I thought we were talking as we walked and searched for survivors. That is how I have it pictured in my head anyway.
Hearing Zarja declare he has found them food, Cassilda turns to see the man has slung what looks like a wet clay deer over his shoulder. She nods her head in approval. The man is right, they will need to eat and they might as well take advantage of what they can while they can. Everything dead is going to spoil soon enough and the landscape will reek with the smell. She is a practical person and understands such things. She also grew up a baker’s daughter and knows the mud may actually help insulate the meat while the travel. If it begins to get too warm, it might have the opposite effect, and if that happens she will use her magic to clean the animal off.
“Thank you!” Cassilda’s fingers wrap gratefully around the staff. She can use her magic just fine without it, but the wood of a staff has always helped her to focus her powers a bit better. Just having a staff, any staff, back in her hands eases the tension between her shoulder blades just a bit. She nods when Iton speaks of looking out for someone he recently fought. Cassilda hates to say it but if the man has a broken leg, likely he didn’t survive the onslaught of the mud and water. Zarja, not realizing that Iton was joking, is offended by her friends words concerning the “lowland enemy captain with a broken leg.” She considers it a moment, understanding that Iton could be referring to a friend of Zarja’s or Arliekkos.
Cassilda would be shocked if she knew the direction of Espi’s thoughts. She does not view herself as attractive or someone who would attract others. Those who serve with her know she isn’t interested in any type of romantic relationship. Iton understands what has led her to make such a decision, but most believe that mages must remain “pure” if they are to handle the bigger magics. She has allowed such a belief to flourish, never denying or substantiating the rumors in the hopes they would go away. This seems to have actually backfired, for the more she remains silent about the subject, the more it seemed to confirm the rumors. Cassilda looks around the battlefield and sighs. Such things now seem as if they happened to someone else, another lifetime ago. She knows this feeling, recognizes it because she has dealt with it before. It is the body reacting in shock to an event it simply cannot take in and absorb completely without something breaking inside. She can feel numbness, like an oily layer covering her skin and keeping her mind from going insane over the enormity of what has happened here.
Cassilda knows the reason the others are paying attention to her is because of her rank. She is a Sergeant and she needs to keep a clear head about her, set a good example and all that. It isn’t something she consciously thinks about. It is simply the way she behaves. Her looks have nothing to do with it. She is certain of that.
She decides it is time to break in and distract Iton and Zarja from their little discussion, before it begins to get ugly and tempers flare. It is only natural to want to lash out at someone or something, to not feel quite so helpless in the face of what has just happened. She sees it as her duty to make sure tempers remain under control. “Is there a large lake or some inlet nearby? My memory is a bit hazy and I cannot seem to recall such a detail. If so, perhaps this is the result of some sort of natural disaster.” Which means this destruction could spread a lot, lot further than they realize. It may be that they are going to end up being the rescue party for those civilians who might have survived.
Surely some survived somewhere!
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
Cassilda, pulled from her thoughts, looks down to see Iton giving her an encouraging look. She cannot help but sigh. Quietly she says, “The psyche of the universe cries out in response to what has happened here. It is almost too much for one person to comprehend. I’m not certain I want too, except that I cannot just stand around and be useless. Remember that lake a few hours away? I cannot help but wonder if some disaster happened that displaced the water and caused all this.” Her hand spasms, tightening on her new staff in response to her thoughts. “Once we search for survivors, we are going to have to head to the epicenter and discover what has happened."
Thank the gods the Lady was not with the main army.” If they had lost her… She looks back out on the landscape, eyes searching for survivors that do not seem to exist.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
The sun begins to approach the horizon, casting an orange glow over the ruined land as the group starts to descend the hill. The going is tough, the wet mud sucking at boots and hooves, and it is a small wonder in these dark times that Virtus maintains his footing, keeping the lady on his back safe from harm.
Slowly the landscape starts to change. There is still mud everywhere, but higher up the hill many branches and small trees had clotted the landscape, whereas the further they come down the more big logs and rocks begin to appear. Many have left deep gouges in the earth, and big clumps of rubble and broken branches have gathered around them as the water continued it's forced march towards the sea.
The mighty form of the Cathedral in the distance barely seems to grow as the group approaches the building, making it an easy guess that, at this pace, the six will have at least two more days of wearying travel before they stand outside the massive structure.
The sun sinks lower, the first tendrils of its mighty form eager for their first touch of the black landscape in the distance, signalling the time for the group to make a decision to push on through the night, or try and make camp in the wet wilderness they must now call 'home'.
Her blue-violet eyes continually move across the broken landscape and occasionally flicking up toward the sky or behind her to gauge their progress across the muddy world. “If any of you find a weapon you can use, even if it is broken, make sure to grab it. I believe I can magically repair the weapon so that it was as if it had never broken.” She makes the offer to both those who follow the Lady Serruine and those who follow St. Murray. There are a few other things she can do but she isn’t about to reveal the extent of her powers to a group of strangers.
Cassilda watches as the sun journeys across the sky as they struggle to make any headway across this mud-covered land. Her soul remains wounded by all that has happened, but a sort of numbness has taken over, allowing her to function somewhat normally instead of being completely overwhelmed by what has happened. She still searches for survivors, but after hours of struggling across the broken land without finding a single living thing besides the crows, she does it more by rote than because of any true hope of finding someone.
She reviews the magic she has left. She thanks the gods she was held in reserve for the battle, saved for when one of the units needed extra strength. This means she still has most of her spells memorized, though she may not have the strength to cast some of the stronger magics. She can think of a few they are going to need fairly soon, including light and perhaps fire. That is if they can find any dry wood to burn. As they travel, anytime she sees a stick or piece of wood that looks like it would work for a fire, and isn’t so big she cannot carry it, she asks whoever is closest to the stick to grab it and hand it up to her. By the time they stop for the night, she should have enough to keep a fire burning for at least a few hours. She also cleans each piece off as she gets it, trying to make sure to squeeze the majority of moisture from it so that it will burn. (If someone has any rope they might be willing to loan her, she can tie the kindling into a nice big bundle.) It is a delicate balance, for squeeze out too much water and the kindling will be so dry it will burn fast; too wet and it won’t burn, it will just smoke. If the others are feeling anything like she is, they will find comfort in a warm, blazing fire. There is something in mankind’s spirit that feels safer and comforted when sitting around a nice fire. Hopefully, it will help keep the nightmares at bay.
“Might I suggest we find a place to camp for the night? Even if we were all at our best strength, once it gets dark there are too many places where a misstep could mean a broken leg, or worse, a broken neck. I think I see a place that might serve us well for the night.”
Looking for the best place we can find to camp. Great time for such nice rolls! I don’t expect to find a Holiday Inn, but I am thinking we won’t be sleeping at the bottom of a sink hole either.
Lin: Is the dagger hidden in Cassilda’s left boot still there? Also, I was looking through her equipment list to see what is missing among her gear (a lot!) and realized I had never removed the leather armor from the list. I have done that now, since she took a feat and is wearing cloth, which weighs much less than leather and is easier to clean. I have corrected the mistake.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
Izzy hands another stick up to Cassilda for the growing heap on her lap. She's grateful that the mage thought of firewood. Her mind hasn't exactly been on the future. It is almost too much to keep putting one foot in front of the other and working on keeping the faces of the dead out of her mind. The absence of any life around them has unnerved her. No bird song but crows and ravens, no rustling leaves, no movement around them and the constant sucking of the mud has worn down her last nerve. Izzy would like nothing better than to kill whoever is responsible for the destruction around her.
She stops for a moment and closes her eyes. Faces start to float up before her mind's eye, but she forces them back down. Breathing in deep, she shoves the rage down. Hers can't be the only temper that's been shortened, and right now she understands that they must all work together if they hope to survive as well. She lets out the air in a deep, long sigh, then starts trudging through the mud again.
Iton keeps pace easily with the rest, even as he frequently steps off to grab a branch. With the logs everywhere, branches were in no short supply. More than once he finds a body hidden under or behind a log, not quite entombed in the mud. Even on the ones who are fairly intact, the mud makes their faces hard to recignize, and Iton doesn't find anyone he knows among the slain.
Seriously, though, you should check out the PbP Haven. You might also like Real Adventures, IF you're cool.
Knights of W.T.F.- Silver Spur Winner
4enclave, a place where 4e fans can talk 4e in peace.
Cassilda realizes that the others have been quiet for hours. Concerned, she looks at them – really looks at them. They are exhausted, dirty, probably thirsty, and definitely in shock. It is only normal, considering what they have gone through today. She also knows that each person is going to have to process and work through the horrors of today and continuing to walk past sunset into darkness, like they were automatons, is not helpful.
“Over here,” she leads them to a fairly level spot, surrounded by trees. “We just need to clean out a space and this will be as good a place as any to camp for the night. If a couple of you strong men would dig out a bit of a pit, we can get a fire going.” It is going to be a long, cold night and a fire should make all the difference in the world, especially since none of them bothered to bring bedrolls or tents to the battle and now they are going to sleep without such comforts.
She carefully swings down off the horse, patting the steed’s shoulder and rubbing his neck and behind his ears in thanks. She murmurs thanks, using a soothing voice that all horses seem to respond too. “Sorry I don’t have any treats for you,” she can be heard to tell the horse as she gives him a final pat and turns to survey their campsite.
It isn’t the best campsite in the world, but considering what is out there, it could be much, much worse. At least there are no dead bodies lying close by. There is plenty of debris from trees and plant matter and she can help with that. She moves to carefully gather up some of the debris and her stomach rebels as she leans over, the pain in her broken arm reminding her who is in charge here. It certainly isn't her.
With a grimace, she takes a deep breath, focuses, and calls upon the powers the gods have given her. She leans her new staff in the crook of her right arm and points at a log with her left. “Arenial dre kraftann.” The log lifts up into the air and floats toward the outside ring of trees. It sets down between two of the trees, forming a sort of barrier between their campsite and the rest of the world. Cassilda turns her attention to another large piece of debris and pointing at it, sends it after the first log. It is slow going but she is able to help clear out enough room for them to sleep and sit around the fire pit being built without feeling too crowded.
She does leave a couple of the larger sized logs. They will make excellent seats for people to rest on or lean against. She finds she needs to sit soon after she gets started, for the magic takes a lot out of her.
Once done, she frowns and reluctantly tears off a strip of cloth from the bottom of her dark green robe. She uses it to rebind her arm. She accepts any help given to help bind the arm in place against her side. Heal: 11(1d20) +5 = 16
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
The children's rhyme, an untempered plea to the nameless god of death, comes to a silent stop at Cini Paras's lips. The daughter of a witch, and Tarahumari at that, Espi had enjoyed few friends; most of her freetime was spent beside her mother, or around the outskirts of their hut, singing and dancing with herself. This uneducated, patently stupid sing-song prayer was among little Espi's repertoire.
Oh, how Ma must have worried for me, Espi thinks with some amusement. The fond smile turns bitter at the corners, though, as she watches the dark skies bleed over the horizon, exchanging etheral pigments with the death-drowned landscape. No surprise that it occurs to me now.
One of Espi's few departures from the tutelage of her commander, Wage, was a general detachment from the gods and spirits. She paid them respect, of course, like any good soldier, but she never asked for, nor assumed, any favors. Still, though, she cannot help but finish the rhyme...
Scarecrow, Stranger, Deadman-at-the-Door! Three-Faced Mother, thanks forever more! I know, you know, when I'm gonna' die! Tell me, tell me, an' don't be shy!
Brushing such nonsense from her head, Espi admires the makeshift camp that Cassilda assembled through: levitation, optimism, help from a visibly enraged Izzy and a curiously loyal Iton. But the wizard is showing signs of fatigue.
Espi kneels down beside the fellow Sargeant as she tears a plane of fabric from her robes. "So," Espi asks, with a gentle smirk, as she runs cloth strips around Cassilda's arm and abdomen, "Why didn't you ever make captain?"
After the bandaging is finished, Espi sighs and lazily scratches her cheek with one, dirt-encrusted finger. Her visible eyelid flutters, up and down across dilated pupils. "By the way, you're going to want to suggest guard shifts. Give me the first. I'm sure you know this already, but even with the devastation around us... better safe than sorry." She shrugs apologetically. "You're in charge now, ma'am."
She stands and, with a crooked smile and a wink, saunters over the pile of kindling. She starts assembling it into a rough, misshapen pyramid before chuckling with embarrassment. "I'm not much good with my hands, I'm afraid," she admits loudly, her accent dragging out each reluctant vowel. "Any of you want to start this fire? Izzy? Order of the Lord's Eye? Other Ulrynthian?"
If, on a desert night, a traveler, outside the town of Balic, leaning from the steep slope, without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow (in a network of lines that interlace) on the carpet of sand illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story down there awaits its end?
Zarja heaves the deer carcass of his shoulders and retrieves the knife Espi lent him. Studying the animal, he begins to prepare it for consumption. Starting at the base, he begins to cut away. Examining the deer once again, he can't help but notice how scrawny it is, but he shakes off the disappointment.
I'm lucky to have found it in the first place. Now's not the time to turn my nose up at fortune.
He sets to it with routine precision. As he does, his thoughts drift to memories of the past - far more pleasant than the current chaos. He sees himself once again, alongside his father, who was showing him how to skin and prepare a deer. That one had been plump, offering much meat, and Zarja, then a young boy, looked on as his father moved the knife here and there, talking as he did. Most of the matters had gone over his head, said more for the benefit of the men-at-arms who accompanied them. His father had, however, sung a few songs, and there was one Zarja had never heard before; as the words had reached his ears, he had found it was fascinating.
In the mists of Renaum lived the old man in white, whose eyes glowed with the warmth of the sun. Each day he set forth to the aid of the sick, and always gave thanks to the One. Then one day, he spied from across the way a young boy with a blackened hand. And as he approached he saw in the lad's eyes A promise of strife for all the land.
The song drifts through Zarja's thoughts, until they are interrupted by a question from Espi. Looking up, he motions with the knife towards the carcass.
"I don't like X, they should remove it." "I like X, they should keep it." "They should replace X with Y." "Anybody that likes X is dumb. Y is better." "Why don't they include both X and Y." "Yeah, everybody can be happy then!" "But I don't like X, they should remove it." "X really needs to be replaced with Y." "But they can include both X and Y." "But I don't like X, they need to remove it." "Remove X, I don't like it."
Until you've had an in-law tell you your choice of game was stupid, and just Warcraft on paper, and dumbed down for dumber players who can't handle a real RPG, you haven't lived.
Lady and gentlemen.... I present to you the Edition War without Contrition, the War of the Web, the Mighty Match-up!
We're using standard edition war rules. No posts of substance. Do not read the other person's posts with comprehension. Make frequent comparison to video games, MMOs, and CCGs. Use the words "fallacy" and "straw man", incorrectly and often. Passive aggressiveness gets you extra points and asking misleading and inflammatory questions is mandatory. If you're getting tired, just declare victory and leave the thread. Wait for the buzzer... and....
One, two, three, four, I declare Edition War Five, six, seven eight, I use the web to
D&D should not return to the days of blindfolding the DM and players. No tips on encounter power? No mention of expected party roles? No true meaning of level due to different level charts or tiered classes? Please, let's not sacrifice clear, helpful rules guidelines in favour of catering to the delicate sensibilities of the few who have problems with the ascetics of anything other than what they are familiar with.
Just a quick note on the MMORPG as an insult comparison...
MMORPGs, raking in money by the dumptruck full. Many options, tons of fans across many audiences, massive resources allocated to development.
TTRPGs, dying product. Squeaking out an existence that relys on low cost. Fans fit primarily into a few small demographics. R&D budgets small, often rushed to market and patched after deployment.
You're not really making much of an argument when you compare something to a MMORPG and assume people think that means bad. Lets face it, they make the money, have the audience and the budget. We here on this board are fans of TTRPGs but lets not try to pretend none of us play MMORPGs.
Something like Tactical Shift is more magical than martial healing.
Telling someone to move over a few feet is magical now? :|
I weep for this generation.
Given the laziness and morbid obsesity amongst D&Ders, being able to convince someone to get on their feet, do some heavy exercise, and use their words to make them be healthier must seem magical.
I don’t expect to find a Holiday Inn, but I am thinking we won’t be sleeping at the bottom of a sink hole either. 
