The Fires of the Forge (D&D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Roses of May on 11-01-2019, 19:36:42</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>11-01-2019, 19:36:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The morning air is filled with the sound of hammering steel, the clink of metal against metal breaking through what would be a quiet morning anywhere else in the world.&nbsp; The fires of the forge are already burning even as the sun just begins to crest over the horizon, shining its warm rays over the Fire Isles, around the volcano at the center of its largest island, Azar.&nbsp; Work has already begun for the day for the dwarves that live in the settlement of Dul Kuldor.&nbsp; <br><br>A main road along the settlement leads directly into the base of the volcano, where only the finest of blacksmiths and craftsmen are permitted to serve under Braznor, the bronze dragon of the forge.&nbsp; Within the caves of the volcano, its heat serves as the fires for the more tempered of blades and tools alike, fetching high price for any who can afford the superior quality of goods that make their way out of the volcano’s forge.<br><br>Nestled within Dul Kuldor, one of the most popular taverns has already found itself busy with morning breakfast.&nbsp; Outside of its door, a simple wooden sign hangs that reads <strong>Brunhilda’s Beard</strong>.&nbsp; On it is a painting of Brunhilda herself, a busty dwarf with long, flaming red hair and a set of braided breads hanging from her chin.&nbsp; The painting depicts her as holding up two mugs of ale, a wide grin split across her face.<br><br>Within, however, that cheery smile in the painting is far from her expression.<br><br>“Siegfried!”&nbsp; The dwarf woman’s voice booms through the busy common room, dwarves drinking their breakfast ale and inhaling their greasy sausage, fresh baked bread, and fried eggs before they will set off for work for the day.&nbsp; “This table over here needs more ale!&nbsp; You’re falling behind!”&nbsp; She shouts before her angry display shifts quite suddenly back to a bright smile.&nbsp; “Coming right up, dearie,” She tells the patron she is referring to as needing more ale before finding her way into the back to yell at the fry cook next for falling behind on filling egg orders.&nbsp; <br><br>This is a usual morning at Brunhilda’s Beard.<br><br><strong>DM: Please introduce your characters and where they are at in the tavern this morning</strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>11-01-2019, 22:20:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Among the tumult and chaos of the tavern, one solitary figure seems unmoved and unchanged by the hectic nature of the establishment. As the barmaid bellowed out her orders, his expression remains calm and contemplative. <br><br>The first impression would be of his size. Even among the stout dwarves of the fire island he stands tall and wide, with his reptilian features almost touching the roof of the establishment, and his width enhanced by his hard shell. These combined to give him barrellike dimensions, that might have seemed intimidating were it not for his calm, soft demeanor. He seems as harmless as a summer breeze, and and gentle as a spring shower.<br><br>The tortle's skin is a dull olive color, reminding one of thick fertile mud. His scales are small and rigid, like those of a lizard, and both hands and feet end in long, blunt talons, which are less weapons than tools. His face distinctly birdlike, with a wide golden beak and small intelligent brown eyes.<br><br>His shell is large and oval, with a combination of brown and gold swirls colliding into random patterns throughout its bulky mass. Over the back of this shell can be seen a thin layer of moss and lichen, alongside small protruding mushrooms of various bright colors.<br><br>He is arrayed in a riot of colors, with a toga and scarf adorning his torso and head respectively. Each is swirled with myriad colors, and over these items are adorned an array of trinkets and bobbles, small shinies he has collected throughout his far ranging travels. <br><br>Resting next to his seat is a long staff, similarly wrapped in colorful cloth, and set with mushrooms. It is as close to a weapon as the creature seems to bear, and even that seems a stretch. Sitting next to it is a colorful shield, comprised of woven twigs, and inset with beautiful flowers. <br><br>The tortle is uninterested in the goings on of the inn, his focus entirely upon the large wooden bowl before him, a simply crafted dish holding a thick sludge of porridge to its brim. The tortle eyes the contents curiously, and then reaches out a hand, dropping a scattering of brightly colored berries into the gruel. He mixes this with a wooden spoon, and the gruel changes from its tepid white color to a bright mishmash of color, not unlike his wardrobe. <br><br>Nodding his head appreciatively, the tortle druid begins to eat his food, making small hisses of pleasure as he consumes it.<br><br>This is Moss Rainwater, shaman to the Kappa Clan of Tortle Island. A wanderer and druid by trade, no one can say how he came to this small, bustling inn, even the tortle himself. He simply follows where nature leads him, and today it has brought him to this place. Such is the wild and unpredictable will of The Green Lady.<br><br><strong>PC: Moss casts the spell Goodberry as an action,&nbsp; and uses it to season his porridge.</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>12-01-2019, 05:54:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The sound of hammer on anvil is not a strange one for Rowan, though perhsps a bit more prevalent than what she's used to, this being such a small area.&nbsp; Being familiar with cities, blacksmiths were no oddity, though so many in this town would have seemed odd, if it weren't for the volcano and the reputation of the dwarves who forged using its metals.&nbsp; <br><br>She automatically skims the crowd gathered in the tavern, not actively looking for threats, but merely out of curiosity, her emerald gaze pausing at the admittedly odd sight of the massive tortoise looking creature.&nbsp; She'd seen dwarves, and even a few of the more exotic races, but this was new.&nbsp; She catches herself staring, and consciously returns her gaze to her food, not wanting to seem rude.&nbsp; She's gotten plenty of stares herself in the past, but at least in her case, she could count it as due to her face, and not because she looked strange or out of place.&nbsp; Though her previous profession had necessitated keeping her auburn hair short, which it still was, it still hadn't detracted from her fair features.<br><br>Dressed in nondescript studded leather armor, which might strike others as a bit strange, it's become habit for her to dress to be prepared for possible trouble, rather than be caught off guard.&nbsp; A couple of daggers are also visible for anyone who cares to look, as well as a smaller crossbow.&nbsp; She takes a tentative sip of her tea, the order of which had gotten her a strange look from the owner of the place.&nbsp; But Rowan supposed she was used to dwarves, and probably didn't get much human traffic.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>12-01-2019, 18:25:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				While most of the Dwarves seem to be minding their own business, a rather wide and stout dwarf with thick black hair seems to be looking around the establishment.&nbsp; He's already on his second pint of breakfast ale, a pickaxe sitting by his legs at the table to show his profession of working in the mines within the mountain, gathering its rich materials for the forge.&nbsp; He brings the tankard up to his lips when his gray eyes seem to fall on the strange, multicolored, turtle looking figure at his own table.&nbsp; The dwarf sneers a bit, standing and walking over to the table.&nbsp; He leaves his pickaxe behind, but still have several potentially dangerous tools on his utility belt around his thick waist as well as his own meaty fists.&nbsp; His clothing is stained with the dark dust of his profession, much as it looks as though he's tied to clean it.&nbsp; <br><br>"What the fuck are you?"&nbsp; He spits at the tortle, slamming down a hand on the table, causing the bowl of porridge to jump slightly at the weight of his hand.&nbsp; <br><br>"Alright now, Gunter, why don't you leave this dearie alone?"&nbsp; Brunhilda warns the dwarf as she passes by, carrying a round wooden tray with several tankards of ale on it.&nbsp; <br><br>"I ain't gonna cause any trouble, Brunhilda, so long as this fucker gives me a decent answer,"&nbsp; Gunter slurs out.&nbsp; Clearly two ales first thing in the morning hasn't done much to give him a charismatic disposition, giving the tortle a hard look.&nbsp; "I ain't never seen your kind around here before," He adds, a hiccup following the statement.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>12-01-2019, 18:50:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Still enjoying his delicious porridge, the tortle takes this unexpected interruption in stride, his free hand reaching out to cup his bowl, keeping its contents from tipping. His eyes, wide and brown as mud, narrow slightly, taking in the inebriated dwarf with a mildly curious expression. <br><br>Words both languid and ethereal drift from his beak, spoken softly in the crowded bar. There is no measure of irritation to his tone, only an earnest desire to settle the dwarve's concern.<br><br>"Well hello there friend, I believe you are mistaken in referring to me as a what rather than a who. What implies that I am not a person, which I think I am. Then semantics of such questions are a matter of some debate I suppose though...what is and what is not a person could be defined by race, as some choose to, or based upon a capability for sapient thought. I prefer the latter myself, though you are of course welcome to your own opinion. In any case, the who of what I am is Moss.&nbsp; Moss Rainwater. I am a traveler from across the sea, a tortle shaman come to your beautiful island to appreciate the many splendors of the Green Lady, and partake of your delicious porridge."<br><br>The last is said with a satisfied smile as the tortle dips his spoon into his bowl, and take a large spoonful of the colorfully hued oat gruel, eating it with apparent joy.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>12-01-2019, 21:35:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The dwarf's raised voice gives Rowan time to prepare for a possible confrontation, so the sound of the dwarf's hand on the strange creature's table only makes her glance up in curiosity, rather than jump or flinch in surprise.&nbsp; At the tortle's lengthy explanation, she only rolls her eyes, mentally preparing to step in to prevent what could turn into a tavern brawl.&nbsp; Granted, the tortle was unintentionally most likely aggravating the dwarf with his long-winded explanation, but that still was no excuse for destruction of property.&nbsp; She's content to simply observe how the situation goes for the moment, though her emerald gaze takes on a slightly more golden appearance as she watches the two out of the corner of one eye.&nbsp; the rest of her gaze is solidly focused on the food in front of her, not wanting to add fuel to the dwarf's anger by his assuming she's eavesdropping, though his volume makes actual eavesdropping unnecessary.&nbsp; Yet discretion is still a wise choice, and she would rather avoid provoking an already angry dwarf, if she doesn't have to.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>12-01-2019, 22:06:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Gunter's face first appears as one of anger but quickly transforms into confusion, losing the train of thought the tortle is musing about his being about half way through.&nbsp; Instead, in his inebriated state, the dwarf turns even more anger, perhaps by his lack of the ability to comprehend the words coming from this strange 'tortle' creature.&nbsp; <br><br>"Are you fucking insulting my intelligence?!"&nbsp; Gunter snaps, reaching for a hammer at his belt.&nbsp; It is no battle hammer, this one more akin to a simple working tool and causing much less damage than one meant for battle.&nbsp; He swings it wildly towards Moss.<br><br><strong>DM: Gunter rolls a 6 on his attack, swinging by Moss's head and missing as he stumbles on his right foot, nearly knocking into the table</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>12-01-2019, 22:33:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The tortle, surprised by this turn of events, shifts himself on his stool, taking his bowl of porridge with him as he shifts out of the dwarf's artack range. His eyes narrow as he considers the threat that the miner poses, and almost reluctantly retrieves his staff from beside the table, hefting it up as he focuses his druidic abilities upon it.<br><br>The staff changes in his grip, knitting together tightly under a web of sharp brambles, transforming the harmless staff into a formidable weapon (https://roll20.net/compendium/dnd5e/Shillelagh#content). Moss clutches the hand loosely in one hand, and then swings out, sweeping the weapon low in an attempt to disable his impromptu foe without killing them.<br><br><strong>PC: Moss uses his bonus action to cast Shillelagh on his walking staff, and then makes a melee spell attack with it. He rolled a 2, for a total of 7. I doubt that hits :)<br></strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>13-01-2019, 00:23:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan sighs, getting up from the table and making her way over to the two, offering the dwarf what she hopes will come across as a friendly smile, without being too friendly.&nbsp; "I'm sure there was no offense meant, and fightin' over somethin' so trivial is bound to get you ill favor with Miss Brunhilda, I'm sure," Rowan tries to calm him with a bit of logical thinking, though in a more direct fashion than the druid's philosophical ramblings.&nbsp; "If ou break up the place, I doubt she'd be in a mood to let you in for any more of her ale, and gettin' thrown out would be a shame," she adds, trusting that even if the dwarf is still angry enough for a fight, the possibility of his being cut off from his ready supply of ale might dampen his enthusiasm.<br><br>PC:&nbsp; Rowan attempts to use persuasion to de-escalate the situation, with an 18 on the die, plus 5, for a total of 23.&nbsp; Her accent is somewhat unusual, with a strange lilt to it. (Basically Irish, though I don't know what the equivalent would be, and if it's something more common, or heard around this area, I can edit accordingly.)
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>13-01-2019, 03:12:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: The hit towards the dwarf does, indeed, miss.&nbsp; :) </strong><br><br>Just as the dwarf misses the tortle due to his lack of coordination, so results Moss's own attack being side stepped by the dwarf's inebriated stagger just as the young lady approaches, Gunter's eyes turning to her in slight confusion.&nbsp; He raises a finger to try and tell her to stay out of it, but as soon as she says he could loss his ability to drink here, that seems to shut the drunk dwarf right up.&nbsp; He glares at her a little in defeat, mumbling before walking away, still a bit of a stagger to his heavy steps.<br><br>With a sigh and wiping the sweat from her brow, an overworked Brunhilda approaches the two as Gunter staggers out of the bar towards his day job, clearly planning on working drunk.&nbsp; The way that no one seems to question this or tries to stop him suggests that this is the norm and Gunter may be a bit of a town drunk.&nbsp; <br><br>"Well, I don't think that damn drunkard could have done any real damage given his state, but thank you anyway dearie," The red haired dwarf smiles at Rowan before turning to Tortle.&nbsp; "You alright then?"&nbsp; She asks Moss.&nbsp; "Can I get you something for your troubles?&nbsp; I usually try to keep him to one drink in the morning, but he's taking to fooling my new barmaid Helga into giving him seconds," Brunhilda sighed, shaking her head.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>13-01-2019, 20:52:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan watches as Gunter leaves, surprise briefly shading her features at how easily he was persuaded to leave the tortle alone.&nbsp; "As busy as you already were, I was hopin' to not add replacin' tables and benches to the day's workload, though I'm surprised he wasn't more stubborn.&nbsp; I suppose he really values his ale, though it's rather sad," Rowan adds, the gold color subsiding from her eyes, only leaving slight flecks behind, mostly hidden by their regular emerald shade.&nbsp; They're still noticeable, and she might have been mistaken for half-elven, if it weren't for the round shape of her ears, her auburn hair being short enough to just cover them.<br><br>"I'm sorry he bothered you, especially over somethin' that can't be helped.&nbsp; I'm Rowan Winterborn, by the way," she adds, turning to address the tortle.&nbsp; She waits to see what kind of response, if any, the revelation of her given surname conveys.&nbsp; To most, it might sound like a noble's, though her accent and manner would qui kly dispel any notion of such privilege, for anyone who had even decent observation skills.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>13-01-2019, 21:22:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss regards the newcomer with good humor, his head tilting slightly to the side as he listens to the unusual lilt. One of Moss' many pleasures is learning the mantra accents of common that span the globe. He is impressed as well by the way that the defuses the violent situation, earning her an instant measure of respect from him.<br><br>When Brunhilda arrives to smooth away the last of the conflict, his head swivels toward her, even as he places his weapon back beside him, and resumes the slow consumption of his brightly colored porridge. His response was friendly, if a bit off putting by accident. It quickly becoming clear that he was not a charismatic tortle.<br><br>"Oh I'm doing quite well. Your porridge is bland and tasteless, just like my creche mother used to make. Its lack of flavor really brings out the texture of the spoon."<br><br>At being addressed by the sorcerer, Moss rises to his feet, and then broadly reached out, his massive form attempting to take her in a large gentle hug. As he does this he speaks, his voice the same soft molasses as before, tinged now with great warmth and affection.<br><br>“Well met Rowan. May the grass grow green in your wake, and the fireflies dance in your shadows. Your voice had a soft quality to it that I like. The way you mispronounce words is pleasing to my senses. Are you also a traveler to this island?”<br><br>Throughout the questioning, the hug never wavered, remaining a firm friendly embrace, like how one might hug a beloved family member after a long journey. Her senses would be assailed with the scents of forest moss, spring rains, and the rich earthy scent of mushrooms. Overlaid over these scents was another, more sour odor, that a keen observer might identify as strong pipeweed.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>13-01-2019, 22:41:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Brunhilda only looks mildly offended for a moment, but quickly her demeanor changes, a smirk on her face as she shakes her head.&nbsp; "Well, dearie, people don't exactly come here for the porridge.&nbsp; They normally come for the ale and the fresh pork from the butcher down the road," The dwarf laughs whole heartedly.&nbsp; She can see that no real damage has been done here and her strange, non-dwarf patrons are not at all bothered by the drunk of the settlement.&nbsp; <br><br>"Just call if you need me!"&nbsp; She calls out as she turns on her heel and heads back into serving the rest of the guests in the tavern, which is slowly starting to filter out since Gunter left, the rest of the dwarves also beginning to grab their work tools and head out to various jobs, two and three leaving at a time.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>13-01-2019, 23:31:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan winces at the tortle's bluntness, wondering if his lack of tact is something unique to his personality, or simply a tortle quirk in general.&nbsp; She's relieved to see that Brunhilda doesn't let it bother her, however, relieved that she won't be called upon to serve as yet another go-between, though if she had, at least this one would have been potentially less violent.<br><br>Her eyes widen in surprise as Moss comes in for a hug, but at his still soft-spoken demeanor, she relaxes, and tentatively attempts to return the gesture, though it's difficult, with how large he is.&nbsp; The contrast is even more noticeable with her so close, her height being only a couple inches above five feet, and on the slender side.&nbsp; At least, her 110-pound frame would appear especially slim, next to his greater height and bulk.<br><br>"Thank you, I think," she says, amused at the backhanded compliment, rather than angered by it.&nbsp; "I don't think it's mispronouncin', as much as it's only the way people speak, where I come from.&nbsp; As for travelin', aye, I'm just passin' through.&nbsp; I didn't have anything better to be doin', so I thought I'd start this direction, and see the island.&nbsp; The volcano and the workmanship that comes out of the mines makes it famous, and I was curious to see what the place looks like.&nbsp; I haven't made up my mind whether I want to actually get close to the volcano, as that sounds more than a wee bit dangerous, but I can at least say I've been to the island, so that's somethin'," she finishes, stepping back from him so he can finish his breakfast.&nbsp; The moss and rain scent is pleasant, but she isn't sure what the other is, and unlike him, is hesitant to ask, only just having made his acquaintance.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>14-01-2019, 06:08:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Reluctantly parting from his new friend, the six foot tall tortle resumes his seat at the table, and slowly begins to continue his meal as he considers her. He seems more at home with quiet introspection than conversation, and largely gives himself over to simple listening as she speaks, only bobbing his long neck as he hears aspects of her story that he agrees with. When she is done speaking though, he pauses, placing his wooden spoon aside for a moment, and then responds with another long slow flow of his uniquely melodious speech. <br><br>"I understand the desire to travel. it had plagued me for very much of my long life. We tortles, we are nomadic by nature. We carry our shells on our backs, and that means much of our time is spent in journeys from one place to another. I began mine on what are known as the Dragon Isles. I was a shaman of my village, but left after meeting strange visitors from a far off land. They came to our village and helped us fight a river dragon, a terrible beast. They destroyed it, and saved us all. After they had gone, I was made a ritual in their honor, and while experiencing it the Green Lady came to me, and gave me a quest. She asked me to travel across the ocean, to go and explore what lay beyond, and bring back the knowledge of these things to my people. I am happy to serve her, and this gave me the excuse to make this long journey. I am enjoying it so far, but still seeking what she sent me to find. I think something on this island has called us her, perhaps a shared destiny?"<br><br>Despite it's phrasing, there is nothing sarcastic about his use of that expression.&nbsp; There is a true faith to his words, the expression of the deeply held faith he holds towards his goddess, and the natural order she has built. Druids of his culture are taught to honor the cycle, and he seeks to do this above all other things. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>14-01-2019, 13:31:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: Rowan, please roll a History check and a Religion Check</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>14-01-2019, 23:52:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan listens with interest to Moss's tale of how he's come to the island, not minding his speech pattern, unlike the impatient dwarf.&nbsp; Then again, in her experience, dwarves generally appreciated directness as a rule.<br><br>"A river dragon?&nbsp; I'd imagine they'd be just as dangerous as any other of their type, so for your sake, I'm glad the strangers managed to get to you in time to help.&nbsp; Would it be safe to assume they were druids?" she asks.&nbsp; "I'm not very religious myself, but at least with the nature folk, their beliefs seem a bit easier to follow, than belief in the gods, like you have with clerics and the like.&nbsp; Course then you have the argument that with nature, it's easy to see what's right in front of you, but then the followers of the gods content themselves with sayin' that gods created everything in nature, so their way is better."&nbsp; She shrugs, clearly holding no preference for one view or the other, only merely stating a general fact, rather than a truly held belief.<br><br>PC:&nbsp; History roll is a 17; 12 for religion, neither of which are trained for her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>15-01-2019, 00:13:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: You've heard of the Green Lady, a common name used for the Goddess of Nature in this world.&nbsp; She is also known as Verdania, but people commonly just say The Green Lady.&nbsp; You don't know too terribly much about her, outside of the fact that she is worshipped mostly by druids and sometimes Rangers.&nbsp; Artwork of her is usually depicted as a woman with bright green skin like the fresh leave of springtime and dark emerald hair with lots of flowers woven through her hair and a dress made of woven vines.<br><br>As far as the Dragon Isles, you know they reside east of here, a large collection of small islands that are ruled by a small council of Daimyos.&nbsp; Races like Tortles and Gahuza along with the other humanoid races, populate its islands.&nbsp; It's a land of jungles and piracy among the seas between the islands.&nbsp; You even know there's a place called a casino on one of the islands, run by a halfling, and its famous for its mephit fighting pits where people take bets and pit different varieties of mephits against one another.&nbsp; You know that a few years ago, a tarrasque was said to have been roaming around the islands and taking down ships in its wake.&nbsp; It turned out to be an attack from their neighbor, The Jade Empire, and said Tarrasque was a construct of magical origins rather than the true beast. </strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>15-01-2019, 13:00:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss listened to her question with a slow bob of his head, and then responded back, slowly and surely as ever. The tortle seemed to love filling in the many tiny details that other speakers might have prefered to leave on the table, and while this showed a great insight on his part, it did not speak strongly for his tact.<br><br>"I wouldn't say druids, no. They were an odd bunch, that is sure. One was a small monkey person. They had short trimmed fur, and like a spellbook I think. It might have been a girl, but I don't know, seeing as they wore clothes and all. Mammals all sort of look alike with clothes on. I don't know if you know that, but they do. The second was like, I think, some sort of dragonborn. She liked playing music and telling terrible jokes. I think she might have been like a bard or something. She seems friendly enough though, a bit stuck up, like dragonborn can be. They think they're cool because they have draconic ancestors I think. Its a weird thing to be proud of, that one of your grandparents had sex with a dragon. Sounds painful to me. The last was like a minotaur. He was tall, and broad at the shoulders, handsome fellow, but not very bright. Kept insisting that he was a rogue, but mostly he seemed to smash thing. He was good at that. There might have been a human too, he was carrying the bags I think. Seemed to have a bit of a drinking problem."<br><br>He paused then, taking a moment to finish his porridge, and then setting the bowl aside as her began to rub his taloned hands against once another, casting Druidcraft as he began to grow and weave together long strands of grass. He did this with a quick efficient manner, his talons seeming surprisingly nimble as pulling the fibers together in slow intricate patterns. He also responded to her broader question, explaining his own views on the matter.<br><br>"As to druids in general, I've never looked at myself as any different than any other worshiper. The methods I use may differ from say a light cleric, but my belief is as strong. I wouldn't say that worshiping a deity is harder either, as they all have something they represent. A priestess of Allora is interested in giving homage to the sun. I as a druid give thanks in many places, but I also have a special affection towards the dead. Death is the natural midpoint of the cycle, and I hold it in great esteem. It is why I bear fungus on my person, it is a way of giving myself over to the process. Many mortals think that death comes in one sudden gulp, but the truth of it is that we die and reborn with every day, every waking moment. Life and death flow against one another like the currents of the tide."<br><br>Setting aside his now finished bowl, the tortle reached among his various relics and baubles, drawing out a simple wooden carving tied with coarse twine to his throat. It was a simple circle, carved from wood, and covered with a fine layer of softly growing green lichen. He held it gently as he ran a talon along the inside of the loop, lightly rubbing the moss as if petting a beloved friend.<br><br>"When I die, I shall be consumed by the fungi and moss that cover me, and be a habitat for them. It is my way of giving back."<br><br>There was nothing sad of morbid about his words, though others might have taken it as such. For Moss, this was simply the way of the world, a belief that comforted rather than repelled him. He loved that he was part of the natural order, and took it's measure in stride. Instead, he reached down to the table, took his newly crafted bowl, and handed it to her with what passed for a tortle smile.<br><br>"So tell me strange travelling human, what is your profession? You wear a light artificial shell, and but don't seem to carry much in the way of weapons. I might think you a brigand, but my heart tells me otherwise. A warlock perhaps? I have had fun conversations with their like before. Very interesting how they sell their souls for magical powers. Seems awfully short sighted..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>15-01-2019, 13:11:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: Rowan, as per your religion check, you also know the name Allora. She is the goddess of light and her symbol is the sun. Kinda of obvious from context but just wanted to put that in there :-)</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>16-01-2019, 01:34:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I've heard of the Dragon Isles, though I've never been.&nbsp; They do sound like an interestin' place to explore, though I'm not sure I'll get the chance. I'd not turn it down though, if I had opportunity to go there."&nbsp; She pauses before asking the next question, but finally can't resist.&nbsp; "Did you ever go to the...the casino there?" she asks, searching for the unfamiliar term.&nbsp; "Do people ask you that a lot?&nbsp; I've only heard of it in passin', and it sounded like a...unique place.&nbsp; Bein' from there yourself, I was curious," she explains, hoping she isn't going to wear out her welcome by being the latest in a long line to ask him the question.<br><br>She listens calmly to his next speech, nodding intermittently, though not interrupting, waiting for him to both finish his thoughts, as well as his breakfast.&nbsp; "Aye, I suppose most of us do look the same with clothes on, though the women do tend to have longer hair, generally," she says, with only a slight smirk of amusement.&nbsp; His casual reference to unclothed people makes her wonder briefly just how many of them he's seen naked, but she doesn't know him well enough to ask, and simply offers a noncommittal shrug in answer to that particular observation.<br><br>"As for destiny, you may be right, though I don't usually spend much time ponderin' such things.&nbsp; As for death bein' only the midpoint of things, I suppose for the thing involved, it seems more like an end, since they aren't around anymore after the fact, or at least not in the state to be appreciatin' much," she adds ruefully.&nbsp; <br><br>She watches him curiously as he seems to weave grass together out of nowhere, taking the proffered newly created bowl from him with a smile of thanks, admiring its workmanship with genuine appreciation.&nbsp; "I'm afraid I don't have your talent for weavin' things, and all my ready made things are things I need to keep," she offers, suddenly wondering if she's expected to exchange some sort of gift with him, if she accepts something, not wanting to offend some cultural tradition she's not aware of.&nbsp; "Still..."&nbsp; She thinks for a second, before mimicking his earlier gesture, and bringing forth the wooden carving around her own neck, though in her case, it serves as merely something sentimental, rather than a symbol of worship.&nbsp; Though well worn from years of handling, no matter how carefully, the fine craftsmanship of the piece is apparent in the detailed depiction of the eagle in flight, the rowan wood shaped to follow the contours, rather than simply being carved into a piece of wood itself.&nbsp; <br><br>"This was found with me by the people at the orphanage who named me," she explains simply, removing the leather cord from around her neck and setting the piece between them, so he can get a better look at it.&nbsp; "And given the surname, you can guess when I was born.&nbsp; I rather like them put together, if it's a bit...uninspired.&nbsp; I...I don't generally go around tellin' strangers that much about me, but I...I didn't have anything to part with as a gift, and this is...somethin' important, and with value, that might substitute, at least in lookin' over it.&nbsp; I'd like to keep it though, if you please.&nbsp; As for what I am, I'm not a warlock.&nbsp; My magic just...I suppose it was always with me, though it's only really showed itself in the past few years or so."&nbsp; Her expression grows contemplative, as if she's considering adding more, but she shakes her head, still not knowing this strange creature well enough to simply say everything she's thinking.&nbsp; She's said more than she usually reveals to strangers, and that only to explain what she's shown him, not having anything she considers suitable enough to part with as an impulsive gift offering.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>16-01-2019, 13:54:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As the tortle and the human speak, an elf enters the establishment. He dips down a little through the doorway, a few inches taller than the doorway meant for people of dwarvish height, but is able to stand fully once inside with the high ceiling of the common room. He seems to take a look around, a parchment held in his hand. He has almost white blonde hair that sweeps around his pointed ears. Sharp light blue eyes set on a perfectly sculpted face with a narrow chin,high cheeks, and almond shaped eyes. He wears a tunic of deep maroon, like fine red wine, and black pants. His clothing is refined as his stance,shoulders straightened and look haughty. <br><br><strong>DM: As per common knowledge of the Fire Isles, you know that while Dul Kuldor lies on this side of the island, the other side is populated by a vineyard where an elf known as Lord Frostspear grows grapes in the volcanic soil. Frostspear wine is known all over the world and is the best wine anyone can get their hands on. </strong><br><br>Clearing his throat, the blonde elf begins to speak. "To whoever this may concern," he begins, unrolling the parchment and reading from the paper. His tone is bored and unimpressed by the stock he sees before him. "The Lord Frostspear is offering a reward to any who will help him with retrieving his beloved Shambling Mound who once guarded the vineyard but has gotten loose. Reward money is negotiable and the Mound is not to be killed," he sighs, rolling up the scroll again.<br><br>The remaining dwarf patrons, those who even bothered to look up, shrug and resume their previous activities, some muttering things about 'fucking elves' under their breaths.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>16-01-2019, 17:41:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The question of casinos raises a chuckle from Moss, but little else. He has never been a materialistic sort, and the idea of going to such a place just seems tedious to him. He was mildly interested by their mephit breeding, but had heard they were quite cruel to the creatures. It seemed to him whoever was running the place was of a disreputable sort. The druid expressed as much, his words typically blunt, and not overly kind.<br><br>"I have never been to that island among our chain, It is some distance from Turtle Island, and said to be of a particularly shady sort. The casino is home to a criminal enclave, and they beat and torture small elementals for sport. I am not inclined towards associations with such people. Besides, casinos operate upon wealth, and material possessions have never held any great wealth to me. They are the trappings of those seeking validation. True value is found in cultivating nature."<br><br>When she offers up the bird, Moss takes a moment to examine it with curiosity, his beady eyes taking in the small details of it, running a taloned hand along the details of the bird. At the same time, he continues speaking to her, more gently now, offering a measure of comfort as he tries in vain to give her some words of solace. It is not his manner to guide others through such pain. Emotional pain is one he has little skill in treating. <br><br>"Little one, death is not a wall between the living and the dead. It is a gateway. All things pass through it at some point, and that is the right and proper order. It is wrong to say that the living do not effect the dead though, as you yourself were shaped by many dead things. We each leave an impact upon the world with our passing, rather that be be a carved wooden bird, or the love and affection we pass onto our young. All is precious, and part of the cycle. As to gifts...do not worry. It is my practice to give thanks to those that have aided me, and the bowl is simply an expression of that. It is yours, without expectation of remuneration or compensation."<br><br>Moss takes a moment longer in pondering their discussion, but is interrupted by the intrusion of the elf, whom he regards with curiosity, searching for some measure of context into his words. New to islands, he has only heard of the elf lord in passing, only knowing that he has some sort of vineyard on the island. As to the reference of a Shambling Mound, the druid has to search his memory to recall what such a creature is. <br><br><strong>PC: Moss rolls a 12, for a total of 15 on his nature check. What does he know about Shambling Mounds?</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>16-01-2019, 21:28:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: You know that a Shambling Mound is a large plant monster with low intelligence but great strength. It generally slams into its victim and then engulfs them as part of its attacks.<br>It generally looks like a large humanoid covered in vines with a toothy mouth and no eyes. </strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>17-01-2019, 06:37:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan takes in Moss's words with a slight nod, and a shrug.&nbsp; "I suppose a lot of dead things helped to create us, in the animals and plants everyone consumes to stay alive," she says thoughtfully.&nbsp; She nods in thanks again for his gift, and to his words of affirmation that indeed, he'd not been expecting anything from her, reaching to take the carving back from him, once he's finished with his perusal.&nbsp; <br>"As to that particular casino, I don't think I'd want to be goin' there after all, if it's as disheartinin' of a place as that.&nbsp; I'm not fond of seein' creatures treated ill for sport, or for any reason, come to that."&nbsp; She's saved from any further comtemplation of things morbid or otherwise by the entrance of the elf, listening to his announcement with a slight roll of her eyes at his bored tone, and obvious haughtiness.&nbsp; "I'm surprised he's lowerin' himself to even come and talks to the likes of us poor folk," she says with a cheerful glint of good-natured teasing at her own expense in her expression.&nbsp; "With a description like shamblin', whatever it is can't be too dangerous, surely.&nbsp; It sounds like it wouldn't move awfully fast, and if someone gets in too much trouble, they can always run."&nbsp; At least she herself was a fairly quick runner if problems came up, though glancing at Moss's bulk, and his shell, she wasn't sure how he'd fare under equal circumstances.&nbsp; "Do you know anything about this...creature this lord wants looked into?" she asks curiously, hoping that with his wider knowledge of natural things, he might know a bit more than she could, just by inference.&nbsp; "I don't know about you, but a bit of extra coin can always come in handy."&nbsp; She already knew he didn't hold with a lot of wealth, but everyone neded at least a bit of silver and copper to live on, and it certainly sounded better than risking another confrontation with a surly dwarf, if the two stayed put much longer.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>17-01-2019, 07:22:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The tortle scratches his chin at her question, recalling what he knows of the creature, and relating it as best he can. For him its less a serious matter of concern, and more a mild point of trivia. The whole idea of one sentient being owning another seems fairly alien to him, and he says as much.<br><br>"Well, I've never seen one myself, but I did hear stories of them from other druids.&nbsp; They are supposed to be quite large, larger even than me, more on the scale with say a draft horse, or the size of the table. As one would expect from such a creature they are quite strong, and made of plantlike material, which means, I assume, that they are plants, or at least closely tied to them. They are not very smart, at least not in the ways we would think of it, but do consume creatures like ourselves. They are not especially bright, but on part They are large, larger even than me, and made of plant stuff. They are strong, but not very bright, and they like to eat other creatures. I think they can engulf prey even as large as us. I don't think they're particularly friendly though, and I have no idea why an elf would keep one as a pet. I feel like they might eat the gardeners."<br><br>Moss paused then, considering what he had said, and then turned to his new friend, regarding them with what, to the tortle, seemed a stern expression. He didn't much care for the pursuit of gold, but he understood that this creature might pose as great a threat to itself, as anyone else on the island. To his mind saving it would be doing two justices. <br><br>"You know, the poor creature could be lost or confused. It would very much be a shame if it was injured as a result of those seeking a reward, or if it ate someone attempting to return it home. I think we should go together to this estate, and see if we can find it. You are correct, if sharply materialistic in your goals. In this case, that seems a prudent stance to take. I may even take some of the gold, provided there is enough to spare. I am almost depleted on my pipeweed, and these villagers insist on currency for payment. Dwarves do not appear to value woven baskets."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>17-01-2019, 16:42:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The elf seems to look around and sighs a bit at not seeing anyone immediately jump up on his offer.&nbsp; It doesn't seem he really expected the dwarves to be of much help and perhaps was looking more for adventurers passing through Dul Kuldor that might be interested in earning some coin.&nbsp; He sees a pair that consists of a kobold and a gnoll, but they seem deep in discussion about something.&nbsp; Besides, the elf has no interest in dealing with a gnoll, his upper lip almost seeming to curl into a sneer at the sight.&nbsp; <br><br>His other option seems to be a tortle and a human who are speaking to each other.&nbsp; His ears perk up at he hears the tortle speak of the poor shambling mound as possibly being confused, not too far of an assumption from the truth.&nbsp; Seeming his best option, the elf begins to move closer to the two, but does not directly approach them.&nbsp; <br><br>"Hey!&nbsp; Don't you come in here bothering my patrons unless you're going to buy something!"&nbsp; Brunhilda yells at the elf as he ventures further into the ; establishment.&nbsp; His sneer quickly returns, looking down his nose at the shorter woman with disdain.&nbsp; "Also your a week behind on my shipment of wine!"&nbsp; She adds, folding her arms.<br><br>"Lord Frostspear has had some...other issues at hand as of late," The elf replies rather snootily and almost with a huff.&nbsp; "Very well, bring me some of your..."&nbsp; He trails off, turning up his nose in disgust as seeing the greasy sausage and fried eggs the remaining patrons are scarfing down.&nbsp; "...bread," he settles on, seeing it as the only thing edible in this place.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>17-01-2019, 21:32:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan winces slightly at Moss's stern expression, and bluntly harsh--at least to her--words about her views on money.&nbsp; "Well, like you point out yourself, society in general does require people at least to have a bit o' coin on them for buyin' things they can't make on their own, or for those that don't have a talent for such things.&nbsp; Besides, I'd rather earn the coin I do make in honest labor, rather than by...less honest means."&nbsp; She'd done her share of that sort of work, and was usually fairly good at it, but that didn't mean she wanted to live that way for the rest of her life.&nbsp; She wanted to try her hand at more aboveboard means of earning a living, and see how she fared.&nbsp; She doubted Moss would look favorably on her former means of earning coin, if it could truly be called earning, and so wisely refrained from mentioning it.&nbsp; Luckily there was the distraction of the elf and his news to occupy both their attention.<br><br>She watches the exchange between Brunhilda and the elf with no small hint of amusement, a slight frown turning down the corners of her mouth at hearing how behind this lord is, and the elf's casual dismissal of it.&nbsp; It made her wonder briefly if she wanted to work with someone of his ilk, yet Moss's point was a valid one.&nbsp; Innocents could be hurt, or worse, if the shambling mound wasn't tracked down, and so far it looked like the two of them were the only two seriously considering it.&nbsp; Still, what kind of a lord named his wine after himself?&nbsp; A pretentious one, she was sure, if his messengers were any judge.&nbsp; Scooping up both her carving, and hew newly acquired bowl, she stowed both away before gesturing to the elf, spotting his gaze on them, inviting hin to join them, rather than stand in the middle of the tavern, looking more than a little awkward.<br><br>"I wouldn't want anyone gettin' hurt or killed, you're right about that," she agrees with Moss's assessment.&nbsp; "Maybe this elf knows more about it, or at least where we might start lookin' for it.&nbsp; That would at least give us an area to start, rather than wanderin' at random around this lord's estate.&nbsp; That might take a while, and I'm sure he wants his...pet back sooner, rather than later, though I agree with you in not knowin' why anyone would want such a creature in the first place.&nbsp; Maybe he's got it trained somehow?" she muses, the question more a rhetorical one, rather than expecting an actual answer.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>18-01-2019, 18:32:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss nods his agreement, even as he considers the wider implications of her suggestion. He has never seen a a sentient, or nearly so creature made to serve man or elf in such a fashion, and the tortle is unsure what sort of purpose it might serve. Still she is right in suggesting that the best method will be to simply speak to the elf about the matter, and he to that task, deciding to lead up such an investiation. <br><br>"I will speak with the elf. He seems friendly enough, and I have a rare skill in understanding people, and engaging them in conversation. Some have said that I am too good at speaking, and that I should do it less, but in this case it seems an easy enough manner to address."<br><br>His piece said, the druid approaches the elf where he stands and addressing him directly, in his usual drawn out manner. The tortle seems to have an endless affection for mangling otherwise simple conversations. Truly his was a rare gift. <br><br>"Hello friend elf. I understand that you work for Lord Frostspear, and that you offer reward for the capture of a shambling mound. My associate and I are suitably capable at such endeavors, and would be willing to undertake such a mission, provided that it pays the gold she requires, and allows me to assist the plant, as I wish. She cares more deeply for the money than the lives of innocents, but I cam compassionate enough for us both. I would like to know what service this shambling mound provides, and if it undertook this task willingly, or as a result of your people's enslavement of it. I am not generally in favor of the latter, though it is a sadly common occurrence inf our day to day lives. My friend though, will want to know what manner of profit can be achieved."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>18-01-2019, 19:07:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The elf regards the tortle with a look equal to the one of disgust he gave towards the gnoll.&nbsp; Such creatures of almost animal like qualities to them just seemed...unnatural in the elf's eyes and he was fairly open about expressing such, lips curling as he was forced to talk to <em>it.</em>&nbsp; The slow way of which Moss spoke only exasperates the elf's displeasure, waiting so desperately for his little speech to end with the round about way he spoke.<br><br>"Very well," The elf sighs.&nbsp; "The shambling mound in question is a sort of...guard of Lord Frostspear's.&nbsp; &nbsp;It protects the vineyards from unwanted thieves.&nbsp; Usually its surprisingly good about follow the commands of Lord Frostspear however...strange things have been happening as of late on the vineyard.&nbsp; Capturing and returning the mound to Lord Frostspear -unharmed- will pay you a good one hundred gold.&nbsp; Returned it harmed, less, and you will get nothing if you kill the mound.&nbsp; I imagine Lord Frostspear will be most displeased if you kill his pet," The elf explains, still sounding somewhat bored by his explanation.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>18-01-2019, 21:15:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan makes her way over to the elf as well, at first content to let Moss humor himself in asking about the potential job, and then frowning in annoyance at his assumption that she cared for gold than saving innocent people.&nbsp; "Aye, the gold is somethin' one should generally ask about before agreein' to a job, though I'm also concerned about harm that might come to people or animals that cross this...creature's path," she asserts.&nbsp; "You'll have to forgive my...acquaintance here.&nbsp; He tends to ramble on quite a bi," she adds, returning the light verbal jab in kind, not truly angry with him, more than mildly annoyed.&nbsp; "I (I)would(/I) like to know what sorta strange happenin's you speak of, for my own curiosity.&nbsp; Is there anything else we need to be watchin' out for?"&nbsp; She has an idea that she hopes will work, not causing harm to the plant creature, and hopefully making it easier on she and Moss to return it as well.&nbsp; "The payment seems fair enough," she adds, actually thinking it sounded like quite a lot, which in itself told her this creature wasn't something just anyone could handle.&nbsp; She wasn't sure her idea would work on something plant-based, but perhaps Moss would know.&nbsp; Yet knowing the elf even less than on the limited basis she knew Moss, she refrained from mentioning the idea in his presence, sure they'd have a chance to talk about it once the elf left them on their own.&nbsp; "Are we to be followin' you back to Lord Frostspear's estate then?" she asks, unsure how else they'd start tracking the mound, and guessing this was why the elf had come looking himself in person, rather than the lord posting a notice on a tavern sign board, advertising his quandary.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>19-01-2019, 06:41:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss is not immune to the look the elf gave him, even as he had largely become used to it. The Dragon Isles were very culturally diverse, and Moss had spent some time being gawked at from leaving those sanctuary islands. It was an unfortunate reality of being a six foot turtle person that, inevitably, some thought him a monster. Some of his kin might even have been forgiven for furthering that notion. Still, Moss felt no immediate need to comment on the matter, preferring to move ahead with their negotiations.<br><br>Rowan of course, has her piece to say on the matter, and Moss listens to these with curiosity, anxious to see how other races prefer to do business. A traveler first and foremost, he takes no umbrage to being passed over in the conversation, recognizing that he is not the focal point of this discussion, and judging that the human will probably have better luck extracting information from the racist elf. Privately, he thought he approach a bit rude, in that she did not not lay out her full meaning of things, but perhaps the younger races liked to sort such matters out quickly.<br><br>While they spoke back and forth on matters of money, Moss absently takes the time to count his coin, trying to get an appreciation for the amounts they are discussing. He is, of course, familiar with currency, having dealt with the pirates that cohabited his people's island, but the concept of small flat discs of metal as currency still strikes him as odd. He is also a bit concerned, as he already has fifteen gold pieces in his small bag, and isn't sure that he can hold an additional fifty. He says as much as he interjects, sharing the concern while at the same time dissembling what the elf had said.<br><br>"By the say, and I hate to be a bother with such matters, but I only have room in my bag for an additional...twenty...twenty five gold pieces. If we're getting more than that as my share, I would ask for a small coin bag to be part of the payment. These little chunks of metal are quite annoying to keep track of. As to the other point though, I would be remiss if I didn't ask as to what sort of method you use in keeping the mound in line. Do you feed it treats? Take it for walks around the property? Pay it in small metal discs as well? I'm sure it would be advantageous if it carried wealth with it. My associate seems quite astute and finding gold."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>19-01-2019, 20:52:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The elf seems disinterested by their questioning, sighing boredly and clearly just wanting to be done with this whole business.&nbsp; He is but an employee of Lord Frostspear and appears to think that this whole business is beneath him, but is doing his job, nonetheless.&nbsp; "Yes, you may occupy me back to the manor," he first answers with an exasperated sigh before regarding the Tortle's questions, once more seeming to sneer a little at having to speech with <em>it</em>.<br><br>"I don't know what Lord Frostspear does with it, though it does seem to enjoy our grapes.&nbsp; Not so much the wine the grapes make...just the grapes.&nbsp; I think it's allowed to eat a portion of the grapes we grow in exchange for its service of guarding the vineyard," the elf sighs again.&nbsp; He seems to sigh a lot.&nbsp; "As for a new coin pouch...take that up with Lord," He dismisses this trivial piece of information with a hand wave.&nbsp; <br><br>Just about then, Brunhilda comes out of the kitchen with a small wooden plate, a steaming loaf of fresh breath with its savory aroma wafting in the air indicating it is fresh from the oven.&nbsp; The little wooden plate acts as a cutting board, a serrated knife resting on the plate along with a small bowl of freshly churned butter.&nbsp; It looks like a very nice little snack for someone who isn't partial to having eggs and sausage, and yet the elf still seems to regard it as something unpleasant to eat.<br><br>"There you are, dearie," Brunhilda smiles, though not the genuine smile she gives the patrons, this one seems forced, like a teenager working at the local general store for minimum coin and no job satisfaction.&nbsp; She sets it down and asked, "That'll be two copper."<br><br>The elf rolls his eyes, reaching into a hefty coin purse and producing the two small coins from a myriad of silver and gold before placing it in her outstretched hand.&nbsp; As soon as she walked off, he takes a small white cloth out of his pocket and goes about cleaning his hands.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>19-01-2019, 22:31:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan can't quite hide a grin at the idea of slipping coins to the mound in order to keep it happy, nodding at the elf's description of the arrangement to let the creature have some of the grapes in exchange for guard duty.&nbsp; "No, I'd imagine it wouldn't be able to do much guardin', if it liked the wine equally as much as the grapes," she grins, her mood slightly mollified by Moss's last comment.&nbsp; At least he wasn't accusing her of being greedy, and not caring to help others, merely looking for profit.<br><br>She herself has a slightly larger coin purse than Moss does, apparently, though she lets the two talk about possible additional arrangements with the lord in regards to Moss without comment.&nbsp; Her eyes linger for a slight moment longer than necessary on the size of the elf's own coin purse as he pays for his bread, though she knows better than to try anything foolish.&nbsp; If he was in a larger crowd, and had more distractions, she might have been tempted, simply because of his carelessness in seemingly having all his wealth in one place, and being so obvious about it.&nbsp; And while his haughtiness toward Moss and the other patrons was more than apparent, at least he hadn't actually said anything rude, so that was a small point in his favor.&nbsp; her eyes come back up to the table, and she can't resist rolling her own in turn at the elf's dainty manner.<br><br>"It's quite safe to eat, I assure you.&nbsp; I had some earlier myself, though you're lucky Brunhilda made yours so fresh.&nbsp; With how busy she is, it shows how much the lord must be of import," she adds, attempting to smoothe over the obvious dislike between the two, and get the three of them on their way before one of the dwarves, or the elf's attitude, stirs up trouble she and Moss would then have to deal with.&nbsp; She makes a note to thank Brunhilda later, for being plite in the face of the elf's snobbishness, and to spend some of the money she and Moss earn on something more expensive than eggs and sausage, to repay her for the trouble.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>20-01-2019, 04:45:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss nods sagely at her words, agreeing with her assessment of the bread. He didn't much care for most of the foods humans enjoyed, but he did have an affinity for bread. After all, it used yeast, which was a substance he took some interest in as a spore druid. Still, the druid also knows that there is much to be done, and does not wish to waste it, speaking to that as he rises up.<br><br>"You should enjoy your bread during our journey. If we are to find and capture your enslaved fruit eating mound, we should probably make haste. Gods only know what mischief it might get into without the gentle guiding hand of your gardeners. I remember this one time when I left a shrubbery unattended in my yurt. Oh the damage it did. It was quite impressive, at least as far as what an immovable plant can accomplish. I was suitably impressed."<br><br>On this last remark Moss moves to the barmaid, and fishes in his coin purse for a moment before handing it to her instead, apparently deciding that the effort in counting coins was not worth the frustration. His talons were not made for such fine work anyway.<br><br>"Please take suitable payment from there loud dwarf. It has been a pleasure eating in your noisy end, and enjoying your bland porridge. Both were an experience I have not had before, and thus are worth remembering. I hope your husband does better to please you in the future, or that you find one more to your liking. It seems finding another would be easy with this much beer about. Dwarves seem to enjoy drinking."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>20-01-2019, 22:07:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Brunhilda raises her eyebrows at Moss's tactlessly honest comments, seeming to be still dazed as she extracts her payment from his purse before handing the pouch back to him.&nbsp; She shakes her head and turns back to the elf again, regarding him with almost as much disdain as he regards her.&nbsp; <br><br>"Shall I wrap up the bread to go then?"&nbsp; The dwarf sighs, seeing the elf has not moved to the touch the bread.&nbsp; Before he can even answer, she's already produced a clean white cloth from her apron and begins to wrap the small loaf of bread in it before handing it off to the elf.&nbsp; The elf nods in thanks, not saying the words, just a simple nod.<br><br>"Right then...follow me," The elf sighs, yet again sounding annoyed as he leads the two adventurer's outside of Burnhilda's Bread, the wooden sign swinging rapidly as the elf's shoulder brushes against it, being of about a head and a half taller than the expected height for the doorway and the sigh.&nbsp; He sneers a little, brushing something unseen off his shoulder before continuing down the main road, expecting the adventurers to follow.&nbsp; Business is surely starting to pick up in the small dwarvish settlement as the sound of anvils grows and the trio passes by several blacksmithing and metalsmithing work shops, very few other shops in the area to sell different wares, but they do pass a couple of farms selling the harvest they grow in the fields beyond the settlement.<br><br>Coming to the end of the road, the elf approaches a grand old thick oak tree that grows at the edge of the Dul Kuldor.&nbsp; Reaching into another pouch on his person, the elf produces a scroll and unfurls it, reaching out a hand as he speaks the arcane language scripted on the scroll.&nbsp; Slowly a portal begins to open on the oak tree as he casts <strong>Transport Via Plants</strong> through the spell scroll, the single use of the spell burning the parchment away with druidic arcane energy before it is complete.&nbsp; <br><br>"Quickly now, it only lasts a short time," The elf commands, running through the portal himself, a very clear image through the center of the tree of a beautiful vineyard on the other side.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>21-01-2019, 00:41:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan's borws mirror Brunhilda's, especially at Moss's last comment, as she tries to figure out what it means in connection to the dwarf herself.&nbsp; Rowan herself didn't have a problem with her, and in her experience, dwarves tended to be loud in general.&nbsp; Shrugging, deciding it better not to ask for clarification, and in the interest of not wasting more time, she simply waits patiently for the elf's bread to be wrapped, guessing he most likely isn't going to eat it.&nbsp; At least he'd paid for it, so what he decided to do with it after the fact was his own business.<br><br>She nods at the elf's prompting, quickly gathering her pack from its place where she'd stowed it under the table, and following in the elf's wake.&nbsp; She narrows her eyes in exasperation at his back as he rubs imaginary dirt, or possibly imagined splinters from the sign off his shoulder, but doesn't comment.&nbsp; The sooner they follow him to their destination and retrieve his lord's pet, the sooner they won't need to deal with him.<br><br>A look of surprise crosses her features briefly at the use of the scroll, though she nods in approval.&nbsp; "Handy, that," she comments simply, only taking a second to stare through it before hurrying through herself, mindful of the elf's warning, and stepping off to one side to allow room for Moss to come through.&nbsp; She only hopes she was quick enough, not wanting the portal to close unexpectedly.&nbsp; Even with his shell, it would probably hurt, and she wasn't sure how such magic worked.&nbsp; She's not keen on having him trapped somewhere, and needing to face this plant creature on her own.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>21-01-2019, 05:14:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The tortle leaves the comfort of the tavern with little complaint, anxious to be on his way and off seeing the expanses of what this world has to offer. While the elf strides forth in a businesslike fashion, Moss' own footsteps are slightly more hazy, the large tortle seeming to take a childlike glee from the surroundings they find themselves in. Having never spent any length of time in a dwarf settlement, his dark eyes take in the various businesses with interest, even as the rest of the party rushes on. It would seem that hurry is not among the druid's skill set. Soon enough though, they find themselves before the great oak, and the tortle watches with transparent interest as the elf summons a portal from within the large plant, steps through it.<br><br>A druid of knowledge but not yet experience, he is familiar with the spell, and teleports through the tree with an audible exultation of glee, apparently quite happy to experience such an intimate moment with a plant. When they arrive at the other side he takes a moment after the tree has knit itself back together to give it a long lingering hug, a docile smile etched on his beak. The moment lingers for perhaps a moment longer than it would need to, before he turns to the elf and offers him a hug as well, even as his demeanor seems at least a bit more serious. It is clear that now is the time for action, and not hugs.<br><br>"That was really quite enjoyable. That is the closest I think I have ever come to that level of intimacy with a tree before. What an experience. Its euphoric. Imagine what it would be like to do that each and every day. Oh what amazing fun I could have. In any case, I suppose there is business to discuss. You, rude elf, why did we need to teleport to this location? I thought your vineyard was on the island proper."<br><br>As he speaks, the tortle reaches to his side, extracting a small wooden pipe, and begins to stuff it with strongly scented pipeweed. The motion is second nature to him, with the placid air of one who has undertaken this method many many times in the past. When the pipe is properly packed, he lights it with the tip of a finger, and begins to puff from the noxious smelling concoction, seeming to visibly relax even beyond his normally cool disposition as the white smoke fills his lungs.<br><br><strong>PC: Moss uses Druidcraft to light his choof :)</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>21-01-2019, 19:25:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The elf quickly scurries away from the tortle's attempt to hug him, making it very clear that he wants no part of being touched by Moss.&nbsp; Especially after watching Moss hug the tree, finding it a strange display despite being able to cast druidic magic himself, as was made apparent by being able to read the magical scroll.&nbsp; <br><br>In regards to Moss's question, he answers, "Yes, while we are on the island proper, we are now clear on the other side of the volcano and this is a much faster way to travel.&nbsp; The alternative is to go through the volcano, through the scared forge and if you think Braznor is going to allow me entrance..."&nbsp; He sighs in exasperation, annoyed for even being questioned about his methods of travel.&nbsp; <br><br>He coughs a bit at the smell of the pipeweed, once more giving Moss a glare.&nbsp; "Could you pleasssse-"&nbsp; He begins to hiss when the rustle of leaves and twigs snapping catches his attention, the Shambling Mound apparently having made its way back to the vineyard.&nbsp; Its eyes shift to the trio that have just come through the tree before lunging at them in some sort of crazed state, even going to attack the elf despite being under careful control before not to harm Lord Frostspear's staff.<br><br><strong>DM: Roll Initiative</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>21-01-2019, 22:11:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan in turn gives Moss a long stare that he probably doesn't notice, at his strange--at least to her--behavior of hugging the tree, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth at the elf's hasty retreat at Moss's attempt to hug him after the tree.&nbsp; "He's not so bad, really.&nbsp; I think it's just his of greetin' people, though I'm not sure if it's specific to him, or if it's a cultural...quirk of all his race," she tries to reassure the elf, despite his attitude.<br><br>She nods at the elf's explanation of the need for the teleportation spell, about to create some distance between herself and Moss's smoke, when the rustling startles her, and she's surprised they've managed to find what they're after without any effort, it seems.&nbsp; She's secretly glad not to have to come up with an answer to Moss's query, because she doesn't really want to know about any intimacies he wishes to have with trees, or any other plants, for that matter.<br><br>PC:&nbsp; Rowan rolls a 14, +3, for a total of 17.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>21-01-2019, 23:01:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>PC: Moss rolled a 19, for a total of 19.</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>21-01-2019, 23:47:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: The Shambling Mound rolls a 7...for a total of 6.&nbsp; It is apparently slowly approaching you, with Moss's turn first</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>22-01-2019, 02:21:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Surprised as any by his central position within the fray, Moss takes a moment to clench his pipe within his beak, and then reaches to the medicine bag at his side, extracting from it a single sprig of mistletoe that he cradles gently in his hands, before exhaling a long slow stream of thick pipeweed into. As the smoke clears, the sprig blossoms with full and colorful berries, which plump out to an impressive degree. <br><br>Working deftly, the tortle plucks these berries from the sprig and moves forward, holding them out to the shambling mound as he takes one knee, speaking to it gently, as one might towards a child. It was clear that he was trying his best to be diplomatic, but the attempt itself was more an insult than any silence he might have attempted. This was probably going to go quite poorly for him.<br><br>"Hello stupid plant creature. I and your enslaver are here to return you to the comforting warmth of your enforced captivity. Here in my possession I have some tasty berries which are decidedly not grapes, but may appear similar at a cursory examination. If time had permitted, I would have plucked you proper grapes, which I understand that you like. I was not aware that a creature as stupid as you could make such differentiations. That is impressive, after a fashion. Please do not murder us, large plant monster." <br><br><strong>PC: Moss uses his action to cast the spell Goodberry at first level, and then makes a Persuasian check to try and ply the plant monster with the tasty berries. Moss rolls a natural 1, which with his charisma modifier of -1 equals exactly zero. I would say that Moss probably failed about as hard at this as it is possible to do.</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>22-01-2019, 23:54:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan's eyes widen, both at the plant's lunge for the elf, and at Moss's decidedly unflattering language in trying to subdue it.&nbsp; She's not sure the plant is capable of understanding him, but knows that if it is, and has any reasonable amount of intelligence, things are most likely going to go poorly for Moss indeed.&nbsp; Unsure whether or not her own idea will work, never having attempted it on a plant before, she takes hold of the carving around her neck, using it as a focus for her magic, rather than carrying around random things to use in spells, as Moss seemed to.&nbsp; Though really, she'd only seen him use the berries, so perhaps such were a unique way for him to focus his magic, as focused on plants as he was.&nbsp; But now wasn't the time to be contemplating such things.&nbsp; She only hopes none of the three of them will be injured, or do any injuring to the plant in turn.<br><br>PC:&nbsp; Rowan casts sleep at second level, for a total of 32.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>23-01-2019, 13:30:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The shambling mound tilts the top portion of its body that constitutes as a head, confused by the words the tortle speaks. It does not seem to understand the actual words and perhaps not the actual meaning either, but the confusion only makes it feel a bit enraged. <br><br>It feels a sleepy cast of magic fall over it, but is easily able to shake the arcane energy from putting it to sleep.<br><br><strong>DM: The total on the sleep spell is not enough to put the mound to sleep.</strong><br><br>Frustrated, the mound throws itself towards the tortle for two slam attacks<br><br><strong>DM: the Shambling Mound rolls a 15+7 for a total of 22 for the first slam and 11+7 for a total of 18 on the second slam.&nbsp; </strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>24-01-2019, 14:56:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: I assume the 22 hits but the 18 doesn't?&nbsp; For the attack that did hit, Moss takes 2d8+4 damage, rolling a 4+2+4 for a total of 10 damage.&nbsp; The two attacks end its turn, bringing it back to Moss's turn. </strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>25-01-2019, 06:47:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss takes the two strikes calmly, the massive slamming attacks seeming to do little to weaken the tortle's resolve, or harden his manner. The first strike knocks the tortle backwards a pace though, drawing a grunt from the reptilian spellcaster&nbsp; before following up with another slamming attack that the tortle narrowly deflects with his shield. During this matter though, there is no exultation of pain or fear from the reptile, who seemed to still be approaching the situation with the same careful determination he seemed to always exude. <br><br>There was nothing to Moss' actions which showed haste or fear. He simply took the strikes, each with equal aplomb, and wiping the blood from his beak with on hand moved forward, tucking away the goodberries he carried while he brought his wooden quarterstaff to bear, infusing it with druidic magic and shrouding the simple weapon with briny thorns as he spared a look at his newfound companion, a mild concern showing behind his features.<br><br>"I think this fight might be beyond our capabilities, but I will try my best to weather it's attentions if you want to flee. I am of hardy stock, and can withstand some degree of punishment. You and the elf should go, I can care for myself."<br><br>Without further word Moss holds his staff out, and shifts his position to place himself between the sorcerer and the mound, holding himself in place as he takes a defensive stance, guarding his allies from attack. At the same time, he speaks a few words in aquan beneath his breath, calling out to nature to aid him. In response the area around him shifts, with his spores extending out into the soil as large colorful mushrooms begin to pop up in large numbers around them to a span of twenty feet, enclosing both tortle and shambling mound, but leaving his allies unmolested.<br><br><strong>PC: Moss uses a free action to stow his Goodberries for later, and then casts shillelagh on his walking stick (club) and his action to cast entangle on an area containing the shambling mound and himself, but keeping the other two members of his party safe from danger. </strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>29-01-2019, 04:32:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan winces as Moss isn't quite quick enough to get out of the mound's way, but relieved to see him get his shield up in time to block the second blow.&nbsp; At his statement of concern that this might be too much of an obstacle for them to handle, she nods gravely, but shakes her head in refusal of his offer to face the creature by himself, and let she and the elf go.&nbsp; "I'm not about to leave you alone with that thing.&nbsp; True, I don't know you all that well, but if you think it'll be hard for the both of us to deal with, it'll be even harder for just one."&nbsp; This would be especially true, if the elf did take him up on his offer to leave, which Rowan thought him capable of, given his earlier attitude.<br><br>She takes a step up beside Moss, but is careful to avoid his entangle spell.&nbsp; If she can't get next to him, she'll get as close as she can without getting stuck, bravely facing the mound, and scrambling to think of something that won't damage the creature.&nbsp; She sincerely doesn't want to hurt it, considering Moss's...close relationship with plants, yet she also doesn't want to lose of their promised funds either.&nbsp; Moss might not care for such, but she needs them to live on, and extra never hurt anyone.<br><br>Feeling more than a little awkward and foolish, she turns her palms out to face the mound, showing it she's not holding any weapons, and that while she can still cast spells, she would need her carving as a focus for them.&nbsp; Not that she expects it to understand, but she hopes the lack of weapons on her part might calm it somewhat.&nbsp; "I'm sorry about my companion's words just now," she offers, unsure if trying to talk to a plant and convince it not to hurt them will work, but she can't do any worse than Moss did at the attempt.&nbsp; "We're here because the person that lets you eat their grapes is worried about you, and wanted us to help find you.&nbsp; If you'll let us take you back to him without harmin' us, I'll ask my friend here to free you from his spell," she offers, keeping her voice gentle, hoping to convey friendly concern, even if it can't understand what she's actually saying.<br><br>PC:&nbsp; Feeling like things can't go much worse, Rowan tries to persuade the plant not to attack them, and hopes to extend that to its being cooperative in either following them, or leading them back to where it's supposed to be.&nbsp; A roll of 14 on the die, +5 for a 19 total.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>31-01-2019, 18:11:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The mound seems to turn the top of its being that acts as a head towards the human speaking to it, not understanding the words, but perhaps understanding the meaning behind her open palms as it stands restrained in the thicket of vines and bramble around its feet.<br><br><strong>DM: I'm going to roll a wisdom check as a free action to see if he understands the implications, at least, of your words.&nbsp; The DC will be decidedly low since your persuasion roll was high.<br><br>The Shambling Mound rolls a 6+0 for a total of 6 </strong><br><br>Feeling frustrated rather than soothed, the Shambling Mound struggles against the entanglement.<br><br><strong>DM: The Shambling Mound rolls a strength save, as it is restrained by the spell by being in its area when the spell was cast.&nbsp; The Mound rolls a 13+4 for a total of 17 on its strength save, beating Moss's Spell Save DC of 13 </strong><br><br>Breaking free of its restraints, the Shambling Mound seems about to attack when it appears that something catches its attention.&nbsp; The Mound turns away from them and starting heading off in a different direction, slowed by the entangle spell around it.&nbsp; It seems to have lost interest in Moss and Rowan, at any rate, the elf looking rather confused about the sudden turn of events as he looks to see if Moss and Rowan will follow it.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>01-02-2019, 03:07:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan herself is also more than a little confused, shrugging as she watches the mound seem to change its mind on attacking the three of them, something else catching its attention instead.&nbsp; "I didn't think that would work, but it never hurts to try somethin' new.&nbsp; Well, new for me, I'll admit," she adds,"though you'd think Moss would be better at talkin' to plants.&nbsp; Maybe it didn't like you callin' it stupid, if it can understand language, that is.&nbsp; You might try bein' more flatterin' with your word choices, if we get in a similar scrape," she says, genuinely trying to give some helpful advice.<br><br>"But standin' around here isn't goin' to get us anywhere, so I suppose we should be followin' after it, and see where it goes.&nbsp; Maybe it'll just go where it's supposed to be anyway, though I'd still like to know what made it wander off in the first place."&nbsp; She sets off after the plant, keeping it in sight while going slow enough for the other two to catch up, taking care to go around the patch of brambles from Moss's spell.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>02-02-2019, 05:01:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss watches as the mound shrugs off his spells, and as his sorcerer companion tries her own attempt at reasoning with the creature, privately admonishing her for the oblique way she spoke to the creature. Didn't she know anything about diplomacy? But still, he lets her talk, listening and waiting for the inevitable attack of the ambulatory bush. Moss is almost disappointed when the creature decides against such a course of action, instead sprinting off into the woodwork, leaving the pair alone with the quite annoying elf.<br><br>Of course, fleeing put Moss in an odd position, as he had a reasonable understanding that this creature was beyond his and her capabilities. The most reasonable course then, would be to let it run away, and for them to follow at a distance, or perhaps retreat to formulate a new plan. The latter seems a better option to the druid, but is clear from the outset that his partner does not appreciate such a course of action. She is a woman of action, and her decision is forthright and immediate, giving chase around the cusp of Moss' entanglement, which the tortle subsequently dispels, choosing instead to follow after the creature and focusing his keen senses upon the forest around them, looking for potential&nbsp; causes of it's strange behavior.<br><br>He also gestures for her to keep pace with him, whispering to her in his usual slow manner, even as he responds to her earlier commentary. His pride is not easily wounded, but he still seems a bit offput by her suggestion.<br><br>"We should keep our distance Magic Elf. The creature is not fast, but it could turn and attack us. Keeping distance will keep us safer. I do not think it can attack us from range. As to my language, I have found that plants and trees prefer an honest and forthright responses. They do not like to misled of misinformed. Perhaps the plant is fleeing because you hurt it's feelings, or because it thought you were being dishonest. Who can know with plants? Perhaps one day I can share as close a bond with them as I share with my fungal spores."<br><br><strong><br>PC: Moss drops concentration on the Entangle spell, allowing both he and the mound to move at their usual pace, and follows after, keeping at least thirty feet between he and it. At the same time, he reaches out with his senses, rolling a perception check to see what he can observe of the nature around them. He rolls a natural 20 for a total of 25. Moss is apparently quite perceptive. </strong><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>03-02-2019, 21:35:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Its doesn't really understand language, so I doubt whatever either of you said makes a difference," The elf points out in a snooty tone, clearly unimpressed with either of their attempts and finding this conversation pointless as they followed the Mound from a distance.<br><br>Following away from the tree they emerged from, it leads them across towards the vineyard itself, rows upon rows of grapes growing in the rich, volcanic soil, awaiting the days when they will be picked and made into fine Frostspear Wine to be sold all over Izsia.&nbsp; Off in the distance, Frostspear Manor stands tall, a white stone home of three stories and a multitude of rooms, a mansion that could house dozens.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>DM: If either of you would like, you may roll a History check to see what you know of Frostspear manor</strong><br><br>Moss notices that the supposed 'fruit eating' monster passes by these grapes without a single look towards them.&nbsp; They are plump and rich in color, obviously about right for the picking and juicy on the inside.&nbsp; Anyone would be tempted to partake of these perfect grapes and their burst of flavor biting into the tender skin.&nbsp; Instead the Mound seems pretty set on where its heading, making some sort of gravely sounding as well as the drag of leaves and sticks from its rotten roughage body.&nbsp; It leads all of you past the vineyard and towards the beaches that lie beyond.<br><br>There is becomes readily apparent that something is not right here.&nbsp; There are dark tendrils running through the sand, some sort of dark energy streaking forward from the ocean.&nbsp; A shark washes up on the shore, obviously dead from whatever dark magic is at play here.&nbsp; The Mound shambles over to the shark corpse in its namesake manner, beginning to consume the fresh meat.<br><br><strong>DM: Roll a nature check on Shambling Mounds, either or both of you</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>04-02-2019, 05:02:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>PC: Moss doesn't know much about Fire Island in general, so I'll decline the history check, but I'll try for Nature. He rolled a 10, for a total of 13.</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>05-02-2019, 02:01:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Perhaps, though it must not be all that upset, if it didn't think us enough to bother with," Rowan agrees easily enough, not wishing to get into a discussion over the philosophy of plants and how capable they are of understanding speech.&nbsp; She personally is inclined in this case to agree with the elf, that something else has simply caught the plant mound's attention, and she's content to keep a careful distance, following along beside Moss and the elf, and see how this plays itself out.<br><br>PC:&nbsp; Rowan rolls a flat 15 for the history check, and an 11 for nature.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>06-02-2019, 13:13:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: Rowan, you've heard mysterious tales of Frostspear manor, fantastical myths that say it defies the laws of physics and gravity on the inside, upside down stair cases and a maze of doors that seem like they should reach one place but end up another.<br><br>As far as the shambling mound, you both know that they are carnivorous creatures and now that you think about it, it was strange that the elf suggested it ate grapes. Perhaps his understanding of the mound is not very good, as is obvious by his disinterest in this situation in the first place and annoyance of being assigned to it.<br><br>Moss, you know Shambling Mounds are generally neutral, not good nor evil, but this one came rushing at you both with evil intent</strong><br><br>The mound continues to eat its meal, the sickening crunch of its stick and leave make up cracking and churning as it eats, like a humanoid smacking its lips. Coagulated blood mingles in with its leaves.<br><br><strong>DM: Roll an investigation check if you wish to look around the tainted beach a bit. </strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>07-02-2019, 03:51:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Taking in the obvious corruption around them, the druid's expression darkens, his tortle features deepening into a frown as he takes in tableaux. A shaman of some skill, he has never seen corruption of this sort before, and he distrusts it instinctively. It puts him ill at ease, and makes him distrustful of events as they stand. Still, understanding the full nature of the corruption will be an element of finding a solution to this problem, and he voices this opinion as he makes his way to the shoreline.<br><br>"We should be wary. There is an unnatural taint to the air, and it smells like something foul may be afoot. You, weak and loud mouthed elf, stay here. Friend sorceress and I will investigate the area, and then return. If the shambling mound returns, you may wish to hide."<br><br>Cautiously, Moss makes his way towards the beach itself, his eyes scanning the corruption as he prods cautiously at the surf with his staff, trying to determine if the source of this corruption is natural in nature, or of an arcane nature. He has little experience with such matters, but some understanding of the flora and fauna of the ocean, having come from a small island himself. <br><br><strong>PC: Moss rolls a 3 for his investigation, totaling a 4. Clearly he is a druid, not an detective :)</strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>07-02-2019, 18:07:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Apparently it's not so keen on grapes after all," Rowan quips, avoiding watching the plant actually eat the shark.&nbsp; Hearing it is bad enough without having to see the results.&nbsp; "I'm not sure how much help I can be with findin' out the cause, but hopefully between the both of us, we can come up with a plan.&nbsp; I think our elf companion here should be safe, as long as it's distracted with other things to eat."&nbsp; She thinks for a second, glancing around, like Moss, to see if she can spot anything obviously out of the ordinary.&nbsp; "I hear the Frostspear manor has some strange things goin' on magic wise, upside down stairs, and doors that don't lead where they ought.&nbsp; Course, those are only stories, mind, and who knows how much of what bards tell is actually true?&nbsp; They're storytellers, after all, so it's only expected they embellish things a bit, to impress their audience."<br><br>PC:&nbsp; Rowan rolls a 14 for investigation, better than Moss, but not detective level either.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>08-02-2019, 22:10:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>DM: Moss sees nothing more than dark tendrils that extent across the beach, though they don't seem to do anything when he pokes them with his staff.&nbsp; Rowan, on the other hand, notices that the tendrils lead out into the ocean and deep into the water, beyond the field of vision, suggesting that if one were to follow the tendrils, they might find the source of the corruption. </strong><br><br>The elf sneers at them, arms folded as they seemed to imply he couldn't protect himself, not that he had done much thus far to prove that theory wrong.<br><br>The Shambling Mound continues to eat, snapping and smacking along.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>09-02-2019, 04:35:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan points out to Moss the direction the tendrils seem to be headed, gesturing with a finger and following one of the lines for him until it continues out into the water.&nbsp; He seems to be focused more on the water itself, and she hopes bringing his attention to the underlying problem will give him a clue as to what it might be.&nbsp; "If I were the kind that could breathe under water, I'd say the logical plan would be to follow and see where they go, but I can't do such things.&nbsp; Not naturally, and my magic doesn't work that way.&nbsp; Does your kind have a way of doin' such?" she asks, unsure of just how he might differ from her, other than the obvious shell, and his collection of mushrooms growing on said shell.&nbsp; She ignores the elf, knowing by the look he gives the both of them what his opinion of them is, and she doesn't care particularly.&nbsp; She's one to listen if someone has a valid opinion, but she's not one to go out of her way to make friends if someone's dislike is so obvious.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>09-02-2019, 06:18:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The tortle druid follows her gesture towards the waterline, his brow furrowing at her words. It does certainly seem as if this corruption is coming from the ocean, an outcome he did not anticipate, but which seems sensible from what he can see. At her question though, he runs a large shovel like talon beneath his neck, scratching at his thick scales as he considered the question. When he responds, it is, as usual, entirely too much at length. <br><br>"Those of my race, if that is your question, do have some small skill in moving beneath the waves. We are not agile swimmers, but we can hold our breaths for extended periods. In my village we like to spend long periods of time in quiet contemplation beneath the waves, collecting various types of spores or algae from beneath the waves. It is a slow and tranquil setting, and I remember well how one such meditation led me towards my current choice of apparel. I was wearing wooden armor, as is a practice of my people when I came to realize that our tortle bodies did not require such armor. Instead I decided to wear long flowing silks, and fashioned such a wrapping my next day. It was a dull gray though, and offended my sensibilities. So I said to myself 'Moss, you must try something brighter if you are to be as daring and colorful as you can be' and thus I resolved to find a proper fabric dye. It was after this that I noticed the bright hue of the goodberries favored by my people, and resolved to use that color in my dying. That is the source of my colored wrappings."<br><br>He paused then, smiling warmly to himself as he remembered the experience, before realizing that his discourse was not entirely what the sorcerer had been inquiring about. He shrugged sheepishly though, responding her question in more detail as his eyes turned back to the elf in their midst.<br><br>"If you mean druids though, there is a spell of value to those of your disposition, which allows your kind to breath beneath the waves. It is commonly referred to as 'Water Breathing' and while I could cast such a spell at a future time, I am not as yet capable of such a feat. Perhaps our friend who can bond so firmly with foliage could provide a spell of that sort? He seems effective in such a regard anyway."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>11-02-2019, 02:06:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The elf, who previously had a bit of a haughty look upon his face as he peers down the two of them from the slope of his nose, seems to shy away from this subject a bit, suggesting he does not have the power of which they seek.&nbsp; He even seems to drop away from the attitude entirely to one of a nervous twitch, as they would soon realize he was not as powerful as them.&nbsp; <br><br>"I...er...that was a spell scroll granted by the Lord Frostspear.&nbsp; I only know very...little...of druidic magics," The elf sort of grumbles, clearly wishing to take up the power of which the tortle has suggested he might have, but does not.&nbsp; <br><br>"At any rate," The elf clears his throat again.&nbsp; "Perhaps it would be best since this is near the manor to take this matter up with the Lord.&nbsp; He may even be able to grant you this 'water breathing' you seek," He offers and turns tail to head back towards the manor, without waiting to see if the two adventurers will follow.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sarah Morgan</strong> on <strong>12-02-2019, 00:46:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rowan listens to Moss's rambling explanation, said ramble revealing more about his people and culture than what she'd asked for.&nbsp; yet she was interested in both, and so the discourse didn't bother her, the way it might have some others, in being given an overload of information in answer to what should have been a simple question.&nbsp; "I was wondering how you'd managed to get so many different colors, though I'm not sure they'd do you much good at blendin' in," she observes mildly, before turning to hear if the elf can grant them the spell Moss mentions, or has another idea for them.<br><br>Obvious caught at pretending more power than he truly has, Rowan's expression remains unchanged, though her eyes take on a spark of good-natured amusement once his back is turned.&nbsp; She'd thought the scroll he'd used earlier was one of his own, but it made sense that the lord would have offered such as a means of convenient return for the elf and anyone he got to accompany him on this assignment.&nbsp; She glances at the elf's retreating form, and back at the mound, uncertain as to whether they should leave it unattended.&nbsp; "I'm hopin' it decides to stay put long enough for us to talk to the lord and come back, or that it'll be easy to follow, if it wanders off again.&nbsp; Though I'm hopin' that by dealin' with whatever the trouble is underwater, that might solve the problem of it wanderin' off in future."&nbsp; she glances back in the elf's direction again, taking a coupe steps to follow, but slow enough to still hear if Moss has another plan, or will follow her to talk to the lord of the manor, as the elf suggested.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MrThorne</strong> on <strong>16-02-2019, 21:33:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Moss agrees readily enough to the plan Rowan presents, offering his own insight, in his usual fashion as he follows after her with a slow and trudging gait. No one would ever accuse the tortle of being rash to action, whatever his other flaws. The truth of things is that he acts at his own pace, and this philosophy informs all that he does. He does share her concerns for the mound, but tempers those fears with the understanding that they are not capable of overcoming it on their own.<br><br>"I think it would be prudent to engage the lord in this matter. At the very least he may have some insight into the corruption of his home, and at best he may be better equipped to combat such problems. You and I did our best and were unable to do more than slow the creature. Aided by his druidic magics we might be able to do significantly more. Besides, if this corruption is widespread we might be facing more significant challenges than ill tempered foliage. What if other wildlife is being effecting in a similar manner? We need to know more if we are to act."<br><br>Despite the dire circumstance that faced them, there was nothing rushed or agitated about his manner. Only the same careful and methodical manner that he had demonstrated since meeting the sorcerer. Nothing seemed to get under the tortle's shell. Even still it was clear that this corruption of nature had him concerned. He preferred to see the natural world in balance.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Fires of the Forge (D&amp;D 5e Roses of May, Mr.Thorne, and Sarah Morgan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roses of May</strong> on <strong>18-02-2019, 22:34:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Crossing back through the vineyards of the Frostspear land, the elf leads the pair through a pathway among the grapes to the house proper.&nbsp; It seems quite normal on the outside, a three story manor with white walls and large windows, some vines crawling up the white washed exterior to give it streaks of green on the alabaster background.&nbsp; Opening the double doors into the manor, the elf leads the tortle and the human inside the manor.<br><br>The entrance room is a sight to behold.&nbsp; While there are a few sets of stairs that are on ground level and give way to doors that are physically in the right direction, the pair see stairs on the walls, doorways that seem impossible as they hang sideways and other such ways, the room a maze of such headache inducing configuration. Directly above them, a spiraling tower of stairs leads to the top of a high room, higher than the height of the manor would suggest it should go. Everything about this main room defies the laws of physics and is clearly magical.&nbsp; On top of that, everything in this room is stark white, devoid of all color and make the rich red of the elf's tunic and the multitude of colors from Moss's clothes or even the red of Rowan's hair stand out even more in contrast.&nbsp; <br><br>"Please keep up and do not stray.&nbsp; This place is confusing to simple minds who do not know its secrets," The elf sighs with even more clear annoyance at having to keep up with them, most likely needing to move at a much slower pace than he usually does to accommodate the tortle.&nbsp; Walking towards the first door to the right, the elf opens it and is about to lead them inside when he clearly seems to realize its the wrong way and shakes his head, shutting the door behind him.<br><br><strong>DM: You may each roll a perception check to see if you notice what was past the elf in the room he decided was the wrong way</strong>
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>