A party of high-level adventurers wake up in Westeros. >>You awake to pine needles, moss, and several broken ribs. Gasping in agony only makes things worse, and it seems an eternity of ragged breathing before your blind fumbling manages to locate a healing potion and get it to your mouth. Not for the first time, you reflect that wizards are not made for the rough-and-tumble life… but one must tough to survive as a wizard, and an uncommon tolerance for pain is no small part of what earned you a place among the greatest of the present age. Broken bones are momentary; an elven archmage’s accomplishments stand eternal. Sitting up and glancing around, you find you’re in a forest, ancient and grey and dripping with lichens, lying at the edge of a perfectly-circular clearing that still smoked from whatever produced it. Around the circle are several other members of your expedition. You quickly identify your sister Anya, and see that she’s also more or less intact, although her arm is in a position that suggests a need for healing. What in the hells just happened? You wrack your brain to try and put together the last moments before consciousness failed you. You recall well the runes on the ritual chamber floor scrawled in blood and still-steaming entrails, bright with unholy radiance, the singing of the remaining devout as they called to their True Master awaiting in the realms beyond, the sheer power that had been enough to make your head spin. You and your party members traded spells and shot with the Nightrunner leaders as they desperately fought to finish their work. Blood and screams and gunsmoke filled the room. Then the ground started to shake as the ceiling fell in great stone chunks, the air became thick and hard to breathe, and then you were falling and everything was dark.
That was… you hadn’t taken the time to try and decipher whatever it was the Nightrunners were trying to accomplish, the urgency of the moment had not permitted that, but it looked very much like a ritual of calling. They had been attempting to draw on powers from the outer planes, possibly a devil or demon lord or even worse. Wayward souls attempted such things all the time and typically succeeded in nothing more than summoning their insides to their outsides, or conjuring some fiendish frogspawn that promptly devoured them before buggering back off to the lower planes. Such matters are beneath the attention of a seventh-order archmage. At first you hadn’t believed Anya’s insistence that these ones were any different. But this lot had serious power, and the knowledge to act on it. Whatever their aim, they did ultimately manage *something,* as evidenced by your now no longer being in the ritual chamber. Well, time to get moving. You hop up, Prestidigitate off a cloud of dust and dirt, and get your hair back in its neat braids, then hold out your arm and call for Shadow, your familiar. A moment later the oversized raven winks into being on your forearm and gives you a whisper-thin croak. You flick your eyes upward, and without further instruction he flaps into the air. Leaving him to it, you find your way to your sister, and after considering the kindest method of waking her, pour a healing potion on her face. “Wha…?” she mutters. “What the- OW, FUCK!” Her arm makes a rather unpleasant noise as the bones knit themselves back together. “Morning,” you say nonchalantly. “For fuck’s sake, Alyssa, you could have warned me,” Anya replies, cradling her newly-mended arm. “It would only have prolonged your suffering.” She gives you a familiar evil look, but quickly softens. “What’s this about morning? Wasn’t it midnight a moment ago? And- wait, where is this?” “I have no idea.” You close your eyes and take a look through Shadow’s. “There’s forest all around, but there could be farms to the east. Not seeing much else.” “Damn. East it is, then,” Anya says as she pulls herself up. Once upon a time your mirror image, your twin now keeps her dark hair much shorter and out of her eyes in a haphazard pony-tail, lacking any hint of the highborn refinement to which you were raised, in sharp contrast to your ever-elegant braids. So too her speech, as plain and coarse as a mortal sailor’s, and her dress, a simple tunic with the sun-disk of the All-Father over mithril half-plate. “Who else came through?” she says, examining the clearing.
>>6182756You look with her and see five other figures. The whole party is here, it seems. A rather exceptional gathering of talent in this day and age: an archmage, archpriest, and archdruid all of the seventh order, along with four others of commensurate ability. But the Nightrunners proved dangerous enough to warrant it. Anya mutters a spell under her breath, and with a wave of her hand the faint light of a Mass Cure Moderate Wounds washes over everyone present, setting them to rouse in the process. Further relief seeps into you as aching muscles mend, and you feel almost back to normal. First awake is Soren. At just over seven feet, he’s none too tall for a goliath, although plenty broad, and has rather more hair on his head than most. He’s a paladin and a colleague of Anya’s among the faithful of Pelor. You’ve worked with him twice before, and felt him to be a solid reliable sort. Less certain is Senna, his young protégé. As to what sort of life that girl must have experienced to make her a world-class combatant by the time she came of age, you can only speculate, but it’s left her distinctly skittish. Such is all too often a Changeling’s lot. A shame, really - she has some latent talent at spells and in another life might have had a chance at being a real wizard. When she wakes, it’s all at once, and she bursts off the ground as disappears so swiftly one might mistake her for having become invisible. The other two of Anya’s hires are human men, musketeers you know only vaguely by reputation. So far they’re pulling their weight. Emíl the Bard is a skilled enchanter and illusionist as well as sharpshooter, while Lukas is so taciturn you know only that he is good with figures and has a keen interest in artifice. While Anya moves to confer with her colleagues, you leave her to it, instead turning your attention elsewhere to your party’s druid, with whom you have worked with many times before. Stretching out where she lays languid as a cat is Eva. Barefoot, red-haired, and dressed in the plainest brown tunic, the diminutive little wood-elf is the autumn forest come to life. “I’m guessin’ we won?” Eva says, “Seein’ as we’re all alive.” A flicker of doubt crossed her face “We *are* alive, right?” “I’ve been to the Hells before, and this isn’t there,” you reply, offering her a hand up, which she accepts. At her full height she doesn’t quite reach your collarbone. “I don’t think this the Seven Heavens either, nor the Fey-wilds or any of the primordial planes. As to victory? I haven’t the faintest idea.” “We did ‘em a real number though!” she says cheerily. “Just like those vampires in Corinthia. I bet they won’t be tryin’ whatever that was again for a good long time!” “If only we should be so lucky.”
>>6182759“Alyssa!” you hear your sister calling your name, and you turn your attention to her again. “It’s not working,” she says, holding up a small object you recognise as a sending stone. “I can’t reach anyone.” It’s confirmed, then. A recipient might simply refuse to hear a Sending as from a spell, but a joined stone could fail only if obstructed by special-purpose wards or if a stone were to be in different planes of existence from the others. “I don’t suppose either of you thought to prepare a Plane Shift yesterday?” you ask. Both Anya and Eva shake their heads. Even had they though, there’s a good chance it wouldn’t have helped. Interplanar navigation is rather more perilous and imprecise than teleportation across a single plane even at the best of times; attempting to plane shift on the fly without even knowing where one is in the first place is just asking for trouble. And that was before considering the possibility of travel restrictions imposed by local - or Higher - authorities. You pause to consider your next step. You have one Greater Teleportation available, and you can see what looks like a settlement to the east through your familiar’s eyes. But you also have a Galder’s Tower prepared, in case you want to shelter here instead. 1) Shelter in place until the morning, wait to prepare your spells and rest up a bit from your recent battle. 2) Go to town now. If you’re lucky, you may be able to procure some help, and if not you’ll likely still have some strong city wards to shelter behind instead of a flimsy conjured shack in a forest which could be inhabited by gods-know-what.
>>6182755Oh, a couple housekeeping things I should mention: First, the adventurers' world and its magic rules are based on 3.5e DnD/Pathfinder 1e, but their world is not a game, it just has magic and superpowers as if it were, and the characters themselves would not speak of rolls or hitpoints or skill points or enhancement bonuses. Secondly, I've gotta play a bit fast and loose with canon sizes in Westeros. The continent itself and all sorts of things in it are just way too damn big. The Wall, 700 feet high? Have you ever stood next to a 700-foot cliff? That's like 0.78 USS New Jersey lengths straight up.
>>6182762>2) Go to town now. If you’re lucky, you may be able to procure some help, and if not you’ll likely still have some strong city wards to shelter behind instead of a flimsy conjured shack in a forest which could be inhabited by gods-know-what
>>6182762>1) Shelter in place until the morning, wait to prepare your spells and rest up a bit from your recent battle.A wizard always needs to always be prepared. Going blind into something without preparations is how a wizard ends up dead. Summon some horses to make up for the time we will lose, but a wizard must prepare. Planar travel can be perilous, and we will need a guinnea pig, so I should create a duplicate to take the brunt of any mishaps.Plan Tinco: Rest up, ride to town, get directions home, use clairvoyance and scrying spells, mass teleport home. Barely an inconvenience.Plan Parma: We're on another plane. Ride to town, rent lodgings, prepare duplicate, use scrying and clairvoyance magic to get information on our planar whereabouts, consult with local mages for more information, use duplicate to test the weave currents, use clairvoyance and scrying to make sure the duplicate arrived safely, plane shift home.Plan Calma: Something else. Use contact other plane and limited wish to ask the Gods directly for instructions on getting home. Test instructions with duplicate and then follow them.Plan Quesse: Begin to consider the Unthinkable."How much coin do we have?">Spellbook (assuming 20 INT):>0th Level SpellsRead Magic (free), Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Mending>1st Level SpellsMage Armor (rest cast x1), Mount (rest cast x4), Feather Fall x1, Magic Missile x4, Comprehend Languages x1>2nd Level SpellsFalse Life (rest cast), Mirror Image x2, Summon Spider Swarm x2, Rope Trick x1>3rd Level SpellsWater Breathing (rest cast), Phantom Steed (rest cast x3), Clairvoyance x1, Lightning Bolt x2, Fireball x1, Haste x1, Gentle Repose x1>4th Level SpellsMneumonic Enhancer (rest cast), Scrying (rest cast x4), Arcane Eye x1, Polymorph x2, Rainbow Pattern x2>5th Level SpellsContact Other Plane (rest cast), Passwall x1, Cone of Cold x1, Telekinesis x1, Dismissal x1>6th Level SpellsPlanar Binding (3 unicorns; rest cast) Chain Lightning x1, Tenser's Transformation x1>7th Level SpellSimulacrum (1300gp all day rest-cast), Limited Wish x1
>>6182831(replace 5th level spell passwall x1 with Teleport x1 for Plan Tinco.)*
>>6182762>2) Go to town now. If you’re lucky, you may be able to procure some help, and if not you’ll likely still have some strong city wards to shelter behind instead of a flimsy conjured shack in a forest which could be inhabited by gods-know-what.
Gee I sure hope QST doesn't vote for the short-sighted options 100% of the time as usual.
>>6182762>1) Shelter in place until the morning
>>6182762Alright, gonna call votes here so I can get to writing. It's a tie, so I flipped a coin, and came up with tails for option 2.
>>6182762>2) Go to town now. You close your eyes and focus through your familiar’s to examine the settlement more closely. The city is a dense huddle of timber and thatch sitting low on the fork of a river, and above it on a hill is a many-spired castle of dark granite with which its walls are linked. Rather rustic, to be sure, but you see what look like humanoids from a distance and nothing obvious to suggest demonic or otherwise unsavoury influences. “Any objections to making for civilisation?” you ask. “There’s a city nearby, and I do not feel particularly inclined to stay here.” “How far?” Anya asks. “A few miles. Close enough to ride.” “I have no objections, though we should still be cautious.” “I’m ready! I even got most of my spells still, in case of trouble,” Eva says, raising her hand. “And I for one never say no to a chance at a warm bed and a hot meal,” Emíl supplies, giving voice to what looking around seems to be on everyone else’s mind. A consensus reached, you tap the heels of your Boots of Mount together, and a fine horse swiftly materialises beside you, pouring into place like liquid smoke. Normally you would have used a much more powerful Phantom Steed for occasions when teleportation would not suffice, but you neglected to prepare that spell the previous morning, and Mount is one of those spells any regular traveller learns or acquires a means to produce if they have the means; even an archmage like yourself keeps her trusty boots around for just such an occasion. The rest of your companions follow suit, and soon enough you’re riding hard through the forest and fields and banks of half-melted snow. As you travel, you examine the city closer from above, and find a sense of concern building in the back of your mind. There’s something off about it. For one, the wards that defend a city are typically powerful enough to be felt at some remove, but no matter how close you send Shadow, you can’t sense them. The castle does have an aura, albeit not a strong one, and nothing stops Shadow from flying close enough to make out individual faces. By the time you reach the gates it’s clear that the city is at best a barbarian frontier outpost. The astonished reactions of the gate guards are rather telling - with the slack-jawed stares you receive, one might think they’ve never seen an elf before. Perhaps they haven’t. Their eyes linger especially long on Soren, for whatever reason.
>>6184929Anya gives you a look as if to say ‘you do the talking’ - your normal arrangement, where diplomacy is required - and you ride ahead to talk to the guards. They say something in a language you don’t recognise. You reply in every humanoid language you know, then in your own Cuvan elvish, then highborne Eladrin elvish, and then various forms of Draconic, Celestial, Infernal, Abyssal, and Sylvan, even Primordial. Still nothing. Finally you relent and reach into your bag of holding to withdraw a scroll of Tongues, your only such on hand, and turn away to use it without coming off as too threatening. It doesn’t work. The two men look ready to bolt after watching the scroll dissolve into light and dust. “Gods be great!” one swears. “Maegi,” says the other. “Pardon, sirs, but I’m afraid my companions and I are terribly lost,” you explain at last, ignoring their consternation. “Would you please tell us where we are?” The two men glance at each other. “… Wintertown?” the right one hazards. “And where is that?” “The- the North.” “Of?” “Of the… Seven Kingdoms, m’lady.” Unfortunately, the name means nothing to you. “Right… could you at least direct us towards an inn or hotel, then?” “The S- Smoking Log, m’lady. It’s right in the centre of town, on the main street, if you please.” No wards react to your passing through the gates. Riding down the muddy streets, your hopes of finding help in this city are fading fast. Even using active detection reveals no sources of power anywhere, not a single one, not so much as a trinket or fine dagger, and the inhabitants reflect general material poverty such as you have not seen in many years. They like the men outside openly gawk at you all as you ride by, and some even follow a ways to get a closer look. As the guard said, in the centre of town stands a three-story building with a sign depicting a burning log. Outside are a trio of humans chatting with one another. The two older men - soldiers, you think, judging by their demeanours - react much as everyone else has, but the youngest of the three, a boy not yet grown, instead freezes only for a moment before approaching you. “My lady, I did not know my lord father was expecting guests, or I would have been there to receive you,” he says with a polite nod. The boy is dressed in a fur cloak and a brown woolen coat and breeches, and wears a sword on his hip, and up close you see his hair is more red than brown. “Your lord father?” “Lord Eddard Stark, of Winterfell. I am his son and heir, Robb.” “Well, fear not, for we aren’t expected,” you tell him. “In fact, we’re rather lost, and would be most grateful if your father should be willing to see us on such short notice.”
>>6184930“I believe he will, lady…” “Alyssa NicNivara, of Cuva.” “‘Cuva?’ I am afraid I am not familiar with the name, lady Alyssa.” “No, I daresay you wouldn’t be. It is rather far from here. Will you take us to see the lord?” “Follow me, my lady.” You quickly explain the exchange to the rest of the group, then fall in line behind him as he clears a path through the narrow streets. The walls of the castle - Winterfell, the boy called it - loom above you like a cliff as you climb the hill to its gatehouse, the snow-covered spires of the buildings within like jagged mountain peaks. Again, no wards react as you ride through the gates and over the drawbridge. “The stables are this way, my lady,” Robb says once you’re all through, directing you left across a broad grassy courtyard. For a moment you’re not sure what he’s talking about, until you notice him staring at your mounts. “Oh! That won’t be necessary.” You don’t bother dismounting as your horse dissolves back into the aether beneath you, and land on your feet with practised grace. The boy, his guards, and a few other onlookers let out startled gasps as your party’s mounts all disappear in turn. You tilt your head in confusion. “They were merely summons,” you explain. “You mean- magic?” Robb says, wide-eyed. “… Yes.” Admittedly, you’ve never been entirely certain what that word refers to; you’ve known mortals call almost everything magic, and with little consistency one moment to the next or one language or people to another, but it is used for spell-casting often enough. “You’re a maegi,” he says, eyes suddenly sharp. “I’m a wizard,” you clarify. “Do the Seven Kingdoms not have wizards?” He shakes his head, still wary. “Not like you, my lady. I have never heard of a hedge wizard making a horse disappear.” You suppress a groan only with great effort. You’ve found yourself in the plane of ignorant barbarians who don’t even know about first-level spells. Dealing with primitive peoples may be old hat to a seasoned traveller such as yourself, but it’s a ragged and threadbare hat that does nothing to keep the rain off, and these barbarians are clearly more isolated than most. “Are we to wait here?” you ask, returning to the point. This seems to put Robb back in more familiar shoes, and his former dignified bearing returns. “No, my lady. The Great Keep is this way.”
>>6184932He leads you across the yard to your right and through another gated wall. The Great Keep as he called it is as spacious inside as some cathedrals, with a similarly high vaulted ceiling, the timbers of which are stained black by centuries of hearthsmoke. Dozens of tables and benches are arrayed throughout, and on a raised platform opposite the oaken doors is a throne of the same granite as the rest of the castle. After bidding you to sit and rest here while he informs his father, Robb disappears through a doorway, leaving your group alone but for the two soldiers. You take the moment to gather your party closer. “I imagine you’ve all noticed by now, but these people know nothing of spells or spellcraft,” you say. “I have little hope of finding help here.” “Where else?” Anya says. You can see the tenseness in her body plain as day. This is her mission, charged to her directly by the High Council of Cuva, and she’s never been one to take responsibility lightly. “All we need is rest - we can figure this out ourselves.” “What kind of plane is this though?” Eva wonders aloud. “I haven’t ever heard of any places without spells.” “I can only imagine this is an isolated corner of an outer plane,” you reply, guessing on the fly. “They are said to be vast beyond imagining.” It’s not much of an answer, though, and doesn’t get you any closer to going home. Before you can discuss anything further, the door across the hall opens again, and a man in (what here passes for) finery appears and takes the granite throne, followed by a few other men, Robb, and a woman who looks strikingly like Robb, perhaps his lady mother. The Lord Stark is a human of brown hair, dark eyes, and a neatly-trimmed beard, and carries himself with a stiff air of dignity. “It is not often we receive unexpected guests, here in the North,” he says, eyeing you all carefully, “least of all visitors from distant lands.” “Believe us, we are as surprised as you to be here,” you say, advancing towards the throne platform. You bow politely. “I am the Archmage Alyssa NicNivara of Cuva, honorary High Councillor and wizard of the seventh order. We are currently on a mission of some urgency, but find ourselves lost far from home; we ask only for your hospitality for a time, that we might find our way again.” “Wizard… yes, my son did say something about that,” the lord says. “He claims you - what was it, ‘made a horse disappear?’” “With all due respect, that is quite literally the least I can do. An archmage is one who makes the impossible real.” You mutter a spell under your breath, and slowly lift into the air. Another elementary spell - as a talented transmuter, you first learned Fly when you were fourteen, nearly two centuries ago - yet Lord Stark and his retainers can only look on in awe.
>>6184934Although not all the sort of awe you were expecting, the lord doesn’t seem ready to throw you out. “You ask me for my bread and salt, and the safety of my roof. Can you promise the same - that you will honour my household, and the safety of my family and my people?” You smile as you descend back to the floor. “I promise, my lord. Though, if you prefer, I am also capable of conjuring a tower for us outside.” “Of course you can…” he shakes his head in exasperation. “That will not be necessary. Let it not be said Winterfell turns away honest guests. You will have rooms and the kitchens will see you fed. And you will tell me more of where it is you come from, and how you came to be lost.” “Naturally - though, the spell I am using to understand your language will only last another hour, so conversation will need to wait until we have had a chance to rest.” Clearly neither your presence nor the lord’s decision are met with much enthusiasm among Winterfell’s household. Several retainers including the lady who must be his wife start to voice objections, and for a moment you’re concerned a serious argument is about to break out, but before it can the doors behind you burst open, capturing the attention of the hall. The man to enter is flushed and hurried-looking and dressed in less-than-clean riding leathers. He pauses when he sees a party of strange heavily-armed foreigners, but surprisingly turns away instead and proceeds towards the lord’s platform. You don’t quite catch what he says to Lord Stark, but the news is clearly not welcome, and generates some more hurried discussion among the members of the household. “My apologies, lady Alyssa,” the lord says at length. “I’m afraid I must ride at first light - a deserter from the Night’s Watch has been captured on my lands, and it falls to me to administer justice; I shall be away most of the day.” “If all goes well, we will be gone before tomorrow is out,” you say. “If not, we will await your return.” “Hm. Vayon, please show our guests to their rooms.” The signal for the close of the meeting is unmistakable in his tone. One of the retainers, Vayon, most likely, walks forward with obvious reluctance. “Come with me, my lady.” >1) Prepare a wide variety of spells to infer your location. (Feel free to suggest methods or specific spells to use.) >2) Attempt a Limited Wish to return to the Material Plane. (300xp) (Will require a high-DC Intelligence check.) >3) Use a Limited Wish to discern your position. (300xp) (Lower but still high DC.) >4) Write in. (For example, if you want to accomplish anything before passing out, confer with your party, et c. You have an hour or so of Tongues remaining but no castings of Comprehend Languages.)
>>6184935Gods, that was longer than I planned. someone help me write less. Also first character sheet finished. Others to follow whenever. Alyssa NicNivara (Alìssè nich Nìvharrè), aged 193High Elf Wizard 13 (Transmutation; enchantment and necromancy opposed)XP: 81,500/91,000Str 10(±0) Dex 12(+1) Con 16(+3) Int 26(22)(+7) Wis 14(+2) Cha 16(+3) Spells per day: (5) 7, 7, 7, 7, 5, 4, 3 Feats: Scribe Scroll, Craft Wands and Staves, Craft Magic Weapons and Armour, Craft Wondrous Item, Forge Ring, Combat Casting, Twin Spell, Quicken Spell, Invisible Spell, Persistent Spell Special Abilities: Minor Alchemy (Su), Transmuter’s Stone (Su)Equipment:Pistol +1Dagger +1Rapier +1Choker of Nondetection (2/day) and Intellect +4Ring of Protection and Endure Elements +2Ring of Change (as a Phylactery of Change, unlimited duration Polymorph with back-and-forth transformations at-will, 1 new form per day) Periapt of Resistance +3 and Protection from EvilMedium Rod of Extending (Bracelet)Medium Rod of Sculpting (Bracelet)Pearl of Power (3rd; mounted on a ring)Bag of Holding (Belt) Pluripotent Shiftweave Garments (robes that can shapeshift into other clothes 3/day) Boots of Mount (at-will, 1 active mount at a time) Lexicon (used to record non-magical books and documents) Orrery (shows the position of the planets and stars) As a long-time adventurer and world-famous craftswoman who supports herself by creating heirlooms for kings and merchant-princes, you are fairly item-rich for your level, but you also don't have access to your tower and its resources here in Westeros, and as you were not expecting a sustained campaign you are also short on both cash and expendables. Cantrips are considered at-will, but not limitless- overuse to the order of >40 per day will still impose fatigue or exhaustion. Spells which list experience point costs do have those costs. You have around 3,500 points to spend before reverting to level 12. The rest of your party should be assumed to be of broadly average wealth-by-level. All have items that can cast Mount 1/day or more, a staple for any habitual adventurer.
>>6184935>3) Use a Limited Wish to discern your position. (300xp) (Lower but still high DC.)
>>6184935>1) Prepare a wide variety of spells to infer your location. (Feel free to suggest methods or specific spells to use.)1. Anya the Cleric: uses Divination."What is the best way to get home?"2. Emile the Bard: Buffs Alyssa the Wizard with Good Hope and some form of inspiration to protect her from failing the intelligence check.https://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/goodHope.htmAlyssa the Wizard: uses Contact Other Plane - Outer Plane of a Good-aligned Demigod. We have an INT check of +7. Good Hope makes that a +9 with a morale bonus. Can't use Fox's Cunning because it does not stack with our choker of intellect. With this, we can guarantee that we will not fail the check and get hit with planar feedback for half a month by contacting a Demigod. There are other options here, as this is a powerful and dangerous spell, but I think contacting a Demigod is the best bet. We don't know what the inner planes of this place are like -- they could be utterly malevolent to all mortal intelligences, for example. Contacting a known Demigod in the Outer Planes is much safer despite a higher intelligence check and a two week bout of insanity if we fail it.Questions: "Are we capable of getting home with a single casting of any of the spells known to us?""Are we capable of getting home with multiple castings of any of the spells known to us?""Are the Nightrunners here with us?""Do we need the Nightrunners in order to get home?"(Feel free to suggest others, we can ask up to 6 questions)3. Eva the Druid gazes into a frozen pond to cast Greater Scrying.Find out where the Nightrunners are now. Also Commune with Nature, Speak with Plants (a spruce), and Speak with Animals (a raven) to find out what the most north-south widespread species of tree is in this land, and any other interesting information that might reveal itself.
>>6184935Also>Write-InCast Permanancy -> Tongues (-1500xp)(This is just going to be a necessary sacrifice for quality of life.)
(Nuke, I didn't know if you were making a narrative choice to nerf Limited Wish since it's so powerful, but generally Limited Wish doesn't cost 300xp to cast. Understandable if this was intentional, just wanted to be annoying about the rurus.Costs to Limited Wish:3.5:-Gold: 0gp unless it duplicates a spell with a consumed material component of 1000gp or more.-XP: 0xp unless it duplicates a spell with an xp cost, then it costs whatever the original xp cost would have been, or 300xp, whichever is greater.Pathfinder:-Gold: 1500gp regardless of consumed material components, and you also have to pay for costly material components of 1000gp or more-XP: 0xp, since pathfinder doesn't consume XP for spells, so it can't duplicate something with an xp cost to begin with.https://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/limitedWish.htmhttps://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic/all-spells/l/limited-wish/ )
>>6185417That was intentional as a narrative choice, but also I suppose accidental - at my table it's always had a 300xp cost whenever one's trying to do something other than replicate a specific spell, and apparently I've never read the actual description closely enough
>>6182756>All-FatherOops, big typo here - Anya's patron is supposed to be the Pelor the Dawnfather, not Odin the All-Father.
>>6185456Indeed. Critical difference here. Also, Anya's power goes stronger by the day. I can feel it linked to mine other mother's intuitively, they "trade" consciences by day and night.I shall rest up and do further research. In addition, I shall try to focus on maintaining free will contrary to the wishes of others, promoting "rule from a distance," and fortifying my own structure. It is well protected by elite mages, who have rapidly moved into the surrounding area and monitor my movements while keeping a distance.
>>6185466Other mother's.... I swear that was a typo. Meant own mother's. Lol. What reading the heavens and delving too deep into astral signs will do to someone's subconscious mind...
>>6185466>I shall rest up and do further research. In addition, I shall try to focus on maintaining free will contrary to the wishes of others, promoting "rule from a distance," and fortifying my own structure. It is well protected by elite mages, who have rapidly moved into the surrounding area and monitor my movements while keeping a distance.I'm not sure if it's intentional but you sound a little like you're channelling Septimus Signus here
>>6185479Played it before, prefer Daggerfall - Morrowind (most of all) - Oblivion though. I'm basically a mental storehouse for material culture if you haven't noticed.
>>6184935>1) Prepare a wide variety of spells to infer your location. >3) Use a Limited Wish to discern your position. The local sun is well and set by the time you rise again. The room assigned to you in the Guest Keep is small but much finer than you feared, with a soft featherbed with fur blankets, a writing desk, fireplace, woven rush mats, and a table and chairs for private dining. A window on one side looks out over a patch of mossy forest enclosed within the castle walls to let in silvery moonlight. It’s even comfortably warm, despite the chill outside or any use of spellcraft you can see. Once up you set right about right away to the task of preparing your spells for the day, for which you are joined by Anya and Eva that you might divide the day’s tasks more evenly. First order of business, Tongues and Comprehend Languages. Only you and Anya can cast either spell, and with roughly two hours duration per spell for seven people, the burden of facilitating communication is substantial. Unfortunate, but unavoidable; one set’s worth between the two of you should keep you all through the evening meal, at least. Next, transportation: Anya frees up one of yours with a Plane Shift, which the All-Father grants her as a fifth-order spell, while Eva’s Transport via Plants and Wind Walk supplant your Greater Teleportation. One of your three seventh-levels must go to a Transmutation spell, for which you select an Extended Mass Eagle’s Splendor; another goes to your mansion, which will provide your group comfort and safety from interference. “So…” Eva begins, once housekeeping spells are taken care of, “really, how do we figure this all out? I’ve never been to the outer planes before and to be honest I don’t know how any of this works.” “I doubt any but the gods themselves do,” you say. “As to how, I can say ‘with difficulty.’ There are tests we can perform to probe the properties of this plane. We can make offerings to seek answers from higher powers. Scrying should work across planes, though not as readily, and while it will tell us nothing of where we are, we can at least continue surveillance of the Nightrunners… I suppose the first step is to rule out as many possibilities as we can, and work from there. In this, it is actually you who are the experts, but would I be correct in saying that this plane is unaligned?” Anya nods, confirming your suspicion. “Unless something is obscuring my sight.” “Come to think of it, I’m not feeling anything particularly outsiderish either,” Eva says. “You’d think there’d be something, wouldn’t you?” The alignment of an outer plane is not constant, no more than sunlight is constant everywhere during the day, and there are reaches of them nearer and further from the inner material planes, but viewed over time and distance any background alignment should become apparent. Yet this place appears as neutral as the inner planes.
>>6185534“The surest method would be a ritual to determine our position relative to a known plane, but I doubt we have the time to devise one, not with the Nightrunners still at large,” you say. “Should divinations fail, there are two other options - either to manually investigate this world for clues, as long as that takes, or, perhaps…” “You’re suggesting a Wish?” Anya realises, eyebrows raised. “I wouldn’t dare use one to try and take us home directly, that’s far outside the stable uses of a Limited Wish - and I’m sure you both recall what happened back in Istrya the last time I tried to improvise one,” you say, and both women blanche at the memory. “But one may give us the information needed to cross the Astral Sea by other means. If time is of the essence, that will be our surest route.” “It is,” Anya says at once. “I don’t want those bastards loose anywhere near the material plane if I can help it. I will also commune with the Dawnfather. But we’ll exhaust our other options first.” She checks her pocket-watch. “We have a little over an hour before dinner - let’s get to work.” With your course established, you all set to preparing your spells in your own ways - Anya, in prayer, Eva, sitting naked by the window and facing the moonlight in meditation, and you, pouring over your spellbook at the table. Spells are not something one can learn from simple descriptions. Words can tell one about their structures, effects, usages, limits, and so on, but to learn how to actually use a spell, a wizard must experience it viscerally. This can only be done through a spellbook. A sorcerer has no need of such a thing, the structures of their spells are written into their minds as surely as the knowledge of how to walk, but a wizard is born with no such gift; though they have the same underlying power, their minds cannot spontaneously form a spell, so they must spend time processing every casting beforehand. But by partially externalising their knowledge, a wizard can also change their spell list every day and learn as many as they can find where sorcerer’s powers are fixed. One by one, you trace your hand over the familiar pages, taking in the missing pieces of your spells. Each spell takes fifteen minutes to absorb, but they can be absorbed in parallel, and with your list for the day already determined the whole process takes just twenty. Anya starts the process with a quick Greater Scrying. “Fuck. Nothing,” she announces. “I targeted a novice from my temple who I know is visiting home in the country and beyond the reach of temple wards. I don’t know if he resisted it, or if the spell failed, but…” “A novice, resisting a seventh order spell from you?” “Exactly.”
>>6185535She then moves on to Divination, while you attempt Contact Other Plane. Asking questions of less-than-enthusiastic semi-divine outsiders is even less appealing than a Limited Wish in some ways given that the cost of failure is severe lasting damage to your mind, but it’s necessary to try regardless, and the up-front price is lower. But you are met with nothing. You lie down and get comfortable on the bed, meditate for the requisite ten minutes, and the spell concludes successfully. And nothing happens. Your mind should be adrift in astral darkness, but instead you’re still on the bed, as if you never even cast the spell. Your eyes blink open, and you sit up abruptly, heart suddenly racing. In your near two centuries of wizardry you’ve never experienced anything like this. Anya’s spell completes shortly after yours. From the puzzled look she’s wearing, you can tell she’s just heard the same deafening silence. “What? What is it?” Eva asks in alarm, looking back and forth between you and your sister. “I… I need to Commune now…” Anya says, clearly shaken to her core. While she retreats into her spell, you fish out your lexicon from your bag of holding and open it up, tearing through the index for anything on the nature of the planes. One of your own inventions, the lexicon stores books copied through a Scholar’s Touch spell, circumventing the typical problem of forgetting one learns from the spell within a day or two, and can also record direct inputs such as handwriting and sketching. You have libraries worth of books stored on it. And as you search, there are numerous volumes that regard the planes, everything from Caldoro Durnay’s exhaustive treatises on the Seven Heavens to Dragon-sage Ulushir’s memoirs of the primordial realms to the epic stories of your own people’s exile from Arvandor in the First Age. None of it feels like it’ll be any help; most writers are more concerned with what lies on the other side of the ethereal or astral seas than with the nature of the seas themselves, or with the veil that separates the planes. Most works that do deal only with how to pierce the veil for the purpose of calling or travelling. Possibilities begin to form in your mind - could this be a divine domain? Or some forgotten archmage's demiplane? Some kind of terrifyingly powerful illusion, or a shared dream? Interfering with interplanar travel is not hard, but what could possibly sever nearly all forms of extraplanar contact? “When we called, nothing responded,” you explain as you search. You look up at Eva. “It was- well, almost as if we couldn’t even call out in the first place… actually, could you try summoning something? Anything at all will do.”
>>6185536Eva looks first frightened, then confused, and then snaps to it, holding out her hand, where promptly a green glow heralds the appearance of a squirrel. You lean forward off the bed to get a better look at it. It is, to your eyes, a perfectly ordinary squirrel. Just as the mounts you summoned that morning, the spell seems to have worked as normal. Your train of thought is interrupted when Anya takes in a sharp breath. When you see her face, you find yourself looking not at a proud and mighty cleric, but a scared little girl you have not seen in decades. Indeed, she’s on the verge of tears. “He… he won’t answer…” she says, voice thready and thick. Before you know it you’re reaching out to pull her close and hold her as she fights to keep her composure. Faith is her rock, the foundation of her life for the last ninety years ever since she first awakened Dawnfather’s gifts - in fact, that was the call of destiny that encouraged the two of you to venture out from Cuva in the first place. “Eva, can you find Emíl? I feel we may need his inspiration shortly,” you say. She nods vigorously and rushes out of the room. “I felt him,” Anya says, once she’s regained a shred of composure. “His light shines here still, but… it was like the warmth on the shaded side of a curtain. I couldn’t reach him, Ally. I called, but…” “It’s alright,” you say, not quite believing it. What could a simple wish do that the king of kings could not? “We’ll know more soon.” Eva returns presently with your hired bard to find you and your sister sitting at the table, pouring over your lexicon and the notes you’ve recorded about wishes over the years. “I feel from the air this is not about our upcoming meal, no?” he asks, with a wy half-smile. You notice distantly that he’s dressed to impress in purple and silver, and his long brown hair is clean and neatly combed. “It is not,” you confirm. You then explain as best you can the circumstances you face. “That is bad news,” he says bluntly. “If that is so… I say, I do not know much of other worlds; only once before have I visited the plane of Air, and nowhere else. I have skill at spell-craft, it is true, but I am a man of singing and fighting and the loving of women, not a man of learning. I am not sure how I am to help unless it is to encourage you somehow with my voice.”
>>6185537“That is actually why, yes. I am about to attempt to Wish for the knowledge of where we are, in the hope that it will be enough for us to Plane Shift home. My past experiences with free-form wishes have been… I do not hesitate to call its use the greatest test of pure skill as a mage I have ever attempted. Even the smallest stray thought leads an unbounded spell to chaos. I will need every bit of aid in concentration as possible, and any luck of yours that might rub off as well.” “A Wish?” he says, stroking his short beard. “I have only ever heard of that spell, never seen it used.” He gives you a rogueish grin. “If I can help, then I shall. I believe I know of ways to inspire wit.” >Time to roll straight Intelligence. You have +7 base and a +2 morale bonus from Good Hope, for a total of +9. This is a high DC check, but results are gradated rather than being strictly pass or fail.
>>6185537>She nods vigorously and rushes out of the room.Nakedly?
Rolled 16 + 9 (1d20 + 9)>>6185539Rolling
Rolled 17 + 9 (1d20 + 9)>>6185539
>>6186144I would assume she put her clothes back on after finishing her meditation. But, then again, elves are pretty indifferent enough to the whole not-wearing-clothes thing - it's not impossible she just forgot
>>6186144Incidental headcanon: elves don't wear undergarments
>>6186343Elves don't wear garments, period
>>6186147>>6186171Alright, average 25.5 rounded to 25, that's pretty good. Off to writing
>>6185539>Average 25.5, rounded to 25; partial success The wish comes upon you all at once. As Anya and Eva sit beside you at the table and the last notes of Emíl’s sotto voce baritone resonate through the room, the seven layers of the spell matrix emerge one from the next in an instant and power rushes through your veins like burning ice. There’s no time to think. Your every ounce of concentration must go to holding your wish in mind as the spell forms along the shape of your intent. You picture the shape of all things that are, the inner planes and outer, the Astral Sea and Aether, material and energy, good and evil, law and chaos, and ask one simple question: “Where am I?” And for a moment, you’re not just imagining it. You see EVERYTHING. Worlds upon worlds flash by, impossible light, insatiable darkness, faces of titans and foul creatures, and you’re spinning through the Astral SeaーAnd then nothing. The spell is passed, and you’re sitting at the table as before across from your companions’ expectant faces. “Well?” Eva says. By way of answer, pull away and fish about in your bag of holding until you find it: a forked rod of unblemished steel, about eight inches long. Without a word you pour a thin stream of power into the fork, and sure enough, a pure sweet middle C emanates forth, its chime as soft as it is deafening. “Is that…” Emíl trails off. “It is,” you confirm glumly. No mere strike can sound a planar tuning fork, nor any power but a spell or ritual aligned with its plane. With one exception. Inexperienced they may be, even Eva and Emíl would know that note, and the meaning of the fork’s ring. “This world is either within the Prime Material Plane, or somewhere close enough. Closer than even the Fey-wilds or the Shadow.” “This is a demiplane,” Anya realises. “It has to be.” “I am inclined to agree.” “But, wait, if this is the Material Plane, couldn’t we just teleport home right now?” Eva asks hopefully. “Is that not how it works?” “I’m afraid not. Demiplanes are regions of primary planes which cannot be accessed by ordinary means. Divine realms, for example, but also the little pockets of space as found in a bag of holding or a Mansion spell. Some are natural, some are artificial, all are finite, and most serve as refugia… or prisons. If this is indeed such, well, the isolation of this world from our own or any other is evidence enough as to how difficult leaving may prove; we would be most fortunate if an attempt to wish ourselves away should merely fail without incident.”
>>6186977“We’re stuck, then,” Anya says. “For the duration,” you confirm, slumping in your chair as the wish claims its price and a wave of fatigue settles in. “I will begin devising rituals to probe the properties of this realm, but I suspect we will need to find the way home the hard way.” Anya’s jaw clenches as her shoulders tremble. “Fucking… fuck!” “Quite.” You look to Emíl. “Well? Was a wish everything you imagined?” The bard looks sheepish. “I wish I could say so, but in truth, I felt only the passing of a powerful spell, and saw nothing at all.”“Such are the grandest of spells.” By the time you’ve cast your mansion and Anya returns with Soren, Senna, and Lukas, you find you’re feeling rather subdued. Even the familiar comfort of your mansion, alive with greenery, made all of wood and dripping in vines and leafy potted plants, with false windows letting in a facsimile of moonlight and the smells of flowers, sap, and moss on the air does little to help your mood. Never in your long life have your knowledge or spellcraft failed quite so thoroughly. All things considered the others take the news better than one might expect; but even so, you know that the reality of the situation will take a while to sink in. “What are we supposed to do, then?” Soren asks, outwardly casual. In the time you’ve known him, he’s always projected an air of easy confidence, shrugging off terrible danger like it’s nothing, but it’s not hard to see now that his demeanour is less than natural. “We fight,” Anya says firmly. “Those Nightrunner bastards may have agents here, and if there are any, we will hunt them down and kill them, but not before forcing a way home out of their heads.” It’s times like these you most appreciate her decisiveness. It’s not for nothing that you’ve spent so much of your life following her lead despite being the older twin. Senna, seeming like nothing so much as a wet cat freshly fished from a river, is less impressed. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” she mutters. “Duty is duty,” Soren replies, giving an unconvincing shrug. “We go where it carries us. I did not offer you this path because it was the easy way. You may always return to your old life, if you wish.” Senna only glares daggers back at him. The form she wears most days has tan skin, dark hair, lamplike yellow-brown eyes, accentuating the impression of an affronted feline, especially with the contrast of size between her and her mentor. Lukas for his part seems to take the matter in stride, though the shock on his face is plain enough. “You did promise new and exciting opportunities,” he says to Emíl. “Exotic lands on stranger tides, yes?” “That I did, that I did,” Emíl admits. “I am sorry, my friend.”
>>6186982“Oh, it’s quite alright. We’ll pull through, we always do.” He then turns to Anya. “Though, I do hope you understand I charge extra for this sort of thing.” Anya manages to laugh, despite it all, if a crisp and hollow one. “I’d expect nothing less. See us home, and I will see you both richly rewarded.” All too soon the time comes for the appointed dinner. You might be in no mood to socialise but that matters not - like it or not, you’ll need Lord Stark or some other native lord’s aid if you are to spend any length of time in this world. Even an archmage cannot be independent of space on the ground, though you need but little, and there are avenues which can only be pursued with local aid, and projects which you party no matter how powerful is too small to undertake alone. There too are cultural mores to be learned, not to mention languages if you are to undertake any serious scholarship. (On that point, translation spells greatly accelerate the process of acquiring a language, and a Permanency spell can extend their durations indefinitely, but the price is high for a boon which could be lost to a simple dispelling ward, and you cannot make such permanent on your companions either. In any event, you did not prepare Permanency today, so it’s a decision for a later date.) You happen to notice on your way out that Eva is still wearing her normal tunic. “Is that all you have?” “Well, I have a couple spares, but…” But she wasn’t to get trapped in another world during a combat expedition. Most of your own extensive wardrobe is still in your tower back in Cuva as well. “No, that won’t do at all,” you say, then pull your own dress off over your head and hand it over. Eva takes it tentatively, and her eyes go wide as she realises what it is. “Ally, this is your-” “Pluripotent Shiftweave, yes. You need it more than I do at the moment.” She hesitates a moment, then tears her tunic off and throws your dress over her head. It’s half a blanket on her frame - you stand well over six feet tall, and Eva breaks five when her posture is good - and the purple gold-trimmed velvet doesn’t suit her in the least, but the moment it’s on it melts and ripples like water, transforming into gown of woven leaves and gossamer that glimmers in the light. “Waah~” Eva says as she gives the garment a delighted twirl. “I know styles tend towards the plain in Eryn Talleran, but you are an archdruid now, all but peerless in the world; it is time you learned to walk among the highborne, and presentation is nine-tenths of good birth.” “I… right. It’s all been so quick though, you know?” She admits. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel quite real yet.” “I do, as it happens.”
>>6186984Eva’s rise to prominence much as yours could only be described as meteoric. You departed Cuva as a third-order mage of little note, expecting you would likely never grow past that as few mages ever do, yet within ten years had achieved the fifth order, and the seventh a scant half-century after that. Even a fourth-order mage might comfortably offer their services in the court of any king in the world. A fifth-order mage is a noble the world over. An archmage of your level doesn’t so much attend court as hold it. But where you had lived a century in society before ever leaving Cuva to seek your fortune in mortal lands, Eva was born to a common family in one of the northern woodland kingdoms, about the closest to peasant as exists among the Eldar. The world of kings is near as alien to her as an outer plane. “I- thank you, Ally. Really,” she says. “Though, do you have another set, or…” “No, I do not intend to meet with Lord Stark in nothing but shoes and a belt,” you reply. “A wizard is never without her means.” You reach once again into your bag and withdraw a bolt of dark blue silk. “[Fabricate].” With a word, the silk comes alive and wraps around you as the spell sews and stitches and colours it, until you’re left wearing a modest gown of blue with gold and silver trim - appropriately rich, and striking in this cold land of wool and cloth and fur, but not royally ostentatious. It occurs to you as you examine the result that you’ve given little thought to how you’re to deal with Lord Stark. His household are at once impressed and suspicious, and more than the least bit intimidated, and what tone you strike shortly will affect your relations with him for as long as you remain. >(1) You’re an archmage - act like it. Hold your head high, be straightforward, talk to Lord Stark one noble to another. This is at the end of the day a mission to establish diplomatic relations. >(2) This is a sensitive situation, and calls for modesty and every attempt to be personable and put your hosts at ease. Hey guys I wrote an update under 2,000 words for once
>>6186985 >(A) Use your Mass Eagle's Splendour early. You want to make a solid first impression.>(B) Save it for after the alcohol sets in. Oh, and feel free to write in anything you want to achieve while talking to the Starks, questions to ask, information you think our elf ought to disclose, that kind of thing.
>>6186984>But she wasn’t to get trapped Typo; supposed to be "But she wasn't planning on getting stranded"
>>6186985>>6186990>(1)Plainspeaking is what is called for in this situation. In a land of low magic, an archmage is a powerful boon. We have plenty to offer, and our needs are small by comparison. There is no reason we shouldn't be able to arrive at an accordance with the House of Stark.>(B)Again, we have plenty to offer and little to ask, we should not need to dominate the occasion with sorcery.
>>6187035>we should not need to dominate the occasion with sorceryIn case it influences your decision at all, a mage from a world where mages are common would not understand Eagle's Splendour that way - to them it would not be materially different from any other means at their disposal such as makeup or clothing or a bit of liquid courage. And, as it's a personal transmutation effect rather than an enchantment to dominate someone else, liquid courage is probably the best analogy, just something to get one in the zone.
>>6186985>(1) You’re an archmage - act like it. Hold your head high, be straightforward, talk to Lord Stark one noble to another. This is at the end of the day a mission to establish diplomatic relations.Get them used to elf fashion by creating generous cleavages in our dress>>6186990>(B) Save it for after the alcohol sets in.
Alright, looks like the 1s and Bs have it
>>6187055+1
>>6186985>(1) The straightforward approach. >(B) Save Mass Eagle’s Splendour for later, just in case. There are times when it is necessary to act not in accordance with the dignity of a lady archmage. But this is not one of them. You are present not merely as a mage of your homeland but as a direct agent of the Crown of Cuva; now is the moment to represent. As a Winterfell serving girl leads you all back towards the Great Hall, you examine the castle again, now with fresh eyes. The impression of a mountain range is only heightened beneath the light of the crescent moon, with the snow of the rooftops set glowing while the dark granite all but disappears into night. The bones of this place are ancient, that much is certain - some of the older buildings are so worn and weathered they may have stood since the dawn of man. The spells that guard it are just as old. You can’t tell what their purpose is, but you can see that they were written not into the existing structures but into the ground beneath, likely long before anything was ever built here, possibly atop a natural well of power. The feeling is not dissimilar to the natural touch of the Eldar, that shelters elvish works from the ravages of time. While walking you point this fact out to Eva. “I would be very interested in the results of your communing with the local environment. Would you care to join me after our meal?” “Oh, I’ve been itchin’ to ever since we get here,” she says, reanimated at the prospect of being useful. “There’s somethin’ in that little patch of forest I want to see too. Best wait till dawn, though, that’s when things are clearest.” A merry fire is blazing in the hall as you enter, and the smell of woodsmoke mixes entrancingly with those of sizzling meats, roasting vegetables, fresh-baked bread, fragrant herbs, and ale. The lord’s high table is set on the platform before his stone seat, and as you approach to exchange introductions, you’re abruptly aware you haven’t eaten a bite since before assaulting the Nightrunner compound. “Good evening, lady Alyssa,” Lord Stark greets as he rises from his seat, carefully neutral. “We welcome you to Winterfell. May I introduce my family.” His wife, indeed the woman you saw earlier, is Catelyn, a lovely lady with deep blue eyes and red-brown hair. Of the lord’s six children, four look just like her, including Robb, the eldest, and Bran and Rickon, the younger boys. So does their daughter Sansa, but not Arya, who takes after her father with his dark hair and eyes and long face. Jon, the lord’s bastard son, has the same colouring; he’s about of an age with Robb, and wears a solemn expression.
>>6188299Present also are members of the Winterfell staff: Vayon Poole, the steward of the house; Luwin, a scholar known as a maester; Jory Cassel, the captain of the guards; and Theon Greyjoy, the lord’s squire, a tall dark-haired boy a few years older than Robb or Jon. This time, now able to speak for herself, you let Anya take the lead. “My lord, while it was my sister that spoke with you yesterday, I am the leader of this expedition. I am Áine, daughter of Órin and Neda of the ancient and noble clan of Nìvharrè, honorary High Councillor and High Cleric of the Dawnfather in Cuva.” She looks the part of a priestess more than warrior now, having donned her temple clothes for the occasion, a white tunic with the golden sunburst of her god emblazoned on the chest and a skirt of gold, red, and orange. “You have met Alyssa, of course. My other companions are Soren Avenatus Tarantus and Senna Moltularis of Corellia, Archdruid Eva Elsähtti of Eryn Talleran, Lukas Athanasios of Corinthia, and Emíl il-Isan of Aryanna.” You all bow as you are called, and take your seats, lined up across the table from the Starks. You find yourself directly across from the lord and lady, with Anya, Emíl, and Lukas to your left and Eva, Senna, and Soren to your right, and servants start to deliver the food and drink. For a while, as everyone is focused on eating, the meal goes without incident. You make polite small talk, complimenting the food, inquiring after the stories behind the tapestries on the walls. “Those date from the Age of the Hundred Kingdoms,” Lord Stark explains. From the days when the Starks ruled as Kings of Winter. Most depict the conquest of the North- wars with the Red Kings of the Dreadfort, the founding of Torrhen’s Square, the settling of the Manderlys at the Mouth of the White Knife, defence against raiders from the Iron Islands, Andalos, and victories against the Kings-Beyond-the-Wall.” “A storied land,” you say, “and a storied House.” “So it is. And yours, my lady?” “Very much so. Like yours, the Nìvharraigh once ruled as kings among the Eldar… though I fear our kings did not honour the office as they ought, and our ambition brought ruin to those who served us. Now we are but small and few, and not for an age of the world has a Nìvharrè high king or queen ruled.” “Who then rules this… Cuva?” Lord Stark asks. “I am curious - where is your homeland? I cannot say I have ever heard of it. Nor any of the other lands your company hail from.” “Cuva is ruled by Queen Ciríona, of the Ismennaigh, who are among our close relatives. I am not surprised you have not heard of our homes, however; they are in another world.” “Another world?” he repeats, incredulous.
>>6188303“I was not exaggerating in the slightest to say that we are lost and far from home,” you say, not quite able to keep the edge of bitterness out of your voice. “Travelling between the various planes of existence is not commonplace, but hardly is it rare, for the powerful. I have journeyed to some two-dozen other realms in my time.” “I’m sure you understand, this is not easy to believe,” the lord says. “I have no doubt. Nonetheless, it is true; we are not from this world.” “How is that possible?” Maester Luwin asks. The small grey man wore voluminous grey robes, and a chain about his neck, each link of a different metal - each, he explained, symbolising achievement in a different field of study. “I learned something of the higher mysteries at the Citadel, but I have never heard of such a thing as travelling between worlds, not even in the faintest rumours.” “By and large, with simple spells,” you say. “Powerful spells, to be sure. One needs a tuning fork aligned with a particular plane, good information, and some luck. Ordinarily, at least.” you realise it’s probably best not to delay the hard conversation any further, and so start at the beginning, explaining your mission from the High Council. The thefts, assassinations, rumours of witchcraft, all of which ultimately led to the Nightrunners and their devotion to the mysterious True Master. “This morning, I hoped that we might be able to return to our world through the usual means, perhaps as soon as after this supper, but… even our greatest spells have not availed us anything. The truth is, we are at a loss. I fear we must remain as guests of Winterfell for some time.” The news does not seem especially welcome. “How long, would you say?” “If I knew, I would say. While we are your guests, Lord Stark, I have a proposal.” He gives you a hard look. “Well?” “To be blunt: I would like to offer my services as a mage in exchange for land.” “Lands?” “I do not mean an estate, my lord. I would need but little - in fact, my first thought was a disused outbuilding here in Winterfell.” The lord and his household exchange glances. “There are such buildings here,” he says tentatively. “These services you would provide. I have seen enough to know that you are no charlatan hedge-wizard. What would you offer, for a place in my castle?” “Expertise,” you begin, “as well as defence, and all manner of other tasks. I would share knowledge of spellcraft that is common to my world with you freely. I would provide wards to defend this castle - and I speak not in ambiguous terms of harm, but materially of warning of intrusion, obstructing access, and visiting terrible violence on trespassers. And that is only for a start; my abilities are manyfold, and my companions have other skills besides, though theirs are not for me to offer.”
>>6188305“I am willing to offer healing services, for example,” Anya says, and Eva nods along. “I can too.” Still clearly skeptical, the lord asks, “and your price for your services is naught but a ruined tower?” Reasonably sharp, this one. “No. It is not. There are other concessions you can provide - exceptions from taxation as is within your authority, for example; I will need to procure materials and equipment from far afield and so require a free hand in business. I do not believe the details need be discussed immediately, provided you are amenable.” Your talk is then interrupted by the voice of a young girl. “Father, father, he’s a singer, isn’t that wonderful?” The speaker, you see, is Sansa, Lord Stark’s elder daughter, who is sitting across from Emíl. “I am not just a singer, my little lady, I am a Bard. My songs soothe the soul, ensnare the senses, and make even shadows come to life.” “Oh, please, please, please, you must sing for us!” the girl says, instantly enamoured. “We so seldom have singers come to Winterfell.” You exchange a look with Anya. It couldn’t hurt, so long as he doesn’t do anything too showy right away. Then the younger daughter - Arya, was it? - asks him, “are you a wizard?” Emíl laughs it off. “No, little lady, I am no wizard.” “I thought Robb said you were wizards and you could fly.” “Only one among us is. That honour belongs to the Lady Alyssa.”“I’ve never heard of a girl wizard.” The girl turns to you and Anya. “And you both had swords! I saw it! Do you know how to fight!?”“Arya!” Lady Catelyn admonished. “Oh, it’s quite alright,” you say. “I do, in fact, though Anya’s always been the better blade.” “Really!?” “Oh yes. It is expected of ladies in Cuva. Is it not so here?” The horrified looks on not just Lady Catelyn’s but most of your hosts’ faces is enough to tell you that this is indeed the case. Perhaps you should have guessed; it is one thing for a mortal lord to teach his daughter a few common spells and wholly another the gun or the sword, and many give only cursory thoughts to their self-defence. You’ve always felt it best not to remark too much on the wisdom or lack thereof in that attitude - you are not mortal and do not know their minds, after all, and it isn’t your place. Anya however has no such compunctions. “Why not? Doesn’t she need to know?” “Whatever does a lady need a sword for?” one of the men says - Jory, the guard, you think. “Men? Bandits? Monsters? Anything, really.” “Monsters?” he guffaws. “Are you suggesting ladies need to fight grumkins and snarks?” “Probably. What are those like?” This draws actual laughter from the man, and uncomfortable half-smirks from several others. Lady Catelyn does her best to deflect. “Like nothing, my lady; they are stories meant to frighten children, nothing more.”
>>6188306“And what of orcs, or goblins? Gnolls? Trolls, displacer beasts, giant eagles? Dungeons can open anywhere.” You put your hand on Anya’s. “Sister, I get the impression they don’t have a lot of those here.” You turn back to the Starks. “Our world is not a safe one,” you explain. “It demands that we be prepared, even when danger does not appear near.” “Well, you will find no such creatures here, certainly not south of the Wall,” the lord says, with the unmistakable implication of ‘and that’s that.’ You take the hint, and jump on the easy cue he just gave. “Do tell me about this Wall. I believe you mentioned it before?” The answer proves to be a wall of ice over a hundred feet high and a hundred miles long, spanning the whole northern border of the Seven Kingdoms and separating it from the wilderlands beyond, a rather more impressive feat of construction than you thought possible for this world. You file it away as somewhere to visit if you end up here a while. The conversation then drifts to other topics. You learn about the Seven gods of the Andals in the south who Lady Catelyn worships, and the wild nameless Old Gods of the North (a topic in which Eva takes keen interest), and Anya tells them in turn about the thirteen Great Gods, the eight Betrayers, and the many lesser outer gods. (Strangely enough, worshippers of the Seven believe in Seven Heavens and Nine Hells, which is the correct number, although probably a coincidence.) You also learn they send messages not through spells or telegraph lines but by specially-trained ravens, much like the carrier falcons used by the armies of some Ossean nations. That’s what Maester Luwin’s role in the castle is: although most maesters are learned in many disciplines, including medicine and even midwifery, they principally serve a castle as the keeper of the rookery. The night wears on, but not too long; the Lord will ride in the morning and must rest. Robb, Jon, and Theon do as well, and even Bran, who’s going to see justice for the first time. Rickon is only three and is to be sent off to bed as well. When eventually Emíl rises to sing, he does so in full. “In those long ago days, and those ten-thousand isles of the galaxy,” he begins, “on desert shores of pirate fame, of cruel men and iron ways…” You recognise the story, an epic of the vast Ossean Archipelago, the islands that are home to the greatest nations of men and their kin, though the song is his own. As he sings the room darkens, and dancing shadows of the firelight come to life. Soon enough the whole audience is swept away to a world long ago of a brave blade-singer pirate and his quest to free his people from the then King of Corinthia.
>>6188308It’s a superb performance, and a tour de force of illusionry; it’s the school of spellcraft that requires perhaps the most skill and imagination on the part of the user. One needs an artist’s touch, as it were, to be at all convincing when viewed closely, and Emíl demonstrates surpassing talent. When he is finished, you ask the lord about his decision. “I… will have to think on what you’ve said,” Lord Stark replies, hand on his chin. “I would need to know how long you intend to stay, for one-”But before he can elaborate, you are again interrupted by Lord Stark’s children, several of whom have evidently been listening in. “Please please please father let them stay!” Sansa pleads. “You just must!” “Yes father, can they?” says one of the younger sons. Bran, you recall. He was seated across from Soren and has been pestering the man all night with questions about warriors and knights. “I want to be a paladdin too!” Then Arya joins in, and the three of them form a chorus that soon wears their father down. “Gods help us,” he mutters. You think you know what his answer is going to be. Now it’ll just be a matter of terms. When you all depart, it is in the awkward state of teleportation lag; the local late supper was your breakfast. It is night, but you are awake, and you have some hours before joining Eva in the castle forest. >(1) Dive back into planar research and get a start on devising a ritual to analyse this plane and its possible entry and exit conditions. >(2) Explore the grounds of Winterfell more. >(3) Try to analyse the spells underlying the castle. >(4) Coordinate with Anya and come up with a plan for the immediate future. >(5) Meet with the mortals in your party, as you know them hardly at all and perhaps ought to more now that you’ll be here with them. >(6) Write-in.
>>6188313>>(5) Meet with the mortals in your party, as you know them hardly at all and perhaps ought to more now that you’ll be here with them.
>>(5) Meet with the mortals in your party, as you know them hardly at all and perhaps ought to more now that you’ll be here with them.
>(5) Meet with the mortals in your party, as you know them hardly at all and perhaps ought to more now that you’ll be here with them.Sure, it seems well to build up a rapport with people we might be relying on for an extended time. The scrying and prying can wait until morning.>Write-in>Ask them more about their motivations in fighting the Nightrunners.
>>6188313>(5) Meet with the mortals in your party, as you know them hardly at all and perhaps ought to more now that you’ll be here with them.
>>6188313>(5) Meet with the mortals in your party. Various notions spin through your head, but what ultimately occupies your attention as you cross Winterfell’s yards is not planning or spellcraft, but Emíl and his one-man drama. You hadn’t been aware of the extent of his skill before, having only known the man a week, and it occurs to you just how little you know most of these people with whom you have been marooned. “That was truly exceptional, I must say,” you tell him, when you’ve all returned to the mansion. Anya and Eva are off discussing ways to contact the divine again, leaving you in the sitting room/library with the four mortals of your party. “Major Image is no easy spell to master. I’m not certain I’ve ever seen one with so many moving elements, least of all while the caster was singing and conversing with his audience.” “That means much, from a great elven archmage,” he replies. “I admit, I am curious why it is a man of your talents still pursues mercenary work. Missions such as this are a severe risk, no matter the price.” “I thought so too, once upon a time,” he says. “I have travelled one way or another my whole life, and fought for much of it. For years I thought only of money and of retirement. And, well, as you say, this is no simple job for simple men such as me. Perhaps I do not need to be here. But I have seen much in my life - I know what happens when evils are left to roam free. I have lost comrades to dungeons and monsters, and faced down fiends and dead men. When your sister contacted me some weeks ago searching for aid and told me of these Nightrunners, all I could think was that it was all happening again. It could not be for any simple hunt that an archpriest of Cuva would seek the help of mortal men. And so it was not. For all that’s happened, I still believe I made the correct decision.” “Do you think you’ll retire when this mission is concluded?” “I cannot say. Perhaps. Perhaps I shall travel more. Suddenly it is made real to me that other worlds are not merely places for stories and heroes, after all.” “If it helps to know, there are few places in the higher planes where singers are not welcome.” Your eye then catches on Lukas, in the process of smoothly dismantling and cleaning the fine musket he names his Thunderbolt. “And what of you?” “Oh. Soldiering’s all I’ve ever known,” he says. “At least until a certain singer filled my head with ideas about independence and striking off on my own. I retired from the Navy about a year ago. Emíl here knew my skill, and when he told me of a different sort of job, one where a man must truly rely on his own strengths, well, I realised all of a sudden the peaceful life was not for me. I boarded a sky-liner for Carillon within the week.”
>>6189197“You’re a Marine.” “Thirty-five years in the service. Koltamathas parata sant.” Service without equal. “Na sur Satrasam Kovarini koltamathóno?” you ask in Corinthian. Did you serve in the Kovaran War? “The whole three years. Terrible business, that.” “Were you at the Siege of Sorovi?” Soren asks. “Fortunately no,” Lukas replies. “I spent the whole campaign at sea or on the coasts.” When the provinces of Taira and Kovara broke away from their long-time Anadari overlords fifteen years ago, the larger and wealthier Taira claimed ownership of both regions owing to their shared language and history, but the Kovari in their mountain fastnesses refused their rule. Less than four years after independence the Tairans invaded to force the issue, and the fighting soon devolved into widespread massacres and brutal protracted sieges. Corinthia, as the two countries’ southern neighbour on the Ossean mainland, eventually chose to intervene, and used their navy to raid and blockade the Tairan coastline and eventually up their major rivers. But the Tairans persisted, and in short order the regional dispute became a proxy battlefield for all the great powers; it wasn’t until Corellia, the greatest power of them all, brought their might to bear that the war was finally decided. The conflict had shocked the civilised world. Not necessarily for its excesses, but for its visibility. No previous war had ever featured such extensive newspaper dispatches from the front, nor the use of widespread photo-graphia. Even in the isles of Cuva halfway around the world the latest developments were an item of daily conversation. “I believe I know your reasons for being here, Soren Avenatus, but I suppose I should ask all the same,” you say. “High Cleric Anya NicNivara is something of a legend among the faithful of the Dawnfather. My own master told me all about her when I was young. Fighting beside the High Cleric is an honour.” “I see. Who was your master? Perhaps I knew him, if he knew Anya.” “Theo Callus was his name.” “Theo-” you sputter. “Was your master Theodorus Callus Marcinus?” “The very same. Finest paladin I’ve ever known.” “That rake became a *paladin?*” The man you knew was a charming and shameless skirt-chaser. Granted, his charm worked, and in the end he did prove every inch as good as he promised, but still. Soren’s face turns defensive. “Theo Callus was an honourable man.” “Oh, I’m sure he was by the time you met him. All I knew was the young mercenary. Still, a champion of the Dawnfather… When did he pass, may I ask? I met him more than eighty years ago - even for an Aasimar he must have been quite old.” “Fourteen years ago now.” “My condolences, late though they are.” “My thanks.”
>>6189203“And… Miss Senna Moltularis,” you begin, turning to the girl. “I don’t recall we’ve even been formally introduced. I’ve seen you fight; you’re certainly no ordinary acolyte.” “I’m not an acolyte,” she says at once, as if in reflex. She looks away, avoiding your gaze. She and Soren then exchange a glance, one that asks, ‘should you say it, or should I?’ “Master Callus found me in a cell in a Carillon prison when I was a boy,” Soren says. “He offered me a way out. Something to fight for. When I happened across this one sitting in the very same cell around a month ago, I sat down and talked with her, and we came to an understanding. Eventually I convinced the judge the Faith could take responsibility for her if he granted amnesty.” “Paying forward your master’s goodwill?” “Something like that.” “Well, I am very pleased to meet you, Senna Moltularis. So long as we are acquainted, you are always welcome in my halls.” Senna nods slightly, still not quite meeting your eye. You do not miss that he never mentioned why Senna was in that cell, but that is no doubt for her to share on her own time. “Lady Alyssa, pardon my asking,” Lukas says, “but I am curious now why we are here. Us in particular, I mean. Cuva is famous for the skills of its defenders - I have seen what your army can do myself. What need is there to seek outside help to combat the Nightrunner threat?” “Ah. That,” you say darkly. “Two reasons. The first: With great skill comes lighting reflexes, iron will, and steely fortitude. There is a point at which a truly powerful combatant’s spells and powers are great enough that lesser beings such as common soldiers, no matter how well-trained, cannot resist them. We are all roughly at the cusp of such power. A greater number of lesser combatants would simply have died or been halted without recourse. “The second… you are correct that Cuva has powerful individuals. Yet fewer than you might imagine, not all well-versed in combat casting, all of them needed as it is, and all of them centuries older than me or Anya. When Anya presented her evidence of the Nightrunners before the standing members of the High Council, they thanked her for bringing this threat to their attention and suggested she best manage it soon before it becomes a bigger problem. They would not bestir themselves or deploy any army casters to our aid. We were forced to look elsewhere, and quickly.” Soren looks appalled. “The Council hung you out dry!?”
>>6189204“Not entirely. Up until the very last moment, when we discovered the Nightrunner compound and the ritual in progress, our case was weak. True threats from the outer planes are rare enough they are easy to dismiss until it is too late. The council had no reason to share our suspicions; even I was skeptical for longer than I should have been. And they did provide some critical material aid in the form of wands, scrolls, potions, scrying time, and so on, as well as pass the intelligence along to our allies, including both Corellia and Corinthia.” “The High Cleric never said anything about that.” “I’m not surprised. Anya has never been the sort to think about problems when it is solutions she needs. She would have seen no reason to trouble you with closed doors.” You think for a moment. “Incidentally, there’s no reason to call me or my sister by our titles. We are all comrades here; our names will suffice.” You spend a while with them after that trading stories, sometimes sharing gossip about the various kings and patrons you’ve all worked with, or speaking of the wonders and horrors you’ve seen in the outer planes. “… But the fairest of all is Arvandor,” you say. “Nowhere is the land more beautiful, nor the water so clear and crisp, nor the skies so painted with colour. There the trees grow as large as mountains and the wilds grow unbounded. And the people! It is a world of passion and excess and pleasure without compare.” “I should very much like to visit one day,” Emíl says. His face falls somewhat. “When we leave this world, of course.” You lean back, pursing your lips, thinking about how to address the matter. The topic couldn’t be far from anyone’s mind. “With how isolated this plane is, it’s nothing short of a miracle we’re here at all,” you say, “but a miracle is a precedent. If we can enter this plane, we can leave it.” Anya and Eva appear again then. “It’s about time, Ally. Let’s go to the godswood.” “Any luck?” you ask as you rise, but she only shakes her head. From the guest keep the entrance is just around the corner. You follow Eva inside as the rose-fingered dawn is starting to scatter through the trees’ upper boughs. The sky above is pale and clear and the air cold, though your Ring of Protection shields you from the chill. Littered with deadfall and coated in moss and lichens, the godswood is as ancient as any part of the castle. Lord Stark explained last night that the Old Gods of the North dwell in the wild wood, and in particular hold a species of tree known as a ‘weir-wood’ as sacred above all; Winterfell’s so-called heart tree could be found here, growing since the Age of Heroes long before the written word. Grey-green the towering trees rise around you, armoured in sharp needles and jagged bark, the ground a tangle of hidden roots.
>>6189207You note along the way pools of deep black water amidst the wood, some of which are steaming. Your heart flutters as you realise what you’re seeing. “Hot springs!” Eva says, voicing the thought. It’s a joy of home you thought you might not see for a long time. Cuva’s isles are all the slopes of a great range of fiery mountains, and though their eruptions periodically bring woe to your people, they also bring hot springs. Amidst the damp grey of a Cuvan winter there is nothing better to warm the bones, and no matter how you tried, you’ve never managed to replicate the real thing properly with a mansion. “We’ll have to ask if they’re not also sacred first, but…” “I don’t think the gods’ll mind what they don’t know,” Eva says with a wink. You catch her meaning well. She’s a druid, you’re a transmuter - you could visit anytime. Eva’s breath hitches when the heart tree itself comes into view. White as old bone is its bark, with red leaves like a thousand bloody hands reaching for the heavens, half of them now illuminated in the pale light of the early sun. Beneath its boughs stands a large round pool of black water. And then there’s the face. No one said anything about a face. The eyes and mouth are carved deep into the trunk, wearing a melancholy expression, while the eyes are red with dried blood-red sap. You may be no woodswoman, much less an archdruid, but even city elves have a certain instinctual affinity for all things that live and grow. You don’t need Eva to tell you that Something is Wrong with this tree. >Choose any 3 for Commune to analyse: >Ground or terrain (including caverns)>Plant life>Minerals >Bodies of water >People >General animal population >Presence of woodland creatures (i.e. fae) >Presence of powerful unnatural creatures (undead, aberrations, outsiders, constructs)>The general state or health of nature in the area AND Roll a general Wisdom check for Eva, +9 (base +6, +1 from Guidance, +2 from Owl’s Wisdom) If you have any specific skill checks you want either caster to make, feel free to suggest them.
Rolled 12 + 9 (1d20 + 9)>>6189214>People>Presence of powerful unnatural creatures (undead, aberrations, outsiders, constructs)>Presence of woodland creaturesIn time, we will want to know the answers to all these questions. Of particular interest would be minerals and terrain. But for now, the most pressing information would be these, even if they end up revealing little. Intelligent life, especially unnatural or supernatural life, are the main threats to groups like ours. Even if they are not hostile to us, we are the intruders, and it is our responsibility to make ourselves aware of them.
>>6189214>Plant life>People>Presence of powerful unnatural creatures (undead, aberrations, outsiders, constructs)
Rolled 14 + 9 (1d20 + 9)>>6189503
>>6189214>People, Presence of Unnatural Creatures>Plants or Powerful Natural Beings (coin flip; tails wins for Natural Beings)>Wisdom check average 22; successYou advance on the heart tree tentatively, feeling its mournful eyes on you the whole way. Now that you’re here, you’re certain this tree sits at the centre of at least some of the spells beneath Winterfell. Nowhere is the sense of preservation stronger. Yet, the tree itself… You are no stranger to powerful trees. You were raised amidst the golden cedars and redwoods of Cuva, walked the orchards of Arcadia, seen the mountain-woods of Arvandor and the Beastlands, braved the Razor-thorn Vale and Wailing Willows of Pandemonium. This tree’s roots extend far into the Unseen. But it doesn’t feel alive. “Is it just me, or does it look…” “Undead?” Eva says. It does not react to your presence. When you reach a hand out, all you feel is bark, cool and solid and smooth beneath your fingertips. “It’s not, though, not really. It’s more… injured, I think.” Eva looks up at the treetops and extends out her hand. “Just about time. Answers are the clearest when everything’s all unsettled, waking up and bedding down, warming up and moving. Sunset’s like that too, but noisier. Ten minutes… yeah, the sun should hit me right about then.” She finds a good spot in front of the tree and sits cross-legged facing the east, closing her eyes to begin her meditation. You sit down next to her, eyes open. In the morning breeze a thousand red leaves dance with dawn’s fire, whispering their secret words. Some minutes pass in silence, but you soon notice the sounds of footsteps. You have one spare Tongues prepared just in case, and cast it now given that you never specifically asked permission to come here, and double it with your Bracelet of Extending for good measure. You glance in the footsteps’ direction and eventually spot three people in simple white robes. Each has a large blood-red handprint on their chest painted over their hearts. Two are male, one old, one young, and the other a young woman with her blonde hair tied back with a white cloth. The old man has a lined and weathered face, and wears a short-cropped grey beard and a nest of receding grey curls. In his right hand is a long crooked staff of white wood. Weirwood, it must be. It takes you a moment, but you recall that he was among the people present when you first met Lord Stark in the Great Hall yesterday. His owlish eyes bore into you and Eva. “This is a sacred place, wizard,” the man says sternly, with a voice of gnarled oak. “And we come to pay respects, if you would teach us how.” He stares at you for a while, but eventually relents. “I am Keeper Brennan. I speak for the Gods.” “Alyssa NicNivara, of Cuva.” “Then kneel, and pray, lady witch.”
>>6189942He and his two followers then do as he instructs, taking a knee before the tree’s face and giving their devotions in silence. You hesitate for a moment, then do so as well. He and Eva both finish their prayers around the same time. “It is not often the lord allows outsiders in his godswood.” “Where does everyone pray, then?” Eva asks. “In Brandon’s Shrine. Come, strangers.” You and Eva look at each other as he turns away. She clearly wants to stay longer, but it would be rude to refuse him in his own home. You smile as if to say ‘we’ll talk after’ and fall in behind Keeper Brennan. He leads you to the east side of the grove, through a portcullis and into a hall of dark brown wood. On one wall floor to ceiling is a painting of a heart tree in vivid colours. Either wall is covered with smaller paintings, each depicting a different animal in stylised form, a wolf, a lion, a boar, a stag, raven, owl, eagle, bear, horse, ox, and more, all against a backdrop of a shadowed wood and snowy mountains. Beneath every beast is a brass urn, and in each are sticks of incense, their smoldering filling the air with their rich smoke. These are the old gods, the nameless spirits of the wild. But for you, Eva, and Brennan’s group, Brandon’s Shrine is mostly empty, with the only worshipper at this hour being a lone guardsman before the bear, and he leaves not long after you arrive. “Before men, the Children dwelt here,” the Keeper says, leading you all to stand before the painted tree. “They kept the ancient woods, and held the weirwoods beloved above all. It is they who first carved faces into the trees, to wake up and give them sight. When the First Men came in the Dawn Age, before the Long Night, they waged war on the Children of the Forest with fire and axe, until there were no more heart trees south of the Neck. Even now the weirwoods of southern halls are young and blind, mere decorations for a lord’s garden. “The Children and the First Men warred for centuries. In the end, the Children were driven from the fields and plains, but they held the deep woods and high hills. The war only ended when the Children agreed to leave men to their farms and castles and towns, and men agreed to cherish the weirwood, and the true gods of the land. On the Isle of Faces they sealed the Pact; there the Green Men remain even now. “Bran the Builder who was the first Stark king built this shrine. When the Long Night came, he sought out the Children, lived among them and learned their tongue and their other secrets, and helped the Last Hero bring an end to the Night. The Andals lords of the south have forgotten. But the North remembers. The blood of the First Men runs strong in us. The Children are gone, but still we hold the true gods, the heart trees that are their eyes, and the Pact that weds us to the land.” “Who were the Children?” Eva asks excitedly as you translate the Keeper’s words to her.
>>6189946“The Children of the Forest were small to the eyes of men, but no true children,” Brennan explains. “They built no castles or market-towns, but they knew many secret arts. Skinchanging. Greensight. Healing. But, as I said, they have not been seen since the Age of Heroes. They are only a memory to us now.” “They *were* elves, I know it!” Eva declares. “That’s what I felt when I Communed! Winterfell was built by elves!” “I thought these spells felt familiar somehow,” you say. “No land forgets our presence easily.” You turn back to Brennan. “How do we offer our respects?” He shows you the basics. How to kneel properly, how to give an offering of coin or incense. How to make a proper offering by smearing a drop of blood on a fabric strip and giving it to the brazier before the tree painting. He tells more of the North’s gods and history as he does. The Long Night came thousands of years ago, when the sun hid its face for years and snows drifted fifty feet deep even in the far south. Kings shivered in their halls and peasants starved all across the land. But more terrible than the cold was the Others - demons of ice with swords that shattered iron, riding giant spiders and armies of the dead across the land to extinguish all life and warmth. Eventually it was the Night’s Watch together with Bran the Builder who fought back the Others and built the Wall to safeguard the realm. Or so the legends go. Of their gods, the three highest are the Bear, Wolf, and Raven. The Bear, the spirit of strength of body, of independence and inner resilience, the champion of warriors. The Direwolf, the spirit of family and of hard times, of laws and of justice, the champion of lords and fathers. Raven, the spirit of wit and intellect, of craftsmen and scholars and all others who make a living with their minds as much as hands. You’ve never been a woman of faith. You’ve made offerings to the Great Gods before on occasion - to the Changebringer as a traveller, to the All-hammer as a craftswoman, to the Archheart and Moonweaver and Starmaiden. But yours has always been a life defined by your own abilities. Yet, faith or no, the Great Gods are as real as anything in the world. And the whole world knows them. It is strange beyond words to hear of a faith truly alien to anything you’ve ever witnessed, in praise of gods who grant no miracles and answer no prayers. “I am the Keeper of Winterfell,” Brennan says of his own role. “Men forget, so keepers must carry on our lore and the laws of gods and men. We maintain the temples and the godswoods, witness oaths, and give advice to lords and smallfolk alike. In older days we were judges too, deciding disputes between free men.”
>>6189947Though a hard man to read, the Keeper seems to have warmed up to you somewhat by the time you leave him, though as much as he’s eager to speak and you’re keen to listen, Eva is positively vibrating by the end to get on with things, so you must beg off and head back to the Guest Keep before too long. “So, what did you find?” “The people are all definitely humans and have been for a long time, and they aren’t very healthy, which isn’t surprising. It’s none too clean out in the town. I looked for anything unnatural, and didn’t really feel anything serious. No proper undead or the like, no fiends, although there are catacombs under the castle that might be worth poking around in. But fae influence? Lots, only real old and faint. If elves didn’t help build this place I’ll eat my shoe.” “You don’t wear shoes.” “I’ll find some. But don’t you get it? We’re all from the Feywilds if we go back far enough. If there’s some ancient elves in this place after all, that means it wasn’t all sealed away since forever.” You take a moment to digest the thought. “If natives of other planes have been here before, then you’re right, that’s quite encouraging, even if it was thousands of years ago.” “Oh, and like you said, there’s a well of power under our feet, and it goes deep, deeper than I could feel. Bones-of-the-earth deep.” “Like a fire-mountain?” “Come to think of it, actually, kinda. Oh, that explains the hot springs, doesn’t it?” “It would. Was the source active?” “Didn’t seem like it, but I’d need more time to say for sure.” “I suppose that’s good to hear. I’d hate for us to end up with an eruption in our sleep. So, what about the heart tree?” Eva scrunches up her nose. “It’s not undead. But it’s hurt real bad, like I thought. Something cut deep and never healed, and now it’s like it’s… petrified, almost. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. And it’s connected to other weirwoods, I’m pretty sure.” “How so?” “Divination of some kind, felt like. You’re the expert there though.” “They are said to be the eyes of the Old Gods, so it makes sense. Anti-divination spells when in their presence might not hurt.” Around the time you get to the Guest Keep, a thought occurs. You need to learn the Westerosi language - you had a spare Tongues only by chance, and you can’t spend nine-tenths of your time unable to speak with the locals for long. But you know someone who would be a perfect and likely enthusiastic teacher: Maester Luwin. You mention this to Eva, then head off to find the man. You ask a serving girl where he might be found. She takes you to the rookery tower where he keeps his office, but he turns out not to be there, and when she asks around you learn that he rushed off to find Lady Catelyn, so the girl leads you to the Great Keep to see if he’s still there.
>>6189950You find the two in the lady’s solar, and wait patiently outside while they finish their business. It doesn’t take long. They exit together, and are both startled to find you there. “My lady,” Luwin says with a nod. “Are you quite alright?” you say, on seeing the distress on their faces. Luwin looks to the lady, who seems to give him permission to speak. “I suppose you will find out soon enough. We’ve had a raven. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, is dead.” “Um, I’m…” “Ah. Lord Stark was fostered at the Eyrie as a boy. Lord Arryn was like a second father to him.” “Oh. Please extend the lord my sincere condolences, then.”“That’s not the only news. The king is coming to Winterfell, along with half his court. He was fostered at the Eyrie at the same time, and Lord Stark is one of his closest friends.”You blink. “How soon?” “The ride from King’s Landing is perhaps a moon’s turn, but he will be slowed by heavy wheelhouses, and likely he will be feasted and feted at every castle along the way.” “I see.” You pause, considering whether or not this is a good moment to make your request, but decide to at least raise the subject. “I sought you out to inquire as to whether you would be amenable to teaching myself and my companions to speak your language, but it seems you will likely be preoccupied for the foreseeable future; it seems I must find another teacher. That said, Maester Luwin, Lady Catelyn, if there’s any way at all I could be of service in this time of need, you need only ask.” This seems to surprise him. “Our language, you say? You are correct that I will have other duties, but I know many among the learned of Wintertown and White Harbour. I could arrange a suitable instructor without too much difficulty.” You smile. “I would be very much obliged if you could, Maester Luwin.” When you relay what you just learned to the others, the news is met with something of a muted response. On the one hand, an in with the king of the Seven Kingdoms would be quite advantageous. On the other, kings are nothing new to most of you, and that his arrival is well over a month away drives home anew how long you’re like to be in this world. “I have met kings,” Emíl says of the matter. “Rich men. Very high expectations. Too little humour for my taste.” “We have nothing to prove beyond what our own abilities demonstrate,” you say. “Someone without sense is not a worthy client.” Soren shrugs it off with his typical blasé bravado, but Lukas, the common soldier, seems less certain, and Senna as usual as if she wants to disappear entirely. No, this isn’t quite what either of them thought they were getting into, is it?
>>6189952“In other news,” you continue, “Maester Luwin also said he would be willing to find us a tutor for the Westerosi language. The best advice I can give you all for the immediate future is to learn fast. The Tongues spell will help, as it works by absorbing meaning directly from other’s minds, but we will still need to mingle as much as possible with the people of Winterfell and force ourselves to listen and speak as they do.” >(You have about two more hours of today’s last Tongues left, and no Comprehend Languages. Lord Stark et al will not return until after that. Teleportation lag will be corrected for tomorrow, and you’ll be on the local schedule.)>(1) Start putting together a more coherent plan of action for the next month or two. >(2) Delve back into research and experiments. >(3) Tour Winterfell with Eva and/or Anya, investigating its unseen mysteries. >(4) Tour Winterfell as a whole party, get a head start on mingling.>(5) Have breakfast, socialise more with your party indoors; your choice of who with and whether one-on-one or all together. >(6) Write-in. You know, I didn’t at all intend to invent half a religion until it just sorta happened halfway through writing this chapter. I realised even most isolated folk traditions have holy men, shamans and so on, and the Old Gods are jarring for how little ritual and tradition surrounds them. There are no priests or druids, and the godswood doesn’t even have a groundskeeper.
>>6189953>You know, I didn’t at all intend to invent half a religion until it just sorta happened halfway through writing this chapter. I realised even most isolated folk traditions have holy men, shamans and so on, and the Old Gods are jarring for how little ritual and tradition surrounds them. There are no priests or druids, and the godswood doesn’t even have a groundskeeper.Given that it might be unwelcome: the reason I made the addition of a more organised faith of the Old Gods is that it's really striking reading basically any work from before Enlightenment ideas got big and seeing how central religion is to every facet of life for the people of the day. A person's whole world is the land, the sky, their fellow villagers, and their god or gods. The greater part of any broader sense of identity they draw tends to be from common faith. It's not for nothing that Europeans understood their part of the world as 'Christendom' well into the modern age, or Muslims theirs as the Dar Al-Islam.How does the average northerner worship? Who do they turn to in times of crisis? Who are the leaders of their communities? Not to mention, what symbols do northmen who live far from any weirwoods use to keep that connection? Who recalls the law in pre-literate or mostly-illiterate societies? Real people need people need lawmen, make shrines, carry around symbols of their gods, and turn to their local priests when they need guidance, especially in times and places where there is no one else for them to turn to.And I did at least try to keep it as canon-compliant as possible, just expanding on what's shown in the series. The Old Gods are the nameless and faceless gods of the wood, but it is just in humans to personalise if not anthropomorphise the forces that affect their lives.
>>6189953>(2) Delve back into research and experiments. >(3) Tour Winterfell with Eva and/or Anya, investigating its unseen mysteries. As the party's Wizard, we have to find out as much as we can about our situation. And we still haven't found out what has become of the Nightrunners: were they killed, are they as lost as we are, or did everything go according to plan for them? There are too many questions of import to rest on our investigations now.>>6189953>>You know, I didn’t at all intend to invent half a religion until it just sorta happened halfway through writing this chapter. I realised even most isolated folk traditions have holy men, shamans and so on, and the Old Gods are jarring for how little ritual and tradition surrounds them. There are no priests or druids, and the godswood doesn’t even have a groundskeeper.I know little about GoT so you could have fooled me. It sounded just like real lore to my ears, for however much that counts.
>>6189953>>(4) Tour Winterfell as a whole party, get a head start on mingling.>>(5) Have breakfast, socialise more with your party indoors; your choice of who with and whether one-on-one or all together.
>>6189953>(4) Tour Winterfell as a whole party, get a head start on mingling.>(5) Have breakfast, socialise more with your party indoors; your choice of who with and whether one-on-one or all together.All together
>>6190028>I know little about GoT so you could have fooled me. It sounded just like real lore to my ears, for however much that counts.The story Keeper Brennan tells about Brandon and more or less is canon. The thing I invented is the existence of temples and shrines and priests and symbols other than just trees. Such things are never mentioned in the series. We know that the true priests of the old gods are basically gone from the lands south of the Wall, except for at High Heart and the Isle of Faces, but without *someone* still around to defend the northern gods and teach their stories and laws to northern children, the country would have converted to the Faith of the Seven centuries ago. Hell, no one in the North even raises objections to Ned Stark having a Sept for Catelyn built in Winterfell.
>>6189953>(4) Tour Winterfell as a whole party, get a head start on mingling.>(5) Have breakfast, socialise more with your party indoors; your choice of who with and whether one-on-one or all together. (All together) You think about what to do for the remainder of the day. There’s a lot to attend to - scrying on known Nightrunners to figure out if any are here, researching the planes, drawing up plans of action and trying to work out what sort of laboratory you can improvise over the next few weeks. But, sitting here at your dining table, you find yourself struggling to focus on anything important. Your experience in the godswood and its shrine helped highlight just how little you know of this place and of its people. And you know your own scarcely any better. You also find yourself craving a proper breakfast. The feast last night did sate your hunger, but it was rather too heavy. The meat of pigs and cattle is rare in Cuva; your people prefer foul, eggs, clams, crabs, shrimp, and above all salmon. Heady festivities follow the major runs in the spring and autumn every year, and all but the most critical official business grinds to a halt for weeks at a time. The translucent servants of your mansion bring out a broad variety of dishes from home. Smoked salmon, boiled eggs, baskets of blackberries and apples, soft herb-stuffed nachbánna flatbread, little golden oatcakes made with cattail pollen, sunflower seeds and pine nuts, and a sharp cheese, along with tea and coffee. “So, how did you two meet, if I might ask?” you say to Emíl and Lukas while nibbling some bread. “You said you’ve known one another for a while.” “Oh, it was back in ‘51,” Lukas says. “His company was hired to help defend our outpost on Suvarmur during the Travan War. The North Cape is a miserable place, but the Corellians thought it too important to let fall to Travans or monsters, so we were ordered to help them defend it. Our little garrison spent most of six miserable months shivering and watching for the Travan man-of-war that never came. We’ve maintained a correspondence ever since.” “There was nothing to do but drink, sing, and hunt the local beasts,” Emíl says, “and there were not quite so many beasts after a while.” “Not too much rum either, by the end.” “My apologies for that.” The two men laugh. “And… What about Anya?” “Ah, that,” Emíl says. “I am afraid there is not so much story there. I have worked with the faithful of the Dawnfather in Corellia before. Some years ago I met Soren, and when he noticed I possessed skill beyond the common mercenary, if I might flatter myself, and introduced me to the High- ah, to Anya. I received her Sending some three weeks ago now requesting a meeting, and I believe you know the rest.”
>>6190690You glance over at Anya. Her face betrays nothing, occupied wholly with the oatcake she was currently drowning in honey. How much the world turned on the smallest things. All their efforts for weeks of effort and they had managed to bring onboard just seven people of the requisite ability. But five would never have been enough. By the end of the meal, you’re still trying to decide what to do with the rest of the day, so ask the table what they might have in mind. “I was considering simply wandering,” Emíl says. “Not much else to do, is there?” Soren echoes, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Unusually, I’m inclined to agree,” Anya says. “I wish to begin scrying attempts on the Nightrunners today, at least those few whose names are known to us, but we ought to know this castle as well.” “A tour it is then,” you say. “Well, let’s be off.” The experience of wandering somewhere one does not know the language is, as ever, an awkward one. Most of the inhabitants of Winterfell give you a wide berth. The noble hierarchy is rather strict here, you’ve already gathered, and most of the staff in the castle do their best to avoid obstructing their highborne guests, though the men-at-arms do politely bar from a few locations, including the main gatehouse. Walking the place on foot, you gain a new appreciation for just how large the castle complex is. There are half a dozen major free-standing inner castles including the Great Keep and the Guest Keep. One, a distinctive squat drum tower, languishes in disuse, the statues around its roof are weathered to formless lumps. Nearby across the yard is a tall and slender tower which is missing its top and shows signs of fire in its relatively recent history. But the biggest surprise are the greenhouses. An extensive complex of them, in fact, built right next to Brandon’s Shrine and the godswood. “I thought glasswork of that scale or quality without spellcraft to be beyond them,” you remark. “The winters here are pretty harsh, they say,” Eva says. “I bet these’re a godsend in bad years.” Before too long you find you have admirers. Many are curious children, but others are among the ladies of the castle. Some just watch, others come to greet your group, others pretend they’re not looking. By the time you all pass the training grounds, where a few men and boys are sparring and drilling with spears and swords, you start to draw considerable attention. Soren especially. Though you don’t understand their words, their meanings aren’t hard to guess at. What kind of warriors are these foreign men? What kind of lady wears a sword? (You aren’t carrying your rapier openly at the moment, but Anya is, and Senna carries several daggers at her hip and in her boots.) “I believe they may want us to fight,” Anya says flatly. “Probably not us in particular, sister,” you reply.
>>6190691Soren seems interested. “Well? What say we give them a show?” You almost suggest against it, but hesitate. As you glance around, it occurs to you, neither the lord or lady is present, and while you cannot speak with the people here, you can still introduce yourselves well enough. Perhaps it’s not a terrible idea to do so. >(1) Beg off, you don’t want to scare them. >(2) Put on a moderate show, flashy but nothing too powerful.>(3) Show them a glimpse of what true power looks like. >(Feel free to write in suggestions for 2 or 3.)We're probably going to hit the first time-jump in another few updates here, when we'll be choosing priorities for the coming month(s) and establishing our presence in Winterfell.
>>6190694>>(2) Put on a moderate show, flashy but nothing too powerful.Show them elven striptease
>>6190694>(3) Show them a glimpse of what true power looks like.If you're gonna do something, do it all the way. How about that Tenser's Transformation?
>>6190694>(3) Show them a glimpse of what true power looks like.No armor, minimal clothing
>>6190694Sorry about the delay folks, I had to get a job and apply to go back to college and some other life stuff, then read the grappling rules (gasp), which I proceeded to ignore. >(3) Show them a glimpse of true power. (As much as I disappoint myself to say so, I’m afraid our adventurer friends will remain properly dressed; they are professionals, they do not strip-tease. I will, however, gladly concede a wardrobe malfunction.) >Polymorphing and wild-shape rules have always been a bit off-kilter. 3.5e’s are plain borked, and Pathfinder’s are disappointingly milquetoast. This story uses my table’s house rules for shapeshifting: >You take on the type of the new form through Polymorph, Shapechange, and Wildshape; you gain (Ex) qualities and abilities but not (Su) or spell-like abilities; you can make use of the form’s feats if you still meet the prerequisites for them; and your true body regains hitpoints as if resting for a night, while the assumed form’s hitpoints are imposed on top of yours, so falling to 0 causes you to revert rather than die. >Alter Self allows one to take the form of any humanoid, giant, or monstrous humanoid between Small and Large, but does not grant the new form’s type. You gain any (Ex) abilities, except for Regeneration or Fast Healing. >Polymorph Any Object only works on discrete solid objects, i.e. boulders but not a building or an arbitrary patch of ground, except when explicitly replicating a lower level ‘transmute x to y’ spell, and cannot for example turn the air into nerve gas. If you turn a creature into an object, breaking the object also ends the spell without harm rather than killing the creature, as it does if the object melts or evaporates; this also applies to Flesh to Stone. Attempting to turn anything into a construct only results in a mundane object of the desired shape. >The hitpoints you gain when casting Shapechange are defined by the first form you take, and then don’t automatically increase when you take a form with a higher max but do decrease if you take one with a max HP lower than your current total. >You do not gain the spellcasting abilities of the new form and cannot cast spells unless they have hands and vocal cords. However, if the new form has a natural ability to cast spells, then you may continue to use your own except those with costly material components that aren’t set aside beforehand. >I also realised as I was writing this update that while the people of this world wouldn’t know about hitpoints or attack roles, they probably would at least know about caster levels because of spell properties that come in neat level-dependent integer quantities, like minutes/level durations, and they would know how long a round is, what creature types are, size categories, and so on. “I find I’m not against making a splash,” you venture. “I thought you said they wouldn't want us to fight.”
>>6196404“They won’t, but we must spar, and my mansion is not large enough. Best leave no room for argument. Would anyone else care to go before the two of us? I’m thinking, Emíl and Lukas first, then Eva against Soren?” “Just me against her?” Soren says, gesturing towards Eva. “I can only wrestle so many bears, you know.” “I’m sure you’ll manage a fair few. Unless, of course, your protégé wishes to participate as well?” You almost had not thought to ask her at all, but Senna appears unexpectedly sanguine at the prospect of stabbing something, and wears a faint smile as she runs her thumb over the hilt of a long dagger. “I’ll do it,” she states tersely, eyes narrowed. “And Eva?” “I don’t mind some training.” It occurs to you as Lukas and Emíl ready themselves that you’re still dressed in the blue silk dress you Fabricated last night, which is nothing suited for battle, and Eva still has your Shiftweave, which you’ll probably have to make another set of at some point. But while you’re lacking in formal garments, you do have some proper coats and trousers and boots, durable and capable of stitching themselves back together when torn, although without any other enhancements. A simple Minor Illusion cantrip up against a wall and a bit of vigilance on Eva’s part is enough to provide you and Anya with a moment of privacy. When Emíl and Lukas enter the yard, all eyes are on them. Other training bouts soon come to a halt and excited murmurs fly. The two men face off, then draw their side-swords and take their bows, and with one last moment’s pause, they’re off. The first flurry of blows is slow to your eyes; they’re only playing, testing one another’s abilities. Back and forth they dance across the muddy yard, sun gleaming and flashing off slender blades. The real fight begins in their third bout when Emíl starts to sing. Not the common song of voice is this, but like the bladesong that resounds through the unseen, a power felt in the air and earth and in one’s very spirit, a music that heals and kills and bewitches the mind. It is not strong enough to affect you directly, but the echoes of hope and courage and clarity suggest a song of greatness, a potent form of self-strengthening. Shortly after his song begins, Emíl also vanishes from sight as Greater Invisibility takes effect, much to the crowd’s shock.
>>6196407More to their shock still is Lukas’ lack of reaction. He is able to continue the combat as if nothing had just happened. Guided by a ring of blind-sight, the illusions that are the greater part of Emíl’s strength are of little consequence to him. Emíl’s remaining power lies primarily in enchantments, which are readily defended against; most nobles and adventurous types including all seven of your party possess items to that effect, and some wealthier cities even incorporate Circle of Protection spells directly into their outer wards, shielding their entire citizenry at once. Such a battle as this comes down to pure martial skill. And in such a contest Lukas holds the upper hand. He is by far the better blade. Emíl’s Heroism might hold for hours, but none of his other enhancements can - bardic music, Haste, Greater Invisibility, and Good Hope are all too short-lasting and his total spells too few. Each he uses in turn, but bout by bout, minute by minute, Emíl is worn down, and ultimately concedes to the finer warrior. By the end both men are bloodied and ragged. The crowd seems to be holding its breath as these two mysterious foreigners appear as if trying to kill one another. But when Emíl laughs and smiles at the end then both heals their wounds and repairs their clothing with but a wave of his hand, they can only go wild. It strikes you abruptly as they do that this is a world without even the most basic healing arts. What must it be like, to exist in a place where the smallest cut or scrape can be lethal for even the mightiest among men? Soren, Senna, and Eva are met with a mixture of cheers and laughter, but you ignore them and diligently help your companions to shoo the crowd back from the edges of the yard. It wouldn’t do for anyone to get caught in some spell’s area of effect. The druidess and her two challengers take the field. Senna is the first act, darting left to put distance between herself and her mentor and loosing a pair of throwing knives that catch Eva painfully dead on before vanishing and reappearing in their sheaths. Though she cries out, the druidess does not falter for a second, transforming in the blink of an eye into a golden-feathered Legendary Eagle and racing full-tilt away from the two warriors towards the other end of the yard, where lands and raises a wall of whipping winds to defend herself from missiles.
>>6196410Much to her likely dismay, however, Senna and Soren rise off the ground and give chase at speed. This catches you off-guard - you hadn’t noticed they both wear matching Winged Boots until just now either. Still, it seems Eva’s attempt to buy time works. Soren and Senna close much of the distance, but not all of it, and when four Giant Crocodiles slither up out of the earth they’re still fairly low to the ground. Massive vice-like jaws snap at them while Eva takes to the wing again and soars almost straight up, lofted by her own Wind Wall, and then away across the yard. Senna dodges and weaves away from the snapping, slashing at both of the beasts attempting bite her, but catches a tail strike as she flies away and nearly falls out of the air with the force of the blow, while Soren manages to evade one and his radiant holy sword cuts deep into the upper jaw of the other, eliciting a growl of rage and pain. Distraction mitigated, the warriors gain height, then loose volleys of arrows at their quarry, several of which land before blinking back to their quivers. (In other circumstances, they might have used guns, but the bow and arrow still predominate in higher-tier action for several reasons, not least of which is rate of fire. Nor are guns safe in such a confined space as this.) In the process they make a dangerous mistake, and Eva is able to fly by them and hit both with a Dispel, suppressing the powers of their boots and sending them falling right back to the ground, where sunlight and many feet have long since churned the morning hoarfrost to mud. By the time they’re standing again Eva is back behind her Wind Wall. This leaves the warriors to face the crocodiles. Between three of the four already being injured and some expert sharp-shooting, this doesn’t take long; only one of the four beasts gets anywhere near them, and Soren severely wounds it with another strike of his radiant longsword when it tries to bite, with the rest malting back into the ground like snow in the sun. Now left alone, Eva tries to prevent their approach with another means - Kelpstrand. Four ropes of slippery kelp emerge from the earth to lash around her foes, and this time, they work. Both warriors are fixed in place, and while they struggle and hack at kelp, Eva initiates her next spell. They manage to escape the kelp’s grasp just in time to be engulfed in the swirling wailing white of an Ice Storm while Eva flies away once again.
>>6196412But Eva’s luck runs out then - before the Ice Storm fades, Senna rises above the snowy wall, Winged Boots no longer suppressed. From there the fight largely breaks down along those lines. Another round of summons, this time a flock of giant eagles, doesn’t do any more to inhibit the warriors than the crocodiles did, and while Eva’s eagle form remains much faster than the manoeuvring speed of their Winged Boots, the training yard is too small for her to effectively capitalise on it, and she needs to come into arrow range to make most spell attacks. In short order the weight of arrow-fire slays her eagle form, and victory goes to the warriors…Or it would have, were it not for the appearance of a newcomer at the last possible moment. Just as Eva loses her form and falls, a white streak flashes like a comet out of the pale blue sky to strike Soren, impacting with such force as to drag him all the way to the ground in a tangle of mud and feathers. You can only smile at the sight. You were wondering where that bird had gone. You knew he must have come through with the rest of you, Eva would have been torn apart if he hadn't, but Linus is an independent soul; you've only met the giant owl a handful of times, as he usually comes when battle is given and spends the rest of his time away. Eva rushes from where she falls to greet him, pausing only just long enough to heal her true body’s knife wounds and broken leg. Linus, for his part, standing calmly on top of a prone Soren, seems every bit as happy to see her, hooting and flapping as she throws her arms around him. Part of the way, at least; a fully-grown Giant Owl stands as tall as Soren at the hip, and even with his Ring of Reducing keeping him more reasonably-sized Linus is still well larger than his mistress. Soren and Senna seem to decide that they’re satisfied with a draw at that point, and all the combatants bow and depart the yard, including Linus, who becomes an object of instant fascination among the locals near you. “Well fought,” you say to the returning warriors. “I am surprised at your coordination with how short a time you’ve known one another.” “A man fights as he trains,” Soren replies. “And that’s all we do,” Senna adds, not bothering to hide her exasperation. “Train, train, train. I’m used to it, though.” “It seems to have paid off. Count yourselves lucky - mages can’t practise anywhere near as much as warriors.” While there are still some jeers to you and Anya entering the field, after the aerial mêlée they just witnessed, anticipation predominates. You would be astonished if nearly Winterfell’s entire population isn’t in attendance, so packed are the edges of the field. That includes both of Lord Stark's daughters, you notice. You and your sister face off to spar, as tens of thousands of times before. “A proper fight,” Anya says. “Don’t you go easy on me.” "I wouldn't dare."
>>6196414You start slowly, just as Emíl and Lukas did. Unlike Emíl, however, you are on the full defensive from the first blow; a century ago you could at least keep up with her, but ever since leaving home her skills had come to exceed yours by far. But this is likewise only a prelude to the real fight. When you feel the moment right, you whisper the word to trigger our first spell, and the world goes dark for a moment as Dimension Door carries you from the field. You reappear all the way across the yard on a rooftop, looking down on the grounds. Like Eva you must now trade space for time; summoning is far and away the most spell-efficient means of inflicting damage upon an enemy, but most such conjurations have long casting times, during which one must hold their place while concentrating, no easy feat with a powerful mage-hunting cleric already close enough to attack. While you begin your own first summon, you see that Anya does the same, declining to give chase with the Ring of Flying you once crafted for her. Anya’s Leskylor appears first. The golden-white celestial tiger takes its place amidst a rush of golden light, and it gives a mighty roar as it unfurls its white swan wings. Your own summons follow a moment later, a trio of Arcadian Avengers, the spirits of warrior women from the realm of natural law, resplendent with their skin of gleaming silver. Your next spell is Heroism, a waiting move - from here the question is who can best conserve their spells while staying out of the range of a hostile Dispelling. You’ve both used several high-level spells already, and one can only expend so many on training on a given day. But what Anya chooses to do next blindsides you. Holy fire engulfs you in a Flame Strike. Pain wracks your body as half your clothing is torn away. It’s entirely like her to use a fifth-level spell to goad you. Still, you can’t heal like a cleric and aren’t as tough as one to begin with, so you’ll need to shapeshift before taking another serious blow, and risky as it may be you need to approach Anya again as well to interrupt any further spellcasting. Summoning might be the more efficient means of spell combat, but shapeshifting is a close second, and therein lies your speciality. You touch the Ring of Change on your left hand and focus on a new form. The whole process takes not much more than a second. You bend forwards as your whole body swells, arms becoming legs, neck growing long as your clothes and items merge with the sea-blue scales sprouting from your skin, and you’re in the air and flying hard across the yard the moment your wings are made manifest. Anya has only moments to look alarmed at the sight of a two-ton adult Sea Dragon barrelling down upon her.
>>6196417But it’s at this point that you notice the screams. About half the onlookers are filled with outright terror, may trying to run away, with the rest seeming transfixed, rooted to the spot. It occurs to your now warped draconic mind that these foolish mortals might not see you as the most beautiful, majestic being to grace this or any plane. The panic however soon dies down once Anya’s Dispel suppresses your ring and forces you out of polymorph. A dishevelled elf is rather less intimidating than a massive dragon, to be sure, especially as you try to fend off the Leskylor’s claws, which a Lesser Deflect spell succeeds in doing. You have the presence of mind this time to choose a form modestly less terrifying the second time, choosing instead a Sun Giant, twenty feet tall, red-gold of skin, and immune to the fire that is Anya’s specialty. Anya attempts another Dispel - but this time, to no effect, which gives you an opening to reach down, grab her, and swing her bodily into her own summoned Leskylor with tremendous force. Before you can do any more damage she whispers a Freedom of Movement spell to slip from your grasp. As she rises, your slower-flying Arcadian Avengers finally catch up to you, and two interpose between you and your sister while the third flanks from behind. Unable to ignore them entirely, Anya tries to Dispel again, but you lazily lash out with your now-enlarged sword and break her concentration, costing her the casting to no effect. Two of the Avengers’ blades strike home. The Leskylor makes a valiant display of pulling one of the Avengers off of her and pinning it to the ground, but you grab it by both wings in one hand and smash it against Anya, knocking her off her feet again. Your sister drops her sword in recognition of defeat. “Good fight,” you say, voice the deep growling of a bonfire, as you offer Anya a hand up. “That Flame Strike hurt like hell.” Anya takes your enormous hand, but stops short of speaking, instead freezing in place and staring at something behind you. It’s Lord Stark. Returned from administering justice, along with his sons and men-at-arms, staring at you and Anya with an abject expression you’re not sure you have a precise word for, although fear and horror would both be in the definition. You, although with your normal face and shape, are now a golden giant the height of a two-story building, dressed in clothes which you realise are just now finally knitting themselves back together such that they cover your chest. >Greet him casually - just another day sparring with your sister. >Return to your own body with all haste and try to smooth things over as best you can without a shared language.
>>6196419>>Greet him casually - just another day sparring with your sister.
>>6196419Some new and updated character sheets: Alyssa NicNivara (Alìssè nich Nìvharrè) High Elf Wizard 13 (Transmutation; enchantment and necromancy opposed) XP: 81,200/91,000Female, aged 193; 6’4’’, long midnight blue-black hair usually worn in braids, brown eyes, light tan skin Neutral GoodStr 10(±0), Dex 15(+2), Con 16(+3), Int 26(22)(+7), Wis 14(+2), Cha 16(+3) Hitpoints: 87Saving Throws: Will +13(+8+2+3), Fort +10(+4+3+3), Reflex +9(+4+2+3)Spells per day: (5) 7, 7, 7, 7, 5, 4, 3 Feats: Scribe Scroll, Craft Wands and Staves, Craft Magic Weapons and Armour, Craft Wondrous Item, Improved Initiative, Combat Casting, Twin Spell, Quicken Spell, Invisible Spell, Persistent Spell Special Abilities: Minor Alchemy (Su), Transmuter’s Stone (Su)Equipment: Pistol +1Dagger +1Rapier +1Choker of Nondetection (2/day) and Intellect +4Ring of Protection and Endure Elements +2Ring of Change (as a Phylactery of Change, unlimited duration Polymorph with back-and-forth transformations at-will, 1 new form per day)Periapt of Resistance +3 and Protection from EvilMedium Rod of Extending (Bracelet)Medium Rod of Sculpting (Bracelet)Pearl of Power (3rd; mounted on a ring)Bag of Holding (Belt)Pluripotent Shiftweave Garments (robes that can shapeshift into other clothes 3/day) (on loan)Boots of Mount (at-will, 1 active mount at a time)Lexicon (used to record non-magical books and documents)Orrery (shows the position of the planets and stars) Anya NicNivara (Áine nich Nìvharrè)High Elf Cleric (Magic and Sun) 13Female, aged 193; 6’4’’, midnight blue-black hair and eyes, light tan skinLawful Good Str 10(±0), Dex 18(16)(+4), Con 16(+3), Int 12(+1), Wis 23(19)(+6), Cha 18(+4) Hitpoints: 102Saving Throws: Will +16(+8+6+2), Fort +13(+8+3+2), Reflex +10(+4+4+2) Spells per day: (6) 8, 8, 6, 6, 5, 4, 2 Turn Attempts: 7(3+4) Magic Domain Abilities: Hand of the Acolyte (Su) 9(3+6)/day, Dispelling Touch (Sp) 2/dayMagic Domain Spells: 1st - Identify, 2nd - Magic Mouth, 3rd - Dispel Magic, 4th - Imbue with Spell-Like Ability, 5th - Spell Resistance, 6th - Antimagic Field, 7th - Spell Turning, 8th - Protection from Spells, 9th - Mage’s Disjunction Sun Domain Abilities: Sun’s Blessing (Su), Nimbus of Light (Su) Sun Domain Spells: 1st - Endure Elements, 2nd - Heat Metal, 3rd - Searing Light, 4th - Fire Shield, 5th - Flame Strike, 6th - Fire Seeds, 7th - Sunbeam, 8th - Sunburst, 9th - Prismatic SphereFeats: Scribe Scroll, Extend Spell, Divine Metamagic (Extend), Persistent Spell, Divine Metamagic (Persist) Equipment: +2 Elven SabreMusket +1Pistol +1Mithril Plate +6Periapt of Wisdom +4Ring of FlyingRing of Protection from Evil and Resistance +2Deep Red Sphere Ioun Stone (Choker) (+2 Dex)Boots of MountBag of HoldingImmovable RodShiftweave RobesLexicon
>>6196473Eva ElsähttiWood Elf Druid 13 Female, aged 76; 5’0’’, always-mussed red hair, light skin, green eyesChaotic Good Str 9(-1), Dex 15(+2), Con 16(+3), Int 10(±0), Wis 22(20)(+6), Cha 12(+1) Hitpoints: 92Saving Throws: Will +16(+8+6+2), Fort +13(+8+3+2), Reflex +8(+4+2+2)Spell-like abilities: Dancing Lights, Ghost Sound, Prestidigitation; 1/day—Speak with Animals Spells per day: (6) 7, 7, 5, 5, 4, 3, 1 Feats: Brew Potion, Natural Spell, Combat Casting, Superior Summoning, Fast Wild Shape, Swift Action Wild Shape Equipment: Girdle of Wisdom +2Monk’s BraceletRing of Protection +2Periapt of Protection from EvilShortbow +1Ring of Resistance +2Mending Blinkback QuiverHandy HaversackPluripotent Shiftweave
>>6196474Soren Avenatus TarantusGoliath Paladin (Oath of Glory) 13 Male, aged 38; Brown hair, skin, and eyes; 7’2’’Lawful NeutralStr 24(20)(+7), Dex 14(+2), Con 19(+4), Int 9(-1), Cha 15(+2), Wis 11(±0)Hitpoints: 137Saving Throws: Will +12(+8+0+2+2), Fort +16(+8+4+2+2), Reflex +10(+4+2+2+2) Spells per day: 4, 3, 1Feats: Power Attack, Cleave, Great Cleave, Vital Strike, Lunge Lay of Hands: 6/dayMercies: Fatigued, Enfeebled, Cursed, Ensorcelled Equipment: Musket +1, Longbow +1, Pistol, Shocking Longsword +2 (1d8), Belt of Giant Strength +4, Breastplate (+5) of Resistance +2, Helmet +1 (+2), Periapt of Protection from Evil, Reins of Mount, Mending Blinkback Quiver, Winged Boots (5 mins, 3/day), Handy Haversack
>>6196477Emíl Ahtám ër-Arténe il-IsánAir Genasi Bard 13 Male, aged 41, brown hair and eyes, fair skin, 5’9’’ True NeutralStr 10(±0), Dex 16(+3), Con 14(+2), Int 10(±0), Wis 12(+1), Cha 20(+5)Hitpoints: 96Saving Throws: Will +11(+8+1+2), Fort +9(+4+3+2), Reflex +13(+8+3+2)Spells per day: 7, 6, 5, 4, 2Spells known: (6) Mage Hand, Mending, Minor Illusion, Prestidigitation, Resistance, Summon Instrument1st 6: Alarm, Charm Person, Disguise Self, Expeditious Retreat, Feather Fall, Silent Image 2nd 5: Blur, Cure Moderate Wounds, Glitterdust, Heroism, Shatter 3rd 5: Dispel Magic, Good Hope, Haste, Major Image, Suggestion 4th 4: Break Enchantment, Cure Serious Wounds, Greater Invisibility, Hold Monster5th 2: Shadow Evocation, Seeming Bardic Music: 34 Rounds (4+5+26) Feats: Brew Potion, Two-Weapon Fighting, Point-Blank Shot, Deadly Aim, Arcane Strike, Precise Shot, Combat StaminaEquipment: Studded Leather Armour +1 (+3)Paralysing Musket +2Deflecting Sword +2Shortbow +1Mending Blinkback BeltRing of Protection +2Ring of Protection from EvilBracers of Natural Armour +2Periapt of Resistance +2Handy HaversackReins of Mount (1/day)
>>6196419>Greet him casually - just another day sparring with your sister.
>>6196417>It’s entirely like herTypo, should be 'entirely unlike her'
>Greet him casually(I've been gone for a week, but I'm back now.)
>>6196419I'm realising I've kind of lost the original thread of this quest a bit, and that several decisions have amounted to "freak out" and "don't freak out." I don't like that, and don't imagine you much care for it either, so I'll try to make future choices more meaningful. >>6190733>>6199040I know you requested Tenser's Transformation, but epic as it is I didn't have it in Alyssa's prepared list, so we'll save it for after the time-skip
>>6199307Requires a potion of bull's strength as a material component anyway.
>>6199747Although, interesting note, the aforementioned Polymorph house rules mean that so long as one sets the potion aside first, Tenser's can be cast in-morph, and its benefits stack with Draconic Polymorph's untyped bonuses
