Jul 11, 2025 10:47 pm
Petra fumbles at her post, eyes riveted on her fleeing friends too long.
Last edited July 11, 2025 10:47 pm
Rolls
Sailor - (d20+9)
(5) + 9 = 14
Act I, Chapter Two: The Black Current
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Jul 12, 2025 8:41 pm
THE ISHENSA RIVER | SOUTH OF GASTERFANG | SUNNY MIDDAY
Foam hisses where corrupted ice meets running water. Upriver, your boot-prints cut a fresh path into mud already glowing with the day’s hard light, footprints the elemental cannot follow.
The moment you clear the reeds the fight feels strangely fragile, as if violence belonged to some other hour. Behind you the Corrupted Ice Elemental writhes at the bank, shards steaming in full sun. A ragged, liquid voice spits Aquan curses your way, guttural consonants, rushing undertow sounds, but sunlight scours the words into vapor before they can carry far. The creature sloughs back into the channel, its pace faltering as bright rays dance along it's crystaline hide. In seconds, only cold vapor can be seen drifting toward deeper shade.
Up-river the Netherthistle drifts toward a reed-choked bend. Thaelin held her in the shallows, poling against the current while keeping clear of the elemental’s reach. At his sharp whistle Wexley angles the tiller, and the barge noses toward the muddy bank.
You lope the last stretch, heat leaching the sting from wind chilled limbs, and re-embark. Wexley claps each of you once, wordless, grateful and impatient always, before thrusting off with the pole. The Netherthistle slides back into the channel, leaving only sun-struck ripples where you boarded the barge once more, perhaps for the final time.
The riverbank falls silent save for distant gull-cries. Victory tastes sweet, almost clean, yet an after-taste lingers: the knowledge that nature itself, twisted by Shadow, will hunt again once dusk erases this sheltering light.
With the corrupted elemental left to sulk beneath the reeds, the barge settles into her steady pace north along the Ishensa. A ruined watch-tower still waits upriver; you may reach it by nightfall. That test belongs to the next act. For now, the current is with you, the sun at your backs, and momentum—precious and hard-won—carries you deeper into uncertain country.
Act I - End
Foam hisses where corrupted ice meets running water. Upriver, your boot-prints cut a fresh path into mud already glowing with the day’s hard light, footprints the elemental cannot follow.
The moment you clear the reeds the fight feels strangely fragile, as if violence belonged to some other hour. Behind you the Corrupted Ice Elemental writhes at the bank, shards steaming in full sun. A ragged, liquid voice spits Aquan curses your way, guttural consonants, rushing undertow sounds, but sunlight scours the words into vapor before they can carry far. The creature sloughs back into the channel, its pace faltering as bright rays dance along it's crystaline hide. In seconds, only cold vapor can be seen drifting toward deeper shade.
Up-river the Netherthistle drifts toward a reed-choked bend. Thaelin held her in the shallows, poling against the current while keeping clear of the elemental’s reach. At his sharp whistle Wexley angles the tiller, and the barge noses toward the muddy bank.
You lope the last stretch, heat leaching the sting from wind chilled limbs, and re-embark. Wexley claps each of you once, wordless, grateful and impatient always, before thrusting off with the pole. The Netherthistle slides back into the channel, leaving only sun-struck ripples where you boarded the barge once more, perhaps for the final time.
The riverbank falls silent save for distant gull-cries. Victory tastes sweet, almost clean, yet an after-taste lingers: the knowledge that nature itself, twisted by Shadow, will hunt again once dusk erases this sheltering light.
With the corrupted elemental left to sulk beneath the reeds, the barge settles into her steady pace north along the Ishensa. A ruined watch-tower still waits upriver; you may reach it by nightfall. That test belongs to the next act. For now, the current is with you, the sun at your backs, and momentum—precious and hard-won—carries you deeper into uncertain country.
Act I - End