rathsjourney

[rathsjourney]

Part 4. Start with Purge by Lucas King, then switch to Salve Regina: A Templar Chant when she leaves the Speaker, then back to Purge when they notice the column of smoke

With an involuntary shudder from the cold, a woman hoists her pack over her shoulder. She looks through the eye slits of her helm at her companions, a short, balding man in warm furs and another, larger person in steel armor. When she notices the pillar-like helm of the armored Sentinel turn towards her, she gulops and looks back at the trail. She looks at the rope leash in her hand and then back at the balding man. His face is angled downwards, hiding his eyes from her view, but his body movements, slow and stumbling through the snow almost mindlessly, betray his most inner thought. [i]He has given up. It's pointless to fight off the Bloodbound, after all. He must be made an example of, he has broken the Tenant.[/i] she reasons with herself as she follows the large draft  horse in front of them. Sitting on the horse is a Burl, a slim man dressed in the blood red vestments of the Bloodline, marking him as a Speaker of the Blood. He seems entranced in the large tome that sits in his lap, occasionally flipping the pages. The woman cannot see what he is reading, but can almost guarantee it is the Oath, a religious document containing the religious laws of the Empire and the names of the Ascended. "Voiceless, come here." the priest's low pitched voice rumbles through her head. "We must speak." The woman steps forward, drawing the rope leash with her as she does. Her helmet turns up to the priest expectantly as she keeps pace with his slow moving horse, now a bit more difficult as she is having to push through the snow. "This village has not paid their rite in a few years. It is a good thing we found that thief, or we'd have to choose via lottery. He who Enslaved A Nation will protect them from the attacks Snowsong claims they are facing. I hope your blade hungers, for I fear the villagers may need some convincing. I hear rumor that they have found a Dead God. We may need to purify the land and bring the children back to relearn the Tenets. As you know, when we return to Bralovia having applied the Blessing, you will become a Bloodbound. If we bring back some conversions and future Bloodbound or Speakers, then He Who Enslaved A Nation might grant you a boon of some kind. He rewards His faithful. Carry on now, we mustn't tarry. The cold might kill our offering before we get ready. She nods and slows to move behind the horse. She was almsot impressed that he spoke that much to her without raising his eyes from the leather bound tome in front of him. Nervously, she glances back at the imposing figure who seems to glide through the snow. His blood red cloak covers most of the blackened steel plate. What unnerves her the most is that the helm has no eye slots. It is said that the Bloodbound can hear the blood pulsing in their opponents and hunt though the warmth of said blood, but that couldn't possibly be true. The helm once again turns to acknowledge her and she snaps her attention forward. The Bloodbound's eyeless gaze bores holes in the back of her head, making shudder involuntarily. [i]Gorkun be with me[/i] she thinks and does her best to ignore her companion. Her eyes glance to the stone hammer hanging from the saddlebag of the horse and she starts to hum Accipio et Vocatio, a song she learned as a child. The religous humming starts to quell her fear and calm her nerves. She skips a note as a deep, echoing bass accompanies her, before her hum starts to grow in volume to mix with the Bloodbound. Aftera brief moment, the Speaker begins nodding and points to the threads of smoke growing from the forest. "Louder, my kin! Sing for them and let them know we are coming! They ready their fires to bring back the heat that the wicked wind Kelstroth has stolen from us! The Conqueror walks with us, and will soon protect the village within His powerful grasp!" The Speaker rejoices and joins in, his voice clearing the trees and echoing out in the forest around them. So they march forwards, dragging the balding man through the snow as their voices ring out around them. After they get closer, all three of their voices drift off, stolen by the wind. Their eyes are drawn upwards by the large column of smoke that is rising from where the threads were. [i]That doesn't look like a feast, that looks like[/i] "The village is burning! We must go forth and protect them!" The Speaker yells and digs his heels into the horse's flank. With a bluster, the horse charges forward, with the Bloodbound keeping pace, surprising with his set of plate armor. The woman notes his weapon, a large handle with a slightly shorter blade, tightly strapped to his back. The Priest has pulled the stone hammer from it's holster and has started to begun chanting a prayer. She ties the leash of the thief to a nearby tree and shakily pulls her blade from it's sheath. Her eyes scan the silver blade, noting the blood drop sigil pressed into the base of the blade. Her mailed gauntlet taps on the sigil and she feels the gaze of He Who Enslaved A Nation turn to her. She reaches into the pouch on her side and pulls out a small vial of a thick red substance. After she stabs the blade into the snow, she lifts the front of her helm and quaffs the potion, coughing as the sludge threatens to choke her. After feeling ti settle in her stomach like a rock, a warmth starts to spread. Her emotions quickly fade away, leaving her filled with only a slight hunger for battle. She lifts her blade, not noticing the weight due to the warm strength filling her limbs, and quickly moves after her companions, thirsty for bloodshed.

[rathsjourney]

Basic info for my campaign!

https://www.evernote.com/shard/s420/sh/f9a0def1-cd55-44d3-a6bb-5f7ef7ffa981/c0e6306692eccd2adc42e70de0f557f0 Here is the link to the basic info! Feel free to message me if you are interested in joining! We will be using zoom, discord, and occasionally roll20!

[rathsjourney]

Part 3! (I suggest the 1 hour emotional music playlist vol. 1 from Lucas King)

Raïth pauses for a moment as he reaches the short wooden steps that climb up to the front door of the Hearthhome. A wave of nervousness flows over him, and he takes a look to the right, at the the stone base of the Hearthhome, trying to compose himself. [i]Hopefully, Freca will be slightly more accommodating [/i] is the brief thought before he slowly steps up the small staircase. Cautiously, he pushes open the door with his left hand, moving his right hand behind him slightly to hide the gauntlet. A huge fire sitting in a stone closed pit warms him, and the cloaked figures that are tending to the flame do not react when the door creaks open. A lone figure, a Goliath woman who towers over the fire's attendees, snaps her head to the door and reaches for a long metal stick that rests against the stone, leading into the fire. When she sees it is Raïth, she visibly relaxes. "Fuck, Raïth, can you announce yourself next time? We are still recovering from the attack! " She snarls before gently putting the poker back down, its white hot tip resting back into the flames. "If you think you can-" "Please, my Lady, lest you awake the Charred." A robed figure gestures towards the flames and makes a shushing motion. The robed figure helps another grab a large log from the far left wall and throw it into the flame. Raïth winces as the fire greedily leaps at the log, sending some flickers out and gobbling the oak into its burning mass. The Goliath woman nods and mouths an apology before storming over to Raïth and pushing him out of the doorway. As she pulls the wooden door shuts, she sighs. "I thought you were gone." "Freca," The scarred man begins, then coughs awkwardly as she serves him a harsh glare, "Lady Stonecracker, my Delve into the Beyond did not go as far as I thought it would. I came here merely for a night of rest, if you would let me. I will be gone by first light, and I will bring back an offering. For atonement, I have this," he pulls out a curved talisman of bone and sinew with orc letters carved into it. "I found this in the snow, next to an odd undead. I burned it away, lest it rise and raise the others as well. It was near the Ruined Tower, where your father had his last stand. It may feed the Charred and appease them." "The Charred have fed well. If the fleeing soldiers had not warned us, the Charred would have fed on all of us, not just some. This will serve us well, and may get us through the Winter Harvest without having to make another one." Freca takes the talisman into her hands and inspects it carefully. "You say you found it near an undead? Are you sure it could raise others?" "It matters not, the undead are a blight. It is better to free them from their hell and allow them to move on. Besides, even I could feel its power." "You mean with [i]that[/i]," She looks pointedly at the gauntlet that Raïth has behind his back. Uncomfortable, the scarred man brings the gauntlet forth and glares at it, hating it the twisted black metal emanating from his flesh. The young woman looks from the gauntlet to the hateful expression on the stranger's face and frowns, "I'm sorry, Raïth. Yes, feel free to stay the night. Your atonement is accepted, and I would not say no to extra supplies. It seems this region is no longer safe, so we will be moving closer to the capital soon. We could use an extra hand." She looks closer at the talisman, then furrows her brow. After noticing her slightly stilted speech, Raïth watches her for a moment, then shakes his head slightly [i]She doesn't want me to come along[/i], "I've felt the Calling, so, unfortunately, I must go. But I will be sure to go back to the battlefield and grab some extra weapons for you and the village. I fear I might bring more negative attention than I would scare off." Raïth takes a step down the stairs, "My lady." The Goliath woman nods and gives him a slightly dismissive wave as she re-enters the Hearthhome. Raïth watches the door shut behind her and let loose a minor sigh before turning and walking the next few steps down into the snow. The scarred man's head snaps behind him as he hears screaming. His eyes open wide as the Hearthome begins to burn, the black smoke staining the sky. Dismayed, he leaps up the stairs and flings open the door, "Freca!" Freca turn towards him, a confused look on her face amidst the chorus of shushing the comes from the robed figures that have prostrated themselves before the flame. Freca is holding the talisman aloft, and another is speaking in a hypnotic chant that continues, ignoring the interruption from the intruder. Raïth blinks twice, confused. "I'm, uh, sorry. I'll ask afterwards. Please forgive me." And he retreats back into the village. The scarred man clenches his right fist and shakes his head slightly, trying to get rid of the pounding headache that echoes throughout his skull. After a few moments, the ringing refuses to stop, leaving the stranger to hurry to Jurgen's hut. Every voice that greets him causes a lightning bolt to split through his head, forcing him to give them a grimace and bolting inside the small shack. Sweating from the pain, he limps to the small cot covered in animal furs and collapses on it, riding the pain wave into sweet     unconsciousness.   The smell of a thick, acrid smoke is what forces Raïth to open his eyes. Then the screams hit his ears, forcing him to leap out of the cot and whip the Rhoke from just above his left shoulder. The heavy blade fits neatly into his hand, and the twin, serrated, hooked blades that emerge from the crossguard reflect the scene of carnage that occurs just through the window. Orcs, standing at eight feet minimum in height, chase through the village, holding viciously curved axes and burning torches aloft. He can already feel the energy surging through his right arm, forming crackling electric lines that arc between the clawed fingers of the gauntlet. The familiar buzzing behind his eyes begins, and he almost loses himself in the small ripples of pain. Until the door explodes and he is thrown back, bouncing off the weathered wood of the wall. Groggily, with his ears ringing, he slowly pushes himself from the floor and looks up to see a goblin stepping into the room with a grin of sharp, mismatched teeth, and the swagger that only a creature armed with explosions and a deathwish can have. "Youse thinks we fergets ya? Ooooh, she's gonna want youse back, Clawface!" The goblin squeaks, reaching into the loose hanging pouch and grabbing one of the smooth red balls. "Come wid us, or youse and me are gon' have a blast." The creature chuckles, tossing the red orb up in the air and catching it again. "I serve the Calling," Raïth growls and drags the clawed gauntlet across his chest. The blade dissipates on contact with the air, forming a hazy red wall in front of him. Quickly, as the goblin rears back to throw the red orb, he fires off the arc of lightning. As the lightning shoots through the air towards the goblin, who has started to emit a surprised squawk, Raïth slides back the door and covers his face with both arms. The resulting explosion demolishes the hut and sends the scarred man flying through the air to land as a smoking wreck in a large snowdrift. Cursing, Raïth stands and ducks again as his blade, in a wicked arc, stabs into the snowdrift above him. Rearmed and bleeding, Raïth begins to limp away from the carnage of the village, trying desperately to ignores the screams of the villagers. After a few moments, he hears the ORcs begin to scream, and the burning village seems to belch out more smoke. [i]The Charred[/i] Quickly, he resumes limping and hurries away from the warzone just behind him.

[rathsjourney]

Reblog if you are open to answering questions and giving advice for Dungeons & Dragons or other table top games.

Feel free to put in the tags how best to contact you and maybe what games or editions you know best.

Edit: since some were a little confused, I wanted to clarify that I am not looking for advice. I’m just trying to make it known to those new to the hobby that myself and many many other people are willing to help.

[rathsjourney]

Part 2! (No music planned, if you find something good, let me know!)

Snow crunches under the elk's heavy footsteps as it passes through the leaf-less forest. It pauses to chew some grass, yanking it from the ground with its strong teeth. The elk raises it head and begins to chew, looking around for any danger. Its eyes land on a hooded figure, who seems to be lost in thought. Feeling eyes upon him, the man turns to look at the elk and holds it gaze for a few moments before the elk goes back to grazing and the man restarts his long trek. After an hour of walking, the man comes across the outskirts of a small village.He pauses and leans against a tree, eyes sweeping over the tall wooden walls, the spiked stakes thrust outward about ten feet from the wall, and the guards standing watch at the front gate. His eyes begin to follow a man leave the village with a bow towards the forest. The hunter, feeling eyes on him, looks up towards the figure leaning against a tree. "Who are you?" he calls out, fingers moving towards his quiver. His eyes, squinted with suspicion, glare out towards the figure, barely visible in the forest. "Hold, Jurgen," The figure pushes himself off of the tree and approaches with his hands slightly raised, "Just a friend." Jurgen pauses for a moment, then his slight face cracks into a smile, "Damn it, Raïth, I thought some orcs made it past the border. You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you said you would be gone for a while? It's only been a week." The figure shrugs and approaches the rugged hunter with a small smile, "It seems my trip did not have me delve into the Beyond. Don't worry, mon ami, I will only be here for a short while." Jurgen pulls the scarred man into a large hug, then holds him back at arm's length. "My friend, feel free to stay as long as you like! I'd enjoy the company, myself. Besides, some of the kids wish to hear your stories. They were disappointed when you left, especially since you had not finished the tale of those goblin thieves." The hunter takes a step back, then gestures over his shoulder to the village. "You knwo where my place is. I still have the spare cot set up. Might want to check in with Freca though, better she hear you are back from you than someone else." "Thank you, Jurgen. I do not take this kindness lightly. I'll make sure to repay this village." Raïth offers the hunter a small wave, then makes his way down to the village, where the guards regard him with a look of shock. "M'lord!" One stutters out, "We weren't expecting you!" With a wave of his left hand, Raïth dismisses the title, "I am no lord, Gerald. And it seems that my errand was easier completed than I thought. I will only be here for a short time, but I must see Freca. Is she in the Hearthhome?" Gerald nods, eyeing Raïth's clawed gauntlet. He regrips his spear, and hates himself for the feeling of fear slowly creeping up his spine. All he can see are images of lgihtning and fire spewing forth from the gauntlet, burning away at the orcs that threatened the village, and the stranger's wicked, two bladed sword slicing and stabing through the rest. With a small sigh, Raïth steps into the village, walking through the snow covered path to the large building in the center of the village. Offering waves to the adults who call out his name, and smiles and a vague promise for that night to the children who beg for a story, he moves closer and closer to the Hearthhome, eyeing the smoke that lazily drifts from above the building. 

[rathsjourney]

Part 1 (I suggest listening to Unkindled Sad Music Box by Lucas King while reading. I listened to it while writing, and they flow together)

The birds fly back to their nests, singing sweet songs that break the empty quiet that filled the valley with a deep, aching void. A small brown squirrel clambers out from its home, clawing its way up the tree's gnarled bark in search for food. Quickly, it turns its head to the noise of metal scraping across metal. It's innocent eyes look out across the sea of bodies to a hooded figure crouched beside a dead Goliath. The figure removes its fingers from the neck of the Goliath after a brief moment, and lets loose a sigh of disappointment. It stands and steps through the bodies carefully, heading towards the squirrel. When it is within five feet, the figure makes a soft clicking noise with its tongue and raises its left hand with the palm facing down, fingers making a loose fist. "Come, my friend," the figure murmurs in a flowery language. Under the hood, twin blue lights gleam for a brief moment, then fade away. The squirrel, seemingly calmed, leaps from the tree branch and onto the figure's arm. It taps at the scars inquisitively, then gives a slight tug to the shell bracelet that is loosely draped about the wrist of the figure. The figure raises its right hand and gives a healthy scratch to the squirrel head with the dulled gauntlet that encases his right hand, the sharp points to the fingers gently presses against the squirrel's fur. "There's a boy," the figure chuckles, the notches its pointer finger under the squirrel's soft chin. "Can you find me the treasure? There is a reward in it if you do. Show me where the whispers are hidden." The squirrel takes a moment to look around and sniff the air. It turns to look at the ruined tower and leaps from the figure's hand to a nearby orc body. It starts to run and leap from body to body, getting closer and closer to the tower. The figure reaches up and removes its hood, revealing a humanoid face. The right side of his head is shaved, with what look to be runes carved above his ear, with a large half circle splitting the hair line. A closely shaven beard is split down his left cheek from a deep scar that reaches from his jaw to his nose. His raven black hair is closely cropped, cut with a jagged cut from someone who hasn't seen a barber in months. His bright eyes, like liquid silver, follow the squirrel on its long trek, then glance up to the ruined tower. This is what the war is bringing. How long will they stand against the tide? Slowly, he begins to follow, carefully stepping over and in between bodies, avoiding the snow that has been stained red. The squirrel looks back at him before scurrying through a crack in the broken stone. The figure tries to open the door, but discovers that it is blocked. He presses his clawed gauntlet against the wooden door and, after a moment, the spiraling runes that travel down his right arm begin to glow a bright blue. The wooden door is blown back, shattering against the stone that had prevented it from opening. Disappointed, he places his left hand against the cool stone and holds his breath for a moment. After thirty seconds of quiet, the figure places both hands under the fallen pile and begins to lift. The runes glow blue and, with a grunt, the stones begin to rise. He quickly slips under the opening, standing in the near empty room. There is a crash as the stones fall back into place, bringing forth a portion of the wall with it. The figure, seemingly oblivious to the noise, approaches the stairway with careful footing. He follows his small companion up to the second level, where a pale elf is pinned beneath a pile of stones. The squirrel sits on the stones and watches the figure approach the elf, who is begging for help. The figure gently shushes the crushed elf and touches what is left of their chest with the clawed tip of their right pointer finger. He slowly begins to drag the claw up towards the elf's throat, with a soft blue glow following from under the elf's skin. When the elf realizes this, he grabs at the figure with his free hand and begins to make choking noises, his eyes roll backwards and he struggles with "Please.....help.....me". After the finger touches the underside of the chin, the man makes a fist and pulls quickly, causing a small blue orb to come slipping out of the elf's mouth. Immediately, the elf falls silent and still, the hand that was grasping the figure's leather chest plate falls limply onto the cold stone.The man slowly cups the gaseous orb with his gauntlet and pulls a small silver bird-cage from his belt. Slowly, he guides the orb into the cage and shuts the small door. After attaching the cage, now with a blue resident, to his belt, he pulls a small pouch with red berries from his pack and opens it for the squirrel. As the squirrel fills its cheek pouches with the berries, the figure offers it a soft smile. "Thank you, my friend. May these make the endless winter a little more bearable." With that he stands and moves to the window, where he stares out into the bleak emptiness beyond. His job is not nearly done. Not yet.

[rathsjourney]

Welcome!

Hey guys! I’m prepping a Dungeons and Dragons 5e game to be streamed soon, and I have been writing some backstory for a character. I was told I should send it out, so I’ll be uploading what I produce here!