Iren's PbP - Chapter 2

[Irenaeus]

Chapter 2

Diverging Shadows and Deepening Dreads

The last rays of the afternoon sun bled from the sky, casting long, mournful shadows across Vertidor as the fellowship fractured in two distinct groups, its paths diverging like the desperate thoughts and motivations of its members. One contingent, driven by a cryptic quest and the alchemist's urgent need for rare components, had already struck out, their boots kicking up dust now trodding the dusty track leading southeast from the anxious town.

As these disparate groups prepared for their respective journeys—one outward bound, the other poised to descend—a subtle shift occurred. Perhaps it was the ancient foundations of the town, its power resonating with the potent "fated energy" and strong life forces of the adventurers present in Vertidor. A collective shiver, a momentary wave of profound unease, a shared vision of cold, dark, rushing water, or the faint, sub-audible hum washed over those who remained. Each felt an undeniable premonition, a chilling certainty that their luck, their very destinies, would soon be tested by the foreboding adventure that lay before them.

To Mossborrow or Getting Lost in the Wild

Led by the strong, stoic, iron-gripped Hrod Lastson and the tall, intimidating Zollo, this group was a mix of purpose and convenience: the scarred and enterprising Stein Von Steiner, focused on gathering alchemy ingredients; the fiery-tempered Gunthard and his shepherd dog, ready to assist; the naive magic-user Alfwine; and the fearful and sharp-eyed guard Ostgar, seeking safety in numbers. They marched towards the wilderness as dusk approached, a strange quest driving their lead members onward, aiming for the Hunter's Lodge, a hopefully secure stop before the perils of a night-time journey towards distant Mossbarrow.

They had not gone unnoticed. Moments after their departure, Tillomar the Accused roused himself within the inn. Having reviewed the harrowing fight in the cellar, he found the thought of returning below unsettling, preferring the open air for now. Slinging his bow and securing his axe, he decided to rely on his wolfhound Fergal's keen nose to track the Mossbarrow-bound party. "Heads, we'll be lucky -- tails, well, we'll be lucky too?" he murmured, flipping a copper coin that landed tails. With a resigned shrug towards Fergal, his "good luck charm," the pair set off in pursuit. The feeling of freedom and the prospect of exploring the wilderness shook every man in excitement — maybe relate to their fate?

This group:
(Roll for Luck - 1d20 + modifier).

Hardly had the group reached the southeast gate when a gangling young man stepped forward from the guard tower's shadow above, introducing himself to the adventurers as Lieutenant Emmerich of the Vertidor militia. A glint of something unreadable—perhaps envy—flickered in his eyes as he addressed them. "I would like to thank you on behalf of the militia for dealing with the evil rat infestation. Now, are you braving the countryside? Indeed, a courageous endeavor!" Emmerich chimed in, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Remember, courage is a fine blade, but caution is its strongest shield. Should you require any... specialized assistance... the Captain, and indeed myself, are always at your service." He offered a slight, deferential bow, though his eyes lingered on the party's gear.

To the Church and Earth Below

Meanwhile, back within the dimming common room of The Mountain's Last Light, the remaining adventurers faced their own impending trial. The thoughtful cleric Norman and the calm, thrifty noble and magic-user Wolfgang assessed their newly acquired arsenal for their own their own grim and mysterious task. Supported by the ranger George and Linno Aldwick, town militia, they were now equipped with a dozen torches, flasks of oil, coils of rope, hammers, and spikes. Their inventory also included two hooded lanterns for stealth, a pulley for lifting gear, a sturdy crowbar, and four skins of holy water, personally filled and sealed by Father Altanis.

The immediate, gnawing threat of what festered beneath Vertidor pressed upon them, the whispers of a "King Rat" echoing the urgency of the fading light. With the Bailiff's sanction secured, the men wondered what the the Church and the secrets of its undercroft might hold, beckoning as a potential first step into the chilling unknown that awaited them _below. The air itself seemed colder, heavy with an unspoken dread that hinted at the unnatural evil that cleric Kal Arion had detected, an unknown feeling that might be connected to something powerful deep beneath the Chapel.

This group:
(Roll for Luck - 1d20 + modifier).

As they stepped out into the rapidly fading daylight, their path to the Church was interrupted. Before them stood Captain Galeno of the the Vertidor militia. A man whose natural, optimistic leadership and sharp intellect were evident, such a commanding presence that he lacked the boorish narcissism one might expect from. "Heading to the Chapel, are we?" he inquired, his gaze keen but his tone encouraging. "Heard whispers of your bravery. The Bailiff keeps me informed. Captain Galeno then explained that most of the townspeople were being moved by the militia to a safe monastery by a local lake, while the veterans of the militia would guard the town's granary and stockades. A few patrols were also making rounds non-stop. "May your righteous purpose light your way in the shadows below. We stand ready to support the town's defense, should anything… unmanageable… surface."

The Undeniable Pull of a Stirring Evil Power

Elsewhere in Vertidor, Flipping Felix, despite his notably poor charisma, had been busy. He moved through shadows and side-streets, seeking out the bold, the foolish, and the hungry-eyed with a blend of flashy card tricks, tales of worldly wisdom, and appeals to patriotism, glory and greed, anything that could stick. He successfully recruited Jarlo, Rikko, Clem, Leno, and Ionus, promising them an equal share in profits and hinting at "further rewards" if the delve into the rat's nest proved successful. His conditions were clear: he would command this auxiliary force, and they were to bring their own weapons – prioritizing shields, short spears, javelins, nets, and anything flammable or holy. Rags to cover faces and any available armor were also mandated.

Felix tasked Rikko, known for his local knowledge, with sharing all he knew of the town's underground and its rat infestation. The kid told him that he knew cellars, basements and other of the town's older foundations that could be access points at a street level. Rikko also told him about where mutated rats were most frequently sighted, as he had observed the increasingly aggressive nature and unusual size of the rats. He had heard and helped spread tales of the "King Rat" to other kids. Rikko told Felix that later they could talk more about local stories of of what lies beneath certain parts of Vertidor and unsettling rumors about hidden stashes and strange local groups and odd behaviors — places people avoid due to stories of disappearances or strange occurrences.

With his new recruits instructed to gather their gear and meet at the inn later that evening for further discussion, Felix planned to join Kal Arion. Together, they intended to visit Father Altanis at the Church, hoping to secure more holy water and religious symbols, and to discreetly warn him about Madgen and Bennick, urging him to investigate the children and ensure their families kept them home.

Felix and Kal Arion:
(Roll for Luck - 1d20 + modifier).

Now, players are free to take their actions as the story unfolds.

[Val the Moofia Boss]

Gunthard tries to get a good look at Emmerich to memorize his face and voice. It would be good to try to put a name to the other night watchmen who might be about the town tonight.

While hiking, Gunthard eyes the surroundings for any animals to be used as a free meal, and as grease to smoke out the enemy below the town.

((Use survival skill))

[DemoGraph]

Rollan, would post later (I assume that Felix luck mod is down from +3 to +2, as with other stats).

upd. The plan in OP seems quite good.
upd 2. Change of plans.

[Irenaeus]

((Use survival skill))

Don't forget to roll for luck (1d20 + modifier). Your character's luck is 14 so that's a +1 modifier.

[SpellSword]

With the rat fur pelt stowed in the inn, Stein Von Steiner joins his Mossborrow bound travelling companions. Bailiff Gerwin Voseric's 'Writ of Joint Sanction' had given them until the seventh day to submit their findings to the Bailiff's scribe, and Stein was determind to make use of that precious time.

Stein named the ingredients aloud as he mentally reviewed Olwin and the Candlewright's directions... "mountain mycea, ash-salt, flame root, ash tree root... some bone-meal tallow..." and whatever else he could scrounge from the wilds would have to been enough. Just as with any mercantile negotiation, he knew it was important to see the scales were already tipped in their favor before the first blow was struck in the upcoming confrontation.

Trying to get a better measure of the men as they marched towards the town's gate, Stein's confidence in leaving the safety of the town's walls increased. He'd heard of brigands attacking armed groups of this size... but usually only when they were traveling in the company of carts laden with valuable goods.

His thoughts and perhaps unfounded optimism are interrupted as Emmerich makes his introduction. The man struck him the wrong way. His words were reassuring, deferential even... However through Stein's sharp-eyed gaze, the self-proclaimed militiaman's eyes seemed to stray on the party's equipment, weapons, and armor a moment too long.

Something's wrong. But from which direction? From where we came, or where we're going...

► Out of Character

Rolling intelligence.

Is there anything Stein notices in his paranoia about Emmerich that is out of place?

[Humbaba]

Luck roll first

Awful

Zollo's stares at the bowing lieutenant, while lazily chewing on a wild carrot he had found growing outside the inn. Having put the rat fleshling in a bag and tied it to his belt, he's been poking it every now and then out of boredom.

"A gruesome Burden deliver we. It doth be of no Concern to thee", the Manhunter rhymes and takes another bite of the carrot.

[Kalarion]

As Kal approached the church, he considered how he would make his appeal to Father Altanis. There was the matter of additional Holy Water, of course, but... a thought had occurred to him as he searched spoor of his old quarry through the town. The voice of the wind hadn't given him much to go on, nor the oily darkness below. But the earth had. The Verdanic Shield. Perhaps the good Father knew something about it? He would ask.

In Father Altanis's presence, Kal began. "Father, I have a serious matter to discuss, and another that arose out of my fancy and the result of some of my inquiries - unrelated to the recent happenings in town - that I would hear your word on."

"First, you know of our expedition? I come asking additional Holy Water. I know you have already provided from your stores, but any other aid you can lend would be helpful for us, and by extension to the town. If I may presume, imagine also the glory to your church when it becomes known that the success of our mission hinged upon your holy aid..."

Having made his plea, Kal switched to his personal question. "Father, have you ever heard the words, "Verdanic Shield" before? I heard it referenced a few times while asking about something unrelated in town. No one seemed to know much about it - or them? - and I thought to ask you. Does the church have any record of such a thing? Or group? Or person? Or... well, I don't know what."

His business conducted, Kal headed back to the inn, to follow the group down into the darkness, by whichever route was deemed appropriate. He listened for others soliciting his opinion, and would freely give it if asked, but otherwise remained quiet in any further proceedings, ready to move. He would serve, but did not feel comfortable leading.

[ERYFKRAD]

"And where was your militia when the tavern needed aid?" asked dour Hrod Lastson, casting a wary eye on the-perhaps overexuberant- Lieutenant.

[DemoGraph]

► OOC

I've reread my interactions and...

Felix sends off the last of the kids and heads to the Church where he expects to meet Kal. As his boots hit the ground in a familiar soft rhythm, his mind starts wandering, recalling the events of the past few days.
The town lived as usual when they've arrived. Then they've killed the rats and sent the message about it to the town hall... and everyone panicked. Felix had seen traders and craftsmen leaving town. Tallyman is probably among them. Were the rats as dangerous as they seemed? Or did locals knew something that they weren't going to reveal?
Then it hit him. The girl, the girl of that old hag, what did she say?

It keeps him asleep if you bury it. Don’t forget to bury it.

And that woman on the market?

“The old ground’s out back of the Chapel, like you’d expect. But folk say there’s another. The Quiet Hill. Not much used now, and some say not watched.” She says. She nods northeastward, toward the tree-shadowed ridge behind the wellhouse. “The old families buried their dead there. But they don’t always stay buried,” she chortles.

If there're still "old families" out here, the hag and the girl are definitely one of them. And when the girl asked him to bury that rat skeleton, she probably didn't want him to bury it at the church.
Can he trust her?
So far the kids seemed like the best folk in this town.
But wait, wait. What is the situation in general? There's the new church. There's something hidden in the dungeons below. There're rats. There're old families. There're pagans. He assumed that rats, pagans, old families and the thing below are the same. Was he wrong? Only two ways to find out and he's going to try both.

Felix tries to meet Kal at the Church to go to father Altanis.
But he also would try to dig out the talisman he buried, either before the meeting or after it. Discreetly. If needed, say to Kal and Altanis that he needs a moment alone on the holy land with his ancestors and his thoughts. And dig. It. Out.
He also tries to confront Altanis with the following: The town is in danger. Locals are packing and running away. The know something that we don't. But we know that you, father, know. We're going to try to help this town, but we're going in blind. You are here to protect the congregation. It seems that you need help. Help us help you do it. Tell us what's going on.

And the CHA roll just in case... Welp.

[TKVNC]

Tillomar along with Fergal make their way toward the South-Eastern gate of Vertidor's Rest, recalling that the men had agreed to pass that way toward Mossbarrow.

He notices the quietness settling over the Town, but without knowing the cause, simply believes it to be the fading day. Yet, still, Fergal seems tense, his movements bearing apprehension - though he follows his Master dutifully regardless.

Shortly ahead Tillomar spots the Lieutenant and his men around the gate, talking with the rest of the group - he hastens his steps and joins the others in short time.

Fergal warily eyes the armed men, but makes no particular response at this time, instead keeping close to Tillomar, who responds to the Lieutenant's comments...

"Caution indeed..."

[SpellSword]

Trying to keep the suspicion off his face Stein nods in way of greeting to Emmerich and says "It's good to know the militia will have our backs in the coming battle against these vermin. I'll return as soon as I've gathered some necessary tools..."

Still filled with distrust he watches the militiaman's reaction carefully.

► Out of Character

I'll roll for reaction since Stein is speaking with Emmerich for the first time.

[Irenaeus]

Standoff at the Southeast Gate

As the Mossbarrow-bound party stood before the gate, Lieutenant Emmerich’s deferential words hung in the air. "the Captain, and indeed myself, are always at your service." A dark raven circled in the skies atop Hrod and flew on, his eyes lifted to the sky, tracking the lone raven. An omen. For reasons he could not point out, the path ahead suddenly felt unexpectedly heavy under his feet.

Stein, feeling with his fingers a strange, cold dampness in his alchemy pouch, watched the lieutenant with deep suspicion, a worrying sensation that sparked a seed of paranoia. He noticed how the man’s eyes strayed over their weapons and armor for a moment too long. Before Stein could offer his own cautious reply, Hrod Lastson’s dour voice cut through the pleasantries. "And where was your militia when the tavern needed aid?" he asked, his wary eye fixed on the lieutenant, his hand resting instinctively on the pommel of his axe. The question was a stone thrown into a still pond, direct and accusatory. He had seen the terror in the inn, had felt the unnatural presence, and found this talk of late support to be hollow.

During the tense silence that followed, Zollo stared impassively at the bowing lieutenant, lazily chewing on a wild carrot he had found outside the inn. At his belt, a bag containing the grotesque rat fleshling hung, and he poked it absently out of boredom. Mighty Hunkar was silent, offering no omen, leaving Zollo to face the challenge with his own resolve. Gunthard, meanwhile, committed Emmerich's face and voice to memory, already planning to identify the other watchmen on duty that night. His mind was on practical matters; the journey was what it was, and he was already planning on eyeing the surroundings for any game that could serve as a meal or provide grease for smoking out their foes later.

It was at this moment that Tillomar and his wolfhound Fergal arrived, hastening to join the group. Fergal warily eyed the armed men, staying close to his master, while Tillomar caught the end of the lieutenant’s speech. "Caution indeed..." he added, his voice dry. As he took his place with the party, a profound sense of connection with Fergal washed over him, a spiritual bond that affirmed his path was the correct one. It was more than just the bond of a ranger and his animal; for an instant, he felt as if he could understand Fergal's simple, loyal thoughts. The feeling was a pure, spiritual affirmation that leaving the urban confines was the right choice. (Tillomar gains +1 CHA)

Stein, deciding a diplomatic front was best, finally nodded to Emmerich. "It's good to know the militia will have our backs in the coming battle against these vermin," he said, carefully watching the man's reaction. "I'll return as soon as I've gathered some necessary tools...". His mind, however, was already on the "mountain mycea, ash-salt, flame root," and other ingredients he needed to find within the seven days allotted by the Bailiff's writ.

The lieutenant’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, which still held that unreadable glint of envy. With a final, shallow bow, Emmerich stepped aside, allowing them to pass. The group moved as one through the gate, leaving the dubious protection of Vertidor behind and stepping into the vast, darkening wilderness that stretched toward Mossbarrow.

The Call of the Wild Is Not Always Kind

Somewhere southeast of Vertidor – Nightfall

The sun had slowly slipped behind the ridgeline, and what little warmth it had offered was now fading fast. A chill, low wind swept across the scrubby hills and the dense, shadt trees. The rough path to the Hunter's Lodge, already known by Stein , grew dim beneath the shade of encroaching woodland.

The Mossbarrow group trudged forward in silence. They had heard of the dangers, beasts, bandits. Better to not draw attention if possible. Each step pressed into dust now cooling beneath the twilight sky, their shadows stretching long. No one spoke, only kept their ears focused on the sounds of the forest. Even the dogs, Fergal and Gunthard’s shepherd, Badeux, moved with ears flattened and heads low, uneasy with scents only they could decipher.

Hrod Lastson led at the front, stoic. His fur-lined vest stirred in the breeze, but he did not flinch. His keen eyes swept the surroundings not in fear, but in the manner of a man weighing each ridge, each rock, each thicket as a possible test of endurance. As they passed beneath a copse of wind-twisted pines, a low creak echoed through the branches above. Hrod paused, hand on axe, but the sound faded. Just wind - or was it the raven?

Stein Von Steiner lagged a step behind, his fingers repeatedly brushing the alchemy pouch that had earlier chilled him at the gate. It had gone clammy again. The flame-root inside, a potent fire-reactant, was usually dry as powder but it now felt as if it had absorbed dew. He muttered a curse under his breath and took a mental inventory. Seven days, he reminded himself, had the Bailiff’s writ offered.

Gunthard took the center like a guard on patrol, whistling from time to time to his dog who stayed just within sight. Badeauxhad found a rabbit earlier - small, lean, but edible - and had already strung it to dry. He studied the treeline ahead, sniffing the air. Too quiet, he thought. Game had gone scarce here. Even birds seemed absent. Still, his spirits remained level. He had fire, food, and comrades. There was comfort in preparedness. Untroubled by omens or burdens, he marched with a steady, cheerful rhythm, his trusted shepherd dog trotting faithfully by his side. To him, the journey was what it was; the need to face evil was a straightforward, if heavy, burden, and he was content to be moving towards that purpose.

Zollo, wrapped in silence, marched like a shadow among men. The bag containing the rat-fleshling swung at his hip, swaying with each long stride. It pulsed faintly with corrupted life, a fact Zollo neither acknowledged nor ignored. Mighty Hunkar was quiet still—his silence more telling than any sign. I am being measured, the Manhunter thought. We all are.

Alfwine, the youngest of the group, adjusted the straps of his travel pack. He struggled to focus, distracted by the night's gloom and his own unease. He whispered arcane phrases under his breath as if practicing them for a coming storm. There was a slight hum at the edge of his perception - a tension in the air that prickled across his skin like static. Magic lives out here, he realized, and not all of it sleeps peacefully.

Ostgar, walking near the rear, glanced back toward the town every once in while. The weight of responsibility settled heavier on him with each step. He kept one hand on his spear and the other near a dagger - not yet wield. He knew not to draw attention, and for now, he’d rather be unseen.

Then came Tillomar, the last to join, his wolfhound Fergal padding silently at his side. The two moved in rhythm, breathing in sync. The others may not have noticed it, but Tillomar did: every now and then, the dog would tilt its nose slightly toward the trees - not to sniff the air, but as if tracking something walking parallel to them, just beyond sight...

Crunch. A branch broke ahead - faint, like a footstep quickly withdrawn.

Tillomar raised a hand and whistled high. The group slowed. In the gathering darkness, the forest seemed to lean closer, the trees hunching in solemn conspiracy. Distantly, a hurried brushing sound carried on the wind, high and soft, but nothing followed.

No one spoke for a moment. It was Stein who finally broke the silence, whispering:

“That wasn’t wind. And those aren’t just trees.”

The party stood still, ears and eyes straining. Something shifted up ahead- either animal or worse. The air felt colder.

Players in this group roll on Intelligence (1d20+bonus/penalty), Wisdom(1d20+bonus/penalty), and Initiative (1d+Dex bonus/penalty).

Revelations and Reversals at the Church

As the Mossbarrow group departed, Felix made his way toward the Chapel, his mind wandering if the locals know something more? Then, like a flash, two memories collided in his mind. The words of the old hag's daughter and the words of the market woman. The realization struck him: the girl hadn't meant for him to bury the talisman at the Church. He had to get the talisman back?

This moment of stunning clarity was his fortune; he now knew his "bullshit about worldly wisdom" that had so effectively swayed his new recruits might contain a truth he hadn't intended. It wasn't a voice or a vision, but a sudden, unshakable feeling that struck him with the force of a physical blow: the sense that his manipulative words and self-serving stories might actually contain a kernel of truth, a piece of genuine wisdom that would truly help him survive what was to come. (Felix gains +1 WIS) For the first time, the conman felt the transcendental weight of his own lies, now twisted into an exceptionally fortunate and unexpected premonition of their potential.

He arrived at the church to find Kal Arion already concluding his business with Father Altanis. Kal, feeling the cold press of the unnatural evil he’d sensed earlier, had just made his own appeal. First, he requested additional Holy Water, framing it as a path to "glory to your church". Father Altanis nodded solemnly, moved to the rear font, drawing two more vials into stoppered flasks and set them in Kal’s hands with an almost reverent care.

"You shall have more holy water,' Father Altanis said reverently. "Take them with my blessing and the Light’s grace. And yes - if your success brings safety to this town, then let the Church’s part in it be sung from every steeple between here and the Arandian capital."

Then, Kal Arion switched to a personal question, the real one that had arisen from his inquiries: "Father, have you ever heard the words, ''Verdanic Shield' before?".

The priest froze. Then, slowly, he turned and crossed to a locked drawer beneath his bookcase in his private cabinet. From within he retrieved a thin, leather-bound folio and opened it to reveal a weathered page. On it was a faded ink drawing of a green shield ringed by runes. Does it represent the Verdanic Shield?

"You are the first man to speak that name to me in my lifetime, I had only read about it, and this page looks older than this chapel," Father Altanis said in a low voice. "If it is a pagan god cult, a secret group, a relic or artifact - I do not know. But I trust it is a pagan sign. And signs, Brother, come to those whose paths will cross with great things. Or terrible ones. Exercise extreme caution around this and beware of any heretic power."

He steps forward, placing a hand on Kal’s shoulder.

“If you seek this Shield, know that I will aid you as I can. But tread carefully. The earth remembers what men have forgotten. And not all that grows beneath it should be disturbed.”

He steps back and watches Kal Arion cautiously. The Verdanic Shield is now a known mystery.

Seeing his chance, Felix stepped forward to make his own, more forceful appeal. "Father," he began, "The town is in danger. Locals are running. They know something we don't. But we know that you know... Help us help you". His attempt at intimidation, however, was a failure. Father Altanis, perhaps put off by the aggressive tone, became guarded and offered no new information.

Frustrated but undeterred, Felix knew what he had to do. His mind was already elsewhere: on the buried charm and how best to retrieve it. He would need to find a moment, perhaps pretending to seek solitude with his ancestors' spirits on the holy ground, to discreetly dig the talisman back out of the earth. He would have to dig it up, and soon. Perhaps a quiet moment later tonight, under the pretense of prayer. For now, he merely inclined his head in mock humility. Kal too gave a final nod, then turned and made his way back toward the inn. Though not comfortable leading, he felt ready to descend, his resolve bolstered by the holy water and the ominous knowledge imparted. Something in that mystery- Verdanic Shield - stirred in him a strange hope.

As the sun disappeared beyond the mountains and shadows lengthened across Vertidor, both men emerged from the Chapel changed: one confirmed in his mission, the other unsettled by the realization that even lies may carry truth - a responsibility he hadn’t yet calculated.

Players in this group roll on Intelligence (1d20+bonus/penalty), Wisdom(1d20+bonus/penalty), and Initiative (1d+Dex bonus/penalty).

[ERYFKRAD]

► Show Spoiler

Rolling rolls then.

[Humbaba]

Doing the needful rolling

[TKVNC]

Tillomar furrows his brow, in thought - recalling how ambushes may be laid, looks about with unease and hurriedly takes his bow from his shoulders then gripping it in his hand calls out:

"Reveal yourself, your tricks have failed!"

Tillomar draws an arrow from his quiver, nocks it on his string, and gently stretches his bow. He gestures to Fergal who starts to bark, and shuffles about on his feet - uneasily he waits for his master's command.

Tillomar's eyes dart about the trees, as he scans for movement within the darkness...

► Show Spoiler

hmm
might help if I remembered any of my bonuses

As far as I know, attributes bonuses work like this:
3 (-3), 4-5 (-2), 6-8 (-1), 9-12 (0), 13-15 (+1), 16-17 (+2), 18 (+3)

[Stack of Turtles]

hmm
might help if I remembered any of my bonuses

[Kalarion]

Rolling.

[SpellSword]

► Can you feel it drawing closer!!!

While preparing to brandish either sword or bow visions of unseen bandits, giant rats and giant rat bandits swirl in his mind. Stein Von Steiner tries to swallow his growing sense of dread as he readies himself to face another life or death struggle.

► Out-Of-Character

Rolled 5 and a 2. Guess Stein couldn't keep his calm after all. With a 17 on initiative at least his reflexes are sharp though.

[Val the Moofia Boss]

Gunthard's eyes trace the ground for paths into the forest and away from it.

Rolling.

[DemoGraph]

They see me rolling.

Felix impossibly quickly dumps int, crits wis...

► ooc

I have no idea what the hell am I rolling, but 2 extremums one after another are 4 in 400. Fucking Lady Luck messes up with me! I'm definitely flipping!

Also Felix goes to dig up that hex, fast and maybe wisely!

[Oyster Sauce]

Ostgar takes 3 steps back and readies his spear while scanning the treeline

► Show Spoiler

I'm Sharp-Eyed FWIW