that might prevent the group from accessing the crypts below.

Mechanics:

HP: 40/40
Spell Slots: Level 1 (3/3)

Rolled a 21 (19+2) inspection check to determine what might be holding the door shut.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

Valmjr politely declined the offered beverage, the one the swashbuckler had held out. He smiled and shook his head. "No need, friend. There's plenty of strong mead to be had in the Hall."

He stood by as, one after the other, the strangers entered the hallowed structure. Nodding to himself in approval, he stepped in at last. He observed as the champions, as he was beginning to think of them, restocked from the supplies located within the Hall. Valmjr made no effort to stop them, they had proven their worth by fighting the demon things and entering the longhouse. It was obviously the God's plan that they resupply with what was on hand. At this point, Valmjr realized he was decidedly hungry. The siege the night before had taken his mind off such mundane matters as hunger and thirst, but now that things had settled down he became aware of his immediate, personal needs. Approaching the long central table, Valmjr picked up a loaf of bread, pulling it apart with both hands, and began eating one half while pouring a tankard of mead for himself as well.

As Valmjr took a long draw off of his mead, the strange human-looking member of the group asked for details about the Hall. Valmjr swallowed hard, the drink hitting his stomach oddly, causing him to burp loudly. "Excuse me," he said, lightly hitting his chest with his fist, "that hit the spot!" he exclaimed, cheerily.

"But, ahah, I suppose you've the right to know what this place is. It is a holy place, a protected place. Only the proven warriors of Ysgard are allowed to enter this building." he pointed to himself, and then extended his hand in the direction of the rest of the champions, "Which, obviously, you've all proven your worth this day."

"I am sad to say, however," his cheeriness quickly dissipated, and he looked down at his toes for a second before looking back at the group, "but there used to be many more men and women in this Hall, devout, proven warriors all. You see, when a warrior of Ysgard dies on the field-" Valmjr abruptly silenced himself as the excited gnome interrupted him.

"The underground, of course! For the fallen heroes of Ysgard! That must be where the Green Man went if he wasn't here here."

At the mention of the crypts, Valmjr's train of thought shifted. He placed his tankard down on the table, hard. He threw the remaining bit of bread in his hand onto the table as well, and reached for Hela and his helmet. "If someone is defiling the crypt," he said, pulling his helmet onto his head as he spoke, "we must not waste time. We have to get down there, now."

With a look of extreme focus and determination, Valmjr marched down the Hall, in the direction of the crypt, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder to see if the others were following.

D&D 5e - The Lost Lands

When the last shadow fell, Valmjr lowered his battleaxe, holding it parallel to the ground in both hands, the handle resting along his thighs. He turned to look at the newcomers, steam puffing out of his mouth and nose with every heave of his chest as the effects of the adrenaline in his system started to wane.

As the little gnome approached, Valmjr removed his helmet with his left hand, gripping it by one of the two ornamental cattle horns that jutted out of the side. A slight smile crept across the scarred and craggy face of the large warrior. He shook his head in disbelief.

"The new friends are good, you see? Birbin brings them to help!" the little gnome exclaimed excitedly. Valmjr just shook his head again and chuckled.

"How did you survive out there on your own? Such a little fellow, you must be more skilled at your magics than I gave you credit for." Valmjr said, as the first of the newcomers approached.

The one calling himself Theodore, apparently a templar of some kind, approached and introduced himself. Valmjr rested Hela, butt-down, the head leaning against his hip as the man spoke. Valmjr reached out with his right hand, in a show of greeting. "My name is Valmjr, a warrior of Ysgard. I can tell you and your friends are not of this place..." he scanned Theodore's compatriots and shrugged, "however, I will not turn away aid from valiant warriors as yourself. Come, let us not dally out here in the open. I do not know when the monsters will attack again. Follow me into the Hall," he leaned his head towards the longhouse behind him, "and talk in safety."

Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

Sorry I went silent, I plan on catching back up with the story today or tomorrow, had a busy week last week and a bit of a wild weekend that kept me away from the computer longer than I expected!