| You burst out of the shadowed confines of the tower, back into the sunlight. Ahead, the rickety rope bridge sways menacingly in the wind, a precarious thread over a yawning chasm that echoes with the rush of unseen waters below. The two kobolds, one frozen motionless under Short's spell, are mere specks in the distance, the screeches of Mek carried away by the wind. With a guttural roar that seems to shake the very stones, you summon the fury of your barbarian heritage and dash towards the bridge.
Zesty and Short attempt to move from your path, sensing the primal intensity of your charge. The bridge looms before you, its planks worn and fragile-looking, but hesitation is a luxury you cannot afford. You throw yourself onto the swaying bridge, the ropes creaking ominously under your weight. As you race across, the bridge bucks and twists, a treacherous dance with gravity. Yet, your eyes remain fixed on the rapidly distancing figures of the kobolds, the importance of catching them before they can alert their draconic master fueling your relentless pursuit.
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| Under the vast sky of Stormwreck Isle, you feel a tempest stirring within—not of wind or rain, but of fierce, boiling emotions. Every fiber of your being trembles with the energy of a thousand bellowing thunders, each one a bitter reminder of the brutalities you've witnessed due to the party's relentless savagery. The Barbarian's latest reckless pursuit of the innocent winged kobolds pushes you past your breaking point, igniting the fiery storm in your heart.
As Aims'orreh thunders down the ancient rope bridge that connects the tower to the rotunda, his heavy boots pounding like war drums against the weathered planks, you take a decisive stand. With the agility of a practiced performer and the suddenness of a striking viper, you position yourself squarely in his path.
The air around you crackles with tension as you, driven by memories of unnecessary violence—the tragic demise of Carl, the mournful cries of harpies replacing their enthralling song, and the latest folly likely earning a dragon's ire—abandon your usual path of gentle persuasion and musical distraction. Dark thoughts of the disasters Aims'orreh's actions might bring upon the peaceful denizens of Dragon's Rest harden your resolve. Your hand, typically used for strumming melodies of peace and fellowship, clenches into a fist of retributive justice. With a cry that echoes the pain and frustration of your gentle heart turned stormy, you leap into the air and swing with all your might, striking Aims'orreh squarely across the face.
((I lost my shit after rolling that nat-20 for Moonsprout
RIGHT NOW, btw.))
The impact resonates with a crack as you catch the half-orc off-guard. He stumbles—an ungainly dance of flailing arms and bellowing roars. sending him sprawling across the creaking bridge.
Aims'orreh takes 0 points of bludgeoning damage, but is knocked prone.
Tears, born of both anger and sorrow, well in your eyes as you stand over his prone form. Your voice, usually melodious and soothing, now carries the sharpness of shattered glass as you shout into the twilight,
"Of all the brutes and villains I've ever come across, YOU are undoubtedly the most wicked and vile! We should've left you in the drink when you fell from that bridge! The natural world would be better off for it—though I shudder to think what horrors you would wreak in hell itself."
In this moment, you are more than a bard; you join the voice of Zesty, and all who suffer silently—the forgotten, the peaceful, and those who yearn for harmony amidst the discord sown by the thoughtless and the cruel.
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| Tear-tracks across his face, Mek screams towards your group,
"Stop! Stop! We surrender! Just let Minn go!!" |
((The kobolds are surrendering. Combat is over.))
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