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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: such distrust
Seleniniel cast her spell, seeking to probe at the being's thoughts. Those thoughts were guarded, the mind disciplined... but even so, they felt... alien. Despite that, the one-armed caster could discern no malicious intent in its mind.
The words tumbled out of Seleniniel in the haughty manner of a high sylvari noble as she made her demands of the shadowy figure. Rather than take offense, however, the being seemed - if possible - even more amused than it was by Dak.
"You trust nothing, binder of the tides," it observed. "Not an unwise approach. You have attempted to read my thoughts - and clumsy though your efforts may be, you can still read my intentions plain, can you not? I bear you no malice, tonttutytär."
It paused, considering her words. "Have I allowed the deteriorating conditions of your companion's health to give me the upper hand in our negotiations? Of course. Surely you would not insult me so as to pretend that you yourself would not seek the best bargain you could, were you to offer something precious of your own. I do not deny your assertion that I have allowed time to grant me a better negotiating position... though truth be told, I was also curious as to who you were and what you were doing. I wished to see if your physicks would make him whole." It paused. "It is plain to see that this will not be the case," it added.
It seemend to consider for a moment.
"A mieslehmä is the one you call 'Ruadhri'. It is my people's word for these... man cow folk."
Another pause before the otherworldy voice spoke again. "You ask for asurance of his life?" A mirthless laugh followed. "I seek not to deceive you, vihainenhenkilö. If I did not produce a good faith resoration of your companion, would you not then be justified to break our pact and refuse the boon which I seek? I had thought the tontut to be shrewd negotiators. Do you truly not understand how a bargain works?"
Another pause, and as it spoke again in a more patient tone, it was as if explaining a basic concept to a child. "I offer something of value to you; in return, you provide something of value to repay the debt. If my offer is false, then my price would be forfeit, would it not?"
Another small laugh, devoid of any mirth. "Can you trust me? As I stated before, you are wise to doubt all. Since you do not know me, there appears to be no way for me to demand your trust. Even so, I tell you true - without my aid, your companion will die."
The voice grew more sorrowful. "This, of course, you already know. However, I will not compel you against your will, nor would I threaten you in any manner. If you do not wish to strike this bargain, then may whatever gods the mieslehmä serves bear him to his deserved afterlife, and may your own gods guide your steps from this place."
Once again, the party could feel the hooded gaze sweep over each of them. "The hour grows short. One final time, I bid you all - choose."
Posted on 2025-04-01 at 00:19:15.
Edited on 2025-04-14 at 11:05:52 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: terms and conditions
Dak, seemingly not content to simply accept a bargain with no knowledge of the price to be paid, demanded more information.
"And what boon might you seek from us, sojourner," he tested, a tiny hand falling away from the hilt of his blade. "Do you have a thing in mind, or, instead, do you plan to make it up as you go?"
No one - neither the shadow being, nor the cidal's own companions - seemened to initially notice the objection. Arathea, Isilmewen, and Mae'rel all pledged to accept the terms, regardless of what they might be agreeing to.
Slightly frustrated, Dak sighed and shrugged. "Very well," the Cid shrugged, "I suppose you have our treaty confirmed for the sake of our friend..." He peered up into the shadows of the cowl, trying to define the purple eyes that stared back at him from the veil of shadows, "...what is your price, spirit? Or do you know?"
The ancient voice returned with a hollow chuckle. "Ah, an uteliaspieniihminen. Curious among all of the mortals, as fearless as you are blunt. There is a reason, I think, that Fortune's Mistress herself smiles upon your lot."
A note of mirth touched the ancient, sad voice. "No spirit am I, little one. Yes, I know well what boon I would require of you - but this is neither the time nor the place for that discussion. I give my word that nothing asked of you will cause any of your troupe to violate any oaths they have taken. It is not, I believe, an overly onerous ask. Not something ill-suited to you or your companions, nor something that will require undue expenditure of resources or time... especially given the life I would restore to you."
Posted on 2025-03-31 at 18:22:38.
Edited on 2025-04-14 at 11:05:24 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject: status...
Just as an FYI, everyone in the party (save Ruadhrí is at full health. Ruadhrí is mortally injured.
All of your spell slots are available.
Posted on 2025-03-30 at 14:30:48.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: a boon?
After warning the bófear, Mae'rel borrowed a knife from Rosariel and heated it before applying it to the fungus-infected wound. The red-hot metal was spectacularly painful, worse by several magnitudes than the original injury had been. The massive warrior bore the agony stoically, but the pain was evident on his face.
The little healer then applied salt and bound the wound.
Later, after Isilmewen returned with the requested herbs, Mae'rel began to concoct various poultices in the hopes of retarding the growth of the fungi - if not killing them altogether.
That evening, Dak and Seleliniel shared their sobering thoughts on Ruadhrí's condition. The very idea that they might have to end a companion's life to prevent him from becoming a monster... it was a terrible thing to contemplate.
Meanwhile, Arathea did her best to channel her discipline, to bury her pain and loss, to try to re-center and re-focus on the Eighty-Nine Steps. Her failure did not remove the needs of the mission, did not wash away the fact that there was much remaining to be done. The group had yet to even reach the edge of the great forest; her blade - such as it was - would undoubtedly be needed... perhaps more now than ever, if the massive bovine warrior was destined to the horrid fate that seemed to hang over the camp. Grief and self pity would have to wait - or, at the least, would have to remain hidden.
After resting, the party licked their wounds and continued on towards Hyanda Nost.
At first, it seemed that the ministrations of the divine servants were helping. After a couple of days, however, it became apparent that the best efforts - be they poultices, prayers, or anything else that Mae'rel or Rosarial could think of - were at best slowing the spread of the spores. The flesh around Ruadhrí's wound began to show blackish-green lines that radiated away from the wound as the area grew hot to the touch. The big bófear's condition began to visibly worsen, but he kept any complaints to himself, accepting whatever healing attempts his companions offered with stone-faced compliance.
It did not help matters in the slightest that Isilmewen, Rosariel, and sometimes Dak would get the distinct feeling that the group was being watched.
No further ravens made appearances. No monsters appeared, no untoward animals lingered near the companions, no footsteps were heard. But try as they might, the companions - especially those of the outdoors ilk - found themselves all but certain that someone was watching.
From time to time, there were odd motions just on the edges of peripheral vision, but when focused on, nothing was there. Shadows lay in odd places, only to evaporate when observed. Hairs might stand up on the back of one's neck, with no visible reason to do so.
It was uneasy and unsettling, to say the least.
Day after day, Ruadhrí's state worsened. He found his mind wandering, his thoughts sluggish, cloudy. After six days, the bófear found his arm itching; when he scratched it, he realized with horror that tiny, sickeningly green mushrooms were beginning to erupt from the skin there.
By the eighth day, the warrior was wracked by chills; a quick check from Mae'rel revealed that the fever that had been localized to his wound site had spread through his entire body, even as more of the hateful fungi burst from his skin in odd places. Ruadhrí's face was pallid, his movements slow and unsteady. Gamely, he pressed on - Hyanda Nost and the hope of a healer there was his only chance at survival, and everyone knew it. There could be no rest, not while the cruel spores consumed his very flesh from within.
On the ninth day, it became obvious that the bófear would not made it to Hyanda Nost, which lay at least two more days ahead. During the early evening, Ruadhrí stumbled - as he had begun to do so quite often - but this time, fell to the ground. After a supreme struggle, he managed to bring himself to one knee, but it seemed like rising any further might be beyond his strength.
Dak found himself glancing at Seleliniel, met her gaze, saw her arched eyebrow, and understood the unspoken question. Was it, in fact, time? The cidal's hand drifted idly to the pommel of his blade.
Before the subject could be explored further, Isilmewen, who had returned from her scout position ahead to check on the situation, glanced up and held up a fist. She had seen something - something more than a fleeting shadow or a vanishing trick of the light.
The figure stepped from a place against the trunk of a mighty alder. It moved several paces towards the group, but pulled up short within the shade of the trees above.
It was tall - very tall, easily seven feet or so, with only the mighty bófir warrior able to range above it. Well, normally able to do so; with Ruadhrí still on one knee, the newcomer towered above the entire group.
It was thin, lanky, with an... oddness about it. It wore a cloak so dark it seemed woven of the shadows itself. The hood was pulled down, hiding its face from the evening sun; naught of the face was visible at all apart from a momentary glitter of purple where the eyes surely should have been.
It stood, its manner calm, self-assured, relaxed. And then, it spoke, with a voice of dry branches, of cold water, of ancient stone. "Will you treat with me, travelers?" it asked in a tone tinged with a hint of sadness.
(OOC: assuming that the group will not elect to be immediately threatening or violent)
"You have journeyed far," it observed in that strangely hollow tone. "Forgive me, as I have observed you since you dealt with the forest wytch. I needed to know for myself."
A groaning Ruadhrí coughed as he somehow struggled to his feet, but then, a fit of coughing grabbed him, doubling him over with pain. Mae'rel shook her head sorrowfully. The fungi had reached his lungs; it would not be long, now.
The newcomer spoke again. "Your companion suffers greatly. He will perish soon, for none of you can save him. I doubt that he survives the night... not as himself, for certain."
Even though the strange visage did not move, everyone in the group could feel the gaze sweep over them one at a time.
"You respect the forest, I can see that. And not in the twisted manner of the wytch and his ilk. Although perhaps not as much as we do... but I suppose that remains to be seen."
The voice paused before speaking again. When it began anew, the sadness felt deeper. "I can help your comrade, if you so desire. But if I do this, you will all owe a boon."
A dark hand extended from the shadows of the cloak, and turned itself flat, palm to the sky.
"Choose now," the voice intoned. "The life of the mieslehmä? Or no?"
Again, everyone could feel the gaze sweep over them, despite no actual eyes being visible.
"I will not accept a fractured response. What I offer is too precious. You all agree, or there is no bargain."
One final pause.
"Choose."
Posted on 2025-03-28 at 16:17:01.
Edited on 2025-04-02 at 09:30:16 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject: a chance to respond...
I considered pushing the narrativeon, but I know there was some desire to get in some roleplay at camp, so I paused here to allow just that.
As always, feel free to question me as needed.
Posted on 2025-03-14 at 16:40:31.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: time to lick those wounds
The fight ended, with all of the ancient syl's menagerie of minions having breathed - or at least moved - their last. As silence descended over the grove, the party pulled themselves together. Mae'rel picked up Arathea's fallen blade and wrapped it in a cloth while Rosariel tended to Ruadhrí's wounds. Isilmewen offered to scout a path out and find a good resting spot for the party to recuperate from the fight.
Seleliniel, frustrated at the disappearance of the mad old syl and her lack of success from jumping into the mushroom ring, began an enchantment. She could feel faint traces of residual magics in the mushrooms, the slightest hints of alteration and conjuration, but the result was like stepping into an empty house and detecting a whiff of smoke after a fire had burned to ash on the hearth. There was no "warmth", no actual magic left - even those faint residues faded away while she concentrated on them.
As Rosariel worked as a conduit of Taudor Salka's power to heal the bófear's wounds, she realized that something was wrong - the massive warrior's flesh did not seem to want to fully heal. She called the priestess of Lissentoria over to lend her own aid and to discern what the masked cleric thought of the situation. The masked priestess enjoyed no better success.
Ruadhrí confessed that the wounds made from the fungal shambler itched terribly - and indeed, these were the very wounds that refused to heal. Mae'rel shook her head - she had never seen such a thing, never personally witnessed a wound that a prayer to the goddess of health and healing could not close. But on closer inspection, she realized the truth of the matter.
The bófear's wound was contaminated with fungal spores issued from those lurching mockeries of life. With sickening dread, the priestesses both realized that the spores had taken hold and were even now growing inside of the body of their bovine-esque comrade.
Lissentoria's servant frowned. This was no poison, not in the classical sense. As such, any prayers used to slow the spread of such toxins would simply not be effective. This was instead a growth, a hostile parasite growing inside of Ruadhrí's flesh. How quickly such a thing might grow, the exact effects and such were beyond Mae'rel's knowledge.
Hyanda Nost was still a good eight, perhaps ten days away. Perhaps they would have a healer capable of dealing with this affliction. The mental image of the shambling corpses riddled with mushrooms was disturbing to say the least - would such a thing be Ruadhrí's fate? Was it even possible to stop this infection? The thought of the massive bófear's lifeless body being controlled by such things was horrifying to consider.
-------------------------------------------------
Isilmewen's scouting revealed no other good pathway down from the hilltop aside from the one they used to come up. The grove was elevated, and everywhere else, the terrain fell away very steeply. Strangely enough, the ranger did not locate any signs that the old syl had any sort of residence here in or around the grove. There were enough footprints to suggest regular traffic, but if there was some sort of home or lair, it was well hidden. Since the important thing seemed to be to put distance between the group and this grove for the time being, the party moved to head down the rock pass and back onto the trail in an effort to find a suitable camp.
As the companions picked their way through the rocks, an enormous raven perched high above and croaked in what sounded like mockery.
Two hours later, camp was made beneath the trees of the Alloryen forest. Neither Isilmewen nor Rosariel could shake the feeling that the group was being watched.
Posted on 2025-03-14 at 16:34:39.
Edited on 2025-03-17 at 12:47:09 by t_catt11
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Topic: Audalis creations
Subject: Sylvari government things...
This is not a full formal article, this is just some notes. I know that Alan (alovet) was doing some musing about the sylvari as well, but running one campaign set there and another that is spending a lot of time there has me doing a lot of behind the scenes world building.
The Sylvari Empire is comprised of three member kingdoms - Alloryen (northern), Londelirenen (central), Maelamin (southern). While each kingdom has a monarch, the empire as a whole is ruled by an emperor/empress above them all. The current head of state is the Empress, who holds the title "Speaker of the Stars" (the traditional title for the overall Sylvari head of state).
The Speaker in theory holds absolute power. In practice, they tend to leave most governing work to the rest of the government. The Speaker is viewed almost as a minor deity or demigod. They are revered, thier words have almost the "mandate of Heaven" level authority behind them.
It does not hurt that the Speaker has always been long-lived, typically far beyond that of a normal syl. The current Empress can remember the Anathari war, and personally walked the forests that were destroyed in it. She is now more than two thousand years old, and despite her longevity, is well into the twilight of her days.
Sylvari government is very advanced, in many ways "modern" for a fantasy world that is otherwise more or less medieval in culture. There are two legislative bodies - the upper nobility, the Great Houses, make up what is in effect a "house of lords" (name needed). The lesser nobility have a voice here, though the Great Houses count for much more. Then, you have the erestorea - elected officials from the commoners who make up the Senate.
The Senate has real power, though it will be overruled by the nobility. An individual erestor is largely viewed as minor nobility in terms of social status. They serve for very long terms (thinking 40-50 years as a default), and can be voted out, although the majority serve until they elect to retire.
There are roughly half a dozen Great Houses per kingdom. Alloryen has five such houses - Teltathar, Birdel, Eleneth, Isil'nari, and Mithethiel. House Lanalthir was the sixth house, but it was destroyed in the Anathari war very long ago. The Great Houses for the other kingdoms have yet to be defined.
The Great Houses are where most of the political power of the empire rests. The Great Houses constantly struggle against one another for influence and power, making alliances and breaking them as they see fit - though schemes can take decades or longer to develop.
The Great Houses choose the next Speaker. I am undecided exactly how king.queen of each nation goes - monarch for life, yes, but what about succession? I am thinking by bloodlines, but perhaps the Great Houses must confirm the succession.
Sylvari society enjoys complete gender equity. The eldest child is always considered the heir by default, regardless of gender. However, any noble may choose anyone to be their heir. This would almost always be a younger child in the case that the oldest sibling is not a fit heir, but adoptions can happen and an adopted heir would be legally binding.
Sylvari society has several bands of social strata. They are:
Royalty
Upper nobility
Lesser nobility
artisans/scholars/clergy
merchants
laborers/commoners
That said, all syvari enjoy personal rights and freedoms that most other peoples do not have. There are no sefs, no indentured servants, etc among the sylvari. Even a farmer or carpenter is afforded basic respect as a person, and has rights to personal property, to freely move about, etc.
The sylvari empire fields a professional army - while it is small, it is the most skilled such force in the world. Levies are only used in times of war. I have toyed with the idea that the sylvari do something like Finland or other simialar countries in that all adults are given at least rudimentary training to help offset the fact that their population is so low. Maybe not the full military service for X years thing that Finland does, but at least training. That way, if the empire ever does need them, they have an idea of what to do beyond "stand with these other fellows and hold this pointy towards the enemy".
I am editing the Audalis timeline slightly. Looking back, the Anathari war should have been longer than a mere five years, what with the destruction and losses the sylvari suffered.
I'll pause here, but this is a big foundation of te ideas I am working off of.
Posted on 2025-03-14 at 09:51:06.
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Topic: RDINN Feature Updates/ Suggestions/ Bugs
Subject:
So, this only impacts a tiny handful of us, but I have added a feature to allow you to set a discord web hook with any given topic in these forums. I.e. if someone posts to the thread, the discord channel of your choice gets notified.
It's a neat little improvment.
Posted on 2025-03-13 at 18:00:38.
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Topic: Audalis creations
Subject: I just have to know...
Does this hook also work?
Posted on 2025-03-13 at 17:55:43.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject: again?
So, we are only waiting on Alan to post. In the meantime, this should trigger an update to our Discord channel. With any luck, it will include a link to the thread.
Woohoo for new and improved!
Posted on 2025-03-13 at 17:52:12.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject:
An actual bladesinger sword, with centuries of use, all of those inscriptions and such? Yes, someone would pay a lot of money for such a thing.
Posted on 2025-03-06 at 17:05:01.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject: quick asides...
Neither Roasariel nor Isilmewen, with their decades spent in the forests, have ever seen mushrooms like the ones the ancient one summoned. They have a twisted, almost unreal quality to them. They are not the same as those that animated the corposes, incidentally.
Speaking of which - as Ruadhrí begins to calm down post-fight, he notices that his wounds from those corposes absolutely itch something fierce. They itch worse than the rest of his significant wounds hurt.
Posted on 2025-03-06 at 16:49:52.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject:
Arathea - seriously injured.
Ruadhrí - seriously to critically injured.
Mae'rel - used 4 level 1 slots, plus bonus cure light.
Rosariel - used 4 level 1 slots.
Seleliniel - used 2 level 1, 2 level 2 slots.
One fancy sword - in the dirt.
Posted on 2025-03-06 at 16:34:06.
Edited on 2025-03-06 at 16:50:37 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: can't stop now...
Ruadhrí whipped the massive double-bladed axe through the air and deeply into the flesh of the owlbear. It screeched in pain and anger as it continued to try to rip out his throat. As the creature ripped and slashed the bófear's flesh with talons and beak, it caused him bloody wounds in multiple places. Bellowing in pain, the massive warrior swung again, his steel biting deeply into the hateful creature's flesh and driving through its body. The massive monster slumped to the ground, its head barely still connected to the torso, the red eyes open wide and fixed.
Dak whirled his bata, burying a piece of lead into the flank of the enwebbed owlbear - though the creature barely seemed to notice the wound as it fought its way through the sticky magical webs.
Arathea cried out for a blade, all but commanding Isilmewen to give up her own sword even as the Mithvanryl noble was already en route to assist. The ranger, like most sylvari, knew of the bond between a megilindar and their blade - as a noble, with contact with the legendary order, she perhaps understood such a thing more than most. If the taur'ohtar took offense to (or even noticed) the warrior's tone, she made no outward sign of it as she offered her own sword, hilt first, to the distraught bladesinger.
Mae'rel, unable to do anything for Arathea's spirit, was at least able to call upon her goddess to further bind the wounds of the warrior's body.
The hateful wasp stung again, dealing Arathea the third such wound she had received in this fight.
Seleliniel cast a spell upon the enwebbed owlbear, causing the massive creature to shrink down into a far more tolerable size. Suddenly, its efforts to tear through the webs grew less successful.
The ancient syl, realizing that his minions were faring poorly, shook his wizened head. He seemed torn for a moment, allowing his gaze to settle momentarily on the dark clouds overhead, but after a pause, he began casting anew. As he chanted, mushrooms began rapidly sprouting from the forest floor, forming a circle perhaps six feet or so in diameter.
Seeing the horrible state of the raging bull's body, Rosariel reached out to her own goddess for aid, causing the worst of his injuries to close.
Dak spun the bata again, and again, he inflicted a wound on the stuck owlbear's flank. If the creature's expression could have killed, the cidal would have been scattered in bloody pieces.
Arathea did her best to tamp her emotions down and began to chant the bladesong once more. This new weapon in her hand would surely have been judged more than adequate by any seasoned warrior. It was well balanced, sturdy, sharpened to a razor edge. And yet... the blade was subtly heavier. The balance was further away from the handle. The pommel had an odd little sharp protrusion just under the cross guard. She whipped the sword up, cleaving through the wasp and ensuring that it would never sting again, but the motion felt awkward and slow, the bladesong slightly discordant. The feeling was unsettling, to say the least.
As the trapped owlbear continued to struggle to break free of the webs, two bolts of purple energy raced from the wizard's outstretched fingertip to slam into its body.
Heedless of his injuries, Ruadhrí roared and began charging towards the twisted old priest, his giant axe held high in a promise of death.
Just after the dirty old syl finished his chant, Isilmewen loosed a pair of arrows that seemed true to their target, whizzing past Ruadhrí in an inexorable path. But as they came close, the very air around him seemed to shimmer. Somehow, the shafts streaked on past without hitting their target. Still leaning against his gnarled staff, the ancient one smirked and lifted a hand in a mock gesture of farewell before stepping into the mushroom ring. Then, as greenish light seemed to pour up out of the forest floor within the ring, his form was momentarily obscured from sight... and then, he was gone.
With no other targets remaining, Seleliniel rolled her sphere into the webs, catching them on fire and burning the shrunken owlbear. Despite the creatures new size, despite how it was badly wounded and outnumbered, the monster did not even seem to consider retreat. Instead, it screeched in rage, rushing at the group, ready to do what damage it could before dying. Its own rush was interrupted as Ruadhrí came charging in, smashing into the creature from the side with his axe and kocking it off course. It skittered to a halt, and as it attempted to recover, Arathea casually ran it through with her borrowed blade.
With that, the fight was over.
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Isilmewen and Seleliniel rushed to the site of the vanished priest, but there was no sign whatsoever of him. No tracks, no traces, nothing whatsoever to indicate where he might have gone. The mushrooms - dark purplish in color, with green blotches - remained, standing several inches tall. However, the sides where they faced the interior of the ring, revealed that the fungi were blackened, scorched as if by fire. The grass itself showed no such scorching, however; even the odd dried leaves within the ring were unharmed.
The ancient one appeared to be completely gone.
Posted on 2025-03-06 at 16:32:15.
Edited on 2025-03-06 at 16:46:49 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject: welp...
You can understand why I went ahead and posted after one round. This is... bad.
Stats wise?
Arathea is seriously injured.
Ruadhrí is moderately injured.
Mae'rel has used three level one slots.
Rosariel has used three level one slots.
Seleliniel has used two level two slots.
Posted on 2025-03-04 at 12:45:45.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: disaster strikes...
Before anyone could properly react, one of the owlbears charged at the bófear at full tilt, raking the big warrior with its massive claws.
Mae'rel called out to Lissentoria for aid, and the goddess blessed Arathea with significant healing, bringing the bladesinger back from the brink.
Seleliniel cast a spell at the remaining owlbear, and a huge mass of sticky webs lept from her fingers, enveloping both the creature and the terrrain all around it. The beast's red eyes seemed to nearly glow with anger, and it screeched in fury, tearing through several feet of webs as it fought to continue on its direct path of death and destruction.
Dak slid to the side, hopefully to avoid the gaze of the owlbears, and set his feet. With a twirl of his bata, the diminutive rogue sent one, two stones through the air, where they cracked through the chitin of the uninjured giant wasp, nearly splitting the creature in half from the forceful, precise blows. It fell from the air, landed in the dirt, and convulsed once before lying still.
The remaining giant wasp, injured and angry, deeply stung Arathea again, this time through the fleshy part of her arm and into her side. While she was not quite as badly off as before, the new wound did serve to undo most of the healing that Lysora had granted. Worse, though, the deep sting - and the pain of the wound - served to break the concentration of the megilindar, causing a sour note of discord to fracture the bladesong. Even as she moved into a decisive swipe of her blade at the monster, a maneuver that would certainly end the vicious thing's life, her arm went numb from the shock of the sting.
With a jolt of horror, Arathea realized that her fingers momentarily lost her grasp on her longsword. The momentum from the swing meant that the blade was hurtling through the air, away from her grasp - and that the weapon would surely fall to the loam below.
Such a thing was a near disaster for any warrior, of course. Losing one's weapon in battle was obviously the worst sort of disadvantage, allowing one's foes a tremendous upper hand in any fight.
But for a megilindar? One's bond with a blade was sacred. To allow a sword to ever touch the ground was utterly sacrosanct. A blade so lost was dishonored by its wielder, who had proven themselves unworthy of the honor of carrying it in battle. A bladesinger who allowed their blade to touch the ground would never permit themselves to pick it back up, even upon the pain of death.
Fortunately, in their decades of extensive training, megilindarea learned the skill of plucking a lost blade from the air, with a graceful maneuvor so fast, so subtle, that few would ever understand that the temporary loss of grip on the blade was anything but intentional. Day after day, this skill was drilled, to the point that an individual megilindar's bond with their sword was so strong that they could recover a falling blade even while blindfolded.
Arathea herself had furthermore developed a nigh-legendary reputation among her legendary order, thanks to her incredible balance and grace. None were her equal at feats of dexterity; she executed even incredibly challenging acts of reflex with nonchalant aplomb. Thanks to that extensive training and body control, even before her breath was fully drawn, Arathea instinctively moved from crane stance to the step of the rising wind, then settled into peaceful current. She had already subconsciously registered the spin of the sword, the angle of its descent; it wouldn't even be a particularly challenging recovery.
As she stepped and extended her hand, her foot grew entangled in the shattered body of one of the fungal abominations. The disruption wasn't much, the bladesinger recovered her balance, but instead of the leather-wrapped handle settling comfortably into her palm, the pommel instead jammed Arathea's ring finger as it deflected off of her flesh.
Her mouth agape, Arathea Ondolithe, daughter of the stars, prodigy of the megilindar order, sank to her knees in shock. Her ancient longsword, made of the finest steel known to the empire, decorated with intricate scrollwork and sylvari inscriptions denoting it as a noble weapon with a proud history of centuries of elite service, lay in the dirt in this mad priests's isolated grove.
*****************************************
Ruadhrí roared his own challenge to the menacing owlbear, swinging his massive axe and burying it deeply into the hateful creature's flesh. Isilmewen moved to flank the monster, placing an arrow of her own into its body.
Rosariel called out to Taudor Salka to assist her wounded comrade; once again, divine energy flowed through the body of Arathea, healing her flesh - if not her stunned mind.
The ancient syl continued his tactical withdrawal, though once again, he also called for divine aid on his own wounds.
Posted on 2025-03-04 at 12:43:45.
Edited on 2025-03-04 at 12:59:41 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject: quick status report
Arathea is critically wounded.
Ruadhrí is lightly to moderately wounded. His wounds from the first round of combat, although closed, itch mightily, and he is slightly nauseous.
Rosariel and Mae'rel have each used two level one spells. Seleliniel has used one level two spell.
All of the fungal creatures are down. One giant wasp is dead. One appears badly wounded, one is untouched.
The old priest is quite wounded, and appears to be attempting to retreat at least somewhat.
Two truly ENORMOUS owlbears are charging your postion at a dead run.
Posted on 2025-02-25 at 17:38:45.
Edited on 2025-02-25 at 17:44:34 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: you just think it has been scary so far...
Isilmewen pulled her bow, seeking to disable the old one, understanding that despite the darkness that had crept into his soul, the ancient syl almost assuredly started from a place of good intentions.
As she sighted her arrow, she felt a disquiet flow over her body, and she struggled to keep sight of her target - but she managed to shrug off the feeling, and loosed her arrows. They both flew true, striking hard, spinning the old one back from the force of their impact.
Dak palmed a pair of darts, moved for an optimal attack of his own... but as he did so, he too felt the disquiet flow over his own body. The feeling proved too strong, and when he finally shook it from his mind, the diminutive cid discovered that he had utterly lost track of the dirty old syl.
Seemingly annoyed by the arrow wounds, the old syl began to chant, then placed a hand onto his injured shoulder, where the flesh began to knit itself back together.
Mae'rel, concerned at the possibility of getting into melee she would have rather avoided, called out to the Blue Lady for her protection; in a matter of moments, she could feel the goddess move to hold her masked servant safe within the divine embrace.
Rosariel called out to her own goddess, the the Huntress answered, outlining most of the strange, shambling creatures - as well as their maker - in a soft blue glow.
Ruadhrí swung wildly, but missed one of the abominations. Arathea swirled as she keened her wordless melody, and her blade opened up a grievous wound on the belly of a creature made of rotten flesh and fungus.
As she finished chanting, a gesture from Seleliniel's finger caused a sphere of flames to come into being directly in front of the ancient priest. The wizard also felt the disquiet when she targeted him, but she was able to easily shake off the ward and direct the arcane fire toward his body. The old fellow proved to be incredibly spry, however, throwing himself out of the way of the flames. A minor positive was that the sheer heat itself did manage to singe and char the fungal creature nearest to its master.
Then, the group of shamblers lurched forward, pummeling both the bófir and the bladesinger alike. Ruadhrí felt a wave of nausea flow through his body, and though it passed, it left behind terrible itching at the sites of his wounds. Arathea felt the same nausea, but managed to shake it off.
The bull man scored a measure of revenge as his axe spun one of his assailants back from the force of his blow. Meanwhile, the bladesinger struck true and deep, dropping the first of the shambling attackers to the ground.
Clearly annoyed with the situation, the old syl began casting again, even as Arathea spun into a graceful step and whirled her blade through the flesh of one of the shambling creatures - cleaving it entirely in twain.
Seleliniel directed her globe of flame to roll along the makeshit line of the fungal abominations, burning two of them directly with the flames, and singeing another from the proximity alone.
As his chanting came to an end, the dirty old syl cackled with glee. Before your horrified eyes, three wasps grew from the size of normal insects to living nightmares more than three feet long. At his gesture, they flew to atack the companions!
Isilmewen gritted her teeth, sinking another arrow into the flesh of the maddened priest.
Unable to perceive the filthy old sylvari, Dak pulled his bata and launched a pair of sling bullets at the fungal creatures. Both of them struck home, one of them dropping a shambling creature. Unfortunately, the second bullet passed directly through where the original target HAD been, causing it to strike Ruadhrí instead.
Unwilling to allow an ally to see any more pain than necessary, Mae'rel called to Lissentoria for aid, and the goddess replied, helping to med some of the wounds that the bull man had already suffered.
Bellowing in pain and rage, Ruadhrí laid about with his massive axe, his blow collapsing a creature's chest in. The bófear barely seemed to reister the creature crumpling to the ground, instead looking for his next target.
Full of indignant fury of her own at the very existence of these unthinkable abominations, Rosariel called out to Taudor Salka to burn away these creatures, to drive them from the forest. And yet... either the goddess did not answer, or their power was too strong, for the fungal creatures seemed to completely ignore the efforts of the priestess.
And then, the wasps came rocketing towards the companions. One flew at Mae'rel, but Lysora's hand was indeed over her servant; the creature lost the masked priestess entirely. Another flew at Arathea, who was able to barly deflect its blow. Ruadhrí was not so fortunate, however; the massive stinger of the enormous insect pierced him deeply, causing him to cry out in pain.
The remaining two abominations struck at Arathea, but the bladesinger was again able to narrowly avoid their grasp.
Reeling in pain, the massive bull man swung his axe at the threatening wasp, connecting with his steel and spewing ichor for several feet as the thing went careening into the ground.
Dak put two more bullets into the air, connecting with one, staggering one of the shambling figures. Arathea followed his blow with a devestating slash of her blade, opening the creature from breastbone to pelvis, causing it to slump motionless to the loam below.
Both of the party's priestesses combined their divine pleas to the aid of Ruadhrí, and the goddesses answered, closing most of his many injuries.
The wasp that Arathea had deflected before flew up high, swooped around behind the bladesinger, and dove... burying its enormous stinger to the hilt in her back. Arathea's blue eyes flew open wide in shock and agony; if not for decades of training, she surely would have lost her weapon and sagged to the ground. Some how, some way, she held her feet, even as her blood began to ooze from the grievous wound.
Isilmewen allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by the plight of her ally, and an arrow flew wildly off into the trees, where it struck one at an awkward angle and shattered. But her next shot was as true as true could be, burying itself to the fletching in the mad priest's body.
The third giant wasp, unable to locate Mae'rel, dove at Rosariel, but she managed to evade it.
The remaining fungal abominated lurched at Arathea, but even sorely wounded, the bladesinger was able to avoid it.
The mad priest, cursing and sputtering, again chanted a spell of healing on himself. He then began shouting and backing away from the party.
Ruadhrí's axe whistled through the air and smacked into the body of one of the remaining wasps, knocking it careening. Somehow, though her pain, Arathea still opened a cut onto the last of the shambling fungus creatures.
Seleliniel directed her flaming sphere directly into the back of the final abomination. With no chance to evade, it began to burn, and fell, shrieking, to the ground.
And then, the stink and smoke of battle was interrupted by deafening, murderous screeching. From beyond the filthy old priest came reinforcements of a most unwelcome kind. Two massive bodies, easily standing eight feet tall, nothing but feathers and fur and claws and beaks and red-eyed hate.
A pair of truly enormous owlbears were charging the companions at a full sprint.
Posted on 2025-02-25 at 17:35:10.
Edited on 2025-02-25 at 21:05:20 by t_catt11
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Topic: RDINN Feature Updates/ Suggestions/ Bugs
Subject:
Me, too. I'm glad that you're glad!
Posted on 2025-02-19 at 11:57:03.
Edited on 2025-03-13 at 18:00:50 by t_catt11
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Topic: Audalis creations
Subject: neutrals...
I am now working my way through the neutral deities.
Did you now that Kith-Jora and Tyrannis were once lovers? Me neither, but since one of Kith-jora's fellowships/sects strongly hints at that, I made this canon.
Posted on 2025-02-06 at 12:19:33.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject:
The clearing goes back a good distance. The ring itself is probably something like eighty feet in diameter.
You are not in melee range of the old sylvari. These corpses are, however, in meleee range with you.
Posted on 2025-02-06 at 09:28:22.
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject: ethical question...
Is it evil to animate corpses with fungi as opposed to black magic?
Wouldn't fungi just be sort of a recycle thing?
Posted on 2025-02-05 at 21:02:50.
Edited on 2025-02-05 at 21:09:33 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire
Subject: we're all mad here...
At Ruadhrí's words, the elder syl began laughing - a disquieting noise, to be sure, somehow reminiscient of brittle old sticks clacking together in the dry autumn wind. "You do not seek to disgrace my grove, you say, but here you are, doing so with your very stink!" He paused, his face very akin to one who had inhaled the smell of rotten meat. "The stench of cities lies on you all. Pfagh. Even those of you who should know better."
His rhuemy eyes roamed the group before settling on the kneeling form of the bofear. "And what manner of beast be you, anyway? Are you thier attack haun, here to protect your masters? Here you are, speaking our tongue like a caragpholg chewing on a stump, yet the children of the stars let you speak for them?" More brittle laughter.
"I take it 'Darvem' is your barbarian word for the lord of the forests, eh? I do not recall a place among the dance of the earth for cow folk..." He trailed off, but then, his voice took an odd tone. "Though to be fair, the dance of the earth has places for many who may not have originally joined it. Yes, yes..." his voice trailed off for a moment.
Then, Arathea spoke up, and the old syl's bearing shifted again.
"Ah, here it is. The false flowery words of the court. I had wondered when their sound would accompany your stink." He shook his head.
At the mention of the owlbears, the old syl's expression grew dark and dangerous. "Insolent whelp, you speak of subjects you know nothing of. Natural life, hah!" He gestured at Ruadhrí. "You travel with a creature such as that, something from a wet nurse's tale to frighten children into bedtime, and you dare lecture me about natural life?" The laughter returned, with a cruel edge.
Then, Mae'rel added her query, but the ancient syl seemed uninterested in answering. She persisted, wondering if he knew anything of the owlbears nearby.
"So it *is* that, then," he spoke with venom in his voice. "You are here to serve the cities... gnawing and biting, cracking and breaking, letting those who know nothing of the depth of this world to decide what is and is not worthy of life? You are here to mindlessly kill that which you cannot understand or control?" His voice rose in both timbre and volume, with a deep look of passion on his face. "You come here to my grove, seeking to water its loam with the blood of those who refuse to bow the knee to the arrogant aredhelea?"
His eyes grew wild, his hands gripped the staff tightly. "I will give you more chance than you deserve, despoilers from the baradea of the false - leave this place now, and never return." His voice was like steel - no, like witchwood itself, with an ancient, hard edge of deep malice.
The gray-haired elder cocked his head. As he did so, the very floor of the forest seemed to undulate near the syl's feet. Momentarily, a half dozen forms stood to their feet, forming a screen between the party and the elder syl.
The... things that stood on two legs were horrors beyond comprehension. They were corpses of sylvari, quite obviously dead, with greenish mottled skin, missing pieces of flesh, eyes - at least those still present - that obviously saw nothing. But from the corpses sprouted mushroom-like fungi of a deep purplish and orange colors. The fungi appeared to be randomly scattered, sticking out from eye sockets, from faces, from arms, from anywhere on the body, with sizes from an acorn up to a gunt melon. The movements of the creatures were slow and stilted, yet they seemed entirely capable of locomotion - and more.
"If you prefer," the old syl intoned, "you may die here, and water the loam with your own blood, instead." A chorus of raven calls echoed all through the grove, as if the great black dulinea were laughing at the party's situation.
The ancient face held nothing but savage hate. "Choose now."
Posted on 2025-02-05 at 18:16:14.
Edited on 2025-02-05 at 18:19:26 by t_catt11
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Topic: Shadows of the Empire Q&A
Subject:
lol. Rosie has daddy issues?
Posted on 2025-02-04 at 17:39:11.
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Topic: Audalis creations
Subject:
Good catch. These are just stub articles. Armon's granted powers haven't even been defined yet. I'll edit, thanks.
Posted on 2025-02-03 at 12:26:30.
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