Patrollogs
(Lanaeis's decursing attempt)
[Sat Apr 26 2025]
In a quiet place of discussion in The Chapel of St. Michael
Tall, spacious, a quiet retreat tucked away for discussion. A narrow window high upon the northern wall casts long shadows across the room during the day and highlights the warmth of a cozy fireplace nestled between the two towering bookshelves that stretch up to the ceiling right beneath it. The shelves themselves are filled with rows of scriptures, holy texts, and religious manuscripts, each worn and well-loved from years of use. But for those with a keen eye, the odd volume here or there stands out. A leather-bound book with no title, a faded scroll, or an old, cracked tome that seems oddly out of place amongst the sacred writings.
Everything here is bespoke to quiet intimacy, despite its size. From the heart of the fire crackling gently that sends a tolerable heat into the room, to the simple, whitened with age rug resting on the polished stone floor in front of it. Two armchairs, aged and worn yet still sturdy, face the fire, with a small table sitting between them, upon which rests a single, delicate cup. Perhaps left by a previous guest, or placed as an invitation for conversation. To the east, a door leads into the confessional's priest booth, and to the south, the arched treshold opens up back to the entry, bringing with it the faint echo of footsteps and the distant murmurs of those walking the stone hall.
It is night, about 55F(12C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. There is a new moon.
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike Lanaeis, sending him flying.
For several seconds the room grows painfully hot.
Growing air pressure makes your ear's pop uncomfortably and deadens all sound.
The whole room shakes.
With a final burst of power the curse on a bone dagger is broken.
Lanaeiss Decursing Attempt 250427
(Lanaeis's decursing attempt)
[Sat Apr 26 2025]
In a quiet place of discussion in The Chapel of St. Michael
Tall, spacious, a quiet retreat tucked away for discussion. A narrow window high upon the northern wall casts long shadows across the room during the day and highlights the warmth of a cozy fireplace nestled between the two towering bookshelves that stretch up to the ceiling right beneath it. The shelves themselves are filled with rows of scriptures, holy texts, and religious manuscripts, each worn and well-loved from years of use. But for those with a keen eye, the odd volume here or there stands out. A leather-bound book with no title, a faded scroll, or an old, cracked tome that seems oddly out of place amongst the sacred writings.
Everything here is bespoke to quiet intimacy, despite its size. From the heart of the fire crackling gently that sends a tolerable heat into the room, to the simple, whitened with age rug resting on the polished stone floor in front of it. Two armchairs, aged and worn yet still sturdy, face the fire, with a small table sitting between them, upon which rests a single, delicate cup. Perhaps left by a previous guest, or placed as an invitation for conversation. To the east, a door leads into the confessional's priest booth, and to the south, the arched treshold opens up back to the entry, bringing with it the faint echo of footsteps and the distant murmurs of those walking the stone hall.
It is night, about 55F(12C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. There is a new moon.
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike Lanaeis, sending him flying.
For several seconds the room grows painfully hot.
Growing air pressure makes your ear's pop uncomfortably and deadens all sound.
The whole room shakes.
With a final burst of power the curse on a bone dagger is broken.