Immersive Ink

The Glades
(Armando)

Armando eventually locates the Loremaster, a surprisingly young elf of reticent demeanor, whom he locates in a nearby glade collecting samples of certain moth cocoons from under tree bark.

His attention is clearly divided, with the greater part being invested in the insect world, however... with many pauses and interruptions the Loremaster explains to Armando that:

"The so called black blood is one of many ill-humours that afflicts your kind. I consider it to be an especially diabolical agent, for there is no cure--that I know of--and the afflicted is consumed with terrible desire to let blood, and ulimately spread the condition. The afflicated are more commonly known to you as Vampires; so long as they have blood-feed they are effectively immortal (though they will soon part ways with any sanity or humanity) and can become quite powerful foes. I should steer clear of it, if I were you."

The Barracks
(Josiane and Ulric)

doctorx wrote:Josiane lays her hands on the crystal and concentrates on the Sisters' Cloister...

Having only been inside part of the cloister--and that somewhat briefly--Josiane can get navigate only a bleary view of most of the interior. However, from the passages and rooms that she can see quite well, and the exterior gate it is apparent that the cloister has shut its gates completely, and is effectively sealed off from the town. There is a detail of six hobgoblin soldiers encamped before the gate, though these seem preoccupied with a game of dice. Inside, the passages seem subdued and bare, but at least they seem free of goblins!

Josiance catches glimpses of Sisters moving above the cloister on their errands; most of them looking rather concerned, it must be said. Of the Mother Superior, there is no sign, however.

The West Gantries
(Gustave)

2d6

"This is a military post," Lólwen replies, apparently unmoved by Gustave's offer, "Thou we enjoy our leisure, our duties we take most seriously, and I am here on watch until noon," her clear hazel eyes are scanning the woods below and farther west even as she speaks...

The Archery Range

The Quartermaster looks over Berigar's axe a moment before handing it back, "'tis an honest ax, surely, but it won't raise the stakes already at play, so I can't accept it. In any event--I reckon you fortunate, for 'twould seem a shame to part and honest man from his honest ax, yes? Gwínir here is considered a fair shot among Elves, and is like as not to win!"


"You are most gracious," says Gwínir to Torben, and gives him a short, but graceful bow from the waist. And then, having checked each of his two-dozen shafts, and re-strung his bow, he takes his mark steadily and adopts the pose of a well practiced archer.

He bends the bow several times to full weight and sights tree boughs, flowers, and passing sparrows and insects in quick succession before ever touching an arrow. But then--having got his eye in-- he begins to fire most fluidly, loosing all 24 arrows, one after the other, without pause. His firing is swift, rhythmic, and accurate.

| Ref rolls 24d20; 15+ will hit a wand for 4 points, 10+ will hit nearby for 1 point. Dice avalanche! |

Gwínir lands four thumping wand hits from his first six!
Most of the onlookers "Ooh!" and "Aah!" at Gwínir's masterful opening volley--Torben grimaces.

When he marks another four wand hits with his second six the crowd are openly cheering in amazement and hailing his name--it sounds like he threatens to break some kind of record! Torben can scarcely believe it.

But Gwínir is only mortal after all. His third half dozen shafts--thankfully for Torben!--score only one wand and four nearby hits, but by this stage the crowd are almost yelling and swooning as each missile lands. And alas, by all their racket Gwínir's concentration is thrown, and his final six shafts score just one wand and one nearby hit.

Those gathered clap their hands and exalt Gwínir's effort. It was an impressive display, most certainly.

"Ten wands and five makes 45 points," declares the Quartermaster, "Twelve short of the record."

The cheering elves refill their sloshing wine cups, and some are already trying new songs and poems by which to record this auspicious event. Gwínir himself seem a trifle disappointed that he didn't do better with his second dozen--but it is what it is. He graciously surrenders the mark to Torben...

Torben

Torben nods. 'Well done,' he says coldly.

I can do this.

As the crowds cheers die down, he wipes his sweaty hands on his pants and assumes his position. He draws his bow once or twice, acclimating to the feel of it – he’s been out of practice since arriving in Ket – but feels satisfied in the end.

He breathes steadily and deeply. In. Out. In. Out. Unlike Gwínir, Torben doesn’t dance round sighting the trees and insects. An instinctive shooter, he blocks out the crowd and the forest and sets his eyes on the wand. His style is steady, paced, and calm.

Mithril.

Olaf is just as amazed at the exhibition of bowmanship put on by Gwínir as his fellow elves and can only shake his head and exclaim, "I'll be a bald headed woodpecker!"

To Torben Olaf says, "Show 'em what you've got, my friend!"

Josaine: "The Cloister is guarded, but unharmed. The Mother Superior seems to be missing. She is being held hostage perhaps? Let us see what else we can learn..."

She concentrates on the parties' previous headquarters - the Manse...

waysoftheearth wrote:The West Gantries
(Gustave)

"This is a military post," Lólwen replies, apparently unmoved by Gustave's offer, "Thou we enjoy our leisure, our duties we take most seriously, and I am here on watch until noon," her clear hazel eyes are scanning the woods below and farther west even as she speaks...

Gustave nods slowly in acknowledgement of a point well made, "As a man-at-arms myself, I completely understand - and I admire your dedication, my Lady."

"But I find myself with a hiatus in my duties this morning, so I hope I do not impose if I imbibe a little myself", he adds, filling a cup from the skin with clear wine, "perhaps - if your duties permit - you could join me once your watch is done? Surely even Elves of the Wold have free time?"

doctorx wrote:Josaine: "The Cloister is guarded, but unharmed. The Mother Superior seems to be missing. She is being held hostage perhaps? Let us see what else we can learn..."

She concentrates on the parties' previous headquarters - the Manse...

"Maybe she is just in hiding," Ulric says. "The Cloister looks untouched. The goblins may fear their power."

As Josiane begins to guide the image in a new direction, Ulric tries something new.

"Perhaps if we were both to focus on the same location? Maybe the image would be clearer?"

The Archery Range

As Torben calmly prepares to shoot a hush falls over the exuberant crowd. The sense of expectation is palpable.

verhaden wrote:I can do this.

Every person present literally hears Torben's bow creak as he pulls it back to full draw, aims, and twang! His first missile is away!

The crowd gasps and "Ooh!"s and "Aah!"s as Torben's first six shots land four wands and one nearby--he's shooting like a man possessed!

The noise only escalates as he completes his first dozen with another three wands and one nearby hit. Torben's companions are yelling and hooting like schoolboys; the elves are laughing and cajoling Gwínir who only looks concerned.

Torben's third volley scores him another wand and two nearby hits; the onlookers are gasping and cringing and leaping about. Everyone instinctively knows it all comes down to this final half-dozen shots: Torben's score thus far is eight wands and four, making 36. He needs ten points from six shots to win... three more wand hits will win it!

First shot (d20=14!) It's a nearby hit for one point!
Second shot (d20=20!!) Torben drives his missile right through the stake and the crowd cheers wildly!
Third shot (d20=6) "OOOWWWW!" everyone cringes vividly--especially Torben, who by this point is sweating and trembling.

Three shots remaining, five points to win it...

Fourth shot (d20=5)
Fifth shot (d20=20!!!!) The noise is impossible! Torben's ears are ringing! Sweat is in his eyes! His knees feel weak and he can hardly hold his hands steady.

It all comes down to this final shot! Gwínir holds his breath. Torben aims, and fires...

Final shot (d20=16!) It's a waaaand!!! Berserk cheering ensures!



"Eleven wands and five makes 49 points," reports the Quartermaster stoically, "The matter is settled in Master Torben's favour."

There is continued cheering and frolicking for at least ten minutes, and Torben receives many claps on the back for his effort.

"T'was well shot," acknowledges Gwínir graciously, "Alas that I fouled my second dozen, but perhaps the Wold wills that you should wear this mail; may it protect you well!"

The Quartermaster hands the incredibly light and sparkly mail to Torben, and indicates a willingness to assist him with its fitting when the time comes.