Easthaven
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Rolls
medical - (1D20+4)
(11) + 4 = 15
Rolls
persuasion to stay - (1D20+4)
(17) + 4 = 21
Dear Uncle, she begins writing,
Its been quite a week, that's for sure. There was trouble with the routes after all. Orc bandits, as suspected. We tracked them down and recovered the goods Easthaven needed, but we left one alive. I just know it's going to come back to haunt us later, and I'm sure you agree, but one of my party members insisted we let him live. I tried to convince him otherwise, but to no avail. "Should we kill him just because he has an orc mother?" He asked. What was I supposed to say to that? We'll pay that toll when we come to it, I suppose. No sense worrying about it now. I just pray the town here won't have to pay as well.
Speaking of the town. It's nice enough, but I am itching to leave, and probably never return. An elf here has fallen in love with me. An ELF. With ME. What an absurd issue to be having. I was flattered at first, he is very handsome, but he's too forward and far too attached. He told me that he had thought there was no beauty left to see in the world until he met me. Elves. I might have been more flattered but for the desperation in his eyes. I cannot be his lifeline. I do not even know him.
Writing things like this to you are easier than saying anything out loud to him, however, even if I know you are laughing at me as you read this. I'm so pleased to have inherited my parents' social skills. I know one way to send him running, but you know I don't like to do that. Maybe I'll leave him a letter when I leave, and that will be that.
Al sets the letter on the side table to dry, and puts away the rest of her things. She hoped the writing would clear her mind, but it was only winding her up more. She sighs and crawls into bed. Better to shut her brain off entirely for the night, and deal with it in the morning.
Rolls
Intelligence save - (1d20-1)
(9) - 1 = 8
Survival - (1d20+4)
(10) + 4 = 14
Ug relieves himself on flames. Acrobatics roll - (1d20+1)
(16) + 1 = 17
Or athletics - (1d20+7)
(1) + 7 = 8
He stumbles and falls, slipping on ice once again. By the gods! If I ever meet the one of ice I'll put an arrow through him!!! He stands, disoriented, cold, weary. Suddenly, he feels something, a vaguely familiar burning sensation in his back.
He gasps as spectral, angelic wings sprout from his back and white light streams from his eyes. He knew what he needed to do. The massive wings stretch and beat down, sending him skyward. He flips in the air and with another huge flap they send him shooting forward, gliding through the air above the ice and snow towards whoever was out there, dying out there, cold and alone.
Rolls
Athletics - (1d20-1)
(4) - 1 = 3
"all shall remember the mighty Moop's name!
All hail! All hail! The lord of the flame!"
"you have offended me puny pooomab, you must fix mistake. You must toast to the adventures and help them in next adventure. Then give Al a hug! Yes, she will like that! Then no longer insult mothers!"
"Ooh ooh! And build me a shrine!"
As he exits the window ug picks up the tune
"Not even fire can conquer me!
"All hail! All hail! The master of pe-!"
Ug smacks his head and falls into the snow outside the window.
"C...c...can you hear me?!" he calls, turning the figure onto its back.
Still, as the light courses through her she stirs slightly, and Zenithral can see her breath in the frigid air. Her eyes flicker briefly and her blood-flecked lips whisper, "Hr... Hroth... gar." Her head falls back and she passes out again.
Rolls
Medicine - (1d20+2)
(11) + 2 = 13
Disadvantage (From exhaustion) - (1d20+2)
(10) + 2 = 12