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  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  2 days ago

    Section Six starts in 1.75 hours. That will be 7pm CST (GMT - 6).

    Good(ish) characters of LEVEL 10 or below.

    We will meet at the Iron Minogon in Webster's Landing. Just assume that your character received a mysterious invitation.

    I will be IG as Taran if you have any questions!

  • Zhymm
    Zhymm  1 week ago

    Happy Turkey Day (i.e.Thanksgiving Day) to all our US players. And Happy Thursday to all others!

  • Zhymm
    Zhymm  2 weeks ago

    Uh, what happened to my message? Two paragraphs now random impulses across the interwebs ...

    Take care, Scratch.

  • Zhymm
    Zhymm  2 weeks ago

  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  2 weeks ago

    RL calls me away from Section Six tonight, folks! sad

    Should any of you want to go ahead and run it, please feel free to do so! smile

  • Crayzee4dnd
    Crayzee4dnd  3 weeks ago

    Sam and Hugdish's wedding will begin in about 4 hours from this post. Yay!

  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  3 weeks ago

    Section Six starts in 2 hours. That will be 7pm CDT (GMT - 5).

    Good(ish) characters of LEVEL 9 or below.

    This week will be a bit different, with time being "frozen" at the end of the last event.

    There will be a portal in the Iron Minogon that will take your character to the very start of the Temple level in the Yuan Ti caves.

    If you did not join last week, that is perfectly ok. Just assume that you caught up with us like we do whenever someone shows up late.

    If your character has never been on a section six mission, you can assume that you stumbled on us while exploring !

    It is a little unorthodox, but we will make it all work! biglaugh

    I will be IG as Taran if you have any questions!

  • Squidget
    Squidget  3 weeks ago

    Edrick and Vae in the same day? heart suprised

  • scratch_flannigan
    scratch_flannigan  3 weeks ago

    Hello Edrick and Vae!

  • Oberon
    Oberon  3 weeks ago

    Seeing you here makes my heart smile! heart

The Island of Thain :: Forums :: In Character Discussion
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The Soul of the Forest

LAN_402 LAN_403
4:10:53 am GMT 04/27/21
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1706

[ image disabled ]

Legebriewyn came to awareness suddenly, the vision already fading from his mind. Even as he tried to recall the details, they slipped away from him like leaves vanishing into the undergrowth. As he felt his body awaken, he realized he was lying face-down in the dirt, his tunic and breeches smudged with the loamy soil of the Feywood. Fortunately there was no one to see as he stood, brushing himself off, for it would have been a curious sight indeed to see one of the elves stagger up as though he were a human fresh from sleep.

As he finished patting himself down, a strange sensation began to emanate from his right hand- an odd warmth that spread down his arm to the shoulder. His breath caught as the arm began to glow, green as fresh grass. Horrified, he tries to shake himself free of whatever curse is upon him, and a bolt of green energy fires from his fingertips, arcing through the trees until it crashes into one of the ancient oaks of his home, leaving a splintered divot the size of a fist several inches deep.

Ⱥղժ ʂօ օմɾ քąçէ ìʂ ʍąժҽ

The voice speaks to him, but he knows it not. Or he thinks he does not, until his unconscious mind tells him that it is the voice of his visions. The voice he has been hearing for weeks now, from somewhere under the woods. A voice that has only recently awakened again. He knows the voice, and knows what it desires- a return of the woods to their former strength, the driving out of the corruption, the darkness. He knows it is in pain.

And apparently, he has invited it into his head.
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2:39:34 am GMT 07/22/21
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1706
Some time later:

The trees are crying out, and his people cannot save them all. Thrice now he has seen the Witch of the North, and thrice they have been forced to flee, taking what they can and escaping with little more than their lives.

A young elf stands in the antechamber of the Council of the Feywood. He explains to the door guardian what he has seen- spirits of old, helping ensure the barrier around the central stronghold remains pure and potent. And the witch, killing one of those spirits, blackening the Moors to the north in order to invite her broods to help her in her dark ritual. Eleshandrea fights bravely, but they are outmatched, and the two of them cut the spirit free, distracting the witch, only to be forced to flee and feel her cutting it down with a final blast of magic.

The guardian's face is impassive. No doubt he has seen many crises, lived through a hundred different complications, wars, skirmishes, and more. And perhaps, Legebriewyn, reflects, he is right to take this latest threat so stoically- for the Feywood has always stood, though dark days may have come. The trees here are among the oldest on the isle, and there is power in them yet.

But the trees are crying out, and his people cannot save them all, and he worries that if they delay, they may lose everything they hold close. The voice in his head warns him of the price of failure. Because it knows what will happen if the elves are driven out. It knows what else lurks beneath the canopies of the woods, hidden and waiting.
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6:15:01 am GMT 09/03/21
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1706
Some time later, deep in the Feywood Forest

The voice is always the loudest away from others, as though it is shy, misliking the company of those it is not a part of.

Or perhaps that's just my imagination, Legebriewyn thinks to himself, as he leans his head against the ancient trunk of one of the old-growth trees in the Feywood, listening to its soft voice speak of wind and sun and rain. Unlike the gentle voice of the trees, the one in his head is insistent. It demands to be listened to, and, if he is honest with himself, Legebriewyn wants to listen to it. Already it has helped him through several tight scrapes- against the witch of the north, against the gnolls, against darkfey lurkers and human warriors, and each time it has offered advice, or given him a power he could not dared to have wielded alone. If he sometimes has doubts about the pact he made, Legebriewyn cannot help but look about the forest, at the work he has done, and be satisfied, at least in part. He has helped stem the tide of darkness encroaching on the land, even if only temporarily, and while the loss of a guardian is still a blow that he feels deeply, he is confident that he can reach the others before the witch does, especially with the council made aware of the situation.

And so once again he listens to the voice which calls his name in the space between nature and the mind. He listens to it tell him of the infinite cycle of the natural world, of the ways in which that cycle's power can be borrowed, or bent, to his own purposes. He listens, first out of curiosity, then out of eagerness, for in the words the voice whispers in his mind he begins to see the outlines of a plan- one that will not just stem the tide of darkness, but perhaps, with time, even reverse it altogether...
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8:37:32 pm GMT 10/08/21
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1706
Ͳհҽ հìղ ìʂ ժąղցҽɾօմʂ

Yes, but she has proven loyal.

చհҽɾҽ ìʂ ʂհҽ էհҽղ?

That is a good question- one I cannot answer.

The elf looks down from atop a parapet overlooking Dragon's Watch.

Ӌօմ ʂհօմӀժ ղօէ ҍҽ հҽɾҽ.

Perhaps. But she told me to meet her here- I just don't know where-


A whisper cuts through the late afternoon stillness.

"Are you there?"

The elf looks down, nonplussed- the voice is hers, but the figure is-

"Why are you disguised as a gnoll, Eleshandrea?"

"There's no time! Quick, we have to go, before the witch finds us!"

A moment later, he has stepped through the air, to be at her side on the dirt path of the Watch. He nods, and the gnoll lopes off...


They have passed through shadow and reflection, and stand in a mirrored hall. A girl, dressed all in white, with a silver chain around her ankle. Every sound magnified a thousandfold. His ears hurt. He looks to his hand, withered and grey. The fey magic comes still, but something prevents it from healing. He looks up at the girl- she looks as exhausted as he feels.


He carries the hin woman in his arms. He and the girl have reached the Feywood weald- he brings them through the barriers. The green light has long-since faded from his eyes, and his steps are slow, hesitant.

"If you accept our protection, you must swear to fight alongside us if, when, she comes. My people are dying. We cannot hold back the tide forever. If she comes again, we will fight to kill. If you accept our protection, you must do so as well."

The girl looks out over the gentle streams of the elven court, past the patrols on heightened alert, the massive trees which make up the heart of the woods. She nods, and they go to speak to the Feywood council...
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5:23:09 pm GMT 10/28/21
Cuchuwyn Registered Member #24041 Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 1706
The woods are alive with whispers of late. Some whisper of the strange happenings in the north, the fey that have been on the move, seen in half-glances and heard in the dark parts of the night, cackling and screeching as they make their way to some destination known only to them. Most are simply thankful they have chosen to leave the woods alone this time, focusing their hatred and malice elsewhere.

But they will strike somewhere, if not here.

Ꭰօ ղօէ էɾօմҍӀҽ վօմɾʂҽӀƒ. Ͳհҽ աօօժʂ ąɾҽ ìղ ժąղցҽɾ ҽղօմցհ.

That much is true. Though the barriers held, for now, whispers circulate about their strength, about the guardians who keep them, about the fact that the witch and others were targeting them in the places where they were weakest, to try to remove the barriers once and for all.

And then there were the whispers about Legebriewyn himself. How he often wandered alone, muttering to himself, or was seen with a halfling girl hardly thirty summers old. Strange, they whispered, or perhaps going mad.

Ӌօմ ąɾҽ ղօէ ցօìղց ʍąժ.

Says the voice in my head, he whispers, causing the patrol he is passing to look at him askance. He nods to them, hurrying past into the stronghold. The voice in his head laughs softly.

It is not always there, the voice, but often enough to make his mind not the private place he once thought it to be. He has begun to guard his thoughts, as the voice has learned to sift through them, picking out details and images to interrogate him about- his family, his traveling companions, his people. The questions are harmless enough, but still, there are things he does not wish to share.

But the reward, the payment, perhaps... has proven quite useful. He flexes his right palm, where a green light glows, making the grey skin underneath seem unnaturally alive, sickly even. The grey has not spread further than his fingers, thus far at least.

į ąʍ ցӀąժ վօմ ƒìղժ օմɾ ҍąɾցąìղ մʂҽƒմӀ.

For just a moment, the green light in his hand flickers. He frowns down at it, only to see it wink out completely. To his horror, the grey flesh begins to creep upward, past his palm, his wrist, into his arm. He hurries around the side of one of the stone buildings, out of sight of the main body of his people, clutching at his hand, which burns in pain, and he falls to his knees, trying not to cry out in the middle of the stronghold, surrounded by elves who already see him as unusual. He bites down hard on his lip, tasting blood, reaching for the magic- only to find it blocked off, as though a wall separated him from it. The grey miasma has reached his shoulder now, creeping ever forward, as he lets out a silent scream, his left hand clutching the dirt in agony.

And then the magic floods into him again. His right palm lights up like a flare, causing shouts of alarm and the sound of feet moving toward him rapidly. The greyness fades from his skin, pushed back by the magic until it is only in his fingers once more, and he stands, quickly brushing himself off as the first of the Feywood guards round the corner, demanding an explanation.

As he hastily explains that he was testing a new spell for light to a growing crowd of dubious onlookers, the voice wends its way into his mind once more, purring like a cat toying with a particularly interesting mouse.

Ӌҽʂ... į ąʍ ցӀąժ վօմ ƒìղժ օմɾ ҍąɾցąìղ... մʂҽƒմӀ.
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