From what your torch illuminates....correct.

Subtract 3 DEX in this freezing temperature.

Last edited by Iron Ranger (9/28/2018 11:51 pm)

The winds howl in your ears, and the freezing sleet pelts your soggy leather and drenched underclothes. You trudge through the woods, trying to stay on the old forgotten paths you remember taking. 

If only you had Olo's map, you lament.
If only you had Olo's heavy frock, you lament.
If only I had spent these accursed uncirculated platinum pieces for a biscuit and a leg of jerky, you lament.

Lost and hopeless, the cold weighs on you and finally you sit against the trunk of a tall fir as your last torch finally flickers out.

Bundle as you might inside your frozen leather, eventually you succumb before dawn even breaks.

achiriaco wrote:

Iron Ranger wrote:

The winds howl in your ears, and the freezing sleet pelts your soggy leather and drenched underclothes. You trudge through the woods, trying to stay on the old forgotten paths you remember taking. 

If only you had Olo's map, you lament.
If only you had Olo's heavy frock, you lament.
If only I had spent these accursed uncirculated platinum pieces for a biscuit and a leg of jerky, you lament.

Lost and hopeless, the cold weighs on you and finally you sit against the trunk of a tall fir as your last torch finally flickers out.

Bundle as you might inside your frozen leather, eventually you succumb before dawn even breaks.

I cast fireball

As your lifeforce wisps from the pores of stubborn Malak's frozen corpse, you almost give meaning to the fleeting words of Fireball of some past life's jumbled memories before the final blackness envelops.

As you bid the Final Adieu, the swirling howl of the wind in your ears takes on pattern and meaning. Its rhythmic growl become a grating throb, something of voice --- wake up....

Your frozen eyelids creak open and standing before is a bearded, massively built warrior swathed in swirling winds and wielding a spear. 

You disbelieve but it's all too real as Boreas throws a freshly skinned hide down upon you. "All others have forsaken your worthless soul, thief. Make me not journey this far into the spiral again!"

His winds surround him and he is gone. As is the howling freezing winds that once plagued you.

You lie in a wood, the trees and ground glisten with ice in pre-dawn's feeble light.
A  wooden bow lies beside you, also a quiver with 19 arrows, 2 pouches, 1 leather pouch with uncirculated coins.

You smell the faint scent of woodfire from the east.

(Subtract 2 points from each ability score and make adjustments.)
 

The ground is hard with ice and crunches underfoot, forever thankful of the gift of the North Wind.
The burning scent comes and goes, very faint.
Eventually you stumble out of the woods into the valley clearing of Shankshill again.

Outside the church doors, a blackened lump smolders.

You fall asleep on the edge of Shankshill.

Unknown hours later you awaken, but see that Helios is at its zenith for Fox.
You are refreshed, but starving, and not feeling fully your old self.

ST 13 DX 16 CN 12 IN 11 WS 10 CH 9
0/+1 +1/+1 +0/+0
AC 6 Leather
HP 9
Clothes, 2 Pouches, 2 Daggers, Short Bow & Quiver 19 arrows, 18 uncirculated platinum coins.

Last edited by Iron Ranger (9/29/2018 7:34 pm)

Your mind seems to be slipping even faster than your strength -- the surrounding environs are void of game. 
Your body and its functions seem broken, your previous edge worn down for good.

Last edited by Iron Ranger (9/29/2018 7:31 pm)

"Unknown hours later you awaken, but see that Helios is at its zenith for Fox."

We are going over previous material....

Finding a small pebble on the path and walking around the smoldering blackened lump, youu step into the opened doorway but there is no altar on the pulpit to toss a stone at, and there never was an altar on the pulpit. (see entry #51 to remind yourself of the space.)

roll 4d6