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Post by Diocles on Dec 16, 2020 23:53:04 GMT
You--Mairywn--see the ring and recognize it as the one the High Priest of Nirrion had been wearing!
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Post by Storyteller on Dec 16, 2020 23:55:46 GMT
I do not say anything in front of the poor druid, but as soon as this conversation is over I take Cousin Cian aside. (I'll make a thread for it.) In the meantime, I ask Jevunlok, "Is there anything you need? Anything you require for your rites before sleeping?"
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Post by Diocles on Dec 17, 2020 0:08:04 GMT
Jevunlok chuckles. "Just a warm fire. It's getting colder by the minute, isn't it?" This reminds you of the magic you wish to discuss with him.
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Post by Storyteller on Dec 17, 2020 3:14:44 GMT
(I will pick that up in a different thread, when I go to see him by the fire.)
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Post by Sir Roland Desprez on Dec 17, 2020 3:15:50 GMT
“Perhaps we can both spend some time petitioning Abrexa for aid. I think I will do so now before retiring to sleep.”
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Post by Diocles on Dec 21, 2020 0:26:36 GMT
Cian, you sense something... wrong. (Roll Weather check)
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Post by Sir Roland Desprez on Dec 21, 2020 1:46:23 GMT
Made it. (Is this the same check as the other thread? If so, I made that too).
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Post by Diocles on Dec 21, 2020 2:16:00 GMT
Something's wrong. You feel it on the wind. Something's coming. You smell hunger and violence in the air. A storm comes, and something at the center of the storm brings death and destruction.
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Post by Sir Roland Desprez on Dec 21, 2020 10:33:25 GMT
“Captain! Something is terribly wrong. A storm approaches and something malevolent in it!”
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Post by Sir Roland Desprez on Dec 21, 2020 10:35:16 GMT
“Mairwyn, get below with Jevunlok , find somewhere safe. Drusinicus and Aethyl to me! Something is coming.
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Post by Storyteller on Dec 21, 2020 10:49:36 GMT
I obey, trusting Cousin Cian to know what is going on, but I do not go to Jevunlok, but rather to the Sacrifice.
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Post by Diocles on Dec 21, 2020 10:54:39 GMT
Mairwyn, you and Iri hide below in his cabin. Cian, you stand on the rolling deck as the waves come crashing with their white crests over the bow. Black storm clouds roil, and they are soon upon you, engulfing the ship in violent winds, battering its planks with blinding rain. And then you see riding atop the waves, half-submerged, needle-teeth merfolk wearing leering, monstrous grins. They come unimpeded by the storm and the wrathful ocean. They hold cruel, glittering knives in their webbed hands.
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Post by Storyteller on Dec 21, 2020 10:58:53 GMT
I listen for the sounds of what is going on above. Dread strikes me.
While holding tight to Iri's hand, I pull aside the curtain and look out the porthole.
What is there?
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Post by Diocles on Dec 21, 2020 11:00:49 GMT
Iri jumps in his bed and pulls the covers up to his neck as you go to look. What you see causes you to shriek, for a wave submerges the porthole for a moment, and there in the frightening clear water lit by the blue moon you see a school of Ithacul warriors swimming up toward the Skylark. In their eyes stands naked lust; on their lips lies unsated hunger.
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Post by Storyteller on Dec 21, 2020 11:05:46 GMT
My heart breaks, and I move to stand beside the bed where Iri lies. This, this is the worst thing I could have imagined at this moment.
The Ithacul!
They have come, and they will take my Iri from me.
"Iritari," I say, through my tears. "I shall always love you."
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