Motsognir tells Argumentus to push over the armoire.

I went and fetched the dwarf's discarded shield, thinking it might be capable of stopping the darts. I held it up against the holes the darts came out of, being careful not to stand in the firing line, and got one of the others to chuck another chest onto the trigger.

If nothing else, we could always just sit here throwing things at the plates until the trap ran out of ammo...

The dwarf flung one of the discarded chests. As asked by the mage. TOTE THAT BARGE.

After a great deal of chest-tossing, the armoire eventually exhausts its supply of darts and the pressure plate produces no result beyond a labored thudding noise. Gabriel's discarded shield is now an absolute pincushion, quite unusable for any further endeavors (save perhaps smelting; the shield's value to an ironmonger has more than tripled).

With the supply of darts exhausted, I tiptoed over to the doorway and peered around it in my best sneaky fashion.

Motsognir saddled his way between his woman and the newcomer, just in case he wasn't totally into Argumentus having his way with him later.

Bob sidles into the next room, discovering abruptly the source of the blood spattered liberally about the area. A body slumps atop a massive obsidian slab, a ritual dagger left abandoned next to the corpse. The blood in this room is still wet; this man died sometime in the last few hours.

A fine wooden door leads north; a rusty, battered iron door leads to the west.

Once again I called on my religious training to try and identify the purpose of the ritual, before going and having a good listen at each of the doors.

Bob examines the body and the altar, confirming the nature of their enemy. The man's mouth is full of a stinking black fluid, easily recognizable as the tainted blood of an undead monstrosity. Taken with the dozens of tiny puncture wounds all over his body for the sake of draining out all his own lifeblood, this seems to be an abandoned attempt to induct the man into vampirism. The holy symbol of Chauntea hangs about his neck, providing an indication of why the ritual might have been so unsuccessful.

At the north door, Bob hears a staccato tapping sound coming faintly from the northwest. At the west door, Bob can hear the noise of at least half a dozen individual voices groaning wordlessly, punctuated by the occasional rattling sound.

If the charm had helped this poor fellow, it might not hurt to have similar protection myself. I swiped the charm and placed it round my own neck, hoping that meaningless trinkets would work as well as genuine religious fervour as protection against vampires.

I suggested to the others that the west door hid a bunch of zombies and the northern, much nicer door probably had the guy we were looking for behind it and that it might be prudent to bar the western door then kick in the northern one and slay us some vampires.

After a short period of consideration, during which the Horde reaffirmed my opinion that they were all undead themselves by standing around slack-jawed, I decided that it might not be a bad idea to try out a few test strategums with our new team mate before taking on the head honcho.

Ignoring the nice looking door for now, I opened the door with the groaning behind it, staff raised ready to unleah fiery hell on whatever lay beyond.

Having astutely identified their likely foe, Bob presents the Horde with a cunning plan to win the day.

They stare at him vacantly, and he waits for their reply.

Time passes. All around them, the world continues to turn. Children are born, and old folks pass away. A rabbit hides under a log and a coyote lopes past unaware. The salmon swim up the rivers to spawn. Somewhere, a glorious eagle takes flight. Seconds whirl into minutes, whirling into hours.

Bob sighs in exasperation, turning to the west door and punting it open. He wasn't about to go take on a vampire alone. Whatever groaning wretch is making all this racket should be easy enough to deal with given a fireblast or two, and then any loot would be his with the horde trapped in an apparent coma.

The elf stumbles upon the peculiar sight of what seemed to be a brain in a jar, sitting idly on a little stone pedestal. Four empty suits of plate mail stand at attention, almost as if attending the little jar. Somebody somewhere was missing their brain, and Bob reckoned there was a percentage in it for him somewhere. People get attached to their brains and quite likely they'd pay dearly to have it returned. The groaning from the west was quite a bit louder now, though obviously the jar full of brains wasn't making any noise. Doors lead to the north and south, and what looks to be a portcullis gate leads west. Bob can't see what might be beyond the portcullis from this angle.

Stepping forward for a closer look, Bob inadvertently kicks a pebble across the floor. The helms on the suits of armor smoothly rotate to face the elf, and the brain in a jar slowly levitates upward from its pedestal. The brain within begins twitching violently, and though it makes no sound Bob hears a strange and tortured voice shriek inside his very mind.

"DESTROY HIM! MY NEW VESSEL ARRIVES AT LAST!"

Gripping his staff nervously, Bob shoots a glance back toward the horde. They still hadn't so much as followed into the altar room.

Fuckers.

:savepoint: Bob 23, Animated Armor 13, Argumentus 12, Garrmondo 11, Gabriel 10, Brain in a Jar 9, Motsognir 9

Brain: AC 18; Fortitude 14, Reflex 14, Will 18
Armor: AC 18; Fortitude 16, Reflex 15, Will 13

"Wait, hang on... is that a brain in a jar?"

The dwarf suddenly looked excited.

http://www.digthisvid.com/images/T/P...HE%20T-REX.jpg

"Run away, woman!"

I flung open the door and was faced with a rather disconcerting sight. Instead of the group of shambling zombies I was expecting, I found myself face to face with four large suits of moving armour and a brain in a jar. I yelled a rallying cry to the lads, "CHHAAAARRRRGGEEE" and assumed the smug look of someone who had just unleashed four angry combatants onto an unsuspecting enemy.

After a couple of seconds, the carnage I had been expecting to witness had failed to materialise. Surely my companions would relish such an easy victory? I glanced over my shoulder to see what they were up and my heart sank.

There was noone behind me, except for the poor unfortunate with his innards spread all over the altar.

Backing slowly out of the room, I closed the door behind me as calmly as I could and got ready to run.

Move right, close door, run as fast as possible back towards the group, I'm pretty sure Bob can get behind Arg at a flat run

Cursing his lazy subordinates, Bob takes a careful step backward before slamming the door shut and booking it. The brain's telepathic voice shrieks in fury.

"Damn you all for your sluggishness! He's closed the door! My one weakness! Quickly, open it up. When you kill him, be careful not to damage the skull!"

While the fingerless gauntlets of the armor have some trouble with the door handle, it's still easy enough to fling the door back open. The clanking homonculi rattle their way toward Bob, now safely ensconced behind his customary wall of meatshields.

:savepoint: Argumentus, Garrmondo, Gabriel, Brain in a Jar, Motsognir, Bob, Animated Armor

Having safely rejoined the group, I took a moment to reflect on my training, hoping that someone had once taught me the best way to kill a brain in a jar.

Insight or religion or something check to see if I know anything about Brains in Jars

While actually seeing one in the... flesh? was a bit of a shock, Bob swiftly recalled his lessons on the preservation of living brains in Necromancy 101.

Different kinds of brains in jars exist, though each is created using the same principles. A brain in a broken jar is created through incomplete rituals, spoiling fluids, or damaged containers. A brain in a broken jar is usually deranged. In general, a brain in a jar prefers an isolated existence. Some wall themselves within former laboratories and dungeons, where they slip into madness. The preservation fluid within a brain’s jar is a valuable alchemical material, especially useful for crafting undead. Some alchemists claim that the fluid can be distilled into an elixir that imparts the memory and knowledge of the jar’s occupant brain. The brains of these creatures often come from cult leaders or advisors, whom the subject’s associates have tried to eternally preserve. While such brains are usually evil, it is sometimes possible to return a brain to its host body to grant it a peaceful death.

Brain In A Broken Jar (small natural animate)

Powers: Dominate, Mind Stab, Faulty Invisibility

No specific resistances or vulnerabilities

Argumentus opts to hold his ground with the dainty lady beside him.

Ready Reaping Strike if anything steps adjacent

The dwarf readied his weapon, raising his shield and beginning to chant softly to Kord. The undead came, and he would be ready.

Stand put for now. Full defense.

Motsognir backed away. He knew his legs couldn't make it to the brain room without the armor breaking them first. The armor would come to him.

move to O27

His new allies seemingly complacent to remain passive in the face of the onrushing foe, Garrmondo takes the responsibility of frontline defense on himself. He blocks the doorway, lashing out at the nearest armor with his new (and painful) sword.

8 damage to Animated Armor

The evil brain jar slowly hovers its way into the altar room. "Hide behind the strong, will you? Well, I'll show you just how reliable your men-at-arms really are! You there!"

The jar sloshes in Argumentus' direction.

"Destroy the elf! I shall reward you beyond your wildest imaginings!"

Alas, Argumentus pays no attention. He has just found all the reward he needs — hiding in his back teeth. Yum, leftovers!

:savepoint: Bob, Animated Armor, Argumentus, Garrmondo, Gabriel, Brain in a Jar, Motsognir