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I finished my rudimentary skinning of a brand new gnoll fur cloak just in time. My colleagues have just herded a dozen new faces into the chapel. I thought I recognize the changeling slave. He vaguely reminds me of Nit, one of the toughies who used to ambush drunk beauties under a bridge, in my salad days. Can't be him though. Last I saw him, he was well-fed and in the hale of health. This individual before me is practically skin and bones, with a few ugly scars to boot. And, is that a missing finger?
Stashing the hide into my pack, I hear Clock launch into yet another of his smarmy speeches. This must be important for him, to recite a short rhyme just before he speaks. Well, fellow liars must stick together, so I saunter over and nod my head assiduously during his entire speech, indicating that we are the most trustworthy of allies and that the brave though foolhardy adventurers have absolutely nothing to worry about. Aid Glock in bluffing. My assist roll is in his post. |
Glock attempts to persuade the neophyte adventurers, rubbing the hand-shaped dent Wilkes had left in his face. How was he supposed to know she was sensitive about her mechanical hand? It was a lucky thing he'd ferried them away from the pits first, or the sound of steel slapping steel would have brought Murkelmor rushing in for sure.
The monk (evidently the leader of this little operation) confers with his allies for a moment before returning to Glock with an answer. "Well, I... all right. We'll help you with this if we can, we owe you that much for the rescue. We'll hold onto our finds, I think; your dragon friend already threatened us once and I'm not sure your benevolence will overpower his greed. Other than that, I suppose we can help you. Not much choice, I suppose. We'll never ferry all these villagers out of here before the trouble starts, and then their blood would be on my conscience. What do you have in mind? Monk makes an Insight check vs Glock, fails miserably The peasants mill aimlessly around the chapel, clearly anxious to leave but fearful to flee alone let Murkelmor happen upon them in the process. |
Gheth considers his warforged friend's proposal. But something seems...off. He's not entirely sure the bard has their best interests at heart.
"Look, we've still got time. Let's just go now, and we'll deal with Murkelmor if he figures it out before we're gone." Gheth begins to herd the peasants with them towards the exit. As he passes the monk, he gives him a hard stare, and comments under his breath, "You might not want to stick around too long. Get moving now, and Murkelmor won't know which way either of us exited." Insight check vs Glock's bluff barely passes 19+13 = 32 Start moving towards |
"Well, I have a use for a couple of those things. Since we're buddy buddy, how about we mutually assist each other? I'll give you your asking price for the flask."
Buy the Flask "Anyway, here's the plan. You guys go back into the slave pits, and take up strategic positions around the room, ready to range attack the south door." "In exactly 6 minutes from when I say 'Mark', you make a shitload of noise, drawing Murklemor from his chambers into the slave room. We will jump him from behind." "After he's dealt with, we can help you to safety. Until that point, the slaves can make for the FRONT exit. Go down the bridge there, kids." Noticing that the fighter had grabbed the head, and everyone else had grabbed their loot, G-unit coalesced near the south door. "Ready...'MARK'" And with that, G-unit hurried as fast as it could to the troll pen room, where it started moving at a normal pace to avoid making noise. Undoing the back door of the troll pen, the group of adventurers let themselves out and closed the door behind them. With luck, they should make it out right as they hear hootin' and hollerin' starting from the slave pits. "Charge me money after I save your ass, will you? Assholes. Get what you deserve." |
Gordy wasn't really sure what was going on probably due to repeatedly blacking in and out of consciousness but if there was scheming being done it seemed like it was failing halfway. He was all for pranks but usually he did it to get something out of it. Loot was good. Food even better. There would be time for that later. Or now. This boom stick of his enemy would suit nicely. Order up a healthy helping of Master's Wand of Hellish Rebuke for Gordok please. Yum. Yum.
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It looks like we're booking it out of here. I grab the length of chain from the floor, and for fun hurriedly try to pick the dwarf's pocket before I leave. I then rejoined my comrades, who were intent on exiting through the Troll Pen room.
Aaand, keeping up with Cal's inability to roll Thievery right... Thievery Check: 7 + 4= 11. Just as we exit the chapel, I catch a last glance of the Nit look-alike (but seriously, he's a changeling, we all look alike). I mouth the words "RUN SOUTH", hoping that his innate sense of self-preservation will kick in. Good luck, my peasant friend. You'll need it. As for me, he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day! |
And so it was that the G-Unit bravely fled the scene lest they encounter actual danger, leaving peasants and novices to fend for themselves. But all was not cohesive amongst the fellows, for the bold cleric of Avandra did see through his compatriot's cunning scheme, and did seek to undermine it.
But the clever warforged had been far too persuasive indeed, and the monk was already distrustful of McGarnigal; having been coldly threatened for the possession of his treasures only moments before. For his part the changeling takes a moment to rob a man whose livelihood and possessions had been stripped from him already, retrieving only a sachet of pipeweed for his troubles. But the peasants (as they generally are) were cowardly, and fled at the first inclination from Gheth that they should do so. And in the end both our heroes and the peasants they had freed had escaped the Hold long before Murkelmor chose to actually investigate. And so it was Griffin Company who stood alone against the fearful might of Murkelmor, awaiting at any moment the assistance they had been promised. And who may say what happened there, in the dark moments after the G-Unit made their dramatic exit? It was luck alone that returned our heroes unscathed to the Seven-Pillared Hall after fleeing the Horned Hold with no particular destination in mind, and not long after they trudged into the settlement they were made to discover what it was that had become of their temporary allies. The five sit around a battered table in the corner of Rothar's Taproom, taking an account of their paltry profits on the siege and discussing matters of practical morality. The stone minotaur's head sits in the middle of the table, Garrmondo having grown more than a little tired of the weight. It was hardly a significant risk that anyone would snatch it away, although the chance of having to repay Rothar for his slowly-buckling table grows by the minute. Gheth has nearly managed to convey to the bard the long-term theological consequences of wanton murder when a halfling in colorful minstrel's garb bursts through the tavern doors. "Everyone, come and see! Those newcomers from Riverdown have slaughtered the master of the Horned Hold! They've got the rotten bastard's corpse on display, I'd never believe it if not for my own eyes." And indeed, our heroes did venture out into the town center to see Griffin Company proudly displaying the evidence of their glorious victory. Yet strangely neither the victors nor Murkelmor himself seem to be much wounded, though the hulking duergar lord is assuredly quite dead indeed. It is passing strange. Could it be that... No, no. Murkelmor was surely a terrifying foe, and his lack of evident wounds can only be attributed to his devilish nature. At any rate, all the glory is theirs. There is much talk of converting the fortress into a stronghold to oppose the gnolls, and the debate goes on for a long while before the G-Unit apathetically returns to their drinks. Let the weaklings have their fame and their fortress. G-Unit has what it came for: a big rock shaped like a cow's head. That's what this business was really about. Over the next few days as the group rests and recuperates, they encounter more than a few of the Riverdown peasants lingering around before returning to their homes on the surface. They try to ignore the snickering. |
My gnoll fur cloak has dried enough for me to skin it properly, which I do with gusto. I was feeling mighty pleased until I heard the news about Murkelmor's miraculous death.
No fame and glory for me? Pfft, who cares about fame? Who cares about glory? And why do my companions insist on calling themselves the G-Unit when all our names start with C? I'm not one to dwell on what might have been. Why, face the future boldly, young changeling! Seize the day, let your thoughts be unclouded with the past! Damn. All that fame and glory should've been mine. There are two things a man can do to drown his sorrows. Eat, or go shopping. I do both, taking the clever halfling to help me with, uh... his sticky fingers. Eat three trail rations. Go shopping, oh mighty changeling! Passing by Murkelmor's corpse still on display, I give it a long searching look. For some reason, I feel the urge to poke it with a kruthik's tooth. Insight Check: 2 + 6 = 8 Apparently it really is, although I've never actually seen him while alive. Oh well. I pay a visit at the following locations to look for things to buy: 2. Custom House 3. Deepgem Company 4. Wainwright 15. Gendar's Curios 16. Provisioner The Grimmerzhul Trading Post raises red flags in my head, so I don't chance going in. Cal's Shopping List 1. 16x straps or glue or paste or 16 very small clamps 2. Ammunition 3. Thieve's Tools 4. Horsies or other mounts 5. Poisons and toxins |
Oh well, no point dillydallying.
After they've had a day or two to rest and recuperate to full, Glock instructs the G-unit to make for the surface, head in tow. He did not envy the clean up job these folks had to perform to get the fortress into any sense of presentable. By now the smell of roasted torso must have permeated the whole place, and the pile of garbage and squishy parts at the base of one of the bridges had to be truly offensive. Ha, suckers. Before Glock leaves, though, he feels he must make the record straight. Streetwise to determine the best place to put the poster. 17 Starting a most nasty rumour, Glock produced a drawing of Wilkes and hung it in the most prominent area of town, and appended to it this text. "PUBLIC HEALTH WARNING: AN INDIVIDUAL MASQUERADING AS A RED HEADED FEMALE BY THE NAME OF WILKES POSES AN EXTREME PUBLIC SAFETY ISSUE. BY STANDING WITHIN 30 YARDS OF THE INDIVIDUAL, ONE HAS A NEAR 100 PERCENT CHANCE OF CONTRACTING THE CLAP. IF YOU FEAR YOU HAVE CONTRACTED ANY COMMUNICABLE DISEASE FROM THIS 'WOMAN' OR ANY OTHER MEMBER OF GRIFFIN COMPANY WHO HAS THEIR BEEF CURTAINS HANGING OUT, PLEASE SPEAK TO THE MAYOR" And with that, G-unit departs the dirty underground, attempting to make it's way back to the surface and eventually to Freeport. |
Having seen its demonstrations earlier, Cal's thieving and lock-picking skills do not impress Gordok in the slightest.
Gordy decides to go help cause mischief with Glock instead. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndfu...kandgordok.png |
The warforged is anxious to get back to the surface and collect his reward, but Cal dawdles about for a while, browsing the paltry few retail establishments in the Hall. While the Grimmerzhul Trading Post is shuttered up and seemingly abandoned, there are other places to shop — places that'll do much better business now that customers don't need to worry about being abducted amidst the aisles.
The ranger stops by the custom house, but finds nothing to buy; evidently it's just a building dedicated to tax collection and the processing of imports and exports. Still, Cal takes his time getting an eyefull of the place until the ogre security escorts him out. Next Cal stops by the Deepgem Company, until to encounter a familiar face. The recently-rescued Uriel Sledgehammer is still putting his shop back together after the duergar slavers made such a wreck of it, but he does have a few valuables on offer that the raiders overlooked. The dwarf makes no attempt to hide his bemusement on seeing the ranger again. "No basic gear left, sad to say. All I've got is the expensive stuff I kept under the floorboards. But I'm sure you've got the coin, eh hero?" The dwarf hastily scrawls up a rough inventory, passing it over the counter. Bersk the Wainwright is too busy settling up with a group of traveling gnomish accordion players to pay Cal much attention. He gestures irritably at the simple price board: 20 GP for a wagon, 75 GP for a mule; rentals available. Gandar's Curios is a charming little antique shop, and the drow proprietor (the scatterbrained Gendar Drizolg) is all too happy to answer any questions about his merchandise. Only a handful of the quirky items on display pique Cal's interest. Dreskin the Provisioner's wheedling manner amuses Cal, but he discovers nothing particularly remarkable in the fat human's storefront. Attempts to convince Dreskin to sell his domesticated dire boar are met with flat refusal. (Dreskin essentially has the first table on PHB pg. 222 available, I'm not typing it all out) Not quite ready to commit to any purchases, Cal returns to the inn to mull on matters and inform the rest of G-Unit on what goods are available. |
About the only magic thing I could afford was a curious floating gem which I'm supposed to put on my head. Which is pretty strange if you ask me. Having no gold for the shiny magic objects I coveted, I brought my custom to the affable Dreskin. I bought 2 empty flasks, and filled one with oil. I also buy a set of thieves' tools, and five feet of silken rope. The last should serve me well in affixing the kruthik teeth to sixteen of my arrow shafts.
Having nothing else to report, I return to my fellows at the Halfmoon Inn. The warforged seemed anxious to leave, no doubt fearful of the backlash his character assassination on the newly-minted heroes would have. Well, if they're ready to go, then so am I. Spend 21 gp 1 sp 6 cp, encumbrance + 4.5 lbs. - Thieves' Tools = 20 gp, 1 lb. - Flask x2 = 6 cp, 2 lb. - 1 pint oil = 1 sp, 1 lb. - Rope, silk (want just 5 feet) - 1 gp, 0.5 lb. On the trip back, I resolve to hack the arrowhead off sixteen of my straightest shafts, and affix the kruthik teeth using the silk rope. I will also take the opportunity to braid fifteen arrows with the poisonous duergar beard quills, one tip per hair. |
Certainly not his finest hour, Gheth decided. But he was used to open attempts at humiliation. Ever since that group of dragonborn kids had insulted Gheth over his buck fangs.
"Beaver boy! Beaver boy! Gheth has beaver teeth!" Of course, he would remind them each time that he was 6 feet tall and cold-blooded, and could thus never be a mammalian dam-builder, but this seemed only to encourage them. Well, there was nothing for it. At the least they had done some good before things took a turn for the retreaty. Nurse a beer Ready to go back overworld |
Seems like everyone save the clever halfling is ready to leave. I can't resist doing one last piece of mischief before leaving Thunderspire. Just to be safe, I resolve to do this corpse-defiling deed immediately before we depart for the surface.
Ready action. Twin Strike at Murkelmor's corpse, just as we're exiting the Seven-Pillared Hall On the way back to Freeport, I scratch my head wondering why on Earth the human was carrying a gigantic stone statue head. Blimey, there's nothing valuable in that hunk of rock as far as I can tell. Is it for a masquerade party? I love masquerade parties. I'll boost the authenticity by going as a minotaur! Well, so long as we're not in mortal peril, I may as well take the time to polish my bloodclaw short sword into a fine shine. I plan to use all the charm at my disposal to bluff Freeport vendors to let me trade this sword in at full value. Surely a little polish goes a long way if I wish to misrepresent Carr's former sword as "brand new never used". Say farewell to first-person narrative, and shapeshift to Minotaur Cal's Shopping List 2. Ammunition 4. Horsies or other mounts 5. Poisons and toxins |
Determined to get one last parting shot in, Cal fires off a volley at Murkelmor's suspiciously-intact cadaver. Sadly, the resident mage of Griffin Company has evidently left a shield spell on the corpse. Cal's arrows bounce harmlessly to the ground as he sighs and tromps into Thunderspire's cavernous corridors with the rest of the party.
After many hours of wandering, G-Unit at long last finds their way back to the surface. A breakfast of cold rations is disappointing after the fine cheeses of the Horned Hold and the spicy (if crude) fare at Rothar's. It's mid-afternoon when the party trudges back into Freeport with a souvenir that's rapidly becoming heavier and heavier as it pulls on Garrmondo's strained shoulders. Valthrun is a bit easier to track down this time. In their absence the Temple of Ioun has installed a small gong, and Garrmondo is all too happy to smash his new acquisition into it repeatedly until Valthrun staggers out from the library. "Yes, yes, what can I — goodness, you're back! Well, some of you. I take it that Thunderspire was significantly more lethal than I anticipated. My condolences to the both of you for the loss of your three companions. But this! My goodness, how lucky you were to discover such a valuable piece of antiquity just laying around. But perhaps even more importantly, you've returned with a live specimen! Scholars have speculated for decades on how the minotaurs lurking in the Thunderspire ruins might have physiologically diverged from those living on the surface. Would you come with me, er—" Not having thought his ruse all the way through, Cal thinks quickly and devises the most minotauran name he can imagine. "Moo", Cal mutters. "Very well, Sir Moo. Come right this way, we just have to administer a few... tests." And so it was that many unpleasant sounds were heard, and half an hour later a significantly paler Cal came staggering out into the temple foyer. "Great discoveries have been made here today", Valthrun announces. "All due to you and your brave sacrifices. I thank you, and science itself thanks you. Why, our new knowledge of minotauran intestinal anatomy alone is more than worth the reward I originally promised you. Stay right here a moment, I'll try to talk the temple elders into issuing me a loan so that I can reward you properly." Soon Valthrun returns to the foyer one last time, disappointment etched in his features. "Sadly, the elders were not as impressed as I. Science is always a struggle against the hidebound prejudices of the old guard. However, I was able to find and cancel some symposiums which have now become entirely outdated in their findings, and I gladly award the gold which would have paid for those events to you. Oh, and those rituals! I nearly forgot. Farewell, Sir Moo, and thank you for your cooperation!" Well, at least somebody appreciates them. Adventure Complete! Major Quest completed: 1250 XP (250 each) 1500 GP (300 each) Ritual Book of Sending Ritual Book of Summon Winds Ritual Book of Eavesdropper's Foil Flush with fresh cash, G-Unit spends the afternoon browsing the newest wares in the Merchant District. Most of the goods were still quite a bit too pricey to be practical, but with a little bargaining and some intra-party loans they might come away with something interesting. While there's no real rush to get back out and risk their necks, it's only a few days before G-Unit realizes that Cal probably needs to be kept busy lest he violate one too many laws and basic customs of decency. On one balmy afternoon he saunters in and, almost casually, brushes off the disembodied hand of some poor unfortunate from where it had clung to his arm. Not wishing to become viewed as accomplices, the rest of G-Unit refrains from inquiring what exactly Cal was doing to get spattered in blood and limbs. Gordok, curious as ever, creeps up to the battered hand and pokes it with a stick. It was a pretty nice hand as that sort of thing went; well-manicured, no callouses. Gordok liked to imagine it belonged to a mighty wizard. Or had belonged to, anyway. He picks it up, thinking to stick it in his pack in case he happened to discover its owner. If he'd lost his hand, Gordok reasoned, he'd definitely want it back. As Gordok gingerly picks up the hand by the chunk of exposed bone sticking out of the end, the hand suddenly begins to wiggle. The fingers cycle through an array of rude gestures before settling at last on an enthusiastic thumbs up. Gordok smiles and returns the thumbs-up with one of his own before gently placing the hand in his pack. Maybe he didn't want to return the hand to its owner after all. The next day Gheth spots the halfling wandering around with what looks like a zombie hand on his shoulder, and resolves to get the group back out of town before anything weirder could happen. The notice board outside their inn held several tantalizing possibilities. 10,000 in cash was a lot to offer for a simple mercenary job, and it was awfully tempting. Still, Gheth knew that rewards of that caliber weren't generally offered unless your contact didn't expect you to come back looking for it — usually because you were too dead to go anywhere looking for anything. But work is work, and he commits the details of the jobs on offer to his memory before heading back to the inn and attempting to coax the group into a consensus. As always, 5-point distribution, the adventure seed with the most points after voting wins. |
Looking over the iffy books he got as a reward, Glock picks up the one that the halfling already has and the one that lets him annoy people. He offers the book of not having other people listen to you to the halfling, if he wants it, since the little one is the only other ritualist in the group.
Scribe Ritual of Sending and Summon Winds, and Eavesdroppers, if Gordy doesn't want it. Which apparently he doesn't Before regrouping, Glock takes the time to go to the mall. Delicious mall. You have so many silly things I don't want. Like a true man, Glock makes a beeline for the only shit that's of any real use. METAL CANS. Buy 6 small metal can/jar/whatnots. And 2 small vials that will fit in them. Going from place to place, it's obvious that perhaps he should buy some reagents. Noticing the pretty lady behind the counter, he raised one eyebrow and hit her up. "Hey baby, call me Mr. Flintstone, because I can make your bed rock." Glib Limerick GOD DAMN IT No idea if I can bluff for components in this fashion but let's go for it. 14 + 3 = 17. 120 GP of Ritual Components. Mortar and Pestle get, gotta be in the components there somewhere. Also, a handful of flasks and chemistry implements In his wandering, Glock spies a shield in one of the stores. Turning on his best shit eating grin, he walks up to the owner and lays on the charm. "Hello Jack. Long time no see. How's it going? I know it's been a while since I've been around, but I was wondering if I could get my old customer discount on this shield over here" he says, pointing at the thing. Try to talk down price of light shield of protection using Bluff. Get price before committing. 14 + 9 = 23. Finishing up all his shopping, he wanders back to the inn to begin his little experiment. Before getting there though, he bumps into one very weird looking changething. Seems he now had some sort of glowing...wait. Glock knew what this was. A dragon mark? Why the fuck would this just randomly show up on THIS asshole of all things? How strange. He might be able to take advantage of this, though. "Hey, you, erm...Gal, right? Turn this into a robot part for me, will you?" Cal can use Enchant Magic Item for free to turn my armour into an attached component. This reduces it's weight by 1/4th. Let him do this to the Skald's Chainmail and then take it back and attach it. When he was putting the armour back on, the clink of the chains and noise made by the bolting into his chest reminded him that he still had this little elvish ring. Maybe someone intelligent here would know about it. But who to ask? Streetwise. Look for intelligent people who might know something about this ring. Hit up that scholar we just dealt with if it comes to it. 10 + 1 = 11. FOR FUCKS SAKE. Get info on ring if suitable person is found. ------------- Glancing at the job board on his way back, he notices someone asking about a play. Oh, the theater, Glock's not-so-secret desire. Yes. We must take part in this. All 5 points to Sophia Lasilaran ------------- After all is said and done, Glock retires to the inn with the rest of his compatriots. Retiring to his room a little early, he gets to work with the tools he had. Glock proceeds to grind down some of the charcoal and sulphur in his possession into a fine powder as he mixes it with the nitrate. He keeps half the sulphur in his possession for a later purpose. Making a standard blasting pack mixture, a 3-1-1 mix of nitrate to other components, he produces 12 ounces of blasting powder, enough for six 2-ounce grenades. Using the sheet as a wick for the metal canisters, as he pokes a small hole in them, he fills the jars with the gunpowder. With the two small vials, he empties the venom glands into them, and then puts the vials inside two of the grenades, so in the end he has four conventional explosives and two poison ones. Create 6 grenades. 4 regular, 2 poison. Using his new chemistry set, Glock prepares the remaining sulphur. Using a wet creation process, burns it and oxidizes it, and finally hydrates it, into a small amount of sulfuric acid of a medium strength. Arcana because SCIENCE. 12 + 18 = 30. Figures. |
Moo just had the craziest time with doddering old scholar. Who would have known that geezer would have the fortitude -- no, the stamina to piston his implement in and out of Moo with such enthusiasm, such dedication!
Moo takes the opportunity to surreptitiously pocket a few items from the Temple while Valthrun excitedly goes about his... ministrations. An empty ritual book would be nice! Heck, there might even be a "Transfer Enchantment" ritual scribbled inside. Thievery: 13 + 8 = 21. _________________ A few days after the hand incident, Moo promptly goes shopping. Flush with cash, he espies a handsome steed, whom he falls in love with immediately and christened as Denny. Denny = Cal's! He buys a wagon to complement his new beast companion, and proceeds to go on a shopping spree for mundane items. Having purchased so many things at once, the minotaur tries to wheedle Albert into giving him a discount. Purchase the following: 1x riding horse ------------ 75 GP 1x wagon ------------------- 20 GP 1x camouflaged clothing ---- 30 GP 1x footpads ---------------- 05 GP 1x climber's kit ----------- 02 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 10x torch ------------------ 01 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 20 pitons ------------------ 01 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 33x Flask ------------------ 01 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 10 pints of oil ------------ 01 GP (put in flasks above) TOTAL ITEMS PURCHASED >>>>> 136 GP Bluff for discount: 11 + 14 = 25. _________________ Moo catches sight of Clock trying to seduce the ritualist salesgirl, strangely hemming and hawing in his attempt to secure a discount. How atypical of the normally gilt-tongued rascal. Roughly elbowing the bard aside, Moo spends all but 25 GP (emergency money) on Ritual Components. Surely this amount of business, plus the warforged's middling 120 GP purchase, should merit a quantity discount! Bluff check for ritual components discount: 13 + 14 = 27. _________________ Clock seemed downcast after Moo's admonishment. The changeling felt sorry for the poor robot, but at the same time was aggrieved at his name being so mercilessly mangled. Moo did what the robot requested, but added his own indelible mark upon the warforged's steel chest. Transform Skald's armor into warforged component with Enchant Magic ritual. Etch "PERSONAL PROPERTY: CAL AMAH of RHEE" on said component. Attach component to Glock. "Here ya go, Clock!" _________________ Idly ambling the arms shop, Moo catches sight of a beautifully crafted mundane longbow, and decides that he just had to have it. He also espies a discarded Leather Helmet, which will prove of much munchkining worth later on, and picks it up. Buy 1x Longbow (30 GP) Locate and swipe a mundane leather helmet. None of the magic items caught his eye, although he thought the Bracers of Respite might prove useful to the bleeding-heart cleric. He's unable to afford any of the items now, but the wily changeling turns on his charms and attempts to barter his BRAND NEW, NEVER-USED Bloodclaw weapon for the Gloves of Piercing. Moo's ready to fall back on settling for the Blessed Book should the shop object too much. Bluff to barter: 9 + 14 = 23. If possible, swap Bloodclaw Short Sword for Gloves of Piercing. If bluff check is inadequate, swap Bloodclaw Short Sword for Blessed Book. If barter is not possible, keep Bloodclaw Short Sword. _________________ That night, the lizard regaled the C-Team with possible tales of derring-dos available to them. Moo's ears perk up at the mention of 10,000 GP. He's never heard of so much money in his life! And yet, he has a nagging feeling that the church of Erathis is essentially offering a suicide mission. No, after the murderous experience at Thunderspire, it's best to lie back and take a less-harrowing job for now. 3 points towards Aubreck Drallion. 2 points towards Hommlet Moathouse. |
Moo opens his mouth in surprise as the human fighter proffers him 90 gold pieces. Perhaps he should have said that everything was square, there was no need to consummate the bargain struck during Gorg's rampage. That Moo will take dibs on the next treasure they'd encounter on their next adventure.
But money is money. The changeling's never been one to turn down free money. Accepting the gold pieces with tears in his eyes, the minotaur sweeps up the fighter in a great big hug. Why, he could've kissed him were the human not uncomfortably fidgeting at the public display of affection. "A thousand thanks for your kindness, oh mighty Car!", said he, as he rushes off to convert his fortune into ritual components. Buy 90GP worth of ritual components. Moo spends the night feverishly enchanting new magic items, thanks to the glowing tattoo on his rear end feeding him with this knowledge. He first turns the mundane leather cap salvaged from the city streets into something that increases arrow accuracy, as outlandish as it sounds. Next comes magic ordnance: the changeling converts four of his arrows into expendable ammunition with really nasty effects. He's heard of magic whetstones that temporarily grant additional lethality to any weapon (+2 to attack and damage rolls), but has no convenient rock to test it on. But perhaps Gnasc's precious jewels might qualify as a stone, so why the heck not? Moo finishes his long, long sleepless night by enchanting the beautiful mundane longbow into a magical one, one which decreases the accuracy of an enemy's ranged and area attacks when hit. Assuming, of course, that he has any ritual components left over.
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Gheth ambles about town, unsure that he has much to spend his newly-gotten gains on. He pays a visit to Albert's Miscellany, where he finds himself wondering exactly what a 'scourge' could be. He picks it up and swings experimentally, hitting himself in the nose in the process. Coolly he puts it back on the table, and does his best nonchalant walk to the front counter.
His eye is drawn to the obsidian steed standing upright in a corner, and briefly he entertains thoughts of leading his allies on horseback, but practicality was a factor. The nearby Herbologist and Prayer Bead Repository seemed to have more his fare, but even so, the pickings seemed slim. He didn't think it would be wise to wipe out his savings in return for marginal help in battle. At the end of the day, Gheth found all he really wanted to do was to return to the field. 3 to Aubreck/Derelict ship 2 to Gharash/Bandits Sorry that took so long, debating on whether or not to buy thingamabobbers |
Despite all his cajoling, Gheth is quite unable to coax any opinions out of the halfling; he's far too busy playing rock-parchment-shears with his strange new friend (Gordok has lost the last 18 games but he feels his luck is about to turn at any moment).
Glock meanders in from the market, taking very deliberate steps to avoid having his backpack bump into anything. It wasn't the first time Gheth had seen his friend festooned with acid and bombs, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He could probably be reassembled when the inevitable happens, but it was still conceptually disturbing. The warforged evidently hadn't learned much from his inquiries about the silver ring; the jewelers he'd spoken to didn't recognize the craftwork and if anybody in Freeport had lost a ring they certainly weren't telling. Perhaps it belonged to somebody in Thunderspire, where Glock had found it in the first place. Oh well. Cal arrives to the discussion with an alarming amount of purchases in tow, his quiver practically glowing and with ridiculous dark goggles over his face. Awkwardly dismounting from his new horse, he staggers clumsily into the inn's common room. The disembodied hand seems to take an instant liking to Cal's pony, clambering up its mane and idly patting it on the head from time to time. Cal seems to constantly look from his coinpurse to his pouch of reagents to an extra bow he's carrying around, as though trying to work out some miscalculation he's made. Gheth and Garrmondo are mostly content holding on to their coin, the fighter buying only a few oil flasks to use with his jury-rigged slingshot. After some debate the group elects to pursue the matter of fetching the play. Should be easy work. They set out for the Kafe Ilkin... whatever that is. Happily the locals are significantly more knowledgeable about this than they were about random jewelry found in a hole. |
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