Classic Fantasy Ivy the Immortalibus
Let us start this off. Roll for STRENGTH,

10 = 2[d6]+2[d6]+4[d6]+2[d6]

Not the strongest then, DEXTERITY?

11 = 3[d6]+1[d6]+1[d6]+6[d6]

I can roll with that. What about my CONSTITUTION?

15 = 5[d6]+3[d6]+2[d6]+5[d6]

Man, I'm pretty tough! How's my INTELLIGENCE?

8 = 3[d6]+1[d6]+1[d6]+3[d6]

Right, not too bright. Maybe my WISDOM will be better?

6 = 2[d6]+1[d6]+2[d6]+1[d6]

Not in the least. Oh please say I have high CHARISMA

11 = 1[d6]+5[d6]+4[d6]+1[d6]

Not as high as I'd want it, but it'll have to do. Anyway, who exactly am I anyway?

Intelligent female immortal.

Wait, so I am intelligent? I suppose I should double my intelligence then. And I'm immortal? Makes sense, I can last a long time before disappearing for a couple years. That's what happens when I 'die'. My name, my name is Ivy, Ivy Umbra. I believe I'm around 100 years old, give or take a few years. My appearance changes throughout the years though currently I'm a black haired human girl. What are my top three skills?




Of course. Being 100 years old, I spent a lot of time reading. Some of those books were borrowed from a kindly old wizard, and I took keen interest specifically in alchemy and curses. I remember practicing out in the woods behind my small cottage. Did I mention I live outside the small town of Tirra? Jog my memory for me, what are the three things I'm a bit terrible at?


Escape artist.


Of course. I never did enjoy tussling, nor have I ever had the need to get out of a sticky situation. And of course, books which teach me about spells and potions don't teach me how to follow a trail. I've been around for a while, and have a sum of gold stored up, how much exactly? (d20*10)

8 = 8[d20]

Of course, I've spent a lot on things I thought were useful or interesting, so there was just a little left. Most of the gold was spent on two items in particular.

Crystal lens.


I got the lens a few years ago. It comes in handy for some curses that I have under my belt, helps to focus it y'know? And the spyglass, well I just enjoy looking up at the stars and out into the distance from the top of my home.

It's a bright day, and I was patrolling the town, looking for something to do. When suddenly, someone comes running up to me!

Serious Shape shifter sorcerer.

It's the stony-faced Glarn, a traveling sorcer who had stayed the night in Tirra's local in, The Lark's Nest. Rumor has it he had performed a good bit of magic on himself, giving him the ability to change his shape.

"It's Ivy, correct?" He asks, coming to rest in front of me. I nod, and he continues, "I need your help..."

Guard the human prophet at the iron forest.

"There's this boy, over in Aier. I discovered him a few nights ago, as I was passing through." He pulls me aside, into a nearby alley and drops his voice. "He's a prophet." My eyes widen. Prophets were rare, and worse; hunted by the King of the land (named Albion) As usual, Glarn's voice is serious, as is his expression. Though, I see a glimmer of concern in his eyes. "He's only 9, he needs protecting." I ponder Glarn's words. Aier was known as the Iron Forest, because of how many of the King's men guarded it. Should the boy be discovered, which left to his own he most likely would be, he would most certainly will be killed. "But why me?" I question. Is it possible Glarn knows my immortal status?


The sorcerer lifts an eyebrow. "You've stuck around for a hundred years, clearly you know how to evade the Iron Ruler." I blink my eyes, adjusting to the knowledge that he knew my identity. Of course I was a suitable guard, as not only were prophets hunted, immortals were too. The Iron Ruler; King of Albion, despised things that were what he called, 'Advanced Humans'. Of course, if I were to be caught he couldn't really kill me, but he sure could imprison and torture me. Before I answer Glarn about the boy, I ask what I believe to be an important question. "Are you going to tell anyone about me?"

No, but...

"No," he answers, "and I haven't told anyone already either." Glarn laughs and gestures to himself. "Besides, I too am a prey of the King." True, I hadn't even considered that. Shape Shifters were filed under Advanced Humans as well. He fixes me with a deadly serious look. "Will you help the boy?" It takes me hardly a moment before I say yes. "Excellent. Meet me at the edge of town tonight, I'll tell you more about the prophet and see if I can get you a horse and some food." After he was gone from my sight, I hurried home, mind racing. I had a small leather pack, in which I stored my spyglass and crystal lens. I glanced around my house, wondering if I had a weapon of sorts.

No, but...

I did have a walking stick which could be handy if I needed to bash someone over the head, or knock away a foe. Picking up the gnarled piece of wood, I inspect it and find it in relatively good condition. Still, I'd better get a real weapon at some point. I gather my 80 gp, storing them in my pack. Even though Glarn would be getting me some food, I pack a small portion of food, knowing it was better to have extra food than none at all. Before I leave, I also grab some vials, as well as some rudimentary materials. Magic was not something that made you an A.H., as the King also practiced magic. So it was safe to carry around some tools of my Alchemy practice. Leaving my home, I realized it was possible I may not return to it. I look at the hovel with mixed feelings, but the most prominent feeling was


I was content with the life I had led living here, and was at peace leaving it. Striding back into town with the walking stick fastened to my back, and pack slung about my shoulders, I decided to wait the day out at a

Wealthy river.

The river was just a few steps into the trees which surrounded Tirra. Sitting, I watched the current flow. I was pondering going for a swim. Am I a good swimmer?


Of course I was. Question is, I suppose, was I a particularly excellent swimmer?

No, but...

I wasn't the best in Albion, but I was the best in town. (+1 SP on Swimming)Even though I was good, I decided against swimming. Too many thoughts in my head, which I wanted to think through as I waited. Was I interrupted by anyone before night came?

No. +Twist: Physical event / Hinders the hero

As night fell, I got up to leave the woods and go meet Glarn. Unfortunately, due to the rapidly growing darkness, and my own lack of perceptiveness, my shoulder rammed into a tree. I cringed, clamping my shoulder with one hand and stopping, assessing the damage.

Negligible: Nick/Scratch/Bruise.

It'd leave a nasty bruise and be sore for a couple days. I lifted my arm and found I could only raise it to a certain height. I cursed under my breath and moved gingerly around the offending tree, before quickly walking to the agreed meeting spot. Glarn was waiting for me. I couldn't quite see, did he manage to get me a horse?


A cloud parted and the rising moon shot a beam of light, illuminating Glarn and his equine companion more clearly. From the looks of it, the horse was a white stallion, and was all saddled up for me. As I approached, Glarn gave me a once over and then handed me a medium sized sack. "Food." He stated, moving aside and placing the reigns in my other hand.

As I stowed the food and mounted the horse, Glarn talked at me. "The prophet boy, his name is Jorredan. He's a small lad, thick brown hair, clear blue eyes. Last I checked he's staying with someone at the Travelling Foxhole, the Aier tavern." He said nothing more and I looked at him with wide eyes. "Is that all the information you have, who is he staying with?"

Reasonable cook.

Glarn shrugged. "All I know is it's the cook of the joint, just ask around, find the chef, find the boy. Then get him out of that city." Glarn turned to walk back to the city. "The rest is up to you, good luck Immortalibus." With that, the sorcerer transitioned into his second form, which turned out to be a black crow, which flitted away into the night. Immortalibus; that was Latin. Latin was an ancient language here, the language of magic. Immortalibus simply meant immortal. I shivered, facing forward and spurring my steed into motion.

The Iron Forest was about two days away from Tirra, and so I decided to travel through tonight. Halfway through said night, something stirred in me, and I sat up, almost sensing danger.

Goblin hoard.

Something cracked and I whipped my head around. Do I see the threat?

17 = 19[d20]-2

Luck is with me, and as the moon rises light floods the area. There, in the bushes to my left. I clearly see three figures...goblins! Seeing they were spotted, they rush out at me. Shaking, I quickly wrench the walking stick into my hand, and at the last second dig out my crystal lens. The first blue-ish creature gnashes it's teeth in my direction and jumps at me. I strike out with my club. Do I manage to knock it away?

(6[d10]) Yes, but...

The walking stick hits the goblin with a nasty crack, but it only causes the monster to fall out of the air before it's up again. The stallion I'm riding rears, and I scramble to hold on. Do I fall off?

7 = 7[d20]


The stick misses completely and throws me off balance. The lead goblin surges forward, trying to catch me off guard. This is the only one with any short of weapon, and he happens to strike out at me with his; a crude spear. Does he land a blow?

No, but...

The spear passes harmlessly along the side of my leg, but he uses the handle of his weapon to sweep me off my feet. I fall onto my back with a yelp. If I don't do something, I'll be swarmed and my journey shall draw to a close. Remembering my crystal lens, I hold it up and shout out a curse, does it affect any of them?


How many of them?

1 = 1[d3]

"Admordeo!" As soon as the word leaves my lips, a red light swells up inside the lens I am holding up, which then flashes and shoots out at the nearest goblin. Instantaneously, the sinewy creature wails in agony. Gashes appear all over his skin, blood gushing out. It takes less than a minute for the thing to die of blood loss. The other two are so shocked by their friend's sudden demise that I have time to scrabble to my feet. Averting my eyes from the corpse of the goblin, I assess the situation. Am I able to jump over the remaining goblins and make a run for it?

No, but...

My brain was never the best at planning escapes, and I can't think of a plausible way to make it to the horse without getting caught by the remaining goblins. But to my luck, rather than being outraged by the death of their gobling friend, they're terrified of me. With a few gruff words which I can't make out, the remaining two spin and dash back to the forest from whence they came. I slowly make it to the horse, shaken up and immensely frightened. Even though I technically can't die, disappearing for a few years (or many many more, it always varies) was highly unpleasant, and besides, with out me the prophet boy would die.

I place my lens back into my bag, and mount my steed again and we take off at a high speed, due to my eagerness to leave the area. I ride on through the night with no more excitement, and in the morning I hunker down in a small clearing and rest fitfully. When I awaken a few short hours later, and continue my journey. Do I make it to Aier without anymore trouble?


The stallion carries me to the grand city, without any more goblin attacks. I halt the horse a few leagues away from the gates. I dig out my spyglass and focus it on the gates, searching for guards. Do I see any?


I'll leave it here for now. Sorry if seems a bit disjointed, it's my first story using this, and during the middle of it I realized I'd accidentally stayed up far later than I intended. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to comment Smile
hey does she find the brat or not? :p
Hi Katykat321,

Good story and excellent use of the tool!

(08-17-2014, 03:19 AM)zakner Wrote: hey does she find the brat or not? :p


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