Allace’s Revelations is the name given to the writings of Allace Everfell, a Yuan-ti Pureblood Sorcerer, as she invariably found herself travelling far and wide with all sorts of companions. As a person who ever dealt in half-truths and lies, it is hard to ascertain how she exactly came across these discoveries, or whether one is to believe the postscripts affixed to these discoveries. But what is certain is that the discovery of these spells are a boon to the arcane studies.
You arrive at the royal library hours after the sun has gone down, taking a vacant wooden chair with you as you sat down by the fireplace. It was cold and you were wet, but you were glad to be alive. The earlier excursion with your friends was supposed to be an easy one: the six of you were to, one way or another, convince a group of Goblins to vacate the forest next to the town. You weren’t told why – though you suspect it had something to do with the upcoming hunter’s festival – but eager to be taken more seriously as an adventurer’s group by the kingdom, you and your friends obliged.
Of course, they hadn’t told you these Goblins had been routed many times before – driven from their homelands of Tuffela by disaster, they had been wandering the lands for the last thirty years. No, this was only told to you by the royal librarian – a man who seemed to feel for the plight of the Goblins. The Tuffela Goblins, he said, were remarkably understanding despite their many setbacks. He said that, despite everything, most encounters were resolved without bloodshed – save for two incidents.
Something is caught in your throat as you recall his words, delivered so matter-of-factly. You had no reason to doubt his account, and that is perhaps why you find it difficult to swallow your shame? Because the task of convincing the Tuffela Goblins to move went from a simple one to a difficult one – one aggravated due to the urgency in which you and your friends tried to get them to leave.
Alon, your group’s resident warrior and de-facto leader, had treated them with the same amount contempt that Goblins in exaggerated stories would receive – he was uncharacteristically blunt and hostile. And it is, to your great shame, that you backed them up. Things seemed to be going in your favour however – though their pleas were only listened to by the wind, a good few of the Goblins began to pack their things. It really seemed like an easy job until it started raining.
The royal librarian had, given the circumstances, went into more detail on the two incidents. Thus far, he said, it seemed that the Goblins only responded violently once every ten years. And on that day, it would also rain for seven nights. You remember the look he gave you as he saw your face, with scratches and dried blood on, your body racked by the rain – it was a look of pity. Pity at it having been your lot that had the misfortune of picking up that quest, the misfortune of wishing to be of service to the kingdom. He said none of this, however.
You removed your cloak and set it near-enough to the fireplace. It had done its job of keeping you mostly-dry, and for that you were glad. But your mind drifted back to the incident: why were you so helpless?
A crack of distant thunder snapped you out of your reverie, encouraging you to return to your seat. You hadn’t come here to regal the librarian with your tale, nor simply to warm yourself up by the fire. Your companions – fortunate as they are to survive – would have been much better company if that were the case, no doubt already at the tavern. You remember Kajsa, the cleric of Ilmater and the group’s healer, promising a round to everyone if you all survived, and you can’t help but smile – there was no way they’d pass up on that offer.
And so you split from your friends, telling them you’d have an early night as they went to the tavern, with the plan being that you’d wake up early to inform the quest-giver that the task was done. But you had no appetite to sleep, as fatigued as you were. You knew that somewhere, deep within recesses of your mind, that if you died you’d be unable to delve further through Allace’s notes.
It was her notes, after all, that kept them alive. A few days prior, you approached Kajsa and told her about Knight. As a sorcerer, you had a flair of all things magic – you were able to pick up on magical treatise with remarkable ease, and convinced her to look into the spell. It was an old one, you argued, which is why it wasn’t something that she knew in-depth. It wasn’t a hard sell whatsoever, and her Knight – a spectral image of Lightspiller Kayros, the One Who Calmed the Storm – managed to draw the attention of the attacking goblins for long enough that the rest of you emerged from the battle with little more than a light beating.
You reach into your backpack and withdraw the journal. It was a thick thing, and the pages in various states of worn, but the cover still looked good – made of some type of leather that didn’t even betray its age. As you poured through her notes, you thought back on the earlier incident. With the coming of the rain, the Goblins – at least, the ones who chose to fight – seemed to grow impervious to your flames. Even the introduction of steel barely made a difference, and though you wish not to consider it, the fight would have been lost if more than eight of their rank had participated. Eight out of the fifty of them that were in the forest had almost bested you and yours. The royal librarian reckoned these Goblins were likely old, and not content to live out their lives being driven from place to place. And, though likely didn’t mean to verbalize it, said that it was only a matter of time before that sentiment was group-wide.
But a question that lingers in your mind still was this: why weren’t they angry? Why did only eight fight? And what role – if any – did this woman’s journal play in all of this?
—–
Spell #4
Falseflame
3rd-level evocation
Casting time: 1 action
Range: 120 feet
Components: V, S
Duration: Instantaneous
Classes: Sorcerer
You hurl a mote of nascent energy at a creature or object in range. Make a ranged spell attack against the target. On a hit, the target takes 5d10 force damage then gains a vulnerability to fire damage until the end of your next turn. Additionally, if the target has a resistance to fire damage, that resistance is negated – but it does not gain vulnerability to fire damage – until the end of your next turn.
If the target is immune to fire damage, the target instead takes an additional 5d10 force damage.
At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell using a spell slot 4th level or higher, the damage increases by 1d10 for each slot level above 3rd.
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