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All In The Same Boat (GFF D&D Adventure 4)
The Horde hurries to hire aboard the Rosy Dawn, and the merchant ship is happy to have them. Freeport's various taverns, gambling dens and brothels have taken a heavy toll on Captain Catos' crew, and he's already decided to cancel the next shore leave to forestall any further desertions. While only Soggy can attest to any real experience in nautical matters, Catos is in no position to be picky.
The ship heaves anchor early the next morning, bound for Veltalar with a hull full of dried beans, jaunty hats, and Cormyrian Purple Dragon Ale. The trip is largely uneventful aside from Bob's frequent dashes to expel the results of his seasickness over the side. Soggy and Garrmondo do what they can to make themselves useful in the day-to-day operations of the ship, staving off boredom if nothing else. Delic wanders the boat aimlessly, pestering the crew with exaggerated tales of his derring-do, and Gabe spends the better part of each day staring off into the horizon — waiting, it would seem, for some sign to come. Still, it's not such a long trip and with Bob pouring bait into the water at such regular intervals it's not hard to pull up plenty of fish. Soon the Rosy Dawn is only a day or two away from Veltalar, and the only real obstacle ahead is the Fang; a tiny island surrounded by reefs and jagged rocks that have killed more sailors than all the kuo-toa and sahuagin in the Sea of Fallen Stars put together. Still, no professional sailor truly feared the Fang these days; the simbarchs of Aglarond long ago constructed the Fang Light, a massive glowing crystal installed in the Fang's only lighthouse. With the Fang Light in place, it was easy enough to navigate the reefs — not to say there still wasn't the occasional fatality. Even the most experienced skippers sometime drank a bit more than they ought. Dusk is falling, and the Rosy Dawn has struck sails to proceed slowly and carefully around the Fang. Suddenly, a shout rings out from the crow's nest. "Ship to port! Ship to port! Pirates!" Catos frowns, pulling the ship's wheel hard to the left, but it's too late. The pirate cutter is bearing down too fast, pushed along by a sudden wind. There's no time to escape. "PREPARE TO REPEL BOARDERS!" Catos shouts, and the old dwarf's eyes light up with a fierce excitement he'd probably deny knowing anything about. The pirate ship looms ever closer, and a bright flash of magic erupts atop the Rosy Dawn's crow's nest. A laughing woman in mage's garb steps through a portal, kicking the lookout out of the crow's nest before he can react. The sailor falls to the deck with a sickening crunch. Eight more pirates follow behind the mage before her portal closes, shouting war cries as they rappel down the rigging. The mage remains atop the mast, raining magic on the ship's unready crew. Dozens more pirates laugh and taunt from the other boat, throwing grappling hooks and biding their time as the ropes slowly drag the two ships closer together. The boarding action has to be cut short before the numbers are too great to deal with! "Sorry, boys", the mage shouts from her lofty perch, "but the shipping lanes are closed!" :savepoint: Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Sea Dogs, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage Defenses: 2 Scallywags AC 19; Fortitude 17, Reflex 16, Will 15 6 Sea Dogs AC 18; Fortitude 16, Reflex 14, Will 14 1 Mage AC 17; Fortitude 13, Reflex 14, Will 15 |
Motsognir backs away from the pirates, shooting a fireball into their midst. "Hats and beans! All for hats and beans!" he laments.
"Gabe, Garrmondo, cut those fucking ropes!" Move to V29 Scorching Burst to Z23 6 damage to the ugly bastard at AA23 fuck these dice |
It didn't take long for the dwarf to be wakened from his reverie. Kord cried out for the clash of steel and fang, and this would do nicely, indeed. His feet propelled him without thought towards the guard rail of the ship. His eyes alight with the desire to punish those daring to take their ship, thinking it easy pickings. As he nears the ropes, he flips something from his belt, a black mastiff suddenly spawning into view and rending the ropes. Taking a deep breath, he summons the pent up rage from this past adventure and rears back with his axe, hewing roughly into another rope.
Move to S25. Standard to summon dog to S26. Free to give it healing surge HP. Minor to make it attack the rope at R26 Burn AP Bolstering Strike on rope at R25. "Take THAT, Cannon restraint rope!" |
Soggy quickly busts out the little bit of magic he'd picked up from spending a distressing amount of time staring at Bob, and the payoff is immediate. The ragged sea dog bursts into flames, and, screaming, runs across the deck and dives into the water.
The shark-infested, reef-strewn water full of sharp rocks. So long, Minion #000073A. We hardly knew ye. Minion at AA23 killed, two ropes cut. Yeah no need for an attack roll against an inanimate rope "You idiots!", the mage screams. "They're cutting the ropes! That's the exact thing I told you to make them not do!" The two scallywags charge the starboard side, intent on protecting the ropes. They lunge for Gabe and his faithful hound with their halberds, but the Paladin nimbly steps aside. Goliath, unfortunately, is not quite so nimble. 16 damage to Goliath; prone & bloodied :savepoint: Bob, Delic, Sea Dogs, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags |
The boat trip had not turned out quite as enjoyable as I had imagined. Whilst the excitement of being aboard ship, making sail on a voyage of discovery to lands unknown was almost more than I could bear, the seas had been ferocious the whole time and our little boat was pitched up and down mountainous waves, causing me to be quite sick. I resolved that next time we went off in search of adventure, we should do it in a forest.
I was also quite surprised at how rough looking all the other sailors on ship were. I had expected smart uniforms, crisp bell bottoms and not a single body hair between the lot of them but these fellows wore tatty rags for the most part and I had not seen so many beards in one place since that unfortunate trip to a men only sauna in the curious kingdom of Canadia. Our cruise was interupted however by the sight of another ship on an intercept course for us, flying the unmistakeable colours of a pirate! At least I assumed that's what the colours meant as the crew became suddenly agitated and armed themselves. Suddenly, boarding ropes were tossed across and a cocky looking mage opened a portal to the top of the mast, making me doubly jealous as I wished I knew cool tricks like that and the fierce seas had precluded me climbing up their myself for a look. The deck was suddenly swarming with pirates and I'll admit that the thought crossed my mind that we should simply defect and join their crew but I had heard unpleasant rumours of the initiation rites to join a pirate crew and figured they'd be more receptive to volunteers once we thinned out their ranks a bit. With a wave of my staff, I conjured forth a torrent of flame, immolating two of the pirates in an instant. Well, they could have been immolated, I was a bit busy moving to a more tactically sound, rearguard position to check. Scorching burst at W23, move to V33 |
Leaning on his bastard sword, Delic watches with a quiet amusement as the pirates storm the ship, declaring their intent. "Oh ho, what devilry is this? Avast, you salty dogs! Were it not for the likes of cutting down your kind, my soul would surely wander cheerlessly throughout eternity!"
Move to X25 Attack With Bastard Sword |
Bob's fireburst errs too close to some dried bean barrels left on the decks, and the superheated beans explode out onto the nearby sea dogs, covering them both in thousands of tiny welts. Scrambling to escape, the pirates slip on the beans scattered underfoot and crash to the deck — where they're either knocked unconscious or perform a very convincing imitation.
Killed the hell out of those guys Anyone moving through the bean area (circled) may slide or fall Delic boldly strides forth, jabbing his mighty blade at — What ho, that one's already given up! Delic strides somewhere else, slashing at someone who is still a plausible combatant! The grimy cur is skewered on the blade, writhing in agony as Delic perforates his kidneys. That will teach him to pursue a life of base villainy! Didn't explain minions to you either; my fault Killed that guy also. Minions: making combat less grindy since 2008 The two surviving Sea Dogs pile on Gabriel, trying to stop him from cutting any more ropes (and his little dog, too). Their crude wooden cudgels fail to even attract his attention, splintering harmessly against his armor. :savepoint: Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Sea Dogs |
Aw yeah, take that you fuckin' rope. Comin' around here bein' all ropey. You get what you deserve.
The pirate mage leans out of the crow's nest, tossing bolts of electricity at the skirmish below. 8 damage to Garrmondo + Gabriel The hooting ruffians on the enemy ship toss 2 more ropes over, and the cords drag the ships a little closer together. :savepoint: Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Sea Dogs, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage |
The dwarf ran to the cannon on his right. Ol' Soggy would show these scum a thing or two about fighting at sea. "You're not pirates! I'm a goddam pirate!" He waved his fist in the air menacingly, growling as the fuse burned down.
move to S31 (or whatever square is appropriate for cannon loading) load cannon fire cannon at pirate bastards |
The dwarf growled as the bolts fizzeled along his beard, suddenly making it poof out comically like an angry cat. Flailing his axe haphazardly at what he assumed was there, (miss on valiant strike) the axe whizzed harmlessly short of the bastard. As the dwarf struggled to smooth down his beard while cursing angrily at the "damnable static electricity mage" his dog lunged in hungrily to attempt to do what his master couldn't. (Doggie shift to T25, miss) Instead he did exactly what his master could do, which is miss terribly and then look like a fool.
In years to come, Gabriel and Goliath would look back on this roughly six seconds of existence as their greatest shared shame. They would not speak of it again. |
The iron ball crashes into the deck of the pirate ship, tearing a ragged hole through the hull. Alerted by Soggy's furious ranting, most of the pirate crew flees out of the way — but not all.
4 Sea Dogs killed; 27 damage to pirate ship "They're shooting up my ride!" screams the mage. "Feed 'em to the sharks!" The scallywags attempt to knock Gabe to the deck, getting him out of the way so they can stop Soggy from loading the cannon again. Their halberds just bounce off his platemail with a clang. :savepoint: Bob, Delic, Sea Dogs, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags |
I launched another fireball into the midst of the pirates, saving my more impressive spells for the inevitable second wave.
scorching burst at u25 |
"Oh ho ho ho! My quarry is free of obstacles! To haste! I shall slay him... er, her... IT!"
Move to Y21 Attack with Footwork Lure |
Sea Dog at T24 killed
9 damage to Scallywag at U25 Delic strides boldly over to his enemy and attacks it most viciously. Sadly, his enemy appears to be the Rosy Dawn's mainmast, which makes no attempt to defend itself. 9 damage to the mast. Do you know what the mast is? It is what the enemy is on top of! 60 feet above you. Yup. The last of the sea dogs in the initial boarding party makes another attempt to batter Gabe with his makeshift club, noticing the paladin's sudden descent into incompetence. The club bounces off Gabe's head with a satisfying clonk. 4 damage to Gabe :savepoint: Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Sea Dogs |
The dwarf growled low in his throat as the club connected with his skull. He turned around and rubbed his head in annoyance before he open hand slapped the offending party and glowered. Then, remembering he was actually here to kill him, instead of get in a slap fight, which is all they'd done to him so far, he decided to hit him with an axe. (Standard. Bolstering Strike to SEA DOG. Hit. 11 dmg.)
Deciding he'd made his point concerning the axe vs slapfight debate, Gabe decided to let his dog also answer the call once again. Maybe they could have a round of shared non-shame. (MINORGoliath shifts to T25 and MINOR attacks ScallyWaggle). But no, he fails miserably. Snap snap at air. 10 damage to air maybe. Should have got a goddamned cat. |
Motsognir moved to the other cannon, loading it before the pirates across the way could figure out he had switched targets. Mounting the cannon like a horse to keep from tumbling away as he fumbled with the flint, he glanced back at his lady, winking grandiosely.
move to other cannon load cannon shoot that cannon |
Garrmondo cuts another rope. It's not especially rewarding work, but it beats being hit with clubs or trying to bring the mast down on your head.
"Haul those ropes a little faster, boys!" the mage shouts. "I didn't exactly bring my whole spellbook with me, you know?" She gestures, and the paladin and his dog are enveloped in a wave of concussive noise. Whimpering, Goliath promptly reverts back to statuette form. Thunder Burst at S25: 11 damage to Goliath & Gabe; Gabe dazed, dog "killed", boats move a little closer together Motsognir fires another round into the hull of the enemy craft. This time the crew is wise to him and stay out of range, but they can only ignore the ragged holes in their boat for so long. Besides, as long as they're kept away they won't be throwing any more ropes. Bombardment: 30 damage to pirate craft Gabriel offhandedly dispatches the last of the sea dogs, ordering his hound forth to... stupid hound, where did it go? Furthermore, why were his ears ringing? With the paladin obviously dazed and confused, the scallywags rush past him to stop Motsognir's abuse of cannon technology. Stabbity-stab. 14 damage to Motsognir; prone, marked by Scallywag at U26 :savepoint: Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags |
The lads were doing a pretty good job thus far of wiping out the pirates although I was slightly concerned that the newest member of our entourage seemed to have decided that the best way to get the enemy mage down to deck level was to chop down the mast. If nothing else, his use of a sword to chop heavy lumber went against everything I had learned from my parents' logging business.
I peered up at the mage, shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight. She was certainly too far away for any of my spells to reach her and I wasn't convinced I'd be able to get her with an arrow from this distance either. Maybe I'd give it a go though, once the more immediate danger of the pirates on deck had been dealt with. Seeing the two remaining assailants bunched together and moving to attack my resourceful dwarven chum, I blasted them with a fireball, hoping the ubiquitous tar covering most sailors' clothes would ignite and burn them to a crisp. I considered shouting an amusing aside at the same time to cheer up my companions, something about "Things hotting up" or "Crashing and burning" but nothing really cutting sprang immediately to mind so I went with a simple cry of "FLAME ON", aware that this had previously been the command word for the defences built into my robes but figuring that had been so long ago now that nobody would remember. The fireball exploded between them, causing some fairly nasty burns to each. Either shouting things made my magic work better or the pirates were wearing polyester, I feared I would never know for certain. Scorching burst at U26. |
Delic stares blankly at the mast, eyebrow arched.
"Witchery! How does a tree this large grow out of the ocean? And how does it have vines and no branches? By the accursed name of Fing Fang Foom, I smell black magic only the dankest pits of the blackest corners from the hells beneath Hell could brew! How do I slay one such as this?" Paralyzed in the disruption of the faculties which demoralizes anyone who is confronted by an impossible negation of sanity, Delic shakes his head, "All of this is most unexpected! What shall I..." And with a knowing, disarming smile, Delic grabs one of the cut ropes, brandishing his sword in his other hand, "And now to swing like an ape found on the Isle Of Jura!" Move/Swing From Y21 to U22 (if this is not allowed, please let me know) One-handed swing with broadsword to cut other ropes |
Scorching Burst: 11 damage to both Scallywags
Enraged at the insolence of this abominable sea-tree in not dying, Delic swiftly begins to scale the mighty vines strewn all about it. He hacks away at the clinging vines about him, and the great tree seems to groan in pain. Take that, you unnatural thing! Delic ascends 15 feet up the ropes, destroying many of them and weakening the stability of the mast. What is it with you guys and terrain deformation :( "Whose side are you on, anyway? If you're going to wreck the gods-damned boat you may as well just let us have it!" The mage flings a magic missile at Delic through the ropes, but it bounces harmlessly off the rigging and into the water (ending the short but happy life of a passing sturgeon). The ships draw ever closer; if the last two ropes aren't cut the pirates will soon be able to leap from their mast directly onto the Rosy Dawn's rigging! :savepoint: Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage |
Motsognir stands up and fires the cannon again.
"YOU GUYS! SHIT! CUT THE FUCKING ROPES!" Seeing the newcomer entangling himself was not encouraging. "NOT THOSE ROPES!" "DELIC. HEY, DELIC. SEE THESE HEADBAND ASSHOLES? ATTACK THEM. IGNORE THE ROPES." "SHIT." stand up load cannon fire the cannon look frustrated |
The dwarf, dazed and reeling, still had enough good sense to listen to the other dwarf. His head in a fog, he managed to plant his helmet in the chest of the nearest enemy and create just enough separation to hurl his throwing axe at the last rope. He knew keeping that boat off them was more important than his own skin.
Throwing hammer on rope. Only action cause dazed. :( Also, failed save vs daze. Dicks. |
Upon hearing the (pitiful, unwarriorlike) cries of Motsognir, Delic turns about, wraps his hands around the rope several more times and gets a running start.
"Have at thee, yea salty dogs!" Leaping with as much strength as he can muster, Delic swings forward, letting go of the rope at the last second and bringing both his full weight and his blade down on the scum who dare attempt to steal the Sea-Tree. Swing to U25, letting go of rope Brash Strike against Pirate Dude With Sarah Connor headband |
The ships were edging inexorably closer and I saw gangs of pirates hanging off the rigging of their ship, waiting to jump aboard ours. Clearly the ropes needed breaking but even with my magic running away spell I was too far from the front rope to reach it in time. I saw the ugly dwarf throw either a hammer or an axe (He seemed unsure himself) at the front rope and following his lead, dropped my staff and readied my bow, pulling an arrow from my quiver and notching it in one smooth movement. Waiting a second to see if the dwarf's throw was true before sending an arrow streaking through the air.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the strange newcomer swinging around like a fool and wondered why he didn't just hurry up and climb the rope to get the mage who apart from the boatload of pirates just out of reach, was clearly the only real threat here. The arrow flew true and snapped the rope with a satisfying twang. Whilst I had never really been a fan of archery practice and as such had never learned any of the really cool tricks some of the other kids at school had been capable of, my innate elven skills coupled with a naturally keen eye were more than a match for any innanimate object at relatively close range. Drop staff, draw bow, shoot rope. If Deni hit, I'll shoot the back one, if he missed, the front one. |
Motsognir fires off another cannonade into the enemy ship. He just needs to keep the pirates from throwing any more ropes until such a time as the Rosy Dawn is disentangled — which shouldn't be much longer, right?
Right? Idiots. 27 damage to pirate ship His head pounding, Gabe does the only thing that makes sense at the time — he confuses his throwing hammer with an axe and hurls it at the rope hooked onto the Rosy Dawn's bow. By some small miracle the blunt object rips through a frayed spot in the rope and it snaps free — and Gabriel's hammer flies into the drink. The scallywags continue jabbing at Soggy with their pointy sticks, but he craftily ducks behind the cannon just in time to avoid another skewering. Bob pulls out his seldom-used bow and takes aim at the last of the intruding ropes. It's only a small matter to magically imbue the arrow with an impressive whooshing sound as he sends it wobbling lackadaisically through the air. The rope is cut apart, and the thoroughly-ventilated pirate ship begins to drift away into the deeper sea. Now it's just a matter of dealing with the intruders already aboard. Delic swings from the rigging, hurling himself through the air at the interlopers. He's a bit rusty at the whole self-hurling thing. Misjudging the distance, Delic falls painfully to the deck a few feet short of his intended destination. 4 falling damage, knocked prone. Well, I guess it's technically landing damage. :savepoint: Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic |
Charging across the deck, Garrmondo jabs his shortsword into the enemy's ribs. The scallywag coughs up blood all over Garrmondo's expensive shirt, which he just got back from the tailors after that crazy broad punched a bunch of holes in it with a crossbow.
This is why we can't have nice things. Well, that was the upside to fighting pirates; despite their predilection for mayhem you could depend on them to have a wardrobe worth looting after you killed them. Sartorial fellows, one and all. 16 damage to U26 Scallywag, how do you figure 20? 6+6+4. The mage, all her useful and worthwhile spells depleted, is reduced to once again flinging magic missiles through the rigging at the prone and somewhat rattled Delic. The missile sears a black spot onto the deck next to Delic's head, and he regards it with an arched eyebrow. :savepoint: Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage |
Having driven off the enemy ship single-handedly, Motsognir ducks out of reach of the halberds and runs off to single-handedly deal with the mage.
Shift to U29 Sprint to Y22 |
The dwarf gulped air and took a moment to steel his resolve.
Second Wind. Save vs Dazed. Huge savings. |
Stranded on board with no hope of reinforcement, the scallywags fall back to protect the mage. Rushing past the slashing blades of the fighters, they catch up with Motsognir in an attempt to stop him scaling the mast. Sadly, the wounds they took in the pursuit leave them too winded to effectively strike at the wily dwarf.
9 damage to Scallywag 1, bloodied 12 damage to Scallywag 2, bloodied fffff :savepoint: Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags |
Emboldened by my successful arrow shot at the rope, I notched another arrow to my bow, this time taking aim at the pirate mage far above us. Rolling my head to ease the tension in my shoulders, I released the bow string, sending the arrow whistling through the air towards my target. As the arrow flew, my gaze was drawn to the sight of my wonderful dwarf, sprinting towards the mast, ready to climb up and confront the mage hand to hand. My eyes welled up at the sight of such bravery and martial prowess and I mouthed a silent encouragement to him, lost in my thoughts for a moment. "Everything I do, I do it for you".
Shoot at the mage, miss, use Elven Accuracy |
With his jaw set and splinters in the palms of his hands, Delic gives an angry look back at the mage who shot at him, far up the Sea-Tree.
"I'll send you neatly folded skin back to your master, you damn dirty ape!" And with a slow but impressive start, Delic charges at the closest opponent, sword drawn and half expecting to stumble forward into the enemy. Running to X24 as best as injury allows Brash Strike against target |
Longbow: 10 damage to mage
Standing up requires a move action on Delic's part; let's just use his AP and try to polish off the battle Brash Strike: 9 damage to Scallywag 2 Crushing Surge: 10 damage to Scallywag 2, killed The mage climbs down out of the crow's nest, ascending halfway down the mast to a wider platform. Magic Missile: 8 damage to Soggy (bloodied) :savepoint: Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage Sorry for terse mode, packin' |
Motsognir climbs up the pole to meet the mage at the lower platform. Winded, he manages to take a swing with his axe nonetheless.
Climb up pole Spend Action Point Viper's Strike Miss pathetically |
move to w25. Full defense.
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I'm guessing Pang's not going to be a dick and run the last pirate over to Bob just to get the AoO attack in when I use a ranged attack
The battle was going well, which was a refreshing change after the savage beatings we had been on the receiving end of lately. I was also rather enjoying a spot of bowmanship, something that had rather fallen by the wayside in my constant striving to become a master magus. I took a moment to pick up and stow my staff, for fear of it rolling off the boat. Then, with the sea breeze blowing in my hair (What bits of hair were loose under my hat and mask at any rate), I calmly drew and notched another arrow, tracking the enemy wizard's progress down the rigging and waiting for him to stand still, to improve my chances of scoring a hit. The wizard paused on the next level down and I took a deep breath, holding it in to steady my aim before releasing the string in a smooth motion, sending another arrow speeding towards my adversary. The arrow flew true but I was dismayed to see the wind catch it, blowing it off course, behind my target. Just as I thought I'd missed for certain, my plucky dwarven chum reached the wizard's position and took a mighty swing with his axe causing the wizard to duck back to avoid certain decapitation, straight into the path of my arrow. I knew that in years to come, people would stare when they saw us walking the streets hand in hand but I cared not, me and my dwarf made one hell of a team. Pickup and holster staff (Those are both minors right?), shoot bow at wizard |
7 damage to Pirate Mage
The scallywag quickly smashes Garrmondo to the deck, then steps back from the prone fighter's reach. 15 damage to Garrmondo; knocked prone :savepoint: Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags |
Despite both knees being bruised, Delic attempts a quick kill by running past his foe's blindspot and swinging in his general direction.
Run To Z22 Brash Strike Against Foe |
Brash Strike: 10 damage to Scallywag
Cursing her useless wand of missiles, the pirate mage digs in her heels and smashes Motsognir away with a vicious shoulder check. The dwarf loses his footing on the spray-drenched platform, and falls 30 feet to the deck before slumping into an unconscious heap. 18 falling damage to Motsognir; knocked unconscious and dying :savepoint: Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags, Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir |
Gabe, with no regard for his own safety, walks over to Motsognir and does his healing trick.
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There was some regard for his own safety, but largely what the other dwarf said was true. Seeing his friend's peril, the Paladin unfailingly moved to his side, laying his hands on the tiny man's chest and feeling the heat of Kord's radiant love flow through him. A moment later he stood next to him, his shield readied. His beard bristling.
Move to Y23. Lay on Hands on that little homo. Full defense. |
Lay On Hands: Soggy wakes up with 11 HP
Scallywag shifts south, stabs himself a paladin: Halberd: 5 damage and marked :savepoint: Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage, Motsognir, Gabriel, Pirate Scallywags |
Fun though the archery had been, I felt that this battle needed some more decisive action to wrap things up and in my case, that meant magic. With the pirate ship now drifting away from us, the threat of reinforcements was rather diminished so I could use the more powerful spells I had been keeping in reserve with greater confidence.
Dropping my bow and drawing my staff, I advanced to what I hoped was close enough range and summoned forth the more powerful of my ice ray spells, sending a super-chilled beam shimmering through the air towards both our remaining assailants. Drop bow, draw staff, move as close to the mast as I need to get in range for the Icy Rays spell, then cast it at both enemies. |
Fearing that the last Scallywag will hear his attack, Delic cartoonishly creeps up behind him, mimicing the sound of xylophones as he tip-toes. Brandishing his sword, he lifts it over his head and brings it down with his full weight behind it.
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Tired of all these monkey-fighting pirates on his Monday-to-Friday boat, Bob takes the initiative to root them in place. Try shoving people around now, you attention-grabbing magical slutbag.
Icy Rays: 9 damage to Scallywag & Mage, both immobilized, mage bloodied Delic stealthily creeps up behind the last Scallywag, and by creeps, I mean he doesn't really move at all, and by stealthily I mean he's totally obvious and they dodge him no problem. But other than that he's like, boom, a ninja! "Sword Strike": miss Dispensing with his companion's attempt at subtlety, Garrmondo does the simple thing and just lops the Scallywag's head off. He watches, bemused, as it rolls down the deck and bounces over the railing. The head, beautifully airborne for a brief, shining moment, sparkles prettily in the light of the setting sun. Crushing Surge: Scallywag killed With her feet frozen to the platform, the mage is quite unable to retreat back up the mast from the mob slowly closing in on her. A poorly-aimed magic missile in Bob's direction does nothing to improve her situation. :savepoint: Motsognir, Gabriel, Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage Sooo, sooo sorry for the holdup on this post, totally my fault |
Motsognir, never one to be beaten down, stands up and starts climbing the mast again.
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The dwarf smirked as he slowly made his way to look up at the woman. (move to AB 22) Setting his holy symbol infront of his shield, he called out to her, chastising her for her whore of Babylon ways. (Full Defense, Divine Challenge)
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Rattling through my lexicon of vaguely more impressive, once a fight spells, I nonchalently flipped a necrotic ray off towards the pirate mage. If I was honest, I was tiring of this fight and wanted to play with the cannons and my lack of concentration caused the beam to shoot well wide.
Ray of Enfeeblement on pirate mage, moving within range first if I'm not already |
"You are cold as the waters that surround you, Sea-Tree! I am sure you will find warmth with the fire in the blood of the dead that lay at your feet, like some sacrifice to the ancient prayer god of the Chal'thar!"
Putting away his sword, Delic grabs onto one of the free vines that swing near the Sea-Tree, climbing up the great wooden monolith, hand over hand. "You are as beautiful as the wind through the tall grasses, oh great and mighty God found only in the ocean - but you keep the poorest of company! Surely, an ancient and wise creature such as yourself has been poisoned by the foul magics of this unnatural mage! I shall slay her and in doing so, free you from her hex!" Grabs rope, climbs mast |
Motsognir leaps to his feet and promptly returns to scaling the mast. You may have won that battle, Gravity, but Soggy will win the war. Oh yes.
Gabriel lacks his kinsman's enthusiasm for heights. He decides it wiser to stay firmly on the deck, bringing the enemy to himself by way of taunting and derision. Many paladins considered themselves above that sort of thing, but Gabe refused to discard a useful technique. It was astonishing the egos you routinely find on a garden-variety goblin or xvart. The sea-witch glowers in his direction. Bob flicks off a random spell and crosses his arms impatiently. For a dramatic struggle amongst the rocks this was dragging on a bit. It was obvious the pirate mage didn't have the bona fides to take them all out so Bob refused to feel any special enthusiasm for dealing with her. Just wake him when it's time to loot the corpses, eh? The pathetic mortal drones of the Terrible Sea-Witch lay dead at his feet, and Delic's bold heart swelled with confidence. Taking the rigging in hand, he swiftly clambers upward to end the fight. He glances over at the dwarf also ascending and grins; she can't knock them both down. Well, probably. Garrmondo looks on his companions skeptically as they enthusiastically hurl themselves at the mast. Hadn't that already worked out badly for both of them? This is why you buy yourself a nice bow, so you don't have to go chasing every lunatic that thinks that being 30 feet in the air puts them out of harm's way. He'd end this here and now. Garrmondo pulls back the string, lines up his shot, and — damn it all, a shot in the leg wasn't going to be fatal. There was no better time to try out his new gloves. He squeezes his left hand into a fist, and the flight of the arrow seems to slow to a majestic crawl as it whirled through the sea air toward the mage. He gestures, carefully, with his right hand, and the missile's trajectory slowly begins to curve toward — whoa, whoa! Too much! Stop stop stop stop stop — The "corrected" arrow nearly misses, only just barely drawing blood as it whistles past the mage's shoulder. Still, with a little practice... Garrmondo loved the Luckbender Gloves. They're so bad. Cursing the dwarf, the mage runs out onto the spars. Fairly nimble by any normal standard, the rocking boat combines with her preoccupation with the dwarf's taunting and she loses her footing and falls. Hurtling toward the deck, the mage tucks into a roll and manages to get back to her feet in one piece — only to find herself surrounded by her foes. Soggy looks down from his position halfway up the mast, cursing under his breath. 8 damage to mage from hilarious anticlimax :savepoint: Motsognir, Gabriel, Bob, Delic, Garrmondo, Pirate Mage |
My dwarf and the strange newcomer began to climb the rigging towards our remaining foe, whilst the ugly dwarf glowered up at her and our own camp pirate shot an arrow through her shoulder. In the face of such martial prowess, the enemy mage performed a graceful backflip off the mast before landing on the deck. Personally, I would have tried to land on my feet rather than my face but each to their own.
With the mage now in axe range of the ugly dwarf, this fight was only going to end one way. I was tempted to forego attacking the mage in favour of some dramatic victory celebration but there was always a risk of the mage jumping overboard before we had time to prise her belongings from her dead hands, the celebrations could wait. I swung my arm around and lashed out with an icy beam, concentrating much harder now that the time of loot distribution was almost upon us. The spinning motion did me no favours however and the beam went nowhere near the mage at all. Perhaps I sould have just started my victory dance after all. Ray of Frost at mage |
The magic whore that had plagued him so near death, Motsognir continued scaling the mast. Reaching the first platform he stood with a wide stance, his hands on his hips, staring down at the woman's inevitable death. He laughed a mighty laugh.
|
The dwarf simply hefted his weapon as she landed, quickly driving the butt of the axe into her shoulder to keep her in place and then aiming a glowing axe blade directly at her chest (Righteous Smite. Hit. 16 Dmg. Mots can healing surge). As the blade sunk deep into the woman's chest, he left it there long enough to turn to his friend dwarf and flash him the secret dwarven sign of success...
...before he pulled it from her body with a line of blood and ichor close in tow. It was as his granddad had always said: A day you murder some random run-away witch on a boat is a good day. His granddad's sayings were over-specific, but often true. |
The pirate witch clutches at at the ragged wound on her chest, and her eyes roll up into her head. Her wand of missiles falls from her limp hand, rolling sternward over the deck. She tries to stagger away, but stumbles over the corpse of one of her loyal scallywags and falls on her face.
"Well, boys" she mutters, hacking up great gouts of blood. "That's why we usually ask for the money in advance. I hope you've all learned a valuable—" The mage's ragged breathing slows to a halt. Victory! 750 XP (150 XP each) Perforated, half-crewed and captainless, the pirate vessel drifts aimlessly off toward the horizon. Meanwhile, the surviving crew of the Rosy Dawn sheathe their swords and prepare to return to the ordinary tedium of getting the boat to her destination. But it's not to be. During the protracted battle, the sun has fallen completely out of sight. A fierce storm rolls in from the deep sea, and soon the crew is busily securing everything left scattered on the rain-slick deck. But even as dusk turns into night and the storm reduces visibility to almost nothing, there's no sign of the Fang Light. "Captain!" shrieks the new lookout, forcibly promoted only a few minutes back and not overly thrilled with his new role. "We're in the reefs!" A terrible collision shakes the hull as the Rosy Dawn scrapes over the jagged rocks just below the water's surface. "We'll make for the Fang!" bellows Captain Catos. "If you sellswords value your hides I recommend the lot of you find something heavy to hang on to — unless you fancy a swim!" As if to punctuate his orders, a mighty gust of wind smashes into the sails, tipping the whole ship toward port. The lookout clings desperately to his unfortunate post as dozens of small articles and a corpse or two tumble off the deck into the angry sea. "I'll get this boat out of the rocks if it kills me" mutters Catos, pipe clenched in his teeth. "I promise no more than that." SKILL CHALLENGE: Avoid injury as the boat navigates through the reef, and try to aid in the navigation if possible. 4 successes before 3 failures, DC 13. Each PC must make an Acrobatics/Athletics check (your choice) to endure the storm safely. In addition, they may make an additional skill check if they think they may be able to help Catos in some way. The athletics/acrobatics checks do not count toward the 4 successes needed to win the challenge. |
The ship tilts against the horizon, waves butchering the side of the ship like great hands trying to pull it down by its sides. Seeing the danger involved and not caring for personal safety, Delic grabs a "vine" and ties it to his waist. Taking several more and wrapping them around his shoulder, he continues his climb up the sea-tree - this time not to get to the mage, but to get to the crow's nest.
Athletics Check |
Motsognir swung back down to the deck, shouting orders to the obviously incompetent crewmen. He'd studied maps of this area in the past, and he knew the mistakes made by the dead. He clung to a rope, arrogantly shouting instructions to the wheelman at the top of his lungs.
Acrobatics & History checks |
As the mage collapsed to the deck, her staff rolled towards me and I picked it up and stuffed it in to my belt, just in time as it turned out as our boat was running perilously close to the reefs.
Ducking into the lee of the stairs up to the helm, I braced myself against a barrel full of limes. Peeking up over the top of the barrel, I noticed that the water was crashing against the nearest reef in a particular way, so as to suggest the lay of the rocks beneath the suface and called out to the Captain, hopingto encourage him to steer away from the obvious danger. Acrobatics check and Insight check |
Gabe was hearing voices again. How strange, they come up at the most inopportune times.
Almost as if he had no control over his actions, Gabe decided it would be cool to try to do backflips on the boat in the middle of the storm. Perhaps by looking like a total skaterpunk badass the storm would be unable to do anything to him. Acrobatics check During the display of complete awesome, he thought to help the captain out by shouting at the storm. "HEY STORM. FUCK YOU" Diplomacy check |
Delic's Athletics check: Success
Soggy's Acrobatics check: Success Soggy's History check: Success Bob's Acrobatics check: Fail Bob's Insight check: INSIGHT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY Bob's Garrmondo's Athletics check: Fail Gabriel's Acrobatics check: Fail Gabriel's Diplomacy check: Fail Bob, Gabriel, and Garrmondo each lose a healing surge due to injuries sustained The members of the Horde all scramble to safety, some making for the high ground and some (as is their habit) seeking the safe company of fruit. Delic successfully reaches the crow's nest, sharing the tiny basket with the lookout. It's very cramped. The last time Delic was pressed this closely to another man was during his brief stint in joining the provincial army. Suffice it to say, a certain burly sergeant— well, bygones were bygones. Motsognir's spent too much time at sea to be bothered by a little squall like this. He hurries toward the bow to assist Catos, nimbly ducking the occasional snapped rope and hopping a barrel or two. While the reefs have changed a bit since Soggy last studied them, his expertise does get the Rosy Dawn significantly closer to relative safety. Bob snatches the pirate witch's magic wand as it rolls about on the deck, and takes cover beneath some delicious tropical fruit. He may not survive this, but in principle he still had to take care of himself. Scurvy prevention is everyone's responsibility. Bob creeps over to look down into the water, and his sharp elf eyes immediately pick out the currents as they rip through the coral below. This reef was entirely too orderly to be natural; it warranted investigating. Later, though. Much later. Still, he shouts his discoveries to the captain. Suddenly, a loose ale tankard bounces out of the open door of the captain's chamber and smacks Bob in the skull. Back to the safety of the limes, oh yes. Garrmondo has a brilliant idea; he'll tie himself to the mast. This way there's no chance of him falling off the boat. There's also no chance of dodging the dozens of objects small and large that the wind pelts at his restrained form. It was not such a brilliant idea after all, really. Not for the first time, Gabe felt a little betrayed. What was the use in following a storm god if it doesn't get you any say over where the problematic storms show up? Still, it wouldn't do to show fear in this situation. Kord would be disappointed to see his battleragers cowering from a little wind and rain. The paladin stands defiant in the middle of the deck, catching up on the day's calisthenics. Some deep knee bends, a few jumping jacks, and — oof. A barrel of gunpowder tears free from its binding and smashes into Gabe's torso in midair. The dwarf flies backwards, smashing into the mast (and smashing into Garrmondo in the bargain). Dazed and winded, his attempt to talk tough to the storm is kind of lost in the din. Need more skill checks! 2 more successes or 2 more failures to end the challenge (for good or for ill). Don't use a skill that you've already tried! Include an Athletics/Acrobatics check for each attempt, as before. |
Taking slightly better cover behind the fruit barrel, I marvelled at how quickly the storm had swept upon us and how, being so at one with nature as I was, I had failed to notice it coming. Still, my knowledge of such things would surely help the captain guide us through so I stood up and waved to him, hoping my gesticulation would accurately convey my reading of the prevailing wind.
Acrobatics check and nature check |
Being a follower of Kord, he did know a thing or two about storms. Over the years he'd picked up a few tricks about how the seas worked from various old texts.
Athletics then insight |
Spitting saltwater and brine from the waves, Delic grips the rim of the crow's nest and pulls his strained body into the emplacement. He hands an extra rope to the lookout - "Tie this to your waist! If we fall, we'll still be attached to the Sea-Tree! She shall not let us die!"
Athletics Check |
Bob's Nature check: Success
Bob's Acrobatics check: Success Gabe's Gabe's Athletics check: Failure Gabe loses another surge Challenge won! 250 XP (50 XP each) Bob realized that the storm, like the reef itself, had a distinctly unnatural quality about it. It was too soon to throw any accusations around, but it almost seemed as though someone were deliberately trying to keep ships from approaching the lighthouse. Bob shouts his observations to the captain, and the gruff old man nods curtly and tacks harder into the wind — making for the thin, muddy strip that was the closest thing to a beach you could find on the Fang. Somebody had to investigate this, and the Rosy Dawn could hardly continue on to Veltalar without a chance to make repairs. Taking on a total disregard for his own safety, Gabe clambers down the side of the hull and examines the reef at nearly arm's length. From this risky distance it was easy enough to see the jagged rocks before the ship could plow into them, and he bellows out their locations over the screaming wind. "Brace for impact, boys!" shouts the captain. "Secure all loose articles, fasten your safety harness and please deactivate any and all magical devices for the safety of your fellow crewmen!" The Rosy Dawn careens onto the beach with an ear-splitting cacophony that all but drowns out the wind and thunder, and most everyone on the boat without the sense to be clinging to something heavy promptly falls on their face. Everyone takes a few minutes to get their bearings before the crew begins re-securing the trade goods and breaking out the lanterns to start repairs. Save for Soggy the Horde is largely useless at putting things back together, and Catos approaches the wet, bedraggled mercenaries with a request. "It seems to me", he grouses, gesturing up at the already-dissipating storm, "that something grim has likely happened to the lighthouse keeper. Only Umberlee can say what's happened up there, but whoever's in charge of the Fang obviously doesn't have the public good in mind anymore. All of this stinks of magery, and I expect the lot of you are more equipped to deal with it than my crew; each one of you's carrying around so much magical frippery you practically jingle when ye walk. Now, I can't force you to go up there, and the contract guarantees you pay as long as we get to Veltalar in one piece. But I suspect we'll just end up wrecked on some other rock if we try to leave without seeing to things, and maybe that rock'll do more than bend a few timbers. I can't offer you much incentive other 'n that unless you want to see an old man grovel — actually, wait." The captain takes his pipe from between his teeth for the first time since the pirates boarded his ship, and issues a sharp whistle. In a moment, the cabin boy is hurrying up to join him. After a brief conference the young lad hurries away again only to return with a pair of fine leather boots. "Haven't worn these in a long damn time", Catos mutters. "Still, take care of 'em, if you can? They were... a gift." http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...cingmaster.png The old man deposits the boots atop a barrel near the party, and quickly turns on his heel and tromps away to supervise the repairs. He seems to be wiping his eyes, but it's probably just seawater. Bob has a free moment at last to examine his hard-won new wand. http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...gicmissile.png A narrow, winding trail leads steeply up toward the lighthouse. The Fang Light itself is still dark, but a tiny village nestled amongst the high cliffs shows some signs of life as faint torchlight moves to and fro. The trail looks to pass right through, so maybe the villagers have some insight as to what's gone wrong at the Fang. |
Motsognir started up the trail towards the village. He had thought about trying on the sea captain's boots, but decided against it after a closer look. He was finally in an environment where he could demonstrate his masculine prowess to his woman, and frankly, those boots looked a little gay. He'd let the others fight over them.
Heal to full start towards village |
I took a moment to look at the enemy wizard's wand. Unscrewing the end, I popped out the instructions that as was standard with wands, were written on a small, rolled up bit of paper. Sadly, it seemed this wand was designed for users of the Magic Missile spell, one I had never really got the hang of and whilst it promised to allow the user to zap out the spell once per fight (How it would know when the fight had ended and a new one started I was unsure) with the added hilarity of pushing people around, it would probably not be as much use for swatting arrows out of the air as my staff. I tucked it into my pack, resolving to save it for any comedy opportunites when fighting near a ledge. That or flog it at the next staff shop we came across.
The captain seemed upset about the storm and was waving his arms around and ranting away in the peculiar language so beloved of the people in this part of the world. I surmised that he wanted someone to go and check out the lighthouse from the way he kept pointing at it and given how much help his crew had been in the fight with the pirates (Why had they even bothered drawing their swords if they weren't going to use them? I would have thought carrying an unsheathed blade on the deck of a ship at sea contravened all kinds of health and safety regulations), it seemed that it was once again time for the Horde to get to work. I took five minutes to catch my breath then wandered about the deck looking for somewhere to display our traditional victory tag. Most of the deck was sopping wet from the storm but I found a nice dry patch on the door of the captain's cabin, so left our mark there, virtually doubling the resale value of the ship in a few quick chalk marks. I then clambered down to the beach and joined the others. The captain seemed to have offered us a pair of boots as some incentive but they looked fairly dirty and not nearly as fun as the ones I was wearing so I left them for one of the others. My dwarf had already began stumping off up the trail towards the village by the lighthouse so I skipped lightly up to catch up with him. I put my arm round his shoulders, having to stoop only slightly to reach and gave him a quick, reassuring squeeze. Whilst the boat trip had been fun enough, I was really looking forward to getting stuck into another murderous dungeon, with all the inevitable bloodshed and pillage that came with such adventures. I still had two of the original Horde with me (My favourite two I might add) and whilst the newcomers lacked the obedience my necrotic buddies had, they seemed handy enough in a fight and bulky enough to make decent meat-shields. A smile crossed my lips, today was going to be a good day. Heal up, follow Soggy |
The dwarf coughed and sputtered as he pulled himself back up aboard. He hadn't heard the captain's rant about the magic boots, because his ears were full of sea water, wet beard, a small crustacean and a fish. His boots were full of water, however, and he took the captain's offering to be nothing more than a replacement for soaking wet footwear. So, much obliged, he picked up the new boots, put them on his horrid looking dwarf feet, hefted his axe and headed on down the path after his "friends."
Heal up, take boots, follow soggy and the lady. |
Slapping the sea-tree with a thick hand, Delic eyed its truck with some satisfaction. "You are a wise and thoughtful creature, my friend. I only hope that your kind all posses your mothering nature and your warrior's pride amongst the high waves of Lemetoha, the ancient princess of the seas."
"I shall bring your honored children with me," he says, picking up a rope and winding it around his arm, "Though they are dead to you, they shall continue to serve us with honor. Farewell, my friend." Walking off the boat softly, Delic forgets that he's still tied to the mast, slips backwards and falls on his ass. Unties self from the rope Heals Joins Party |
The Horde hikes up the steep trail toward the tiny village. As they approach, it becomes clear that the settlement consists of less than a dozen buildings, all in surprisingly good condition for a location that endures such awful weather. A stooped-over figure stands by the entrance to the village, peering around in all directions.
The trail splits in two here before merging again further up the rock. The left path will take the Horde straight through middle of the little village, and the right path winds lengthily around the village outskirts. |
Motsognir walks down the path to the right, because as pleasant as shooting the shit on the streetcorner is, he wants to get a move on.
|
The village seemed suspiciously tidy for one built in such an inhospitable place and the stooped figure had an air of lookout about him. I noticed the pretty dwarf heading off to the path that skirted around the village and I had to agree that maybe having a bit of a nosey from afar might well be a better idea than diving straight in.
I adopted my best sneaky tiptoe and followed the dwarf. Trying to detect any sinister magic that might be afoot. Follow Soggy, try to stay out of sight, do an arcana check or perception or possibly both to try and spot anything untoward. |
The dwarf did two things as he skirted the village. He used his cunning knowledge of street things to get a feeling for whether or not this was some sort of thieves village, and he used his religious knowledge to get a feel for whether or not some god had a hand in this place.
Religion 16 Streetwise 30 |
Delic slowly makes his way up the hill, singing
"Now whiskey is the life of man Always was since the world began Now whiskey gave me a broken nose And whiskey made me pawn me clothes Now whiskey is the life of man Whiskey from that old tin can I thought I heard the first mate say I treats me crew in a decent way A glass of whiskey all around And a bottle full for the shanty man!" Coiling the sea-tree's vines around his shoulder for better storage in his pack, he simply follows Motsognir, without a care (or a wit) in the world. |
Motsognir whistled absentmindedly as he strolled down the road, trying to remember anything useful about the history of this island he might have read. It really looked more menacing from a distance, he thought, frowning to himself. They didn't make haunted islands like they used to.
history check |
Suspecting something amiss, Soggy leads the Horde around the village, rather than through. He wracks his brain trying to remember anything about a village on the Fang, and comes up with nothing. He soon realizes why: Bob recollects from his arcane studies that the wizards who maintain the Fang Light forbid any settlement on the island. It's soon apparent that the "village" is indeed a complete sham: the timbers used for the buildings are too fresh and when Bob peers through an open window he sees nothing inside but a bare floor and empty walls.
On close examination, Gabe quickly sees the village for the shoddy imitation that it is. It's well that they avoided it; nobody assembles such an elaborate ruse for noble reasons. The paladin can't sense the specific presence of any gods; whatever skulduggery is afoot here is motivated by something other than piety. Having easily dodged the elderly lookout, the Horde has no trouble creeping around the handful of ramshackle buildings. From there it's a long, long hike up a steep trail to the Fang Light. It's several hours later when Soggy (who, the trail cut into the rock often being only wide enough for one man at a time, accidentally made himself the pointman) gestures for the Horde to stop. A simple cart lies wrecked in the middle of the trail. It's short work to determine the cart being nothing much to worry about; it's apparently been left lying here long enough that most of the trade goods strewn over the path are practically antiques. But even this brief hesitation is long enough for the vile things that live in the crevices of the rock to capitalize on the party's temporary immobility. The rotting dead crawl from beneath boulders or hurriedly climb up the sheer cliffs below; or, in some cases, they swoop down from high above on leathery wings like a great putrescent bat. Before they realize it, the Horde is surrounded, with an uninviting rock face to the right and a likely-lethal fall to the left. A winged horror flies up to Delic, swinging its rotten arm like a cudgel. 8 damage to Delic The second of the winged zombies glides over Motsognir's head, darting directly for the obvious wizard in the middle of the Horde's marching order. 5 damage to Bob Sluggish, ice-covered corpses trudge heavily toward the Horde from either direction. While the temperature has dropped severely as the party climbed toward the lighthouse, nothing can account for the thick coating of frost on the walking dead; nothing save a particularly creative brand of necromancy. The cold that radiates out from them is such that mere proximity threatens one with frostbite. One of them staggers toward Garrmondo, and jagged icicles grow from its fingertips like wicked claws. Garrmondo has more than enough time to get his shield up, but with very little room to retreat the cold will surely take its toll before long. The second rime-covered zombie clambers over the wagon, tearing into Motsognir. As the icicle-talons rip his flesh, the unnatural cold begins to travel through his veins. 7 damage to Soggy; immobilized for 1 round and takes 5 ongoing cold damage (save ends) Beginning of Soggy's turn: 5 cold damage :savepoint: Motsognir, Wight, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Gabe, Rotwing Zombies, Chllborn Zombies Defenses: Rotwing: AC 19; Fortitude 18, Reflex 18, Will 16 Chillborn: AC 24; Fortitude 22, Reflex 18, Will 18 Wight: AC 21; Fortitude 20, Reflex 19, Will 18 |
Not able to move his legs once again, Motsognir lets his axe fall on the winged undead. He was get used to immobility. Maybe after this he'd buy himself a wheelchair, or maybe just a handtruck. There was no point in going overboard with it yet.
His axed missed the target by a wide margin, but swung around to chip the ice away from his feet. In a moment, he'd be battle ready again. |
"Name of the Devil, man! Be not afraid of me, horrible thing!" Delic cries out while pulling his sword from its scabbard, "I have only come to give you the eternal peace you've sought your entire miserable life!"
Brandishing the sword with one hand and holding onto the sheath with the other, Delic makes an uneasy advance toward the closest winged creature. "Name yourself, damn your eyes! My blade cries out to be fleshed into a foe and it will know your heritage, your elders be damned!" Move to P2 Footwork lure |
In what was rapidly becoming the story of his life, Soggy found himself immobilized again. Dead sick of this sort of thing, he just begins hacking away at his own legs until they decide to behave. Negative reinforcement, that's the only way. If you're not tough with your limbs they'll never learn to behave.
The last of the walking dead, a lanky thing in a tattered robe, springs over the cart and rakes Soggy with his bony hands. Aside from the wound itself, the creature must be delivering some kind of anticoagulant — Motsognir's blood is flowing out of him significantly faster than it probably ought. 6 damage to Motsognir; 1 surge lost In an unconventional move, Delic boldly stands on the edge of a cliff and attempts to provoke a winged thing into lunging at him. Regrettably for the careers of future bards, his provocations are ignored. :savepoint: Garrmondo, Bob, Gabe, Rotwing Zombies, Chllborn Zombies, Motsognir, Wight, Delic |
With little room to manouver on the thin path, I ducked away from the dead things as well as I could. A fireblast would probably be the best option against the frozen zombies I figured but with them right up on us already, the risk of hitting my companions was too great. Hoping that the less frosty looking beasts weren't too cold proof, I sent an icy beam streaking towards the flying thing and the jumping thing nearest me.
Shift south (That is a path square right?), Icy rays on closer Rotwing and Wight |
Quote:
"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-" |
As the Wight suddenly lunged at Soggy, the Paladin's nostrils were filled with the stench of the undead. Outside, beneath the sky, these beasts dared attack a Paladin of the Storm God? Truly their foolishness knew no bounds. Even as the creature focused on his ally, the holy warrior's axe began to glow with a pure, white light. His eyes glazed over with the radiance of Kord's divine will.
He then promptly swings directly over its head, embarrassing himself horrendously. Bollocks. With a resigned sigh, he flips off the winged horror at N7 with a divine challenge. |
Start of Garrmondo's turn: 5 cold damage from Chillborn aura
Grimacing under the bitter chill emanating from the frozen corpse, Garrmondo begins the onerous task of shoving it toward the precipice. With any luck the fall would break it into little frozen pieces. Bob rolled his eyes theatrically. What was the use in dabbling in both necromancy and cryomancy if his enemies were going to send frozen ice zombies after him? He felt a little upstaged. Sure, he could always get into fireballs and all that business but the next thing you know it'd be all red dragons and lava golems at the front door. At least the dead were fairly predictable and stupid. He shot off a lance of ice at the slavering thing in the robes, which at least had the decency to act like a reanimated deader ought to instead of flying around like a ponce. Icy Rays: 15 damage to Wight (immobilized for a round) Chillborn Aura: 5 damage to Gabe With no fear of the high cliff's edge the winged zombies lunge for the paladin as he flips them the bird. His middle finger extends and a nimbus of holy light emanates forth from his knuckles, creating, quite paradoxically, an obscene gesture which is simultaneously a sacrosanct and holy act. It's a great bit of luck that news of this event never spread beyond the Horde, as the ecclesiastical fallout from such a baffling theological conundrum may well have led directly into a massive reassembly of the church of Kord. Luckily, no one ever found out except the zombies, who were more interested in introducing their skulls to Gabe's than questions of faith. Slam: 6 damage to Gabe The chillborn zombie scowls at Garrmondo. He didn't climb out of a meat locker and scale a thrice-cursed mountain so some warmblood could push him around. He'd had quite enough of being pushed around in life, thank you very much, which is what leads one to the unwise decision of camping overnight in a Thayan meat locker which (as it turns out) only unlocks from the outside. Of course, this line of reasoning is largely subconscious, the chillborn's active thoughts are more akin to "GRAH" or "FFFFFNNNHRRRGGH". Not that he could have explained his position to Garrmondo anyway; his tongue had snapped off and rolled downhill into the ocean a few days back. Start of Motsognir's turn: 5 damage from Chillborn aura (bloodied). Immobility expires. :savepoint: Motsognir, Wight, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Gabe, Rotwing Zombies, Chllborn Zombies |
Taking a step back from the ice creature, Motsognir rubs his hands together furiously in an attempt to warm himself. Blasted cold fingers he thought, shoving his arms down his trousers. Ahhhh, that's better the dwarf exhaled pleasantly, closing his eyes for an instant. The warmth crawled up his arms as he opened his eyes, and he saw his elfen woman heave a bolt of ice at the foul dead. Oh, sweet lady elf. He stood and gazed for a moment, blissfully unaware, before realizing his hands had grown uncomfortably warm. Removing them from his pants and seeing their red glow, he quickly pointed his arms towards the wight. A burst of confetti sticks to the frost in the dwarf's beard, making him look like a Discordian everchurn pastry, as the fire shoots from his palms.
shift to L8 Second Wind scorching burst at N6 8 damage to wight CRITICAL HIT! 10 damage to rotwing |
Soggy flings forth an incandescent ball of hot hot heat, comprised of roughly half magical fire and half creepy, inappropriate elf-lust. Perhaps due to the sheer trauma of being in close proximity to so much smoldering bearded machismo, the winged zombie reacts very poorly to what is generally a fairly insignificant little blaze. Screeching wildly, the zombie flaps its wings in an apparent attempt to douse the fire — but only fans the flames. Within moments a zombie-shaped fireball is careening over the cliffside in a cacophony of shrieks and crunching bones before splashing into the sea.
Second Wind: Soggy's HP +11 Rotwing destroyed (zombie weakness) Before you ask, no, Zombie Weakness doesn't affect the Chillborns Pinned in place by Bob's ice blast, the wight has no choice but to lash out angrily at Gabe (whose rude gesture has perhaps brought him more attention than he might have wanted). Distracted, the paladin feels the wight's talons rip into his neck. Claw: 9 damage to Gabe, and healing surge lost :savepoint: Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Gabe, Rotwing Zombies, Chllborn Zombies, Motsognir, Wight |
Mustering all the hate of his race from Adam on down, Delic raises his sword over his head and charges full force into his target, screaming a battle cry lost down the stretch of time longer than the existance of any spoken language.
"Cobra-LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!" Charge to Enemy at P4 Brash Strike |
Remembering the wand I had nabbed had a handy magic missile and pushing people around function and seeing the sheer drop right behind the wight, I drew the wand and shot the wight with a magic missile, hoping to fling the undead horror over the edge of the cliff.
Draw wand, magic missile at wight, pushing it back if I hit (To M5 and therefore over the cliff edge ideally) |
With the wight forced over the edge of the cliff, the dwarf lashed out angrily at the rotwing zombie next to him. Unfortunately he managed to miss high, like he always did, and instead burned a healing surge because fuck these dice.
|
Paying the chilly ambiance of the ice zombies no particular heed, Delic whirls his mighty blade before him and aims a vicious slash at the loathsome creature's very heart. Turns out zombies don't care so much about chest wounds really.
Brash Strike: miss (a charge requires at least two spaces of movement, sorry) Teeth chattering, Garrmondo manuevers carefully around the frozen zombie, putting it between himself and the cliff's edge. As a general rule Garrmondo didn't much care for falling off cliffs himself, although there had been some exceptions. Start of Garrmondo's turn: 5 cold damage from Chillborn aura Cautiously aiming his new acquisition and the untested spell it holds, Bob fires off a blast of crushing force at the ravenous wight. The pulse of arcane energy smashes into the monster's jaw, and it reels away from the paladin with a howl of pain. Conveniently, "away" means an 80-foot drop onto jagged rocks. It's impossible to say whether the wight's been finished off for good, but it won't be bothering anyone else today. Wight pushed over a steep cliff and for all practical purposes destroyed! The paladin was developing a serious crisis of faith. Between the indifference of the storm, the myriad voices in his head, and the absolute refusal of his axe to ever deliver a telling wound, the various benefits of a career in door-to-door sales began to seem more than a little appealing. Start of Gabe's turn: 5 cold damage from Chillborn aura Second Wind: Gabe's HP +12 Though the Horde was rapidly thinning the undead ranks, Gabe still seemed to be beset on all sides. Chillborn Slam: 10 damage to Gabe; bloodied, immobilized for a round, ongoing 5 cold damage Chillborn Slam (deux): 11 damage to Gabe :savepoint: Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Gabe, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombies |
Motsognir steps to the icy undead, swinging his axe as always. He misses, as usual.
|
Missing his first strike completely, Delic notices the frustration on Motsognir's face as well.
"Hey, we're learning as we go here, okay?" Strike against enemy at P4 |
Having removed the immediate threat of the ghoul, my eyes alighted on the next obvious target, the highly flammable flying thing. I lashed out with a fireball, hoping to catch one of the frozen zombies in the blast and thaw it out a bit. As the flames burst close to both dwarves, it occured to me that we had never tested their combustibility properly since I resurrected them all those weeks ago and I half held my breath, hoping that the pretty one at least would not burst into flames. The ugly one I was not so worried about if I was honest. Sure, he was a plucky little chap and useful for distracting the larger of our enemies, apparently able to be punched in the face all day without going down but whilst he swung his axe with great enthusiasm, he never actually seemed to hit anything. Plus he was very ugly and smelled faintly of rust.
Seeing the fireball largely miss it's target (And appreciative of the irony of having just dissed the dwarf for never hitting anything), I quaffed back my Elixir of Accuracy, certain that the next shot would be more decisive. Flame burst above and behind the two zombies attacking Gabe so as to hit them both without hitting him or Soggy. M5 in fact. Not sure if you have to beat of equal their relfex to hit them. If it's beat, Elven accuracy on the Rotwing shot, if it's equal, I hit the Rotwing already and I'll Elven accuracy the other shot. Drink Elixir of Accuracy |
*twitch* *twitch*
As his left eye started blinking and his head started shaking, Gabe had just enough time to realize that one again he was being possessed by another being. "Not agaaaa.....", he managed to mutter. After closing his eyes briefly, he felt a new surge of power in his veins. Magically, like some higher being willed it, he could move again! And move fast. Immobilization GONE, hah! Unfortunately, not fast enough with all this shit he's got on. Thinking nothing of modesty, he stripped down to his disgusting birthday suit, which fortunately was less offensive to the eyes than one might imagine. The sheer quantity of body hair present hid all of his relatively tiny unmentionables in a forest of curly black short hairs and pubic lice. Drop all his shit on the ground. GET NAK'D Grabbing only the rope from his pack, and booking it into the opening between the monster and the cliffside, he moved next to good old Soggy. Move to M8 After winking suggestively at his comrade, he got to work. With lightning speed, he wrapped the rope around some of the planks of wood at his feet. And before long, had a small platform three planks wide. Just enough to sit on. Use up some of that wood "Hey guys", he said to the rest of the hoard, "a bit chilly, eh? These monsters reminded me that I just love snow. And you know what's fun? TOBOGGANS!" Moving the platform and himself up to the cliff edge, sitting on it, and then pushing both it and his naked ass over the edge with his feet, the last thing anyone else could hear was a high pitched, extremely feminine wail of "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE". Followed shortly by a crunch, a splat, and some other sound effect that couldn't be descriped in just one word. |
Keepin' this brief tonight.
Start of Delic's turn: 5 cold damage from Chillborn aura Roll D20 to see if you hit; THEN roll the damage Start of Garrmondo's turn: 5 cold damage from Chillborn aura Scorching Burst: 7 damage to Rotwing Elixir drunk: don't forget to actually use the ability Gabe dumps all his stuff on the ground at O5 and goes off to seek his destiny. A+++ would contract to murder my players again. Of course now you guys have to win this fight with only four guys, have fun with that. Don't forget your Action Points! Rotwing Slam: 9 damage to Delic Chillborn Slam: 7 damage to Bob; immobilized, ongoing 5 cold damage (save ends) Chillborn Slam: 9 damage to Motsognir; bloodied, immobilized, ongoing 5 cold damage (save ends) :savepoint: Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Gabe, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombies |
Motsognir again takes a wide swing at the chillborn. His axe sinks in to the zombie's side, flinging it over the edge of the cliff. The dwarf takes a deep breath, relieved that he's safe in the short-term. Too distracted earlier to notice his companion's madness, Soggy sees Gabe's belongings scattered in the road. Just like that crazy bastard to drop his equipment in the middle of a fight he thought. Motsognir never was much for fair fights.
Hit chillborn Activate Staggering Greataxe, pushing it off the cliff damage irrelevant Speak Inspiring Words to self saving throw failed |
Frustrated with this turn of events, Delic swings wildly.
Moves to P2 Strikes at creature at O2 |
The sudden departure of the ugly dwarf had left a gaping hole in our defensive line which the freezing zombie was quick to exploit. I found myself rooted to the spot with cold and not for the first time, cursed whichever gods had decided that magic items would somehow know when you'd used another magic item already that day and decide to stop working, thereby preventing me from using my robe's flame powers which frankly, I hadn't been expecting to need until the dwarf buggered off.
With the zombie so close and unable to run because of the cold in my legs, I did what any sensible mage would do in the situation and cowered in terror, hoping my legs would thaw out and I could run away. Total defense |
The third monster went over the precipice, giving Soggy a chance to catch his breath — and rationalize away Gabe's apparent suicidal madness. Sure, any clan-brother got a little wiggly in the brainpan if he spent too much time under the open sun, but this kind of abrupt abandonment of one's responsibilities in the middle of battle was a little over the top. It's a good thing I have something to live for, he muses, gazing over at his beautiful, beautiful elf.
Start of Soggy's turn: 5 aura cold damage Inspiring Words: Soggy's HP +14 Delic couldn't quite understand it. Armed with the best sword his career of boldness and derring-do could buy him, he still couldn't seem to hit even the most clumsy targets. There was really no sense in it. He'd just have to redouble his efforts. Foul sorcery was clearly afoot; his many enemies had obviously tracked him down and cursed his enchanted blade. The zombie charges him again, and Garrmondo shoves the frozen beast back toward the cliffs again. It all reminded him of a game he'd once played in the guard barracks. The lads had compressed the sap of a tropical tree into a little ball, and it would bounce off most anything you threw it at. They spent many hours idly bouncing that ball during the graveyard shifts. What had they called it? Ah, yes. Twing-twang. "Alkatraz", they'd say. "The company twing-twang team is a man short. We may need you to play twing-twang." Start of Garrmondo's turn: 5 cold aura damage You used that AP up a month ago, sorry mang Garrmondo has helpfully already shoved the chillborn zombie away from him, but the trauma of actually being hit by something is, as usual, a bit much for Bob to cope with immediately. He just stares out over the sea, a single tear forming in the corner of his eye. Start of Bob's turn: ongoing 5 cold damage Save versus cold damage failed The rotwing zombie darts out in the open air, hovering there and beating its leathery wings as though preparing for a wicked dive at its prey. Swagger slashes out viciously as the zombie retreats from him, but with no luck. The chillborn, slowly beginning to understand the threat the cliff represents, wanders away from the edge to harass the easy prey that the cowering elf presents. Bob cowers behind his staff and manages to fend the zombie off. :savepoint: Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie Start of Motsognir's turn: Immobility expires, 5 ongoing cold damage Bob's immobility will also expire when his turn starts |
Move to N7
Warlord's Favor at Chillborn not 100% on the numbers of what flanking does, so I don't know it that hit I'll let you do damage rolls if it did |
The feeling came back into my legs and I wasted no time in ducking away from the undead monstrosity in front of me. With the Horde pressing the creature on all sides, there was no doubt the creature would soon be dead, well, more dead so with the Elixir of accuracy burning in my stomach, I blasted a fireball at the flying nasty.
Shift to Q5, use Elixir of accuracy power, Fireblast the Rotwing |
Though slightly pleased by the creature's willingness to be afraid of his blade, Delic still bites off a curse - "Damn your ancestors, knave!"
Warry of the creature thats moved out, Delic picks up a rock and hurls it. Rock attack at O6 |
Spinning his axe about him in a wide arc, Soggy's momentum carries him a full 360 degrees for a second cut. The zombie staggers backward toward Garrmondo's waiting blade, and Motsognir gives the human a curt nod.
Flanking adds 2 to your attack roll! That's why it's USEFUL, people 15 damage to Chillborn. We'll give the +5 bonus to Garrmondo since you didn't specify Oblivious to the beating going on behind him, Delic continues his blood feud with the rotwing. His throwing arm was ready. It wasn't for nothing that he'd been voted MVP 3 years running on the staffball team at Pelor's Grace Private School For Troublesome Boys. Scooping up a nice fist-sized rock, he casually wings it into the flying monster's jaw. The sound of shattering bone is a fair reward for his trouble. But it wasn't a rock! It was a 6 damage. Garrmondo smirked. There was no way he could miss this time. The zombie was paying no attention to him, with the dwarf carving it up like a St. Cuthbert's Day chicken. But then, mid-swing, he gets a massive cramp in his sword-arm. Once again, glory eludes him. A PLUS NINETEEN BONUS and this guy still misses With the elixir bubbling warmly in his guys, Bob feels pretty confident about his aim. That is, until he stumbles over a rock. Flailing his arms for balance and unable to interrupt the casting process, Bob accidentally shoots his fireburst almost directly upward. A passing albatross is burned to a cinder, dropping out of the sky and landing on Bob's shoulders (which, luckily, are not nearly broad enough to support your large sea birds for more than a moment or two). Beginning of Bob's turn: 5 cold damage The rotwing darts in back toward the cliff, trying to use momentum to smash into Delic with tremendous speed. Sadly, the rock had badly damaged the decayed remains of the zombie's inner ear, and it goes into a tailspin before awkwardly staggering to a halt upon the cliff. Disinclined to be pushed over the cliff, the chillborn zombie starts pushing back. Sadly, being covered in ice doesn't give one much in the way of traction and the zombie's attempt to push Garrmondo back toward the wall come off as faintly pathetic. Growling, the chillborn circles around behind Garrmondo as a defense against being smashed on the rocks below. :savepoint: Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie |
Hoping that nobody had noticed my slightly wayward shot, I ducked back again, keeping pirate between myself and the chilly zombie. Taking aim at the flying beast again, I let rip with another fireball, keeping a nervous eye out for any more seabirds.
Shift to P6, Fireburst at N3 You know, conventional cartesian coordinate notation would suggest that those spaces are 6P and 3N actually |
Slipping past his lady to jam himself between the ice beast and the cliffside, Motsognir sees the chillborn turning to look at the new human hungrily. "Behind you, you moustachioed bastard!" he shouts.
move to R5 Commander's Strike - Delic to Chillborn |
Satisfied with the result of the previous strike, Delic takes up another stone and hurls it with a strong satisfaction of similar results to follow.
...Just hoping he hits the enemy and not, you know, the other people. |
No comment, just a slow sad shrug
Delic, Bob, Garrmondo each take 5 damage from the cold aura at the start of their turns. All three are bloodied. Chillborn Zombie bloodied by Crushing Surge, Garrmondo gains +2 temp. HP Rock in the face: 5 damage to Rotwing Rotwing's attack of opportunity: 7 damage to Delic. Don't use ranged attacks at melee distance, kids! Chillborn Slam: 7 damage to Delic; immobilized w/5 ongoing cold damage (save ends) :savepoint: Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie |
(Delic lays on his back, limbs in the air, looking quite like a turtle flipped over onto its shell and unable to do a damn thing about it.)
(Not unlike his last date.) (Which was five years ago.) |
Since Motsognir gets to move before ol' Garrmondo, he's actually going to move to R3, and Garrmondo can go somewhere else, because fuck wasting the flank on a low roll
move to R3 Bloody Ending on Chillborn 14 damage everybody's got +2 to attack roles against chillborn till my next turn |
My dwarf cunningly stepped in behind the zombie, flanking the beast and hopefully leading us to a swift victory. Sadly however, this left no room for any fireballs, at least not without hitting my companions and losing one buddy per fight was pretty much my limit.
Well, it was these days anyway. As a youth I had hung out with a rather rough bunch of kids. Not through choice of course, it was simply a case of geography. Living as we did on the plantation, the only kids even vaguely my age around were the children of the workers, a mixture for the most part of half-orcs and humans. Oh yes and a single minotaur family. Their son, we called him Steak, I never did find out his real name, was the de facto leader of our group on account of being 15 stone of pure muscle and having sharp horns on his head at the age of eleven. As the only elf of the group, I was subjected to endless friendly ribbing and games like "How long can the elf hold his breath underwater", "Pin the tail to the elf" and everyone's favourite "Elf-hunt" were common. Still, I was one of them and as Steak always told me, "AAAARGHFFRF RRAAARGHFFMMGF MMMRAAFGHFGH MMMOOOOOOOOOOOO!". The combination of a hair lip and a massive brass ring through his nose did make him rather difficult to understand certainly but luckily, one of the scrawniest half-orc kids, one many suggested was in fact a half-goblin, was able to understand Steak perfectly and conveyed his meaning and wishes to the rest of us. Apparently Steak had been saying that should I ever get in trouble then to come to him because if anyone was going to hurt our elf it was going to be him. One day, I had accompanied my father to visit the nearby village to collect supplies. Father said we'd work quicker if we split up so sent me off to the general store to pick up 25 shovels and a new millstone while he went to source something or other in the tavern. It was several hours later that I, having managed finally to get the millstone onto the cart and spent a good while waiting for my father, was accosted by a gang of youths, local village kids for the most part and all elves. We exchanged pleasantries, me asking how did they do and them asking if I was the "Funny looking queermo from the forest who hangs out with orcs" and questioning my parentage. The first question was perhaps an understandable one but as soon as one of them mentioned my beloved mother, I flew into a fit of rage and launched myself at him, fist flailing, looking to dish out some rough justice to these base-born curs. My father eventually found me half submerged in the village's communal latrine and took me home and sent me to bed with a good thrashing to think about what I'd done. The next day, after relaying my tale to the group, Steak decided that retribution was in order and a plan was hatched. The half-goblin kid suggested that we arrange to meet these village kids somewhere quiet, away from prying adult eyes and give them a good beating. The decided location for the rumble was Hellspawn Cave, my objections being quickly put down both by sound reasoning from the half-goblin (There wasn't really any dark underworld creatures living there, the adults just called it that to keep kids away because they liked hanging out without kids from time to time, you know, those meetings where they all wear red robes do that funny chanting stuff) and a heavy punch to the temple from Steak. A messenger was despatched to the village kids and we headed out to the cave to wait for the appointed time, sunset. The group took up positions inside the cave entrance, whilst I waited outside alone, the plan being to ambush the village kids when they arrived. The evening grew colder, unseasonably so as I recall and as the sun set, shadow filled the cave mouth and I felt strangely alone until finally, I saw the gang from the village marching up the path towards me. I remember little of what happened after that. There were some insults exhanged of course and I remember shouting a rallying cry to the boys I knew were hidden in the cave but after that the evening becomes fuzzy. To this day I have dreams about the wet, ripping noises from behind me, the looks of abject terror on the faces of the village kids, the odd bellow of pain (which I knew couldn't possibly be coming from Steak as it sounded almost like a young minotaur having his limbs ripped off one by one by some demonic monstrosity and I had been assured there were no demons in the cave) and the sight of several bodies, well bits of bodies anyway, strewn around the cave entrance and the path. I was later told that the fight had got out of hand and a few kids had been badly hurt and that Steak and the goblin kid had both been killed, with all the other kids having to move away, although I could never understand why their families never went with them, especially as they all looked so sad afterwards. Still, I never had any trouble with the village kids again, in fact I never saw any of them again, they must have been avoiding me, like everyone else in the village seemed to after that day. From that day forth though, every time I drank any milk I'd pour some on the kerb for Steak and remember the good old days of the West Plantation Crew. I sighed at the memory of my childhood chums, wondering if I'd ever see any of them again. Almost as an afterthought I sent another gout of flame towards the flying zombie, hoping to actually hit the fucker this time. Flameburst at Rotwing |
The zombie finally begins to falter, and Motsognir sees his chance to deal a telling wound. Shoving Garrmondo aside, he raises his axe with a shout and hacks off the chillborn's left arm. The zombie's attempts to contort his frozen face into a frown but succeeds only in shattering his own jaw.
Start of Delic's turn: 5 ongoing cold damage Delic stands there with his feet frozen to the ground, mumbling incoherently. Something about dating a turtle. The rest of the Horde tries to ignore him; he's lost quite a bit of blood after all and he's probably just confused. Garrmondo rushes in with what looks like a sure strike this time. Just as he raises his sword to deal the blow, the dwarf barrels past him. Set completely off balance by the warlord shoving him aside, Garrmondo ends up somewhere he didn't really want to be — and, it goes without saying, doesn't so much as give the zombie a bruise. Snapping out of a long, seemingly irrelevant reverie, Bob incinerates another passing seabird. Ooh, a petrel! He wasn't contributing to the fight overmuch, but he'd already cooked dinner for the next three nights. The rotwing makes another attempt at dive-bombing the party, aiming for Garrmondo this time. The zombie barrels into the fighter's shield at about 50 MPH. It's not pretty. The chillborn zombie staggers away from Soggy, clutching sadly at the stump where his arm used to be. Carelessly meandering by the cliff's edge, he smacks Delic in the face with his remaining arm. Delic, for his part, collapses to the ground and passes out. Somebody probably ought to move him. People roll around sometimes when they're sleeping. Slam: 8 damage to Delic. Unconscious, Dying, Helpless, all that jazz :savepoint: Motsognir, Delic (DYING), Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie |
The new one was down already. "These prissy types..." the dwarf grumbled to himself, walking over to the winged undead. He leans back and swings at the thing's torso, but only manages a fleshwound.
Inspiring Words to Delic Move to P5 Bastion of Defense what the hell kind of damage roll is that :/ 13 damage |
My wandering thoughts were hampering my aim rather so I concentrated really hard, raised my staff slowly, took a deep breath and held it before lashing eldritch fire at the two undead abominations.
Flames and shit at a square just behind the deadites so as to hit both As yet another gout of flame left my targets completely unscathed, I shook my staff and peered at the end of it, wondering if it needed recalibrating or something and longed for the good old days of fighting goblins that didn't move around much and broke easily. |
This was taking too long, Soggy groused, and the nancies he had to deal with for backup weren't helping the situation. He smashes his axe into the leathery bat-monster but it barely seems scratched. What were these things made of, metal?
Bastion of Defense: All allies (this doesn't include Soggy) gain +1 to defenses for the encounter and 5 temp. HP Beginning of Delic's turn: 5 damage from ongoing ice FUCK! DELIC'S TURN! Watch this space. Sorry, I started the update without realizing they'd healed you. |
Delic stands up slowly, muscles sore and contracted from the cold of the ice beast that attacked him mere moments before.
"Sonuva..." he slurs, the word coming out of his mouth like loose marbels or another really bad analogy. He stops, still hunched over, too warry to move very far when he looks at his feet. "What the fuck are these things at my feet? Some kind of rebus?" Turning his head like a confused dog, he utters "Ice Lock No Down Sleep Death Blood? Man, I wasn't even drunk and you people had to write all over me?" Attempting to brandish his sword, he swings widely at the closest creature. Attack at creature at O3 |
Rising unsteadily to his feet, Delic lashes out at the Chillborn — and his blade actually connects! Perhaps the curse was over!
PS: all the dice for this post are on post #130, if you're wondering Start of Garrmondo's turn: 5 damage from aura Garrmondo attempts to capitalize on the zombie's wounds with another attempt to push it over the ledge, but to no avail. As Bob incinerates a particularly unfortunate pair of starlings en route to their nest, the Chillborn dashes back up the trail toward the wagon to avoid getting stabbed from three directions at once. The zombie makes no attempt to cover his flanks, however, and Garrmondo's shortsword cuts a massive gouge into the frozen meat. The Chillborn interrupts its retreat and mauls Motsognir with its remaining arm. Garrmondo's AoO: 10 damage to Chillborn Slam: 7 damage to Motsognir; immobilized, cold, etc The Rotwing zombie moves to launch itself into the air for a third diving attack, but both Garrmondo and Delic slash into its wings as it attempts to take flight. It tumbles back onto the ground, rattled. Garrmondo's AoO: 8 damage, bloodied Delic's AoO: 14 damage :savepoint: Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie |
Motsognir keeps at it. Unable to move yet again, he sees the zombies' preoccupation and shouts for Delic to take another swing at the rotwing.
Commander's Strike |
Not knowing where that voice came from, Delic moves next to the rotwing and swings.
Because he does what the voices tell him. Moves to face rotwing Swings |
Tired from the climb and the lengthy battle, the fighters make a last ferocious assault before the cold wears them down entirely. Delic chips away viciously at the icy coating just as Garrmondo darts in to jab his shortsword through the thing's torso — in the process puncturing a long-sealed pocket of putrid corpse gases. A faint hissing quickly escalates to a high-pitched whistle, and the pressure of escaping gas blows the chillborn zombie completely to bits. Chunks of frozen zombie go flying in every direction. Garrmondo takes an airborne kidney to the temple, but the brunt of the blast is absorbed by the rotwing, whose head is ripped clean off by the force of a flying clavicle.
It's kind of messy and unorthodox, but a kill is a kill. VICTORY! 1500 XP (375 XP each) Whatever trouble may lie at the lighthouse still looms ahead, but more pressing is the question of divvying up the late paladin's possessions. He's fish food, he's not gonna want that shield anymore. On top of that, there might be something worth having in the wagon now that a body can take a look without getting gnawed on. From around a bend in the trail comes a worrisome combination of gurgling and growling that sounds very much like a large predator in some gastrointestinal distress. What rough meal, its hour come at last, slouches toward the Horde to be vomited up? |
Motsognir picks up the boots Gabe had acquired from the sailor just before his disappearance and put them on, saw to his wounds, and began picking through the wagon wreckage.
Use one healing surge |
The zombies defeated, I stopped to catch my breath and warm up my extremities. Seeing the pile of the ugly dwarf's belongings, I bowed my head briefly in recognition of the passing of a truly mighty warrior, before picking up the dog statue and helping myself to some of his trail rations and his rope. I planted the skull on a stick next to the road, with his skull hat laid beside it and scrawled on the cliff face using my chalk "Near here lies a dwarf (About 6 feet out and 600 yards down). Ugly as sin and mad as a box of Basilisks. We are proud to have known him" as an eternal monument to this sadly lost, undead warrior.
Wiping a tear from my eye, I joined the other dwarf, the last of my creations, who was busy rummaging through the cart to help him look for loot. Healing surge back to full health, search for treasure |
While the rest of the group pick through the other guy's crap, Delic takes his time to take the sea-tree's vine, knotting it down its length and then tying one end around himself and the other to his sword sheath.
This will come handy on a mountain, if theres a problem with falling over cliffs. |
What was left of the Horde rifled through the late paladin's gear, leaving most of it where it lay. Most of it was unsalvageable; what few things didn't have little animal skulls pasted to them were coated in hairs of unknown provenance.
Delic, inscrutable as ever, busies himself by knotting the rope he'd pilfered from the ship and then tying himself to his own scabbard. The scabbard is very important to the gentleman swordsman. Without it, the damage to the blade from rust can be immeasurable; now, no one will take this important accessory from him. The rest of the group goes to take another look at the wrecked wagon. It stands to reason that they weren't the first group to fall into the zombies' trap and some of the poor idiots en route to the lighthouse must have had some worthwhile loot. Sure enough, a two-handed falchion is wedged under the wagon axle, miraculously unaffected by the weather. http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...ngweapon_2.png As they consider which of them should take the sword, a hulking grizzly bear staggers into view. Groaning as if in great agony, the poor animal unsteadily meanders within a few yards of the Horde before flopping down onto the trail and letting forth a truly majestic torrent of vomit. An angry animal of some kind, possibly a badger or wolverine, thrashes about in the puddle for a few moments, trying to get back to its feet on the slippery trail. The bear, for its part, merely passes out. Quite unceremoniously, the badger is then abruptly replaced by an equally ferocious halfling who continues to roil about in the puddle of bile for a few awkward seconds before he realizes he's being watched. Finally managing to right himself, he wipes the effluence from his face and assumes an expression of surprised optimism. These people were extraordinarily unlikely to swallow him whole. Today might turn out all right after all! |
Finding nothing of immediate use in the wagon, I turned my attention to the small child who had just been vomitted up in front of us, remarking to anyone who was listening how strange it was that everytime we lost a party member, another candidate seemed to appear almost immediately. The last time we let a child tag along it hadn't ended well but with few alternatives on this path, we could use all the help we could get and the bear looked in no state for adventuring.
I waited for the others to finish what they were doing before heading off up the trail. I figured one of the humans would fill in the kid on what was going on, I was never great with kids. |
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http://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/001stormyseas.jpg And explore he did. The halfling went scuttling about through the crags and eventually stumbled upon a rather boring village. Very much empty. Very much dead. Nothing to steal. Nothing interesting. Boring. It did have a path to follow away from it though and that led to the cliffs. The path led up into the cliffs. Oh yes it did but Gordok thought following this path felt disingenuous to who he was. He could climb this cliff. He would caress and fondle every last stone until he was up to the top. Oh this would be good. About thirty minutes up he'd stumbled upon something. Friends! Just the cutest icy zombies you ever did seen! And so Gordy played with his new friends exploring the cliff sides and scrambling over top of one another and biting at each other. It was just like home. Soon enough the undead grew wary of the sport and climbed back into their holes. Gordok waved goodbye and continued his ascent. http://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/002nicecavetosleepin.jpg Gordok knew what sleeping in a cave was like. He was quite adept at it. He certainly knew what it was not. It wasn't this comfortable. It wasn't this warm. Least of all it wasn't this wet. Okay, well sometimes it was, but it certainly wasn't this squishy. Something had gone wrong while he slept. He had dreamt of playing with his earlier companions some more, so it was too cruel to find that as he reached out two of his buddies lay compactly and lifelessly inside this non-cave cavity. As he shed a single tear for his icy pals Gordok noted something else. Whatever he had woken up in was now moving. Coming to his senses Gordok knew perfectly well what to do and what had happened for this wasn't all that an uncommon event in his life having had happened at least ten times before. He'd almost lost Uncle Fehrlok one drunken night when he wasn't quite right for pulling off this escape, but Gordy was pretty damn sober right now and this time he didn't really believe that whatever had swallowed him whole had any relations to him so he wouldn't have to hold back. Five minutes later and he was free. Back into the cold world he flopped and rolled. The heaving and sick had made it a bit unpleasant but Gordok had rather enjoyed the warmth. He had no more need for his extra tools anymore as whatever had scarfed him up had promptly keeled over for the night. http://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/003walkalongthecliff.jpg |
Waiting until his woman was out of earshot, Motsognir pulls the new halfling aside and shows him the ropes in a menacing sotto voce. "Listen you little shit, let's get something straight right off the bat. Lady's mine, alright? So you can cut this 'hello gorgeous' business, or," he points to the bear, "I'll feed you to something less forgiving than old Smokey over there. Capiche?"
Arrogantly picking up the weapon from the wagon wreckage, he saunters off after the elf. |
Scooping up the falchion, Soggy irritably resumes tramping uphill after Bob. He shoots the rest of the group a dirty look, and they hurry to catch up.
The trail gets rougher still as it ascends into the rarefied air near the peak, narrowing to little more than a tiny footpath that then vanishes entirely under densely-packed snow. At long last, the Horde reaches the lighthouse gates. At this distance, the Fang Light is finally visible — reduced to a sputtering ember instead of the massive conflagration it's intended to be, it hovers over the lighthouse tower. The gate itself is locked. A massive figure, armored in head to toe, stomps up to the other side of the gate and stares intently at the Horde, his red eyes glowing through his helmet. "Adam" he grumbles, his head turning ever-so-slightly to glance behind him. "Visitors." He pauses, and then, his voice carrying a faint undertone of disgust, adds: "They're made out of meat." "What, again? The entire reason we chose this location for our work was its inhospitability to meat. And yet, for the third time this month, meat!" Another armored figure, this one somewhat smaller, steps forward and pulls open the gate. "Good evening, Meat Individuals 43 through 47. As there is no plausible reason you should be in a place with such meat-hostile temperatures, you have obviously arrived via some kind of accident in the pathfinding routines of your meat brains. There was a meat-person dwelling here when we arrived, but due to his hostility we were forced to punch holes in his meat until he stopped moving around. Consequently, we were free to discard all of the various articles he had here to make meat-survivability viable at this altitude. Therefore I advise you for your own safety to reverse course and return immediately to whatever seacraft you may have arrived by. Or, it goes without saying, else." A third voice, seemingly coming from atop the lighthouse tower, shouts something intelligible, and the green lights shining from within Adam's helmet seem to flicker rapidly. "Unless", Adam asks with the air of someone having to ask a pointless question for the 43rd time that month, "You know anything about the upkeep and repair of Class-R spelljammers?" |
"Uhhhhhhh" the dwarf mutters dumbly, thinking back.
Arcana check! |
We finally made it to the lighthouse after a long slog through the snow. I had amused myself during the climb by rolling small snowballs off the side of the mountain, watching them grow larger and larger as they rolled before smashing apart on the jagged outcrops of rock dotted about the mountainside.
When finally we reached the gates of the lighthouse, we were greated by what looked like a couple of suits of animated armour. What was particularly impressive was that these suits of armour could speak! I couldn't really understand them of course as they spoke with the same infuriating dialect that everyone else in this part of the world seemed to share but I did catch the odd word or two, in particular spelljammer which sounded like something I might have learned about at university. I wracked my brains for any hidden memories on the subject whilst wandering over to the nearest suit of armour and giving it a good looking over, trying to see how it worked. Rapping the breastplate with my staff to see if it was hollow, I peered through the eye-slits, hoping to fathom out the internal workings. These really were quite fascinating pieces of either arcana or machinery. Skill check for spelljammer knowledge, go and investigate the nearest chap more closely |
Delic thinks very hard. Not surprisingly, its the same look on his face when he's constipated.
Insight Check |
Motsognir and Bob discuss their collective knowledge of arcana obscura, being the only two members of the party which would be especially likely to know anything about spells — let alone jamming them. The word itself sounds only vaguely familiar, and after much discussion Bob finally recalls where he had heard the term before.
Long, long ago, before Bob's parents had got themselves expelled from the village (on the pretense that an elf running a logging enterprise was a fairly obvious case of insanity), little Bob was wandering through the woods one evening. In those days no one thought twice about such a child meandering alone in the dark, for the village snipers were everywhere. And so it was in his twilight wandering that little Bob encountered, quite on accident, a group of strange, tall people with long, bony hands and squids where their heads were supposed to be. All at once, the squid-head people panicked at the sight of him, dropping the flowers and plants they had been gathering and rushing into a strange boat that seemed to drop out of the very sky to collect them. But in their haste they left someone behind! A few days later, young Bob was languishing under one of his father's frequent punishments (for he had stole the village archmage's wand of fireballs for the third time that month, and Bob's father grew tired of re-thatching the roof). And so it was that Bob was confined to his own bedroom, and was intolerably bored. But then! A tiny squid-head, shorter even than an elfchild (which are very short indeed) clambered into the window, and in its strange rasping tongue told Bob of the arcane apparatus needed to recall the sky-ship to him that he may be collected and return to his own people. And so Bob set out, and pilfered the various shopkeeps and mage-halls of his village, and assembled by trial and error the strange gadget that would send out the call of distress. Oh, what an adventure that was! It was only after weeks of intense interrogation by the village council that he overheard the word "spelljammer" as a synonym for those strange, flying boats that soared so high as to seemingly disappear among the very stars. Later it turned out that the illithids didn't even possess a juvenile form and he had probably been dealing with some weird midget the entire time. This would be less insulting if the little bastard hadn't eaten all his imported candies. Bob considers relating this story to Motsognir, but in the interest of time just claims to have learned about sky-ships at the University. Still, a faint memory of having summoned one doesn't quite qualify him for repair work. Couldn't hurt to try, though. Worst comes to worst things would just come to blows, which was more or less par for the course regardless. Bob then experimentally jabs at the lead armor with his staff, which produces nothing much more than a low grumble and an insistence that Bob "stop poking" him. Still, the glimpse Bob takes of the armor's insides before being gently shoved away is quite fascinating. It's all full of pointy metal bits and little gears and glass tubes full of goo, all of it whirring and humming away. Why would anyone take a perfectly good suit of animated armor and just cram it full of noisy rubbish like that? While this conference is going on, Garrmondo takes a good look around to see if he can reckon who's really in charge here. The big lummox was clearly deferential to the green-eyed fella, who in turn was apparently taking orders from somebody up atop the lighthouse. With the two still blocking the gate, however, there's no way of getting up there and seeing who it might be. Delic scowls about suspiciously. Though he innately distrusts the armored men, he has far too little comprehension of what they might be talking about to determine whether or not they were being honest. Before Adam can stop him, Gordok has clambered up onto the metal man's shoulders and begins peering about. A low chuckle echoes around in Adam's helmet, and he reaches up and gently pats Gordok on the head in much the way one would a friendly dog. Gordok gawks around curiously, but doesn't see much of anything he couldn't see before. The big iron men, the lighthouse, the big fireball on top of the lighthouse, the big oval shadow being cast on the east side of the lighthouse despite the clear and cloudless night, the— wait a dang minute! |
Gordok gives the dwarf a look of confused disgust, ponders for a moment, shrugs, and follows the bunch on up the boring path. Might as well stick with the group for now. They didn't really look like climbers.
A bit later upon reaching the light house there appear some giant metallic creatures. Gordok is fascinated with their size and the way they move and their odd voices and well just everything really. The elf takes a few prods to examine one of the creatures and Gordok takes this as a sign to investigate them himself so up up up he goes clambering on top happily clinging to the back of the closest mountain of metal. It is very cool to the touch. Gordok is reminded of Great Aunty Eatongruf - just with less spikes. "I love you Mr. Bestest-Thing-in-the-Whole-World." While he's up on this nice place Gordy takes in the view and the general layout of the place. Perception Check |
"Ah", I remembered out loud, as much to myself as anyone else "Spelljammers, I remember those. Funny floaty things no, require a devillish amount of stuff to summon up and then when you do finally get hold of one it turns out that little Inky was actually old farmer Patterson's son, the one that was also his brother. I never did get those sweets back". Feeling slightly dejected at the memory of my lost sweets, I decided that having another look at one of those floaty things would probably be just thing to brighten up my day.
I rapped my knuckles on big suit of armour again and peered intently into the eye slit. "I say, hello, hello, HEEELLLLLOOOOOOOO IN THERE". I wasn't getting much of a response so fell back on old faithful, talking slowly and loudly always makes foreigners understand you. "MY NAME IS BOB. ME BIGUM SCARY WIZZARD YES? ME GO LOOKY LOOKY AT SPELLJAMMER. YOU TAKE ME AND THE HORDE" I gestured expansively at the rest of our motley crew "UP SEE BOSS MAN IN TOWER WITH FLOATY BOAT. YOU TAKEY BOB AND HORDE UP THERE NOW THEN?". And so as not to be impolite, I pressed a gold piece into the armour's gauntletted hand. "And treat yourself to something nice, take the missus out for a meal or something. Run along now!". |
Noticing the elf woman giving away cash to his new robo-friends, Garr misunderstood the purpose of the gesture, assuming it was time to pay a gate toll. Even on the off chance that it wasn't, he thought that the single GP wouldn't buy much, and it made a shitty bribe.
Grabbing one (and only one, for he was also a cheap ass) of his own coins to match Bob's donation, Garrmondo stuck it in what he thought was a coin slot on the robot. Tilting his head to the side slightly, putting his hands out and folding some of his fingers back, he looked his steel pal straight in the face and yelled "HOLLA HOLLA GET DOLLA" |
Adam looks down impassively at the elf.
"It's quite impossible to get atop the lighthouse, I'm afraid. The stairs were destroyed in the... disagreement we had with the lighthouse keeper. Poor Quill's been stuck up there ever since, trying to get the boat working again. I told him he might as well just jump and we'd put him back together again once he got down here, but he's irrational about the whole thing. I suppose if you had some climbing gear you could scale the tower, but why? Still, if you'd like a look at the 'jammer, help yourself. Forgive us, we keep it cloaked most of the time to avoid unwelcome attention — although I suppose we may as well not bother at this rate." "Quill!" he shouts. "Drop the cloak!" A third metal man leans over the edge of the lighthouse, and seems to grab a lever that isn't there. He wrenches it down, and a massive floating contraption materializes into view. A huge leather bag floats unaided in the air, and a metal box the size of a peasant cottage dangles beneath. A door in the box flies open, and one of the metal men tosses down a rope ladder. "Behold, my meaty acquaintances. The Mutineer." A note of pride rings through even Adam's mechanical voice. "Crews 9, runs on your basic caged-elemental engine. Now, the issue, as Quill explains it to me, is that— what are you — oh. I appreciate your generosity, but I don't see how gold will do us any good." Garrmondo mischievously jams a coin of his own into an inviting gap in Adam's back, and a panel in the metal man's torso slides open, dispensing a refreshing beverage. http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...nofclarity.png "Please don't do that again." |
Well this was certainly a turn up for the books. We had been engaged in conversation with strangers fro almost three minutes without getting into a fight. I made a mental note to mark this day down in the calendar as an auspicious one.
The suit of armour continued to speak and again, I struggled to understand him but the sudden appearance of a large, floating boat high above certainly piqued my curiosity. A rope ladder was tossed down and I made a bee-line for it, keen to see inside the big floaty thing before my companions started taking apart the suits of armour in their own, inimitable way. Thanking the suit of armour for his sterling work as a doorman, I hurried over to the ladder and started to climb up it, leaving the lads to get any more information we might need from the two metal butlers. |
Garrmondo grabs his fizzy beverage and stores it in his pack. But soon has a concerned look on his face.
Not trusting his rather shady looking new midget compatriot, he brings it out again, and writes "Property of Bakersfield" on the side of the bottle. He then restows it for later. Jack that shit. Shortly thereafter noticing the movement of that elf woman's shapely buttocks, Garr started after her. Letting her climb ahead of him, he waited until she was half way up the ladder... ...and....*pinch* http://www.ffcompendium.com/misc/soft9.jpg badonkadonk |
As I began my ascent of the ladder, I felt a pinch on my buttocks. Slightly startled and yet turned on at the same time, I looked below me, expecting to see my dwarf.
Instead, to my surprise I saw the man in the frilly shirt. I knew he looked like a pirate but up to this point I had been unaware that he actually was one. Trying to pass off the moment as insignificant, so as not to upset the Dwarf, I resumed climbing. I resolved to investigate this development further soon though. I had to admit to myself that all this male attention was flattering. For most of my life, I had been shunned for my lifestyle choices and never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that the life of an adventurer would lead me to meet so many like-minded people. Sure, there had been Tarquin and Alloiscious but Tarquin was an insufferable drama queen and as for Alloiscious, even starved of affection as I was I drew the line at Gnomes. If only I had abandoned the stuffy halls of academia in search of a life of freedom on the open road, who knows how things might have turned out! |
Motsognir had seen the human's action. Rushing up the ladder, he heaves himself over the human, planting a boot in his face and securing his position below his woman. The dwarf glares down at Garrmondo then reaches up and firmly slaps the ass above him, looking up to smile politely as she reacts. He scrapes the mud off his boots as he climbs the ladder, letting it fall on whomever it may.
|
Delic does not trust metal men. Its one thing if its a man in armor, another thing when glowing eyes look back at him. Theres something unnatural and... wrong about it.
Delic also REALLY does not trust leather bags saddled with boxes. He'd seen Orcs use those contraptions in old war etchings. They'd drop bags of rotted meat and offal to turn the enemy sick - sometimes even things that created fire when it hit the ground. But he'll trust the judgements of his team, despite the weird feeling of unease crawling up his neck. He climbs the ladder slowly, mumbling under his breath. |
Gordok trusts the metal man completely. So much so that he has great faith that if tossed at high speeds he could make it safely inside the large metal box surpassing the current game of grab-ass. What a dazzling spectacle it would be! Gordy relays this odd request in a dead whisper into where he assumes ears should be and gears up for his magnificent flight.
|
Garrmondo wonders why his dwarf friend is so protective. Especially when he's not made any moves on her for as long as he can remember. You snooze, you lose. Regardless, lady elves have more than enough holes for two fellows. Why, it's been so long that Garrmondo wouldn't put up a fight either way. He'd take what he could get.
Hell, just the other day, he had seen some old bar keep who must have been at least 65 bend forward and almost spill her giant, saggy....assets out for all to see. He was not proud of the fact that he may have liked that. More so than he let on. He looked up, past the dwarf, one final time. As the elf woman climbed, her ass shifted, and Garr squinted to get a better look. He raised an eyebrow though when he thought he saw something...else. Something bulgy. Something that, by all accounts, shouldn't be there. Perception check So he looked again, but couldn't quite catch it. He wasn't sure what he saw, but at the moment, he figured it was an optical illusion. It wasn't terribly large by any stretch. He'd have to take a gander again later when he got another chance. Unfortunately, that wasn't now. Just at that moment he got a face full of mud. |
Adam glances skeptically at the strange little meatcreature that sat on his shoulders. In his experience meat had a short lifespan when introduced to high velocities. Still, in the interest of keeping the peace he accepts the little man's request.
"CLEAR THE DOORWAY!", Adam shouts. Lifting the halfling from his shoulders, he holds Gordok in his right hand with an iron grip. Adam's right arm begins to rotate freely about the axis of his shoulder; slowly at first and then accelerating until both the arm and Gordok are little more than a circular blur. Just as Gordok is beginning to become terribly dizzy, the metal man's arm abruptly slams to a stop and Adam releases the halfling from his grip. Gordok hurtles through the air like a sling stone, easily clearing the distance between the ground and the open door of the the Mutineer and smashing violently into an interior wall. Still, even after Gordok takes the better part of a minute to recover his faculties, the rest of the group is still only halfway up the ladder — they seem engaged in some kind of dispute over the elf girl. Gordok had never quite understood the mating rituals of the so-called "civilized" races — where he came from you just smashed the lucky lady you wanted to court over the head with an ox skull and dragged her back to your cave. If she escaped, well... then it wasn't meant to be. Another half-dozen of the mechanical men are bustling around inside the cabin, adjusting a multitude of unmarked levers and fiddling with little wheels. One of them finally notices Gordok staggering around. "At last! Perhaps you are the Intelligent Meat foretold in prophecy. Let me present you, little meatling, with our dilemma." The metal man throws open a panel in the wall of the cabin, revealing a massive, largely empty chamber. In the center of the room is a whirling black tornado, held in place by a cage seemingly composed entirely out of lightning bolts. In Gordok's experience lightning didn't usually have a lifespan of more than a split second, but the electric beams persist no matter how many times the halfling blinks or rubs his eyes. "The engine room!" announces the metal man, quite cheerfully. "There's the air elemental, of course, and the containment system. The elemental tries to escape, the cage gives it a shock, it gets angry and thrashes around which of course produces powerful air currents which we use to power the engines. Very standard. Now, we have two problems. One, we require a persistent heat source to keep the gas balloon warm and gain altitude. Attempts to build a fire via conventional methods have failed — the air is too cold and thin at this altitude for natural fires to persist. The Mutineer has been gradually sinking ever since we stumbled into your unpleasant little planet, and I suspect at the current rate we have less than a local week before we risk collision with the ocean — needless to say, saltwater immersion would cause an endless series of failures in a craft of this make. The fireplace in the corner there channels heat directly into the balloon, so let me know if you think of a solution for that. Two, the ventilation system for the elemental has become clogged." He gestures, and Gordok follows him up a short stairway which leads back to the exterior of the craft. Massive metal wheels are affixed to sturdy poles on the roof of the cabin, rotating very slowly in the faint breeze being issued from a panel on the opposite wall. "And here are the turbines. The wind from the elemental is expelled from the vents, powering the propellers. Now, as you know, the only thing that keeps the elemental angry about its imprisonment — instead of falling into a useless fugue state and dissipating — is a persistent magic field designed expressly for that purpose. In our case, as we have no credible mage on board, we use a system of enchanted artifacts. This worked just fine until a collision jarred the artifacts out of place. Let me show you." http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/ventpuzzle.png "Obviously, all three artifacts need to be affixed to the mesh here in order to keep the elemental in an active state. However, as you can see, two of the three ventilation fans on the top row of the mesh are blocked, and one fan leaves us with an insignificant level of propulsion. The quandary here is that in order to rearrange the artifacts one needs to remove them from the mesh — and if you remove more than one at a time the elemental immediately begins the process of dissipation. Needless to say that's a worst-case scenario. We need to move all three of these artifacts to positions where they don't block the fans, but at no point may more than one artifact be detached from the mesh. Maybe your strange meat brain can solve this mystery. The runes, of course, must always face outward toward the propellers rather than inward toward the elemental, or the power will be channeled backward and may make the elemental too powerful to contain. The last thing any of us want is a thing like that running around on the loose. If the runes end up being upside down or backwards or something, however, they'll probably still work just fine provided they face the right direction." |
Scraping the mud from his face and climbing the rest of the way up, Garrmondo joins the greasy midget in the engine room, and overhears the issue at hand. He stood stunned, amazed by the fact that what are essentially living abacuses were unable to solve a simple problem such as this, and yet they could otherwise maintain a ship of this magnitude.
He began to ponder if these tasks presented themselves to him and his friends solely because some God beyond their realm of understanding felt like testing them from time to time in some non-combat scenarios. "Nah", he thought a moment later. He had read one of the elf with the suspicious crotch's books earlier, and it had a detailed list of every documented God in existance. Surely there was not another. That list was already longer than his forearm. Recalling the ladder loving dwarf's honey bunny was good at fire and at various other aspects of being flaming, he left that issue well and alone. Considering sticking his dick into the last fan and seeing if that helps anything (Garrmondo has found his genitals solve most problems in his life rather painlessly), he instead comes to the conclusion to just do the puzzle and be done with it. He felt oddly compelled to. Maybe he just liked robots. Looking at it, he declared the brown thing to be "L bracket", the pink one to be "long", and green one to be "stupid thing from Tetris 2". Sucking in his breath, he yodelled: L bracket: twist 180 degrees, as left as possible Long: 90 degree twist, cover all three fans Stupid Tetris 2: counterclockwise 90, flat end against right wall. L bracket: 90 degrees counterclockwise, stick against bottom Long: move into open three space not covering fans. |
As I reached the top and looked into the box, the memories of the last floaty box thing I had seen came flooding back to me. I wandered around briefly, vaguely aware that the pirate was fiddling with something in the corner. As I circled the room, I noticed the empty fireplace in the corner.
"EXCUSE ME MY GOOD MAN". I tapped the nearest suit of armour on the back of the head with my staff "WOULDN'T THIS THING WORK MUCH BETTER IF YOU HAD A NICE FIRE GOING IN THERE?" Getting little in the way of an intelligible response, I thought a practical demonstration might help. There being little useful flammable material around in the room, I dug out the Delvers Fire ingredients from my pack and set about preparing the ritual in the fireplace. |
Completely out of his element, Delic offers the flint and steel in his kit to start the fire.
|
Motsognir leans against a rail, watching his lady bent over, preparing her magic. He walks up behind her, making just enough of a show to make sure he had Garrmondo's eye. It wasn't too hard to distract him from his puzzle. Placing his hands on his woman's svelt hips, he looks over to the pirate, smirking, and deeply intones, "WOULDN'T THIS THING WORK MUCH BETTER IF YOU HAD A NICE FIRE GOING IN THERE?" and proceeds to sway his hips to and fro.
|
The attention from the pirate had clearly had an effect on the Dwarf. Whilst this overt show of affection was welcome, his timing wasn't ideal and the hip gyrations were slightly distracting me from my work. I gently removed his hands from my hips and used my Ghost Sound magic to whisper softly in his ear "Later, big boy".
|
Working quickly, Garrmondo easily solves the issue of the blocked ventilation ducts. Entirely too quickly, in fact. As Bob prepares to set a magical flame alight in the Mutineer's fireplace, the aircraft shudders violently to life. The starjammer hurtles forward under the force of its propellers, but without a fire in its belly the airship can't get enough altitude to clear the Fang's rocky cliffs.
Bob redoubles his efforts as Delic hurries to provide the necessary supplies and Motsognir simply uses his stout legs to keep the elf standing upright in the shaking cabin. Moments before collision with a wall of jagged stones, the ritual fire blazes to life and a gust of hot air rushes up into the Mutineer's balloon. The airship is quickly buoyed up, but even so the cabin itself scrapes against the rocks, sending both the Horde and the ship's metallic crew alike staggering. The crew moves quickly to get the ship back under control, steering it round to collect Adam and the rest of those on the ground. "Typical meat", mutters Adam, as he clambers up the ladder. "Never thinking before you act. On the other hand, at least you didn't try to kill us, which makes the lot of you by far the most intelligent meat I've ever encountered. I guess you deserve a reward for that." He claps twice in quick succession, his metal hands clanging together with an awful noise. One of his armored subordinates hurries into a storage closet, returning quickly with his arms laden in loot. "There we are. These things used to belong to murderously insane lunatics who tried to kill us for no reason, and now they belong to you. I consider it a kind of positive reinforcement for you meat-people." http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...nicstaff_2.png http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...cthammer_2.png (Throwing Hammer) http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...ldsarmor_2.png (Chainmail) Without Quill attempting to channel the Fang Light's magic fire for the Mutineer's own heating needs, the lighthouse's magnificent blaze rapidly blossoms back to full strength. "Much as I'd like to take you along, I don't think you lot can go where we're going", Quill opines. "For one, there's no air up there. Meat can't live without air. We tested this very thoroughly." Even Gordok, with his enthusiasm for danger, is disinclined to suffocate in the inky black void. And so, after another round of thank-yous and farewells, Adam begins to make a show out of how far off schedule everything is. It's only a few minutes later that the Mutineer buzzes low over the Rosy Dawn, tossing out 5 passengers (and their reward) into the sand before ascending rapidly into the night sky and disappearing among a thousand twinkling stars. Catos, for his part, asks no questions. That the lighthouse is lit once again is enough. There'll be reports to make once the Rosy Dawn makes landfall in Veltalar, for certain, but for tonight it's enough to finish up repairs and make for a well-earned space in the bunks. The ship casts off from the rocky beach the next morning, not precisely good-as-new, but at the very least good enough. By evening they've arrived in Veltalar, and Catos is more than happy to pay the Horde for their services. +50 GP each Major Quest reward: 1000 XP (200 XP each) Actually resolving something outside combat for once bonus: 500 XP (100 XP each) None of the locals in Veltalar's inns and taverns believe a word about the Horde's encounter with the metal men from the sky, but they know what they saw on that snow-covered cliff. Still, dealing in impossibilities is part and parcel of the adventuring trade, and it's not long before the Horde tires of the local color. It's time to find out what the merchants in Veltalar have for sale and what still needs killin'. As before, distribute your 5 points according to which adventure you most desire to pursue. As far as the shops go, don't hesitate to ask what you're getting for your money. I'm happy to show item stats to anyone who's afraid of wasting their cash. House of Pain Albert's Miscellany Mordenkainen's Magnificent Market Pay 'n Pray Notice Board |
Assuming nobody else would have much use for it, I helped myself to the staff we had been given as a reward by the metal people. It was with some regret and a tear in my eye that I waved goodbye to our new metal chums. Whilst I had enjoyed our boat trip, a floaty airship thing would be an even cooler way to get about and I hoped that one day I might own my own.
I felt strangely more powerful after our recent excursion, as if some really awesome spells I had once learned had come back into the forefront of my memory. I amused myself on the remainder of our boat trip trying them out although try though I might I couldn't build up the energy required to cast them both in the same day. Once we reached land, I set about consolidating my gear, selling my old staff, the wand I had found and the gold bracelet I had for a total of 258 gold. Now that I was a proper sailor, I did quite fancy getting a nifty tattoo but the prices been asked were ridiculous. I wondered exactly who could afford to shop in any of the stores in this village and not for the first time, bemoaned the lack of any decently paying work. Begrudgingly I forked over a king's ransome to replenish my stock of ritual components and picked up an inquisitive's kit and a glass cutter, it having occured to me that nobody in our particular band was particularly cut out for any work more delicate than smashing people's faces in. I also bought a clockwork bomb, because blowing things up is funny. I perused the handy situations vacant board in the inn, deciding what looked like the most interesting job to do next. My primary goal was the acquisition of a large sum of money. I was tired of having to scrape together enough coin to pay for dinner each night and wanted to be able to actually buy stuff in the local shops. Sadly, even the best reward offered of 850gp wouldn't go far split five ways so it looked like I was destined for the time being to continue my current life of poverty. I figured that a ruined minotaur city might have some decent loot lying around and I did miss Steak, it'd be nice to see the kind of place he might have grown up in. I was also tempted by the guard job on the caravan to Spellgard. A place with a name like that was inevitably a seat of great magic learning or something and even though the job paid a pittance, the cargo might well be worth a great deal and we could always kill the other guards and keep the cargo once we were out of sight of the village. Finally I figured there was decent money to be made by joining a paramilitary organisation and there were always such good poems written about freedom fighters so joining the Flaming Fist people seemed like it might be fun. I couldn't really decide so I figured I'd let the others choose. Sell Staff of Expansion, Gold Bracelet and Wand of Magic Missile, replace used ritual components, buy Inquisitive's Kit, Glass Cutter and Clockwork Bomb. Vote 1 point each for Minotaur city, Spellgard caravan, Flaming Fist, Candlekeep and Dragonborn bandit. |
Motsognir was increasingly interested in the arcane. Swinging by the Pay n' Pray, he asks the shopkeep for a closer look at Mammon's Symbol of Vengeance.
oh and he takes that throwing hammer |
"You don't really strike me as a prayin' man, but—"
The shopkeep shrugs and slides a gold medallion emblazoned with a clawed hand across the counter for Soggy's perusal. http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...fvengeance.png |
Looking at the shopkeeper questioningly, the dwarf replies, "840GP for this? No, I guess I'm not the praying type." Instead, he finds a nice place to have a nap.
don't buy or sell anything all five points go towards cake rescuing |
Having a bit of a premonition, thinking it may be useful for a person he has not yet met, Garrmondo grabs the fancy chainmail his flying robofriends left there.
Grab Skald's Armour Looking at the notice board, his eyes are immediately drawn to the word cake. The fact that it appeared more than once in the classified has him sold on the idea. Jumping about excitedly, he says to his companions "OH YIPPEE YIPPEE LET'S DO THIS ONE". All 5 points into the cake rescue Contemplating doing some wheelin' and dealin', he approaches this building labeled HOUSE OF PAIN. Walking in, Garrmondo is saddened to see no interesting leather "toys" or suggestively shaped implements. Making a mental note to ask the shopkeeper where he can go for his kinky needs, he instead spies something glowing a bit that's sharp and pointy. Unfortunately it's far too sharp or pointy to use for his initial pirating purpose, but it might serve some use with the other bit of his job description. "Yo, shopkeep, what's up with this thing you have here labeled 'Sunblade Double Sword'". |
The elf behind the counter slides the massive two-bladed sword across, looking skeptically at the heavy shield on Garrmondo's back.
http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...ladeweapon.png A double weapon means Garrmondo's shield abilities are all fucked, it should be noted |
Delic wanders into Mordenkainen's Magnificent Market, hiking his belt up and his thumbs through the hoops as he greets the man behind the counter.
"EXCUSE ME GOOD SIR, I WOULD LIKE TO BUY SOMETHING FROM YOUR FINE ESTABLISHMENT." (Doubtless, the man behind the counter is not actually a man, but a mule from the stable adjacent to Mordenkainen's Magnificent Market.) Nonplussed, Delic walks out of the smelly, grimey store after a stare-down of several minutes and then decides to go to Pay 'n Pray instead. "EXCUSE ME GOOD SIR, I WOULD LIKE TO BUY SOMETHING FROM YOUR FINE ESTABLISHMENT. ONE POTION OF HEALING." "WITH SPRINKLES." Walking back out into the street, Delic struts into Albert's Miscellany. He quietly approaches the counter, trying not to make a scene. "Did you know the fellow who runs Mordenkainen's is mute? Just how in the F'ronker of Oglash does he do business? ANYWAY, I would like two orders of trail rations. And a lute." |
Telling the shiny sword seller he can get bent, (only in not as many words) Garr waddled across the street to join up with Delic.
After waiting for his fellow beefmagnet to be done with his gossip, he looked at the man behind the counter, whom he's never met before, straight in the eye and said "HELLO MY GOOD FRIEND, HOW IS MY FAVORITE STORE THAT I VISIT ALL THE TIME DOING? THIS ROUGH ECONOMY AIN'T GOT YOU DOWN, DOES IT? NO? THAT'S GOOD TO HEAR! SADLY I AM NOT SO FORTUNATE, AND MY COIN PURSE (no, not that one, you fool) IS AS LIGHT AS MY ELVISH GIRLFRIEND IS BEAUTIFUL. I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU COULD CUT A CLOSE FRIEND SUCH AS YOURS SOME SLACK? I NEED A DEAL, HOMEY" Bluff check "I'LL BE NEEDING THE FOLLOWING: 1x crowbar 1x drum 5x pint of oil 1x grappling hook 1x hammer" "I ALSO NEED A SHIRT. JUST PLAIN OLD. Y'KNOW. SECOND OR THIRD HAND. I DON'T CARE. MIGHT EVEN SAY CLASS OF '23 ON IT, I CARE NOT. IF YOU DON'T GOT ONE, WHERE'S THE NEAREST YEE OLDE SALVATION ARMY OUTLET?" |
Seeing the pirate looking for some new clothes, I realised it had been a while since I updated my own image. Changing my robes or boots was out of the question since they were both magic and I had become rather fond of my hat. What I really needed though was a cloak, a mysterious swishy one ideally. I ambled round the shops, hoping to find something appropriate.
|
Having spent the better part of the afternoon shopping, Garr retreated the inn.
"Hello, good sir. I would like a room in which to stay. I have 4 companions with me, so I will need you to reserve as many single rooms. There is myself, another man named Delic, a slimy little person named....I dunno. Something. He smells like barf. You can't miss him. There is also some dishonourable dwarf and some hot piece of ass elf. For our accomodations, I need you to assign me a room next to the elf, but assign the dwarf to a room as far away from the rest of us as possible. There's an extra couple of coins in it for you if you give him the basement broom closet. We'll all be paying seperate, but here's the extra for giving that dwarf the one over." Pay my way for the inn. Bribe innkeeper an extra 3 GP to give Soggy the shitty room. Upon entering his room, Garr carefully put his freshly bought supplies on the table. Some inspiration had struck him today. He saw someone walking through town who looked like an old friend of his. One Richarde Deane Andersone. His friend was quite the inventor. Thinking back on this man and his ferocious hair style gave Garr the will to to continue with what he was going to do. Putting the grappling hook so that the central stalk was overhanging the edge of the table, he used his new hammer to wail away on it until he had a sharp 90 degree bend in the metal that was parallel to the orientation (on the z axis) of one of the three metal hooks. Repositioning the whole piece so that the afformentioned hook was strikable, he used his hammer to bend that hook until it was right up close to one of the others, essentially leaving the apparatus with two hooks instead of three. Disassembling the drum was the next order of business. Only needing a few pieces of it, Garr carefully took it apart so he had some elastic material and a piece of tanned hide. The remaining wooden shell was of little use. Using his sword to cut up the hide into a small section, and perforating two opposite edges with the pointy end of his crowbar, Garr affixed the bits of elastic to either end of the hide, and then the opposite ends of those onto one hook each of the ones remaining on his original grappling tool. Grabbing the crowbar again, Garr laid out the five bottles of oil. Taking the caps off, he put one small hole in each using the sharp end of the implement. Tearing the shirt up into 5 roughly equal pieces, Garr threaded them through the holes in the caps, before replacing the caps on the jars. Stretching the elastic bit back a few times, Garr was proud of his handiwork. But something was missing. The final step. Garr went down stairs and saw the innkeeper at the front desk. "Excuse me sir, can I borrow your writing tool?" Running back to his room, Garr wrote THE FUCK YOU 1000 on the side of his new toy, and then returned the ink and quill to the innkeeper. Tah-dah, one molotov cocktail launching slingshot |
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