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Wait, why did the Hulk's body disappear? I needed a new dild—mace
Frustrated as I am by senseless death, I gather up all 18 bone daggers that have evidently strong abilities if I have combat advantage. I use them to hack off and collect all the the fingers of the dead manglers. Denny, my loyal horse! Are you dead? No, you can't be dead. I.... I won't... I can't.... I can't leave you in a place like this. You must be buried with full Amah of Rhee honors. Subtly shifting lower abdominal anatomy to female so as not to herniate myself, I gently caress Denny's head, and start dragging him out the amphitheater. Changeling disguise: Testicles > ovaries; tentacles disappear As soon as Glock starts song of rest, expend 1 healing surge. |
Waiting on the stairs and gathering his thoughts, Glock watches with amusement as Cal drags the horse corpse by.
Suddenly, without warning, he belches a most monstrous belch right as the dead animal passes him by. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Flask of Dragon Breath all over Horse corpse The carcass is immolated almost instantaneously, and turns into a fine black dust, only to get quickly washed away by the waters in which they reside. |
What did you do that for? I wanted to bury him, not cremate him!.
I thought about kicking Clock in the crotch, but thought the better of it. It'd hurt me more than the sexless robot. Muttering the word "asshole" under my breath, I stash the only parts of Denny that weren't incinerated: his waterlogged tail and his jawbone, in my pack. |
The bewildered old man stares at Garrmondo for a long moment, searching the fighter's face for any trace of sarcasm. He looks at the giant yellow portal Garrmondo just hurled two foulspawn into, then looks at Garrmondo again. He frowns.
"Well, now. I can't say as I know where the harbinger and her acolytes have gone, friend! I could not follow her, sad to say. I have responsibilities here, among the flock! But should you wish to catch up to her and learn her wisdom directly, surely it is clear that she could only have left by one exit? The throngs outside the theatre are quite impassible, so it was necessary that they make their exit via this convenient window. I know not where it goes, young man, but surely they could have only gone on to bigger and better venues." |
Get the Flash Player to play this audio file:
Song of Rest Burn singular surge. Clomping over to the old man, the robot silently grabs hold of him and drags him to the portal. "Here, y'know what. I'm gonna be nice. You can see another show." With that, he shoves the man's head into the portal but maintains a solid grip on his legs, trying to hold him onto this side of the rift. After a few seconds, he drags him back out. "So, what did you see?" |
The execrable bard was treating the mayor of Lamid like a piece of garbage. Doesn't he know NPCs are people too? Typical machines, with no moral compasses!
Well, his loss. If Geoff Bresnick recovers from his insanity, the bard will have made a powerful enemy. Not that I cared at the moment. Utterly drained, physically and emotionally, by the day's exertions, I heave myself on the dry stairs. It was time to say goodbye to a dear friend.
Use 1 healing surge, HP + 16 to 47. |
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Bresnick's dazed expression is gone when Glock reels him back in. The sudden shock of being thrust through the portal was evidently enough to clear the fog from his mind.
"Birds, mostly. They were all flying upside-down. And far above me, there was a floating city! People were walking around on it, and none of them fell off! It was very strange. There was a big tower in the middle of the city, and the rest of the place was, I think, balanced on top of it. It was a very tall tower. Even then, the bottom of the tower was pretty far away from me! Some strange people in robes were standing on the bottom of the tower, and they were upside-down too! I wonder if this magical upside-down city is Carcosa? It sounded like a very strange place when they described it in the play. I wonder how they keep all those things from falling down?" Bresnick glowers about the ruined theatre, dismayed. "By Asmodeus' curly beard, what happened here? And where are my pants?" Though the man's story doesn't make a lot of sense, Cal sees nothing in Bresnick's body language to suggest that he's intentionally deceiving them. |
I point wearily to the bloated floating corpses and the mangled manglers, heaved a sigh, and told him:
You killed them all, sir. You said the Harbinger made you do it. But it's okay, my lips are sealed. *wink wink nudge nudge* Radcliff sent us here to investigate and extract you. Shall we get you to safety, sir? |
"Your lips are sealed, my foot. It'll be my word against yours, and I can only imagine how many witnesses saw you storming in here with your weapons out — whereas I'm totally unarmed. Did I strangle all of them, do you think? I'll find my own way out, I wager — you seem about as slimy as a salamander's ass."
Bresnick backs up against the wall, waiting for the party to cease obstructing the exit before he attempts to leave. |
I could have phrased it better. By killing, I meant he killed all the people in the amphitheater indirectly, by summoning the foulspawn as per the Harbinger's wishes. Foulspawn that we've had to kill. He was obviously no hostage, we just saw the Hulk ate one of the women, after all.
Looks like Bresnick was too canny to fall for a little blackmail. Hiding my disappointment, I shrugged. "... Whatever." If old man Geoff is so eager to get out, let him. I move to the side of the stairwell, take an exaggerated bow, and gestured towards the entrance. It would be most amusing to see how an old man in his underwear get past a crazed mob. |
Gheth manages to find time to bandage a few wounds before dimensional travel takes priority.
With the only witness seeming to be a bust at the moment, Gheth is content with Garrmondo's efforts at keeping him from hurting himself. Use 1 surge Stand around and look good |
Garrmondo quickly takes a look outside before letting Bresnick wander into danger.
Though it's only been a few minutes since Radcliff's troops started culling the crowd, he's making good progress: the ratio of mutant crazies relative to regular crazies in the mob seems greatly improved. Moreover, the violence has subsided significantly since Bresnick stopped issuing proclamations from within the theatre. Bresnick gives no outward sign that his madness has vanished, and the crowd largely treats him as one of their own. Garrmondo watches the old man pass through the crowd until he sees him safely reach the barricades on the other side, and returns to his companions. Was it worthwhile to investigate the other end of the portal further? Judging from the mayor's account, they'd best find themselves a tall ladder... |
I tie one end of my 50-foot climbing rope to an arrow shaft, with the other end securely attached to a pillar.
I shoot the portal with one of my disease-causing arrows. If it hits someone, they might lose a healing surge! Mwa ha ha. If we're going mountaineering then I'll need to retrieve my climber's kit. Against all odds, the crazy old man found his way through the crowd unmolested. Surmising that a lack of pants is useful camouflage, I take off my trousers, act insane, and dance my way past the crowd. |
Cal shoots at a portal, and almost immediately after the arrow vanishes into the light a loud squawk is heard. A spray of blood spurts through the portal, along with three unusually large feathers. The rope Cal had tied to his arrow immediately goes taut, and the support pillar on the on the other end begins to creak. Cal's evidently hooked a big one.
Ignoring this unusual turn of events, Cal promptly removes his pants and mingles into the gradually-dispersing crowd. Upon reaching his wagon, he discovers a terrible thing: a nearby tenement house has succumbed to the barely-controlled fires raging in the town, and has collapsed upon his beloved wagon! Acting quickly, the pantsless ranger extinguishes the fire in the wagon before much damage is done, but he still suffers some loss of property from both the fire and the crushing force of the collapsing building. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/oregonfail.png |
The Universe is conspiring to destroy my property and send me to the poorhouse. But at least I am being repaid for the loss of Denny by a fine white ox
that apparently fell from a burning building. Thank the Traveler for small favors!
Clearing away the debris from my wagon, I briefly survey what other possessions that belonged to the unfortunate building tenants have found their way into my property. I take a moment to enjoy the cool wafting breeze of the night. Pants are overrated. Besides, mine are all soggy. I ignite a torch to dry them more quickly. While warming up my trousers, my mind drifts toward the squawk and gigantic feathers. What kind of beast could have made such a sound and has such accouterments? |
Returning to the front of the gate with the rest of the group, Glock looks around for a barracks or something in which to take a god damn nap.
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Gordok is quite familiar with sleeping outdoors and in cramped spaces amongst giants. He follows Glock while worrying of unknown luxury he might encounter. Beds confuse the halfling.
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With the beams supporting the theater slowly splintering apart, G-Unit retires for a nap. The Lamid city watch seems to have the situation mostly under control, and the potential ongoing threat of the King's Players seems like kind of a distant idea once Gordok starts stifling a yawn or two. Surely it could wait until tomorrow. The group makes their way to the watch barracks, relaying a quick summary of events to Radcliff (and retrieving Cal's sword in the bargain). No more willing to send men through the portal than G-Unit was, Radcliff simply posts a guard or two in the theatre in case anything else passes through it. G-Unit, for their part, take a well-earned sleep.
The harried guardsmen assigned to the theatre do their job with a minimal level of vigilance, assuming the mercenaries must have thrown a rope through the portal for some good reason. The occasional creaking and cracking they hear is blamed on the building slowly drying out and settling back into shape. A long night of violence and horror takes its toll in weariness, and the three guards have more or less dozed off in their chairs when the inevitable happens. Around 2 AM, the support pillar to which Cal tied his arrow finally snaps. A man-sized chunk of timber rips loose from the splintering support beam, hurtling into the open portal. Without the beam to hold up its share of the overlooking balconies, they give way as well — the other beams, damaged from the flooding as well as the earlier fight, are in no shape to carry more than their intended burden. The theatre begins to rapidly collapse on itself like a house of cards, burying the portal under tons of shattered lumber. The three watchmen never return to their barracks. ————— Meanwhile, several hundred feet above the city of Freeport, something even stranger is happening. Several hours before, a massive roc passing overhead had been unlucky enough to pass beneath the other end of the King's Players' portal just as Cal experimentally shot an arrow through it. Unluckier still, the arrow was filthy with disease, and flew right through the poor roc's chest into its heart. The shock was enough to render the huge bird instantly unconscious, dangling a massive dead weight on the end of Cal's rope. Though rocs are mighty beasts by any measure, filth fever quickly takes its toll when so swiftly introduced to the vital organs. The roc was quite dead by the time G-Unit retired to the watch barracks. Hundreds of feet below, the King's Players were putting on their final performance of the evening upon the grandest stage yet: the top of one of the guard towers encircling the Old City. The guards stationed atop the tower itself had been easy enough to dispatch, and the towers took so long to climb that no one on the ground could possibly reach the top in time to interrupt the show. Nearly the entire city could see the performance now, and the same simple cantrips that had made the fall from the portal harmless made sure they could all hear it too. More spells illuminated the tower's top as brightly as the day, and any strange shadows that objects overhead might be casting went unnoticed. By the time the play reached its climactic reveal, the damage was already done. Nearly a tenth of Freeport's citizens had been out on the streets (or had foolishly gone out to satisfy their curiosity), and of those not a one was even slightly recognizable by the night's end. Two thousand in number, the squamous horrors staggered around the dark city wreaking havoc. Still, the Visitor promised by the tome did not appear; did the King require more servants even than this great offering? Sophia and her band were prepared to go still further. "Pack it up", Sophia muttered. "Tomorrow we perform in Waterdeep. High noon, I think." It was then that a wooden beam in Lamid finally snapped under the weight of a massive corpse, sending a dead roc plummeting down from the sky. The King's Players and all their props were swiftly crushed to death under the feathery cadaver, and all five bodies remained up there for weeks before the Watch could spare the manpower to clear them away. As the weight of the roc crushes Sophia to death, her portal sputters out of existence. No, the Watch had far more pressing duties — quelling a massive invasion that called the barbarian hordes of 4 years ago to mind. But these beasts were far more terrible than the savages that roamed the streets in those years, and far too many of them seemed somehow all too familiar. The Sea Lord herself took charge of suppressing the outbreak, and her methods were swift and brutal. Within a month, any apparent trace of what came to be known as the "theatre bug" had been eradicated — along with vast swaths of Freeport's nonhuman populations. Not every member of the Watch was a principled man, and "he was unusually tall" or "she was on fire, sir" was more than enough proof of infection for the exhausted Watch Captains. In the end, eliminating 2000 aberrations cost Freeport nearly 2500 lives — not counting those unfortunates who had been killed by the monsters without being transformed themselves. The morgues were far too busy for proper autopsies. ————— But of course, most of this had yet to happen, and G-Unit knew nothing of any of it. After a fitful sleep they reconvene at the theatre to discuss their next move only to discover it in ruins. With no way of pursuing the King's Players (let alone a copy of their remarkable play), they shrug their collective shoulders and spend a few days helping to repair some of the damage done to Lamid. Despite inadvertently destroying the playhouse, G-Unit were still generally viewed as heroes by the survivors of Lamid; their stories of the 5 monsters inside the theatre had only grown in the telling as they passed from ear to ear and within a week it was widely believed that dozens of foulspawn were buried under the rubble. A small ceremony is held to honor the "Protectors Of The City", and G-Unit is awarded with Lamid's most valuable possession: a legitimate Bag Of Holding. To say the least Cal is enthused about this new opportunity for storage, but Glock gets his hands on the bag before the changeling can commandeer it: he has plans for this thing. TL; DR: BAD END |
Awesome. This bag looks fantastic. Odd shape though. Round, with little circular designs on the outside.
The robot opens the drawstrings and sticks his head in. Inside it....looked different than he imagined. http://colonelskills.belkanairforce..../dbztardis.jpg ----- It isn't long before he gets a very good idea. Glock approaches Gordok and whispers in his ear. The halfling claps enthusiastically and is more than willing to assist. The robot takes a few empty boxes and starts setting up a small podium from which to speak as Gordok rounds up the townspeople. Luckily, being fans of the group, pretty much everyone seems all that more willing to hear these two out. 'CITIZENS OF LAMID. I, GLOCKENSPIEL MCSTEELCHEST, REQUIRE YOUR ASSISTANCE. MY COHORT AND I HAVE DECIDED TO GO ON A MAGICAL ADVENTURE, BUT WE NEED YOUR HELP. WOULD YOU BE SO KIND AS TO GATHER EVERY SINGLE PERSON YOU KNOW AND MEET ME JUST OUTSIDE THE CITY GATES? I PROMISE YOU WILL HAVE A GOOD TIME. MEET ME IN AN HOUR." And with that, the robot let the crowd disperse. ---------- Raiding a lit torch from wherever possible, the dynamic duo prepares for their adventure. Just over 60 minutes pass, and the pair find pretty much the entire population of the city out on the nearby field. "ALRIGHT MEN, HERE IS THE PLAN. ALL OF YOU STAND SINGLE FILE. LOOK AT YOUR NEIGHBOUR AHEAD OF YOU. HE IS YOUR THROWING BUDDY." "ON MY SIGNAL. PREPARE TO GIVE YOUR THROWING BUDDY SOMETHING TO THROW. THE SIGNAL WILL BE A LOUD EXPLOSION." Glock pulls one guy off to the side. "You, you're our front man. On the signal, get ready to throw something towards the sky. Make sure you're at the front of the line." It takes several minutes for the crowd to line up properly. With the approximately 2000 people present, some people need to travel quite a distance. On the walk to the back of the line, Glock picks up Gordok by the face and stuffs him unceremoniously into the bag of holding. When finally arriving at the rear of the line, Glock takes the torch and lights one of his grenades, and then hurls it as far into the air and as far away from the group as as he possibly can. 2000 peasants ready the action "pass the bag forward down the line". One gets ready to throw upward. Putting his leg into the bag, Glock tells the person at the back "hey, look. When I shut this, pick it up and give it to the next guy" And with that, Glock widens the drawstrings and lowers the rest of his body inside, drawing it shut as his hand disappears. Some faint rocket ship music can be heard playing inside. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Picking up the bag, the last peasant hands it to the one ahead of him. And he hands it forward, and he hands it forward. Each peasant moves bag one square as an immediate reaction. Bag travels 2000 squares over 6 seconds. 10000 feet / 6 seconds = 1666.6 feet per second = 1136 MPH At about two thirds of the way down the line, the bag achieves mach. The robot didn't account for this, but the shockwave traveling behind it annihilates several hundred villagers. Luckily for our intrepid spacemen, the bag is outrunning it. With a thunderous roar, it escapes the last man's hand and travels faster than the speed of sound into the stratosphere. ------ http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/bagofholdinglaunch.png ------ As the bag twinkles far above the horizon, finally achieving low earth orbit, the destruction left by the wake of the makeshift rocketship is best left to be cleaned up by local wildlife. Otherwise someone's going to need a hell of lot of shovels. At the very least, Glock hopes his friends make significant haste away from there before too long. |
Without a horse, my wagon is useless. I have neither the funds for it, and even were my companions were to lend them to me, no horse can ever replace Denny.
I spend my free time during the week of rebuilding by dismantling my wagon, and reassembling it into a hand-dragged covered contraption suitably reinforced against fire. It should be good for 250 pounds of weight, at least, and should be easily dragged by even a weakling like myself. With much less room, and without a horse to consume it, I discarded the majority of the dried hay that was padding the wagon. While looking through my inventory, I realized I no longer had any length of rope. Might as well buy some once I get sufficient funds. INVENTORY REALIGNMENT (ready for Copy/Paste into Wiki) Spoiler:
The day we were feted as heroes of Lamid was bittersweet. Gazing upon beloved Denny's jawbone, I can't shake the sense of loss that washed over me. And now, because of his impromptu cremation, I can never see him again. Or can I? Retreating to the outskirts of Lamid, I summon the best memory I have of Denny's unsullied face. If I am able to change shape into a half-human, half bull, surely changing to a horse head should be just as easy for a changeling of my abilities. Henceforth, this form shall be my default form. Human no longer, but a humanoid centaur. And Cal? No, that was then. I am, now and forevermore, Denical ! ___________________________________ Suddenly, I saw the bag of holding I saw Clock and Cordok stepping into whisk into the air. This was followed a few seconds later by a ground-shattering noise that almost deafens me. What the hell?! I shudder to think of the fates of the villagers who assisted them in their latest harebrained scheme. But, as I watch the bag disappear into the horizon, I felt a sense of deep sorrow. I feel lonely. Abandoned. And despite having made peace with Denny's death, melancholic at this latest parting. It's silly, really, I shouldn't feel like this considering the circumstances. I really miss that lucky charm I gave away :( I had the strangest feeling we may have overstayed our welcome to Lamid. I hurriedly search for the human and the dragonborn. Although we failed in our quest, we must still return to Freeport to make apologies to Arzu. |
It would be hard to miss the lawnside celebration going on just outside the town, and so Gheth had seen the streaking trail as his robotic friend took flight in a rocket...bag...thing...and towards that big alehouse in the sky. As he watched the vessel made of a little cloth and a whole lot of go-gettum attitude, Gheth did his best not to get choked up. If you loved something, you had to let it go.
It was probably for the best that Gheth had little grasp of velocity and relative mass, and so he dismissed the cracking whoosh sound as a passing dragon, and sought out the changeling and the fighter. Who knows what their next adventure would hold! |
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