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Secret Cow Level (GFF D&D Adventure 6)
A maze of twisty little passages, all alike.
Unable to reach a consensus, the Horde drags Delic out of the sewer (it takes some effort to pry his hands off the ladder) and retires to the nearest pub to hash out their next move. After much debate it's decided to settle the matter by drawing a lead at random. Delic, still holding his hands in front of him as if there were a ladder there, is excluded from this process. Motsognir puts his helmet upside-down in the middle of the table with a thump, nearly spilling several ales (and Bob's fluted glass of Neverwinter ice wine). Bob writes up the popular options on his seemingly-endless supply of filched stationary and puts the folded sheets into the helm. A blind draw and a brief squabble later, the Horde finds themselves back en route to Freeport — Captain Catos is more than happy to let his personal favorite adventurers tag along on the return trip. Back in the Pirate Isles, it takes the better part of an afternoon to find Valthrun puttering around in the temple of Ioun's extensive library. Once it's explained to the old sage why the Horde is there, he begins to ramble unstoppably. It's taken some time, evidently, to coax anyone into pursuing his singular ambition. "The minotaurs beneath Thunderspire Mountain ruled much of this region at one time, but that was centuries ago. A vicious civil war weakened their grip, and from then their hold on the surrounding area collapsed. If any minotaurs yet live in the depths, who can say? That's where you come in. I'm just an old researcher. I won't ask you to retrieve a magic wand or kill a demon. Just descend into Thunderspire, learn what you can, and come back to me with what you learn. I do ask that you bring some kind of proof you've been down in the old city — I've had problems with charlatans telling fairytales before. I can't offer you too much in the way of payment, but the high priest has authorized me to dispense something in the realm of 500 gold pieces. Not much between the 5 of you, I realize, but I suspect you'll find plenty of treasure in what's left of Saruun Khel. I have also a handful of ritual books to spare — the library has more than enough copies of certain things, and I'd rather see them in useful hands rather than get a few coppers for them at the Portable Hole. One last thing — the lot of you have developed a reputation. The top levels of the city have been sparsely repopulated; a handful of wizards evidently managed to get control of some of the old defensive mechanisms. It's only the lower levels that remain unexplored and dangerous. So, please, for everyone's sake, don't just kill everything you see." Valthrun scratches out a simple map to the mountain. Early the next morning, the Horde catches a ferry to the mainland and hits the road. 4 hours down the trade roads heading inland, the black peak of Thunderspire grows larger and larger on the horizon. Dark clouds cluster around the mountaintop, crackling with lightning on an otherwise sunny day. A massive 50-foot archway is carved from the stone of the mountain; colossal stone minotaurs stand watch on either side of the opening. The wide passage into the depths seems empty and forgotten for a long while. The broad tunnel leads off into dozens of smaller passages or tiny rooms, but everything seems abandoned. The Horde stumbles upon the occasional rusty dagger or scrap of unreadable parchment, but for the most part it seems no one's been down here in ages. After a long march further and further into the depths underneath the mountain, Bob's elven ears begin to pick up the faint sound of voices ahead. A little further along, and he sees light spilling out from under a door. At last, some signs of life! The conversation is incomprehensible to most of the party, but Gordok is able to translate — the folks behind the door are speaking the Goblin tongue, albeit with a certain variance in fluency. "You sit tight now, little halfling. We caught you fair and square, by my reckoning. How much do you reckon he's worth, Nuk? 10 gold? 20?" The second voice interjects, struggling with the language but still managing to insert a note of sarcasm. "I think... worth more. I buy self 50 gold, how you think of this? Then I set self free. Everyone win that—" The halfling's rebuttal is interrupted by a sharp slap. His voice sounds oddly familiar to Bob and Soggy. |
There comes even to kings times of great weariness. Then the gold of the throne is brass, the silk of the palace becomes ragged. The gems in the sparkle without luster like the ice of a dead and frozen lake; the speech of men is as empty as the rattle from the ancient Buckwalt creature (long dead from its own stupidity, attempting to mate with its self using its head and rectum) and there comes no respite.
Not after cake. Delic ponders upon this, eyes gaped wide like a fish out of a bucket. They moved around in his head without an understanding of the panorama: men, women, goblins, halflings, repeats of that awful stage show about a foreign high-born serving man in a middle-class house played by a portly man with an accent, events and shadows of events. But like summer shadows they came and went, leaving no trace upon his consciousness, save that of a great mental fatigue. Cake. Yet Delic was not tired. There was a longing in him for things beyond himself and beyond the group he traveled with. An unrest stirred in him, and strange, luminous dreams roamed his soul. He eyed his teammates wearily. How many of them had eaten cake? What will be done with them? How can it be undone and perhaps chiefmost of all - would they want it undone. These were the horrors that he had hoped being left in the sewer would allow him to avoid. But no. These people knew not of the dark, unspeakable struggles of man against pastry. Things that writhed forth from out of time and space, past even the most advanced ideas of differential geometry. Delic would wait to see what his team would do first. Yes. All things come to those who refuse the cake. |
At the sound of goblin voices, I mentally prepared myself for combat. I had understood very little of what the old sage had told us, catching a few words here and there. I distinctly remember him saying something about "Just kill everything you see" though as I thought at the time it was an odd point of view for an elderly academic to hold. I had assumed that he had been shunned by some other researchers or something and bore a grudge, knowing from personal experience just how dangerous academic rivallries could be. The great which-side-does-buttered-toast-fall debate of my senior year had all but depopulated the theoretical thaumaturgy department, especially once Gorth Manrender had got involved. Quite why an Ogre had been studying theoretical thaumaturgy in the first place I would never learn, his rampage having been ended eventually by an expeditionary force of hired battle mages from the university's Pyrokene Society. Many questioned their choice of the old paper mill as an ambush site, not least old man Bumblefrot who had been storing the fireworks for the graduation ball in there but those society lads were rather hot-headed at the best of time and once called into action there was no stopping them.
I sidled up to the door, staff in hand and motioned for one of the bigger guys (Ideally the one with a shield) to kick it open. |
Garr carefully examines the door for traps, but spots nothing. Indeed, the door is even slightly ajar. Security here is, presumably, left up to the remoteness of the locale.
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Motsognir, again sick of his comrade's pussyfooting, kicks the door open and bursts into the next room, rushing forward enough to throw his new hammer at nearest thing-speaking-Goblin. "Can't live forever, fuckers!" he shouts, passing his teammates.
let's waste that new daily right away. Situational Advantage. |
Soggy kicks the door in, flinging his magic hammer at the first vaguely goblinish thing that enters his line of sight. The hobgoblins in the room are taken by surprise, and the armored guard nearest the door barely has time to turn around before he gets a flying hammer in the teeth. The rest of the hobgoblins scramble for their weapons, but the Horde has a few moments yet to capitalize on their abrupt entry.
17 damage to Hobgoblin Soldier. Until the end of Soggy's next turn, combat advantage grants +4 to damage against the target. Surprise Round! All 5 of you get one free action (not an entire free turn) before normal initiative begins. Motsognir already used his, obviously, but to good effect — for the duration of the surprise round, all enemies grant combat advantage which, you may notice, combos nicely with the effect granted by Situational Advantage. :savepoint:Surprise Round: Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Delic Normal Initiative: Hobgoblin Warcaster, Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Motsognir, Hobgoblin Soldiers, Delic Enemy defenses Hobgoblin Soldier AC 22 (24 if adjacent to another soldier); Fortitude 20, Reflex 18, Will 18 Hobgoblin Warcaster AC 19; Fortitude 15, Reflex 17, Will 16 |
My wonderful dwarf smashed the door open and entered the fray, flinging his magic hammer in a glorious arc like a true hero of legend. The hobgoblin warriors in the room seemed completely unprepared for combat so I looked to press our advantage, sending a frosty beam streaking towards the two nearest enemies. Operation Kill Everything in Sight was well and truly underway!
Icy rays on two nearest bad doods |
Ooh hobgoblins! Gordok liked hobgoblins but business was business. Besides the last time he made friends with unsavory types they had vanished the following day. He'd miss his icy buddies. Hmmm... that memory seemed to give Gordy an idea. Yeah! Yeah! Gordok moves up beside the human.
Move to L5 |
"HOBGOBLINS!", Delic screams, two octaves too high for his age and gender, "WATCH OUT FOR THE PUMPKIN BOMBS"
Move to M7 |
Didn't put the defenses in post #7, they're there now. Sorry about that.
Bob thrusts his staff through the doorway over Soggy's head, firing deadly cold at the hobgoblins before they can react. The nearest soldier manages to duck the frigid beam, but the second catches the magic ice right in the legs, freezing him in place as he leaps up from the table. Icy Rays: 21 damage to Soldier B; immobilized until end of Bob's next turn A sense of impending triumph suffuses the rest of the Horde, and they charge into the room heedlessly. The hobgoblin mage in the far end of the room stalks forward, and gestures to Gordok, beckoning him to approach. Not quite so naive as to think a strange hobgoblin will be as benign as his adoptive family, Gordok nonetheless finds his feet dragging him across the floor against his will — right into the mass of armored thugs. Uh-oh. Force Lure: 12 damage to Gordok; slid 3 squares :savepoint: Normal Initiative: Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Motsognir, Hobgoblin Soldiers, Delic, Hobgoblin Warcaster |
Another bloody wizard, showing off cool spells I didn't know. I flung a fireball at him to show my displeasure, thinking that the doorway was probably the safest place to be for now.
Scorching burst at mage |
Squeezing past the oaf next to him in the doorway, Delic hurridly moves to assist against the closest hobgoblin.
Move to K5, sword in hand. |
Sidling past the first goblin on his way to help the halfling, Motsognir gives Garrmondo an encouraging ass pat.
Move to J6 Commander's Strike - Garrmondo -> goblin A |
Gordok didn't appreciate this shit. He decides to saunter away, but not with too much haste.
Move to L5 Thinking about it, he decides to get his powers on. Screaming loudly, he belts out "WONDER TWIN POWERS ACTIVATE. FORM OF...4 FOOT LONG SEA CUCUMBER" Wild Shape into halfling sized Echinoderm |
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Some call hobgoblins weak to fire
Some say "use ice" But since Bob used the ice spell prior He holds with those that favor fire Scorching Burst: 9 damage to Hobgoblin Warcaster and Soldier C Garrmondo hacks away at the nearest soldier, trying to get through to Gordok. Crushing Surge: 12 damage to Soldier A, +1 temp HP Seeing his position, Gordok declines to wait for rescue and dashes back to his previous position before assuming the most dangerous animal form he can imagine. Sea cucumbers, as everyone knows, release highly toxic chemicals when injured. Who would dare to strike him now?! AoO from Soldier B: 11 damage to Gordok; slowed, marked. Can only reach K5 due to being slowed. Soggy quickly circles around the nearest hobgoblin, shoving him back into Garrmondo's ready blade. Commander's Strike: 12 damage to Soldier A; bloodied Soldier A swings feebly at Garrmondo before backing up a step toward the safety of his allies. Soldier B charges in from the side, blocking the corridor in order to protect the warcaster before swinging his flail at Motsognir. Formation Strike: 8 damage to Soggy Soldier C moves past to take a swing at Soggy before moving to the relative safety of the side chamber. Formation Strike: 14 damage to Soggy With the corridor completely choked, Soldier D decides to attempt to get behind the Horde. Clambering atop the barrels, he crawls along toward the southern doorway. Delic moves quickly to join the fray, but his vicious slash goes off-target when he's distracted by the sudden appearance of what looks like an unusually large earthworm. Such devilry might fray anyone's nerves. Delic can't reach K5 since Gordok ended up there due to bein' slow; K6 okay? I am assuming "sword in hand" indicates some desire to attack, but it didn't end up mattering. Not wishing to be burned again, the warcaster moves to take cover behind the barrels so that Bob cannot see him. :savepoint: Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Motsognir, Hobgoblin Soldiers, Delic, Hobgoblin Warcaster |
Although he had cool dragging people around powers, the hobgoblin spellcaster had no stomach for fighting a real wizard and attempted to duck out of sight. Luckily, my years of practice in the combat simulation rooms at college playing EarthQuake 2 had taught me just how to deal with such a situation. Someone hides round a corner, you put away your rail-spell and get out the RL (Rudimentary Fireball Spell Launcher, I guess RFSL was too much of a mouthful) and aim at the floor next to them.
I took a step to the left to get a decent view in front of the barrels but the swirling melee and large casks rather obscured my aim. The mage it seemed was safe after all. Spotting a sneaky gobling climbing over the barrels trying to flank the lads, I lobbed a fireball up at him, thinking to punish him for his underhanded tactics. Move left one, flame burst at K8, so as to hit the sneaky goblin and nobody else |
Seeing his opprotunity at (mis)adventure, Delic lifts himself up onto one of the casks.
"What ho! I see you also enjoy climbing! Perhaps you'll also enjoy the taste of my steel as it enters your flesh you hermtme'h from Ghuralltatstkaka!" Move to K8, strike at Hobgoblin (if climb does not count as action) |
Soggy stabs the hobgoblin to death.
Bloody Ending on Hobgoblin A [use the one in armor] 22 damage shit yeah ACTION POINT Motsognir takes out his sweet axe and smashes the front of the barrell at i7. Hobgoblin B is swept away in a torrent of nasty goblin wine drunk D&D well see how this gos tomorrow |
The giant sea cucumber violently contracts its muscles and jettisons some of its internal organs out of its anus1 at Hobgoblin A.
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In a futile attempt of self-preservation the sea cucumber tries to distract the tormentor in front of him. Were this an aquatic situation perhaps the squishy torpedo of blood and guts would be of use. Being not, the mess simply plops to the floor.
Agitation sets in and the sea cucumber faces his not usually disgusted enemy. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/005seacucumberroar.jpg Roar of Terror proof Hobgoblin A gets crit by RoT. 16 damage and dazed good. Hobgoblin B,C,D, and Hobgoblin Warcaster are missed. They still take 5 damage and are dazed until end of next round. Soggy and Garr both get hit in the audible wave of fury. 11 damage and dazed good. |
Bob engages in the tactically interesting act of trying to ignite tinder-dry barrels full of liquor.
Scorching Burst: 10 damage to Soldier D Hoping to take out three birds with one stone, Garrmondo dashes into the thick of things. Disappointingly, all three of the soldiers manage to dodge his whirling blade. Sweeping Blow: 11 damage to Soldier A (on account of he's being flanked by a sea cucumber) Happily, as the third soldier dodges away from Garrmondo the hobgoblin inadvertently skewers itself on Motsognir's falchion. Bloody Ending: Soldier A murderized Much as I would like to hunt down a goblin wine overlay, using your armor to trigger Bloody Ending costs an action point so you ain't got one to use. Cha-cha-cha. The sea cucumber opens one of its six multipurpose orifices, and sings the song that ends the Earth. Roar of Holy Shit I Love Diagrams: Pretty much exactly as Acer described it, except as "dazed good" = "dazed (save ends)". Also, Soggy bloodied. Twitching and bleeding from the ears, the soldiers near Garrmondo manage to pummel him a little before staggering away. The soldier atop the casks reverses course temporarily, waiting for the ringing in his head to subside. Hobgoblin Flails Upside The Head: 10 damage to Garrmondo Delics hauls himself up atop the casks, confronting the dastardly would-be backstabber. Swordfighting whilst on one's hands and knees is an awkward business at best, but that's why they Delic gets the big dividends. 5 GP/day is a big dividend, right? Insightful Strike (if he won't be specific, I will): 13 damage to Soldier D Unsteady on his feet, the hobgoblin mage makes a sound of disgust and breaks the crystal off the top of his staff. He throws the gem into the center of the room, and it explodes with a massive ripple of force. Force Pulse: 9 damage to Soldiers B (bloodied) & C, Soggy, Garrmondo (bloodied), Gordok (bloodied); bitches sent sprawlin' every which way. :savepoint: Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Motsognir, Hobgoblin Soldiers, Delic, Hobgoblin Warcaster Maybe a little less friendly fire next round, maybe not |
Motsognir stays exactly where he is and drinks two healing potions.
He was somewhat let down that his barrel smashing attempt had failed outright. |
Delic blinked, shaking off the horrible sound from the sea creature. Its sound was surely an ill omen, one from the Sea Tree, who was doubtlessly suffering in sending its children to follow them. Something would have to be done, the Sea Tree's wishes must be respected.
The cask groans under the weight pressed from Delic's elbows and knees, nevermind the sorcery explosion moments before. The wood feels rough and rotted from too many years of fermentation, splits in cork and knots of alcohol rub achingly into pressed flesh. His sword swings forward, attempting to gut the Hobgoblin in one blow. Insightful Strike against Soldier D |
Our new ally was not as friendly as we had initially thought it seemed and worse still, he was a wereslug! I hurriedly searched my pockets for something silver I could stab him with before he infected us all but found nothing of any use. It would seem our only hope would be to kill these hobgoblins and hope one of them was carrying an anti-lycanthrope kit of some description.
At that moment, the wereslug let out a hideous scream which seemed to have little effect on the goblins but sent the rest of the Horde staggering about in pain. Their misery was compounded by the enemy mage who threw some kind of device into the room, scattering the melee. Decisive action was needed to quickly end this fight before the wereslug killed us all. I moved forward into cover behind the nearest barrel and blasted the most injured looking of the goblins with a necrotic ray. Move to L7, Ray of Enfeeblement on hobgoblin B Elven accuracy |
Sea cucumber needs food badly. Dead hobgoblin on ground looks tasty. Om nom nom nom. Burp! The belch ushers forth an arctic blast reminiscent of the cold wind that howled against the high cliffs but a short while ago. The sea cucumber recalls his zombie friends and smiles a ghastly smile.
Move to J5 Consume dead hobgoblin Tundra Wind proof The Hobgoblin Warcaster is pushed to G11, receives 11 cold damage and is knocked prone. Hobgoblin D has a wall in the way and therefore is not pushed to anywhere in particular. However, he too receives 11 cold damage and is knocked prone. The sea cucumber continues to pilfer through the bloody sediment for sustenance. Yum yum. |
Ray of Enfeeblement: 14 damage to Soldier B, weakened until end of Bob's next turn
Garrmondo saves vs Daze Tundra Wind: 11 damage to Warcaster and Soldier D; Warcaster pushed to G11, Soldier D pushed to F8 (sorry, the language of the power indicates that you must push if at all possible) and bloodied All dazed enemies recover Motsognir drinks one Potion of Healing, since he's dazed and can only take one action; regains 10 HP. Motsognir saves vs Daze Soldier C's Formation Strike: 7 damage to Garrmondo Delic's Insightful Strike is already used, let's.... hmmm. Rain of Steel? Yeah, any enemies who start their turn next to Delic get a beating. That sounds fun, and more importantly it's the only real option after you get down from the barrels. :savepoint: Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Motsognir, Hobgoblin Soldiers, Delic, Hobgoblin Warcaster Might fluff this up a bit later but for right now let's keep the game rollin' |
Another hobgoblin had come for dinner. The sea cucumber serves up an appetizer of Warlock's Curse and a tasty course of Eldritch Blast.
Cast Warlock's Curse and Eldritch Blast on Hobgoblin B Hobgoblin B takes 8 damage from the Eldritch Blast and 1 curse damage |
move to H7
Second Wind Viper's Strike to Hobgoblin D |
Figuring that the general hobgoblin soldiery were battered enough and still keen to end this fight before we all got turned into slugs every full moon, I turned my attention to the mage. A strange feeling of meloncholy had fallen over me, as if I would not be seeing much of my new friends in the immediate future so I decided I might as well do something really impressive, just in case I never got another chance.
Gathering my will for a really impressive spell, I concentrated hard on my new staff, all thoughts of my big icy hand spell being immediatly dispelled and replaced by knowledge of my fuck off great big fireball spell. I edged forward to get a better view before launching a huge bastard fireball across the room, hoping to immolate the mage and half the remaining soldiers in the process. Move to K5, use Mnemonic staff power to remember Fireball, Fireball at F8 |
Though the fight's going fairly well by Horde standards, Bob can't shake a sense of impending doom. It seems unlikely that the goblins could pose any real threat to him, but all the same he decides to speed the battle toward its natural conclusion. No use in dawdling.
A tiny ember bursts into life in Bob's open palm, and he flicks it toward the opposite end of the room. The fire grows as it flies through the chamber, and as it touches down it explodes into a truly massive conflagration. A little something to remember him by. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/feuerfrei.png Fireball: 18 damage to Warcaster (bloodied), 18 damage to Soldier B (killed), 9 damage to Soldier D Garrmondo raises his blade against the soldier in front of him, only to watch the hobgoblin fall to the floor charred and smoldering. The fighter shrugs, and turns to smash open the jaw of the soldier behind him. Crushing Surge: 11 damage to Soldier C (bloodied) The sea cucumber continues its writhing and mysterious performance, drawing a luminous rod from — perhaps it is better not to think on it. Even as the soldier reaches up to clutch at his ruined face, the cucumber fires a jet of black fire into his open mouth. The hobgoblin screams in agony as his mouth ignites with a hateful fire which burns but does not consume. Eldritch Blast: 10 damage to Soldier C, cursed (B was all kinds of dead so I just kinda nudged you over hope that's okay =/ ) Motsognir has had quite enough of things exploding in his face, and he scrambles atop the barrels for a breather. Second Wind: Motsognir's HP +12 The soldier before Delic raises his flail to strike, but Delic is ready. With a flick of his wrist, his bastard sword slices like lightning through the hobgoblin's neck. The soldier topples to the floor, blood spouting from the ragged hole where his head used to be. Beginning of Soldier D's turn: Rain of Steel does 6 damage at a minimum, killing Soldier D :savepoint: Delic, Hobgoblin Warcaster, Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Motsognir, Hobgoblin Soldier |
Overenthused with his quick, clean kill of the last hobgoblin, Delic's noble bearing cracks slightly and he runs straight at the table, grabbing it and driving it into the hobgoblin in an attemping to pin it to the wall.
"GAHHUHRUHFUHFU HUHURRRUHR TABLE!" he yells - though anyone can guess why. Sprint to H5, drives self into table full-force, attempt to pin Hobgoblin C against the wall |
Delic throws his weight behind the table, hoping to use it to smash the last of the soldiers against the wall. Sadly, the battered old table splinters immediately against the hobgoblin's raised shield.
The warcaster waves his staff at Motsognir, and the dwarf goes flying off the barrels toward Bob. Luckily his quick reflexes land him on his feet, but it's still hard on the ol' knees. Force Lure: 12 damage, Falling (mitigated by Acrobatics Training): 3 damage. Motsognir bloodied. :savepoint: Bob, Garrmondo, Gordok, Motsognir, Hobgoblin Soldiers, Delic, Hobgoblin Warcaster |
Seeing the warcaster throwing around my dwarven love, I became extremely agitated and in my rage, couldnt' decide which of my two stock spells to throw at him. I garbled the words but to my astonishment, both activated at once, slamming the mage with a frosty beam and blast of fire at the same time!
Ray of Frost at Warcaster, spend action point, scorching burst at same |
Munching on delicious hobgoblin carcass the sea cucumber catches scent of his earlier beckoner and provider of explody goods to the face. All this food gave the great worm quite the odd headache. He seemed to recall an odd memory of being told not to eat too much or too fast but he couldn't recall just what or who that might have been. The warcaster would be a good release. Yes, he would.
Diabolic Grasp A dark talon of darkness forms around the Hobgoblin Warcaster tearing repeatedly at his flesh (for 13 damage) and as a farewell drags the cut and battered and burned flailing cretin over to the wall (E6) before dissipating into the shadows. Ahhh... that headache was gone now. |
Motsognir stands up and charges at the warcaster. He loved being on that barrel. Son of a bitch must pay.
As the dwarf ran towards the magician, something else killed it. Oh well. Making a swift left, he heads for the last thing alive. move to G4 bloody ending 20 damage to hobgoblin C |
Delic walks to G3, and promptly urinates in the corner.
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Scorching Burst: 9 damage to Warcaster
Diabolic Grasp: 13 damage to Warcaster; killed Bloody Ending: 20 damage to Soldier C; killed Victory! 1000 XP (200 XP each) The halfling crawls out from underneath the table at the end of the room, smoke pouring off him in streams. Bob's Fireball evidently picked up an unintentional victim. "By all the toads in Hommlet, I've not seen such a thorough arse-beating since my sainted Aunt Bee caught me stealing pipeweed from poor old Farmer Anders. Mind you, he was entirely senile by then and it made him no nevermind, but Bee was always one for sticking to the principle of the thing. Still got the scars!" Brushing soot from his vest, he strolls up to Motsognir and sticks out his hand. "Ignatius Conmara. Reckon I owe you my life, but for now I can offer you room and board at the finest—" Iggy's eyes travel up the length of Soggy's beard and he realizes who it is he's introducing himself to. "Well. That's once you've spared my life and once you've saved it. Probably I ought to go ahead and volunteer to be your pack mule if I didn't think I'd just get in the way. I'm glad to see you managed to hang on the tall girl. High maintenance usually, that kind. Can't say I think much of your other companions, though." Iggy looks doubtfully around the room: Delic relieving himself in a corner, Garrmondo pummeling an already-dead hobgoblin with his shield, and Gordok noisily absorbing the Warcaster's leather boots. "So, why'd you and Bee part ways? Those other two I imagine just walked straight into a dragon's mouth on account of somebody told them there was candy in there, so I won't even ask after them. The story'd just make my head hurt." |
"I killed her. With spiders."
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Iggy's facade of jocularity crumbles immediately as Motsognir bluntly informs him of his aunt's unfortunate fate.
"You... you rotten..." The halfling shoves his way out the door and down the corridor. The Horde will have to find their way deeper into Thunderspire without a guide. A perfunctory search of the hobgoblin lair reveals nothing more valuable than some old rags. There's a half-finished game of Three-Dragon Ante on the table in back of the room, but it's not at all apparent what the hobgoblins were actually betting on. Resigned to another long hike, The Horde shoulders their packs and resumes trudging down the seemingly-endless corridors of Thunderspire. After hours and hours of aimless wandering, they seemed to be getting no closer to either the ancient ruins or the rumored settlement. Motsognir calls a halt for the day; this far underground, only a dwarf has the faintest ability to keep track of the time. They make camp in a little room down a side corridor, just in case any belligerents come tromping up to see what happened to the slavers. Bob offers to take the first watch, needing less sleep than the rest of them. The Horde sleeps, and The Horde dreams. Motsognir drifts off, and it seems like only seconds later when his eyes snap open again. He looks around to see what could have disturbed his sleep, and finds that he's been abandoned. All the packs and bedrolls are still where they'd been when he laid down his head, but his companions have gone missing entirely. He cranes his neck around to look for his elven lass, but Bob is entirely absent from the chair he'd been resting in while studying his spellbooks. But the chair isn't empty. "Don't look so surprised to see me, stone-son. I promised I'd have work for you, did I not?" The Reaper leans forward, steepling his bony fingers. "It took some time to think of how best to make use of the service you owe me. We don't get many dwarves on the workforce, you understand. Most of them refuse to deal with us, prattling on about their honor and their family. We have to be careful to use you to the best advantage. But as it happens, just today a... situation has come up that will make excellent use of your particular interests and talents." A strange clicking sound becomes apparent, growing louder and louder. Motsognir hadn't heard so much clicking since he bribed the tap-dancing troupe at Goldquat's party to leave early. The noise seems to be coming from every direction. "It is an unfortunate state of affairs that demons, as a rule, rarely get on well with one another. Every day is another series of little squabbles, power plays, turf wars. Today, for example, the spider goddess Lolth has seen fit to irritate my particular employer with an incursion of her favorite little creatures. Now, it would be easy enough for any of us to mop up this little infestation, but we are all of us quite busy. That's where you come in. I remembered where it was that we first contracted you, and I thought perhaps this would be an excellent personal-growth opportunity for you. To summon in supernatural aid for a few little arachnids? Obviously some kind of irrational phobia is at work. We can solve two problems at once here, I think." The Reaper waves his hand idly, and the walls of the room dissolve into smoke. The underground tunnels of Thunderspire are entirely absent. The Reaper's little chair is the only sign of order in a seemingly endless plain of grey ash punctuated by pools of bubbling magma. And as far as Motsognir's eyes can see — spiders. Big ones, and getting closer. The dwarf scrambles out of his bedroll, and he's on his feet with sword in hand in less than a heartbeat. "You see, my friend? We can solve our pest problem, and you gain the benefit of... let's call it aversion therapy. Just tidy up the place and you're free to go. Just give me a shout once you've taken care of them, yes?" The Reaper vanishes, leaving Soggy to his appointed task. Motsognir hears, ever so faintly, an old woman's uncontrollable laughter. ———————————————————— Meanwhile, Bob is having an entirely different sort of conversation in an entirely different sort of room. The elf awakens suddenly in a pristine white office, looking across a desk at perhaps the strangest secretary he was likely ever to meet. A luminous creature settles into the chair opposite Bob, roughly man-shaped but composed of a blazing white fire. Oddly enough, Bob doesn't perceive any warmth. The creature heaves a massive ledger out of a drawer in the desk and spends a few moments flipping through until it finds the page it's looking for. "Mr. Ilos Tiramnethon, correct?" Bob frowns at the bizarre thing addressing him by his given name; no one had called him that since the unfortunate incident that drove him away from the family home. Better that no one be able to trace him back to those times; the people of his village, he had heard, had adopted the name "Tiramnethon" as a curse word which conveyed relatively complex ideas about the absurdity of living in trees while running a lumberyard but which could also be used simply to mean "idiot". He'd been driven out of more than a few towns by distant cousins recognizing him and getting inexplicable hostile over some things which were, really, ancient history. Still, the flaming shape could at least speak comprehensibly, which is far more than anyone else he'd met in the last few months could manage. The elf nods his head resignedly. "We apologize for the familiarity. You prefer 'Bob', yes? Fair enough. While we understand the rationale behind your decision to hide your identity, it has caused certain issues with our bookkeeping." The flaming creature pushes its chair back and stands up, pacing the room. "You may recall, Mr. Tir— Bob. You may recall, Bob, an incident approximately 10 weeks ago in which you were thrown down a well. You will remember waking up at the bottom of the well, at any rate. You were quite thoroughly intoxicated at the precise time at which the descent itself occurred. Unfortunately, Bob, the fall killed you. Splintered a rib and punctured your heart. Under normal circumstances that would have been curtains for you right there. However, we checked against all 1,735 volumes of the Book Of Lives and found not one instance of a person named 'Bob' possessing no surname. We surmised, therefore, that despite your elvish appearance you were either some variety of particularly inept extraplanar creature for which we had no record, or else a devil or demon of some sort. The notion of you being a demon became very popular, actually. We very nearly sent an archangel to smite you. Nobody wants to smite anyone we don't have to, I assure you. It has the nasty effect of completely removing your very essence from the universe, which is why we reserve it for Abyssal types most of the time. As a result of being unable to locate you in the Book Of Lives, we were quite unable to scratch you off. With no one able to figure out who the hell 'Bob' was, we were unable to send a retriever to fetch your soul. That being the case, you got up and walked around for the better part of three months. Perhaps you felt some occasional chest pain. You certainly don't seem to have noticed that your heart wasn't beating." The angel sits back down at its desk, rifling through the drawers again before brandishing a slim volume embossed with what looks like a halfling skeleton on the front cover. "Happily, you crossed paths with a cleric of our acquaintance, a Ms. Conmara, I believe. She was very enthusiastic about helping us solve the problem of your — shall we say, defective — afterlife. It wasn't long before we could confirm who the mysterious 'Bob' was, after which it was a simple matter to cross-reference against the genetic data — but I digress. Here you are, safe and sound where you belong. Now, this entire conversation, strictly speaking, was unnecessary. It would have been simple enough to deposit you on some fluffy cloud while you slept and feed you a story about a goblin sneaking up on you if you happened to ask. But in truth we're all a little embarrassed about how things happened for you, and we'd like to offer you a little something by way of an apology. Bob, we're very interested in exploiting the flaws in our system before the loyal opposition catches wind of the way it works. We may have a place for you in a little thing we call Project Revenant. If you'll step this way, please?" ———————————————————— The dreams of Garrmondo, Delic, and Gordok revolve primarily around wenches, ale, and rubber trees, although some dreams may have contained different proportions of rubber tree than others. Garrmondo is the first to wake, discovering both Motsognir and Bob missing along with all their gear. Reckoning that they must have gone scouting ahead, he quickly rouses the other two so as to catch up. Hours later, there's still no sign of the two anywhere and Garrmondo begins to think they've deliberately gone AWOL. At long last the trio stumbles into a wide thoroughfare lined with lanterns, with a dim-looking ogre guarding the exit into a massive open cavern beyond. The ogre eyes them suspiciously. "More visitors? Brugg has no time to play tour guide for every small one that wanders into the Seven-Pillared Hall. You go find other strangers. Rothar's. Ale house. Tiny dragon with wings missing and his friend what refuse to take his armor off. Very rude. Brugg not like either of them. You go bother them, Brugg not talk to you any more." The three remnants of the Horde squeeze past Brugg to begin taking in the sights of the Seven-Pillared Hall when the ogre slaps a meaty hand on Garrmondo's shoulder. "WAIT! Tiny man no take complimentary visitor's map! DO TINY MAN WANT TO GET LOST! PROBABLY! BECAUSE TINY MAN IS STUPID!" Brugg glares at Garrmondo balefully, slapping a rolled parchment into his hand before turning back to his duty of standing and grunting at passers-by. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/sevenpillared.png 1. Road of Lanterns (exit to surface) 2. Custom House 3. Deepgem Company 4. Wainwright 5. Temple of Erathis 6. Residential Apartments 7. House Azaer 8. Pigeonholes 9. Deep Stair (Underdark access) 10. Halfmoon Inn 11. Waterfall 12. Grugg & Frugg Memorial Bridges 13. The Chute 14. 30' Tall Minotaur Statue (can't miss it) 15. Gendar's Curios 16. Provisioner 17. Rothar's Taproom 18. Road of Shadows 19. Grimmerzhul Trading Post 20. Dragon Door 21. Tower of Saruun 22. Shining Road |
Without Mrs Brugg's Famous Dark Coffee to wake him up, Delic simply follows his team, yawning the whole way.
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Gordok suddenly throws up.
A lot. It's gross. |
The trio tromp across the Hall to Rothar's. Even if the lovebirds weren't around, a taproom is always a good place to find someone willing to get the shit kicked out of them for money.
Rothar's itself is... well, it's difficult to say. The room is so poorly-lit and smoke-filled that it's hard to get much of an impression beyond the general din and the unpleasant mossy odor. Delic puts his hand on several unpleasantly damp objects and Gordok is very nearly trampled on. Garrmondo staggers forward until he collides with something solid at chest level and reckons that it must be the bar. Pulling a few coins out of his pouch, he waves them across in the air until a calloused hand snatches them away. When three tankards of ale come skidding over the counter directly into his chest, he tries not to take it personally. Garrmondo staggers from table to table looking for a place to sit, but the only free chairs are at a table occupied by an unfriendly-looking pair of ne'er-do-wells squabbling amongst themselves. "That's the problem with you", one shouts over the din. "Always the wallflower. We're never going to pick up the fly honeys if you can't loosen up a little." It looks a lot like one of the armored fellows Garrmondo met atop the Fang, but this one's wearing chainmail on top of his plate. Seems a little redundant. A pale green dragonborn across the table from the iron man takes a hesitant sip out of his mug, winces, and buries his snout back in Edwin Palborter's Encyclopaedium of Various Peats. "Flies don't produce honey, last I checked. You must be thinking of bees." "Bee honeys? No, man, that's stupid. I want to catch them, not be them." The dragonborn slams his book shut with a thud and glowers incredulously at his companion. "We're in a taphouse 3 miles underground and you want to catch bees? We're a stone's throw from the Underdark, any bee you might find would be a 10' tall albino covered in spikes." "Bees? The hells are you babblin' about now, scaly? I'm talkin' about ladies, not bees! How do you even get those mixed up? They got nothin' in common!" The iron man downs the rest of his tankard in one long draught and slams in on the table. "Although I guess bees do have those narrow waists. That's kind of womanly." The dragonborn buries his face in his hands, exasperated. "You don't even have genitalia", he mutters. "WHAT'S THAT?" shouts the warforged. "I SAID, WHY DON'T YOU SING US A GENTLE ARIA!" |
"Well now, why didn't you just say so, home dawg?"
Reaching out behind him and pulling out his lute, Glock began to play a tune. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: |
Gordok and a line of rats are drawn to this mysterious, beautiful sound.
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Seeing as how he's got a small audience, it dawns on Glock that he might be able to take advantage of this situation.
"You, General Tom Thumb. Eat one of those rats and I'll buy you another beer." |
Having emptied his stomach earlier Gordok was more than happy to comply, and besides, rat was delicious. Another beer please! Gordy smiles brightly at yet another wonderful man made of metal as he slurps down a tail and gropes around for another squeaky morsel.
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Disturbed and delighted by the man's (or so he thinks. It might just be a child. It smells like it was just burped recently, at the very least) willingness to go along with what he says, Glock gets up and goes to order another jug of ale.
"Well, that was the best 2 gold I've spent in some time" he thought to himself in delicious beeping binary. As he gives the little thing his reward, Glock realizes he's made a new friend. At the worst, all he's doing is providing copious amounts of alcohol to a minor. At best, he's got a new toy he can probably influence for the worst. And should he ever get bored of it, at least it's small enough to punt a great distance. "Hello small one. I am Glockenspiel McSteelchest. But you can call me Glock. [and if you do not, I will tear you in half]. Who are you?" |
Gheth winces at the sound of gears grinding as his friend's jaw works in solemn melody.
"Look, dogs or bees, you're going to have some trouble with results. If you can ever afford an...upgrade...I may have a tincture for that. Let's see, it was gallbladder of lemur, jellyfish venom, shaved human horn..." Gheth trails off and grimaces, realizing that not only has he missed another conversation in progress, but that it looked as if a newcomer to the conversation had just eaten a rat. Well, more power to him. He's building a better immune system, he muses. |
Glancing back at his scaled friend, Glock just mutters "Or I could weld on a 10 inch steel pipe down there, I ain't paying you for shit. I've seen how you operate."
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Trying to avoid the thought of steel erections and their respective licensing codes for now, Gheth cocks his head and looks closer at the smallish young lady in front of them.
"You know, little girl, it really can't be good for you to have your brain on the outside of your body like that." A note of concern enters his voice. "Can it?" He quickly shuffles through Dynasarus' Tome of Humanoid Anatomy, coming to an oft-earmarked page displaying a musculoskeletal system. "No," he says, putting a finger on the page with authority. "Clearly not. But I'll take it right off for you if you wish. Gheth McGarnigal, M.D., at your service." |
"I say we call him Scampy." Glock mused.
"Anywho, I figure you all look like you're on the job. Normally I'm not this willing to team up with people who keep children as pets, but I'll be frank. We need the work. My compatriot here...sort of got us fired from our last one. I told him many times that was the patient's liver, not their heart. Motherfucker didn't realize he had the book upside down" "We've spent a few days just chillin down here, hoping to hide from the bastard's wife. Drowning our newfound unemployment in this shitty beer. Can you believe all they serve down here is Coors? God damn." "Long story short, I need to holla holla to get some dolla dolla. You down?" |
Get the Flash Player to play this audio file:
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BEEEEELLLCCHHH!!!
"Ah, my apologies. Sometimes I lose control of my other facets and then they display themselves." Gordok squinches his features a bit and the bulbous brainy part diminishes revealing an otherwise normal halfling face. "Ah, so then let's see. I would be.. yes yes. I am Gordok of Zark. After my mother. A wonderful brute she was. Used to make rat stew for me as a special treat. Anyway Gordok or Gordy or Gord is good by me. Really, anything is good. Call me what you like." The halfling takes a nice swig from Glock's reward. "Yeah, so nice to meet ya, Glock! Oh that reminds me! We met some giant metal men on top of a wonderful cliff by a lighthouse a few weeks back. Got one of them to throw me must have three stories high and how knows long into his metal box of a ship, right. Perfect aim! A bit dizzy afterward but goodness what a thrill!" Gordok admires this metal man as well and decides to share a common interest. "So yeah, I too play a lute meself. Not nearly anywhere as good as your performing but I can do a little ditty or two for my amusement. Got a little thing going on in my head related to this two group's deserters. They were an interesting pair. Now it's not quite there yet I realize but I think it might get me a few coppers on a lucky day." Gordok pulls out his lute and plays a few opening strings then starts strumming somber notes. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Well I heard about some strangers What met down in a wet ol' cave One was tall, thin, and handsome The other dumpy but surely brave They set off on adventure To escape an early grave But were set upon by fiends and foes For days and days and days Now you must come to understand that love's a strange old thing Under candle light and evening stars their hearts did sing and sing Through battle of the mighty They danced with staff and blade Igniting those with passion In their unrelenting raid They commanded all their fury To those they chose to aid But oh the dwarf in all his course Never did get laid Their flirting was outrageous and not a thing to miss You'd think they would get on with it yet no not one sweet kiss Herald this strange odd couple Of fair elf and suitor by his side Heaven decreed that it would not be So I say although I wish I lied In happiness and health of both A dwarf and his elven bride But no I fear they both have died |
Gordok blows some foam from his face and sets down his mug.
"I like fermented yak piss!" |
"Sounds good to me. Let's rock and roll, my new homie."
"Let's get the hell outta here, though. Even I'm beginning to become annoyed by the unique...musk in the air. I'm sure the avid reader here will follow suit once he's done his chapter on the basic anatomy of mollusks." "But there's something I need to look for right quick. Come find me outside when you're leaving." Grabbing the three empty mugs on the table, and noticing a distinct lack of napkins, Glock looked around for an implement to dry the mugs out with. Spying a rat Gordok hasn't eaten yet, Glock picks up the rodent and uses it to mop up the beer piss at the bottom of the mugs. "Ok. Dry. Not necessarily sanitary, but it'll do.", he thought to himself. Obtain three empty and dry beer steins. Obtain and subsequently discard one beer soaked rat. Place soggy critter in front of Gheth. Getting up, and heading out the door, Glock looks back and says. "You, short round. You smell like you know the most about...feces. I'm gonna need your expertise. Come help me out here for a minute." Get out of the bar. Throw down a couple of GP to cover the bar costs of the mugs. While outside, Glock looks around for any place in the cave where bats may have hung, and subsequently shit all over the ground. Nature Check CHOOSE YOUR OWN PANG If nature check passes "find bat shit" challenge, go to area and begin search for mineral saltpetre, which might require either an additional perception check or another nature check. I'm unsure. Second roll is for this. If successful, harvest enough of the mineral to fill all three beer jugs. Acer's assistance below is in dealing with initial nature check. |
Gordok nods firmly, grabs the beer-soaked rat off the table, stuffs it in his pants for snacking, and makes his way out the door behind Glock to assist in finding wonderful fragrant guano.
Nature Check |
For completely unclear reasons which probably have nothing to do with engineering gunpowder, SteelChest meanders around the Hall of search of great quantities of bat shit.
13 + 4 + Aid Another = 19; good enough With the halfling's aid, he easily recovers enough guano to fill all the steins. Reasonably advanced chemistry will fall under Arcana, since any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from etc 16 + 11: extremely good enough Glock spends the next few hours purifying the guano, extracting from it a relatively small quantity of small white crystals. What possible use he intends for these crystals cannot be imagined. |
Gheth spends a couple of hours in the bar, his only company the rats that have gathered to catch crumbs as he dines on a steaming pie that has entirely too many moving parts to have been cooked properly. A particularly furry centipede hangs from the corner of his mouth as he takes in his surroundings, and then the rats.
"Well, the important thing is that I'm meeting new people." The rats seem to remember that they have prior obligations. "Ohhhh..." _____ Later, Gheth finds his way into the street, trusting that he stands out enough that his new friends will be able to find him wherever he goes. Taking out the copy of the map that Brugg not-so-kindly gave him, he heads for the Minotaur statue towering in the center of the cavern, and looks it over for any distinguishing marks or clues as to what they may encounter below. Jinkies! Perception check! Directly following his wussy display of usin' eyeballs, Gheth grabs his party together and prods them towards the underdark, while alternately pulling some chewin tabaccy from his pack, and holding his crotch. |
Snapping his pimpin' scanner goggles to his face, wiping the poo residue on his tools onto the nearest thing that wasn't actually his (in this case, the clothes of an oblivious passerby), and hoisting the child onto his back, Glock went forward to join the rest of the group.
Wonderful science will have to wait! |
Gheth examines the massive bronze minotaur most thoroughly, but there's not much to learn. The statue's arms are spread wide in an exultant pose, but looking around the Hall it's hard to imagine what he could possibly be so excited about. A circle of faintly glowing runes surrounds the statue, but Gheth's knowledge of the arcane isn't significant enough for him to even try to interpret this. Maybe some of the more permanent residents would know something, but it didn't seem terribly important.
The dragonborn patiently rustles up his new allies and makes for the Deep Stair. If it was mysteries and adventure they were after, it only made sense to head for the deepest, most dangerous parts of Thunderspire right off the bat. That's just basic efficiency. Without any specific destination in mind, of course, it was kind of a toss-up where they'd arrive. After two hours of wandering aimlessly about the ruined corridors beneath the Hall, the party finally stumbles upon something worth noticing. A tiefling in luxuriant robes sits by himself in a massive chamber with a vaulted ceiling, rifling through his pack aside a mostly-dead campfire. The tiefling looks up as the party approaches, smiling pleasantly. "Hail, fellows! Are you as lost as I am?" |
"Well, we've only just begun searching the area, really, but perhaps you could tell us if you've come across any minotaur ruins while you've been down here."
"Erm...why are you down here again? According to my friends here, there are only supposed to be a few wizards confined to the upper levels." Insight check |
The fire's almost out, so Glock goes to the side of it and picks out 4 ounces worth of the coldest charcoaled embers.
Because his plan is very...sneaky. And not obvious AT ALL. |
"Oh, you think that— oh no, I'm not part of the weird little autocracy the Wizards of Saruun are running upstairs. I'm just here on my own personal business, just as you are, or so I expect.
I'm looking for the minotaur ruins myself, although my goals are a little more specific than yours appear to be. There's a monastery down here somewhere — I've heard it called the Well Of Demons. Your average minotaur, being a fairly bestial sort, tends to demon worship; Baphomet in particular is quite popular as I understand it. Long story short, there's a band of gnolls causing significant distress to certain villages in the general vicinity, and this Well Of Demons is really the best lead I have in hunting them down and... well." The tiefling stands up, hefts his pack onto his shoulders, and grinds the few remaining embers of the campfire under his boot, snuffing them out. "How about this: I tell you what I do know, and then if you happen to stumble upon the Well do me the kindness of pointing me in the right direction should we meet again. I doubt you'll have more luck than I have, but another five pairs of eyes can only improve my chances. If you're just looking for trouble, I can help you with that. About a third of a mile east of... well, no, it was east of the Hall, anyway. I'm not sure where I am right now. But if you can get back to the Hall, there's an old prospector's path; fairly cramped but at least straightforward. Just leave through the Dragon Door and keep to the left; the route is fairly well marked. More than you can say for most of the mess down here. There's a shrine to Torog down that way, swarming with goblinoids big and small. Run a tidy slaving operation, so I've heard. I don't think they so much as noticed me passing by, but the lot of you don't precisely seem inclined to stealth. At any rate, look me up at the Halfmoon if you find yourself back in the Hall with any news. We'll compare notes." Gheth carefully considers the tiefling's words and mannerisms as he speaks: while the mage doesn't seem to be actually lying, there's a definite sense that there's more going on than he's telling. The tiefling looks about doubtfully and seems to select a corridor at random. Striding into the maze, he quickly vanishes from sight. |
Realizing (somewhat belatedly) that minotaurs favor mazes, Gheth's next instinct is to remove the chalk from his pack and mark the wall of the cavern they are in with a visible X.
Gheth attempts to backtrack the caverns the party has used in order to get them back to the main hall. Dungeoneering check in retrospect perhaps I should have chosen dungeoneering as my bonus overcome with irony that rushing in has led to so many skill checks it will make your head spin |
The giant lizard seems confused. Gordok decides to help out.
Dungeoneering Check Perception Check |
Stupid organics. Squishy brains and all. Often forgetful. Can't remember SHIT. Also easy to crush under one's boot. This is why you bring mutant atomic robot supermen around though.
Dungeoneering Check, and it's better than theirs, since they are stupid and smelly 20 > 14, horray! After a few clicks, whirrs, and pops, Glock opens his mouth. The high pitched sounds of a ribbon printer echo throughout the cave. Shortly thereafter, a list of directions on how to get the fuck back to town should they need to is torn from his mouth. "COME WITH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE" During this entire cave maze movement, keep an eye out for brimstone. Nature check God damn it, this is where I roll a 20? Ffffffffff If Pang lets me find any, take two pounds of it. PS. Take and equip Garr's Skald's Armour he's carrying but not wearing. Toss regular shitball chainmail on the floor. Garr said I could~ |
Although he really has no more idea where they are than anyone else how to find their way back to the Hall, Glock makes some extremely lucky guesses and nearly has them back to the settlement in only an hour or so. Along the way he keeps a careful eye out for any naturally-occurring sulfur, but as Thunderspire is not remotely volcanic he has no luck. Had there been any around, he surely would have found it. Alas.
As he retraces his steps, Glock tosses his mundane generic-brand chainmail in a corner and abandons it. Sure, you could get a few bucks for that crap on a trade-in, but why drag it around all day just for that? Let some lucky kobold have it; it'll feed his family for a month. Glock reckons the party is only a few minute from the Hall when he makes an unfortunate wrong turn, tromping up a flight of stairs that looked precisely the same as a stairway he'd trudged down earlier. When Glock finds himself in what looks like the ruins of an old church rather than outside the Halfmoon Inn, he promptly turns out his heel — but it's a bit too late. Horrid leathery things covered in chitin, like the blasphemous spawn of a drake and a massive spider, crawl chittering from the nooks and crannies in the rubble. Almost instantaneously, the route back to the stairs is cut off by a swarm of smaller beasts — likely whatever passes for a juvenile form among whatever these awful things are. And then there's the bad news. What looked like a large rock uncurls into a truly massive specimen: easily 8 feet tall, with legs like great sawblades. It charges the party, and the rest of its brood quickly follow suit. Initiative: Delic, Kruthik Hatchlings, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults, Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord Defenses: Hatchlings AC 15; Fortitude 13, Reflex 15, Will 12 Adults AC 17; Fortitude 14, Reflex 15, Will 13 Hive Lord AC 22; Fortitude 21, Reflex 20, Will 17 |
Delic, who's been unable to do anything for the last several hours due to a sneezing fit from an allergic reaction to Thumbleweed, finally gets his wits about him.
"Uh, how did we get here and ... why are we surrounded?" Pulling the sword from its sheath, he realizes that he probably shouldn't unzip his pants in front of other people and so tucks his you-know-what back in his pants and pulls out the Bastard Sword at his side. "Okay guys, suggestions? We're usually smarter than this. And as D'vgol of Kraal use to say to Thhuhuhusafnaksn of Ualar 'Scream if you're afraid because theres no shame in that unless you find yourself having sex with a woman who weighs more than 180 pounds.'" Move to U34 |
Though he has no time to maneuver (yet), Gheth looks slowly at his spear, and then at his shield. In the distance, it almost seemed as if voices could be heard. He quickly yells out:
"Crikey! The room to the right! We can let them come at us two at a time!" |
The hatchlings swarm forward, and as so often seems to be the case Garrmondo must take the brunt of their puny, ineffectual attacks.
He feels a slight pressure as the tiny lizards scratch ineffectual at his knees. Oh, it is to laugh. :savepoint: Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults, Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord, Delic, Kruthik Hatchlings Minions: useless or SO useless |
Gordok was familiar how hordes work. He'd seen how to take them apart many times. If done correctly it had even garnered him a few pets in the past. Yeah, time to do this thing. Bring down the big guy.
Tyranny of Flame Kruthik Hive Lord hit like the fist of the fucking north star. Critical Hit! Takes 22 fire damage and knocked prone (-2 to saving throw). |
Never one to shy from a good brawl, and observing that perhaps being the only one to duck into a side room in the middle of a battle would make things...complicated...Gheth decides the bum's rush may be the best tactic in this case. As appealing as he finds this image, he can only think to shout
"Get the hell out of my bar, rummy!" before he is in the fray. Move to U31 Dragon's Breath on T29 so as to hit A, B, C, and E Action Point Daunting Light on U39 with combat advantage to Gordok |
Garrmondo cunningly attempts to circle behind the bugs. But he fails, for he is in a narrow hallway, and does not possess the ability to phase through living matter. Undaunted, he waves his sword around, like, a lot.
Hatchlings A, B, C hella slaughtered Gordok calls upon the infernal powers which he once picked up in a high-stakes game of hopscotch. Most of the kids only had a few coppers on the line, but when the skeletal old man put a vile rod hewn from human bones in the kitty, nobody really questioned it. Worked out for the best, really. The Hive Lord is rocked by a fiery explosion and topples over onto its back, where it helplessly thrashes about trying to get back on its feet like a particularly disgusting turtle. It'd be cute if it weren't so murderous. 25 damage to Hive Lord (don't forget your implement's crit bonus), along with the status doodads Terrified by the dragonborn's angry shouting, the hatchling is so frightened and demoralized that it dies of sadness. Satisfied, Gheth turns around to see the entertaining spectacle of the Hive Lord desperately scrabbling to right itself. Apparently possessed of much the same sense of humor, Avandra helpfully illuminates the big lizard that it may be more easily observed (and taunted). Dragon Breath: Hatchling E slain Daunting Light: well, Gordy gets the +2 anyways The adult lizards approach cautiously, firing jagged spikes from their backs. Most of the party dodges the spines easily, but Glock feels a sharp sting as a spike lodges in his elbow joint and begins to ooze some kind of venom — badly diluting his crucial joint lubricants. Toxic Spikes: 5 damage to Glock, 5 ongoing poison damage and slowed (save ends both) Start of Glock's turn: 5 poison damage :savepoint: Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord, Delic, Kruthik Hatchling, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults |
The servos in his legs were acting up. And at such an inopportune time, too. Glock makes a mental note to get an oil change the next time he sees a mechanic. This sort of lackluster lubrication will not do.
While stiff, he can still move a little, at least. Move to U33 Kinda pissed off that he's covered in some sort of green acidic goo that's actually eating away at his wonderful shiny skin, Glock looks at the remaining hatchling and yells. "On her back again? God damn, your mother is a whore. She was like that last night too when I was violating her insect ass with a broom" Vicious Mockery on Minion D 19 > 12. Boom Totally fucking told off to the nth degree, the minion explodes violently in a torrent of blood, guts, and appendages. Trying to shake off the negative effects of insect spit unfortunately proves useless. Noticing that that dumb bug missed his buddy Garr, Glock activated the frequency generator in his head and pointed it at him. The vibrations caused Garr to move ever so slightly. "GO GO GADGET 16 INCH SUBWOOFER" Virtue of Cunning. Slide Garr to S30 |
The Hive Lord (or, potentially, Hive Lady) wiggles toward the party on its back painstakingly, still unable to right itself. Its unfortunate orientation does nothing to stop it vomiting bile over everyone in the vicinity. Delic, thinking quickly, takes cover behind the warforged and uses his wide-brimmed hat as an umbrella.
Acid Blast: 5 damage to Gordok; 5 ongoing acid damage and weakened (single save ends both) 10 damage to Gheth; 5 ongoing acid damage and weakened (single save ends both) 10 damage to Glock; 5 ongoing acid damage and weakened (single save ends both) :savepoint: Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults, Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord |
Delic brandishes the Bastard Sword, feeling the weight of the blade and its center of balance. Taking careful aim while looking down the blade's edge, he aims at what he he assumes is the softest spot on or near what passes for it's face and drives one hard hit as hard as his weight will allow.
Move to T35 Brash Strike against large insect creature (Delic falls forward, faceplanting next to the creature) |
http://thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gif
http://thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://thegond.com/gff/dnd/pixeltimebattle01.png Move to U35 Bear mode Roar of Terror Kruthik Adults A and B are hit with a disappointingly small Roar of Terror for 7 damage but despite that are still dazed. The Kruthik Hive Lord brushes the tiny meep off receiving a mere 3 damage and is slightly dazed until this bear has a chance to strike again. Small bear, you need to level up and play more serious. "But wait!" http://thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://thegond.com/gff/dnd/smallbearisbig.gif exclaims small bear "Thanks to DRAGON POWERS my BEAR POWERS strike true!" And indeed upon reflection of combat advantage against the Kruthik Hive Lord small bear did seven of damage and the lord was dazed good. |
Somewhat intimidated by being outshouted by a creature the size of an ale keg, Gheth steels his resolve and goes for something with a little more flash to aid his lubricated (and now bevenomed) friend.
"Yay! I'm helping!" Ethereal and bright, his words seem to spill forth from his mouth, engulfing the warforged in sparkling light. It is beautiful to behold, if perhaps somewhat less eloquent than he would like. Move to T34 Healing Word on Glock Lance of Faith on Hive Lady for good measure |
Shrugging his shoulders, Garrmondo picks up on Glock's cue and begins punting the kruthik back toward the stairwell.
End of Garrmondo's turn: 2 damage from Gnashing Horde Aura Assuming the shape of a distressingly small bear, Gordok roars a mighty roar. Well, a roar. More of an aggressive-sounding cough, really. The kruthiks seemed to find it impressive, at least. Beginning of Gordok's turn: 5 acid damage Roar of Terror: 3 damage to Hive Lord, Adults A & B; all 3 dazed (save ends) Because he was weakened, that's why Gheth does what he can to repair the extensive damage to his mechanical friend, but with the acid sizzling away it's a stopgap measure at best. Beginning of Gheth's turn: 5 acid damage Healing Word: Glock's HP +12 The majority of the adult kruthiks can do little more than stagger toward the party, dazed by Gordok's wheeze of fury. Separated from the rest, Garrmondo's quarry decides to cut a window in him so as to get back to its brood. Claw: 9 damage to Garrmondo Start of Glock's turn: 5 acid damage, 5 poison damage :savepoint: Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord, Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults |
Pissed off because he can't quite shake this shit, Glock stumbles forward.
Move to U31 "FUCK THIS" he mumbles. Which comes out more as a BLEEP BLOOP BLEEP, having reverted to his robot mannerisms in a moment of anger. Shaking his robo-head back and forth a bit seemed to clear himself up a bit, though. Warforged Resolve Oh thank God that actually worked. Ditch the poison/slow compound condition. Regain 5 HP. (3 + 0.5(5)) "It's about time we find out exactly what these motherfuckers are made of", he mentioned, not quite to anyone in particular. "ACTIVATE SCANNING MATRIX BETA SEVEN. LOCK TARGET GAMMA. CHARGE DEFLECTOR DISH. PROCEED WHEN READY, ENSIGN." Goggles of Aura Sight on Adult C. |
Finally shrugging off the poison from the spikes, Glock fiddles with the controls on his goggles, scanning the lizard he'd shoved Garrmondo off to deal with.
http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/40wattrange.png The Hive Individual Of Authority stands up! Exciting times. :savepoint: Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults, Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord |
Delic lifts his head up off the floor, "Mmm prhprphphp hhphp hrph," he says through the mashed but not quite broken nose, "Mptphpthpptphp, pphp. Hphpphhhffft?"
He swings wide, attempting to cut the creature in any sort of way he can manage. No more of this fancy-ass "aiming" thing. |
Dammit Acer
5 acid damage at start of turn The itty bitty bear blinks once or twice. It seems like it's been so long since he last did anything. Strange how everyone else was also sitting still. Almost like they were waiting for him. Not knowing what to do in the next couple of seconds before someone else does something, he yells "Ipso, facto, meeny, moe... MAGICO" at the large bitch right in front of him. Warlock's Curse on Hive Lord Rod of Reaving bonus causes 1 damage to Hive Lord at this time After yelling, in the resulting awkward silence, he did the only thing he could to make it worse. He farted. Tundra Wind Aimed so that it hits T36 through V38. 16+6 = 22 > 21. Lord hit. 17+6 = 23 > 14. Adult A very hit. Adult A takes (12+4=16) /2=8 damage, Lord takes (12+4+6=22) /2=11 damage. Both knocked prone. Use Primal Guardian bonus to push Adult A 3 spaces to V39. Greatly disturbed by the force of that...blast, and just how cold it was, Gordy swears off banana ice cream for a while here after. Failed saving throw vs compound condition. He still felt kinda funkalicious though. Gonna have to stop eating rats too, probably. Jesus Christ why can't I get rolls like this when it's my turn |
Noticing that the fat beetle (Huge, in fact. Reminiscent of Ecks' legendary box) seems to be shrugging off his lightshow, Gheth switches gears and tries out his old college stabbin' arm.
Move to V35 Healing Strike on FAT ONE 14+8= 22 == 22 Hit! Hive Lord is marked and considered bloodied until save. 6+5= 11 dmg to Hive Lord Glock can spend a healing surge and a partridge in a pear tree. Skill's note: Pythagoras says I'm in the clear. And spend it he does. Glocks's HP +11. |
Flailing wildly, Delic swings his sword about like a man possessed.
Basic Attack, I guess: 8 damage to Hive Lord End of Delic's turn: 2 damage from aura Garrmondo swings his blade down into the leathery carapace of the kruthik before him, exulting in the pleasantly crunchy sound that results. Still, the satisfaction is short-lived; there's something about these things that makes a man feel sick just standing next to them. Crushing Surge: 18 damage to Adult C; +1 temp HP End of Garrmondo's turn: 2 damage from aura Gordok does a fascinating thing which I refuse to recount. Tundra Wind: basically as Skills described it, except the Hive Lord also gets pushed. It doesn't say "push the target if you feel like it", people. This effects Gheth's turn in a small way, as you'll see. Even as the Hive Lord skids across the floor under the power of a mysterious wind, Gheth lunges after it spear in hand. The jagged spearhead rips open the kruthik's abdomen, and the creature's foul-smelling blood jets out in alarming quantities. Approvingly, Glock reaches across the chamber with his seldom-used go-go-gadget arm, fist extended. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Healing Strike (w/ Flensing Spear power): 11 damage to Hive Lord; Hive Lord is marked by Gheth for a round; counts as bloodied, takes 5 ongoing damage (save ends both). Glock's HP +11. End of Gheth's turn: 2 damage from aura (it's all Skills' fault) Angered by the sight of the Hive Lord's grievous wound, the kruthiks enter into a slashing frenzy. Mere proximity to the patriarch seems to double their ferocity as they struggle to defend him. Kruthik Adult A Claw: 18 damage to Gheth; bloodied Kruthik Adult C Claw: 6 damage to Garrmondo :savepoint: Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord, Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults Start of Glock's turn: 5 acid damage |
Feeling kinda bad that the rat he fed to the shapeshifter has somewhat, directly or indirectly, resulted in his dragon friend get SERIOUSLY FUCKED UP, Robo-man decides to kick it into high gear.
Move to V33 "Hey, you scaley fuck. The only one allowed to smack you up around here is me. Get up so I can kick your ass!", he yelled at Gheth, in his most friendly preprogrammed voice. Majestic Word on Gheth Gheth recovers 18 HP. (14 + 4) Addressing the rest of the party, he simply said "Guys, look at this thing. Even I wouldn't fuck it. And anything I wouldn't have sex with doesn't even deserve to live. Let's kick the shit out of it and scrape it's beastly remains off our fists and shoes. Let's flatten it like it was a naked dwarf tobogganing off a cliff." Stirring Shout on Hive Lord 11+7 = 18 > 17. Hit Hive Lord takes (12+5=17)/2 = 8 damage Everytime anyone hits that thing, they regain 4 HP. Burn AP Turning around, looking back at the douchebag attacking the nice man who gave him the shiny shirt. "And you. Who the fuck are you? You better hope you die in the next few seconds or my steel foot is going to be so far up your ass you'll be shitting out your nose." Vicious Mockery on Adult C 9+7 = 16 > 13. Hit Adult C takes (4+5=9)/2 = 4 damage. Until my next turn Adult C takes -2 penalty to attack rolls. The robotic version of being flustered raised Glock's temperature to the point where the acid simply vapourized off him. An unforseen benefit of getting pissed off. He quickly (as in the speed of light) makes a mental note to remember to get pissed off more often. Saving throw vs Compound 2 successful. |
Thrown ass-over-teakettle again the moment he managed to get back up, the Hive Lord makes the best of it and just pukes all over everyone in range again. Delic displays a rapidly-evolving talent for expediently avoiding vomit.
Start of Hive Lord's turn: 5 damage Acid Blast from S34 to W38 7 acid damage to Gordok and Gheth; Gheth is weakened and suffers 5 ongoing acid damage (single save ends both) :savepoint: Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults, Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord |
In a mad moment, Delic no longer fears the providence of cake and dashes headlong at the creature.
Move to T38 Brash Strike (I've gotten some shit ass rolls this adventure) |
Tiny bear is running out of cool magics to use. So he uses his last one. Diabolic Grasp. That guy. Please?
Tiny bear grasps the Kruthik Hive Lord... diabolically. There is 14 damage and sliding of two spaces to the east. |
Gheth was starting to get disoriented. Whether from the acid dripping into his eyes, the bugs' curious ability to hate him to death, or from lingering cropdusted fart fumes, he could not say. Somehow he'd gotten separated from the rest of the group, and that could spell their end if they weren't careful. Luckily the rousing speech from the warforged lit a fire under him. After all, if he died, he was pretty sure the bear would desecrate his remains. It went without saying that as a cleric, he was firmly opposed to his death on principle.
Regardless, he manages to stumble towards one of the insects and offer up a spear-flavored milkshake. As the creature turns to face him, he shouts: "Quick! While his back is turned! I'm sure he's most delicious!" Gheth takes 5 from acid, making him bloodied and activating Dragonborn Fury Move to R37 Righteous Brand on Adult B with +3 bonus to Gordok 2+6= 8/2= 4 damage Healing Word on self |
Delic makes another mad dash at the Hive Lord, only to have the halfling's sinister magic pick it up and yank it away. Whose side is he on, anyway?
Garrmondo keeps hacking away at the lone kruthik. It's getting a bit monotonous for him, but at the least it's probably safer than diving in the acid-drenched fracas going on behind him. Aura 2 damage yada yada Just as the tall man with the funny mustache tries to swing at the Hive Lord again, Gordok flings it away again. It is too funny forever! The halfling tries to stifle a chuckle as the fighter nearly sprawls to the floor again. 8 damage actually, Weakness being what it is. Finally made the save against it, though. More than a little tired of getting puked on, Gheth gets the hell out of Dodge. The smaller kruthiks aren't exactly lining up to die in a hurry either, but at least they weren't going to step on you. Healing Word: 14 + 5 bonus + 4 WIS = Gheth's HP +23 Aura 2 damage you know the drill Things weren't looking so great for Thunderspire's resident parasitic lizard-beetles, either. The intruders seemed to spend most of their time flipping the hive over just to watch them wriggle. It's a fucking indignity is what it is. The Kruthik Garrmondo has separated from the rest makes a half-hearted swipe at him, then begins tunneling into the floor beneath the fighter's feet to get back to its mates. Kruthik Adult A just stands up Kruthik Adult B Claw: 10 damage to Gheth Kruthik Adult C swings at Garrmondo, misses, and goes a-tunneling. It's 5 feet underground but I have no status icon for that so I'm just using Invisible. Please keep it in mind (??). :savepoint: Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord, Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults |
Noticing the bug miss the man again before running away like a pussy, Glock decides to use his force powers to move some folks about. Twiddling his fingers all funny, Garr moves over ever so slightly.
Virtue of Cunning Move Garr to S29. Focusing a little harder with his robobrain, the underground bug pops the fuck out of the ground with a confused look on it's face. It makes a small skittering noise to express this. Advantage of Cunning Move Adult C to S28, above ground Trying to replicate that noise, Glock looked at the bug and belted out a click tick clack skreet sritch clack tick clack noise as he walked toward it. Move to U31 Vicious Mockery on Adult C Fail MISERABLY Turns out what he said was actually "I like ham sandwiches". The bug didn't really find this threatening at all. |
The Hive Lord scrambles to its feet once again, with an extremely limited sense of enthusiasm about the process.
Start of turn: 5 damage to Hive Lord Hive Lord stands up yet again Saved vs dazed, yea Also I forgot to give Gordok his 4 HP from Stirring Shout until just now :savepoint: Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults, Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord |
"Lets try this again! Have at you!"
Move to T40 Brash Strike |
With the Hive Lord bloodied and out a far enough distance Gordok puts his bear powers away and proceeds to curse and zap the big bug lizard thing closest to the small dragon.
Warlock's Curse Eldritch Blast 9 damage to Adult B (that is if I'm understanding how warlock's curse works correctly) |
Gheth was keen on getting at least one of these things deadlike real quick, so he tried again to aid his fellows with a little trick he picked up doing the backstage work in drama class.
fails miserably |
Brash Strike: Critical Hit! 18 damage to Hive Lord. Delic's HP +4 from Stirring Shout.
Adult B's Claw: 18 damage to Delic Garr's AoO vs Adult C: Critical Hit! 14 damage to Adult C (bloodied) Adult C's Toxic Spikes: Critical Hit! 14 damage to Glock; 5 ongoing poison damage and slowed (single save ends both) Start of Glock's turn: 5 damage (bloodied) :savepoint: Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord, Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults |
Exchanging Move Action for another Minor.
Sticky green goop. Again. And one of his new friends is quite possibly clinically retarded. http://colonelskills.belkanairforce....d/unamused.jpg "Alright, get yourself up. You can't quite stomp bugs if you're feeling all down in the dumps, are you? Get up. Chill out, max, relax all cool. Think of all the honeys you'll get outside the school. Even when a couple of these bugs are up to no good, we'll fuck them up in this neighbourhood. This is just one little fight, don't get scared, we won't need to move with anyone to Felgair." he muttered to himself, hoping that positive thinking just might do the trick. It seemed to. He even felt his feet move a tad. Majestic Word on self Recover 11+4 = 15 HP Slide self to V34 Noticing one of the bugs miss his stupid pal, he thought "Now to get this idiot out of harms way. Its going to take a portion of my cunning! No, NO! ...All of my cunning! Dun dun dun dun~~~" Adult A missed, so Virtue of Cunning Delic to U39 62 + 22 < 72, so within range. Using his extendable speakers again, Glock blasted some weird high frequency noise in the direction of the bugs. Outside of a human's normal hearing range, it seemed to really anger the bugs. The stuff the human COULD hear though was just an invigorating tune about GETTING YOUR ASS IN GEAR. Tune of Ice and Wind at T40. 2 + 7 < 13. Miss Adult A 16 + 7 > 13. Hit Adult B 19 + 7 > 17. Hit Hive Lord Delic is in Burst, currently at U39. Slide him to U36, because he is AN IMBECILE. (6 + 5) /2 = 5 Damage to Adult A. Slowed until my next turn. 6+5 = 11 Damage to Adult B. Slowed until save. 6+5 = 11 Damage to Hive Lord. Slowed until save. Realizing how effective this tune was making his squishy pals actually do something useful, he decided to stop using the directional audio system and just sing so everyone semi-close by could hear it. Maybe they too will also become less useless! Glock could only hope. So sing he did. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Song of Courage All allies within a 5 square radius of me gets +1 to hit as long as you remain in this zone. The warblin' about bitches and hotel rooms seemed to resonate with the goop, making it fly off him again. Glock likes it when goop fucks off. Everyone feels better about their day when that happens. Save vs damn spikes thankfully this time. |
The Hive Lord, sensing its impending death, staggers forward to unleash Super Vomit Armageddon. All creature will stink and all things will be puked on. That's the way of Samurai.
IT'S NOT VERY EFFECTIVE :mad: Start of turn: 5 untyped damage Acid Blast from Q34 to U38: fuck! Action Point holy shit almost forgot about it Acid Blast from T34 to X38: Glock takes 7 acid damage; weakened and sizzled, you know the drill. :savepoint: Delic, Garrmondo, Gordok, Gheth, Kruthik Adults, Glock, Kruthik Hive Lord The shaded area represents Glock's radius of funky fresh jams |
Seeing the creature reeling backwards, Delic grips down harder on the sword hilt and, taking his life into his own hands, he dashes forth with a single-minded determination.
Feeling that this was a make or break moment, Delic screams in passioned fury, a wordless rage that has been unexpressed since the age of Adam. The sound from his mouth? Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Move to W39 Insightful Strike |
Garr told me to take his turn via text, since he's moving and will be away for a short bit.
Garr is annoyed by the insect lizard thing. "YOU. YOU'RE REALLY STARTING TO BUG ME." he yells. Soon realizing that wasn't nearly as clever as it sounded in his head, he grips his sword hard enough to have the pointy handle draw a little blood. Bloodclaw Weapon power 1 HP damage to self. "Dance like a butterfly, sting like a bee, right?" Footwork Lure 1 + 18 + 12 = 31 > 17. Hit. 6 + 3 + 2 = 11 damage to Adult C. Shift to S30. Adult C slides to S29. Trying to ward off a combination of the bug's cuts and that stingy sword shit, he pulls a bottle out of his belt labeled HEAL-A-COLA and chugs it. Drink Potion of Healing Spend Healing Surge. Regain 10 HP. |
The smaller lizardy thing retreated back to the hive lord. This was getting dumb.
Warlock's Curse and Eldritch Blast to the hive lord Gordok crits that asshole. Whatever 1d10+4 plus 6 curse damage is. Die fucker. |
Growling incoherently, the tiny bear waves his magic rod at the Hive Lord with great impatience. The Hive Lord explodes for no good reason, showering the Horde with grimy shards of chitin and the remains of various slimy organs. Whatever devil was in charge of of Gordok's Infernal Pact was evidently late for his coffee break.
The smaller lizards, bereft of leadership, scatter into the nooks and crannies of the stone and disappear. It'll be months before one grows large enough to be a Hive Lord, and until then they'll be too disorganized to pose a real threat to the inhabitants of Thunderspire. Victory! 1180 XP (236 each) With the immediate danger dispersed, the party can look around the ruined old chapel or do whatever they were trying to do before I don't even remember :( |
"Well now, that went well, didn't it? Good good. Let's all chillax for a moment, ok?"
While everyone was catching their breath, Glock busts out a new pimpin track. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Song of Rest All healing surges spent regain 4 additional HP Walking over to the Dragon, Glock wiped off all the crap that he was still covered in on the cleric's shirt. He couldn't stand to not be shiny. A true gentlebot always looks his best, Luke. Burn surges to full. After his awesome ballad was over, Glock wandered around and poked through the bug guts all around the room. He was looking for the venom and/or acid sacks these bugs used to shit all over him and make him decidedly less than his shiny best. Look through bug carcasses for various vendor trash and try to harvest venom/acid sacks from the bodies. Perception (Nature?) Check. "Oh, yeah. Sorry guys. My bad. I know we were supposed to go back to town, but I made a wrong turn there. I was devoting too many computational cycles to trying to figure out why some place called Thunderspire, essentially LOUD MOUNTAIN PEAK, was not actually a volcanic structure of some kind." Glock sets about gathering some wood pieces from the destroyed table in the southern room. He was going to give his compatriates a few minutes to scope this place out and then take it from there. Should it come to it, at least he'd have some firewood for a camp. If nothing came of it, they'd just head back to town before trying the maze again, properly this time. Besides, there was something back in town he wanted to check out. |
Gheth decided he must look a sight. He'd taken some hits, and not only was his tunic pocked through with acid holes, and blood coming from the most inopportune places, but he had a fresh sheen of leatherbug guts to boot. He figured an extra coat from Robobard wouldn't hurt.
Of course, that was before he got yet more sizzling acid in his acid wounds. :mad: At any rate, they still hadn't met anything remotely cowlike. Gheth was just about to write this whole trip to the underdark off as a disappointment. The local Bureau of Dungeoneering and Palm Resorts would be getting a nasty letter if this kept up. Healing surge to full if party gets to walkin' otherwise rest |
Gordok the bear rolls around in bug guts. They were his bug guts now. His.
But he supposes he could share. Gordok wonders what bug guts could be more useful for than rolling in. Then he stops wondering and rolls some more. Squish. Squish. |
Delic cautiously walks around the Hive Lord's body, the stentch of its gore spilled across the floor already attracting flies and sewer gnats. Using his sword on some of the larger molars, Delic begins carefully removing the creature's teeth and pocketing them.
After done with that, Delic uses his sword to cut open the creature's stomach in the hopes of finding something valuable. Or delicious. |
Glock and Delic methodically dismantle the kruthik carcasses, in search of any valuable wares the big lizards may have inadvertently ingested. Unsurprisingly, not much can enter the highly-acidic guts of a kruthik and remain intact. A handful of metal objects have held together relatively well, however.
* An iron gauntlet, with the partially liquefied remains of the hand still inside. * A holy symbol of Amaunator, with much of the gold plating badly eaten away. * About 200 gold pieces, scattered through several different corpses and much of it wedged in the strangest parts of the anatomy. There's nothing quite like slicing open some beast's liver and having money pour out onto the floor. Beyond these notables, Glock carefully packs away the handful of intact venom sacs he manages to pry out of the kruthik corpses, while Delic sets up an enterprise in creative dentistry. It's not immediately obvious what use these things might have, but surely somebody would be willing to pay for them if nothing else. Wizards loved this kind of vile crap. Now they just needed to find some newts to pull the eyes out of and they'd be in business. |
"Holla holla"
Grab 40 dolla Scope out the gauntlet, see if it's actually cool. |
"Daelegoth Orndeir, I knew you well..."
Delic takes the Holy Symbol and leaves the rest to be split up amongst the group. Also: Rest |
SteelChest tips the gore-covered gauntlet over, spilling out the liquefied hand inside it. The bloody sluice hits the floor with a clink!, and the warforged bends over to see if he missed some other shiny prize.
A silver ring, far too small and delicate for his massive mechanical mitts, still encircles one of the finger bones. Curious, Glock picks up it for a closer examination. The ring is in far better condition than any of the other goods excavated from the corpses, and for good reason — under close inspection, a faint yellow light can be seen to issue from the metal. It's seemingly been enchanted specifically to keep it from being damaged. The gemstone in the band is no great shakes; green moonstone, common among the drow. Still, probably worth a good 100 gold pieces at a trustworthy pawnbroker's. Although it's hard to make out underneath the coating of blood, a delicate inscription is etched into the inside of the band: Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar; G.M. Passing it around, Delic is the first to understand it. It's Elven: I will follow you to death and beyond. The gauntlet itself is just generic platemail. Delic scoops up the damaged symbol of the sun god, though there had been no outward sign of his having much more religion than the ordinary superstitions of any man who spends his life looking evil in the face. That he had ever known the Sunlord Orndeir was questionable at best, but then Swagger had never been totally forthcoming about his past. Garrmondo explores the rest of the ruined temple, but it quickly becomes obvious that the place had been looted thoroughly even before the kruthiks moved in. A few pouches of sanctified incense are still scattered by the pulpit, but anything of obvious value or interest is long gone. |
Gheth picks up his 40 gold share, pocketing it for a down payment on a new tunic, or maybe a pack of gum. All shiny baubles taken care of, Gheth decides it's time to get back to business, and tries to get his bearings in their current cavern, and hoping his friends can aid him to pick a tunnel.
Perception check |
Glock pockets the ring and makes a mental note to ask anyone who looks vaguely elvish about it back in town.
Everyone else seems to be checking things out, but the damn bear midget is doing NOTHING OF VALUE yet again, so he picks up the gauntlet and pitches it at the thing, hoping to dissuade it from covering itself in yet another foul smelling substance that makes adventuring with it just plain awkward. "Well, it seems like nothing was here after all outside of this little shiny shiny. Too bad. Yeah. Town is just the next door to the left in the maze. Had the route printed out before, right? Yeah. This was just a mistake. Let's head back there now. There's something I want to check." Lead the party back to town Emerging out into the town, Glock proclaims to the rest of the assholes in his group that they should always trust his robo-common sense from here on out, and that he's king of the motherfucking mountain. "See that, assholes? I'm king of the motherfucking mountain." "My robo-common sense is telling me that it might be a good idea to keep a map if we go down there again. So let's take care of that." Go to trading post, buy something to write on to keep a map, and buy writing implement. If the party decides to try the maze again, keep track of it via this. Also buy 4 healing potions from the vendor if he's got any. Until the party has made up it's mind, though, the steel man leads them to the one spot on the town map he's curious about. Pulling at the brim of his awesome hat, Glock hands the town map to the party. "I am wondering why every room is either marked on the legend, or connected to a marked building except this one room. It seems curious that it is out of the way. I would like to go check it out. Which room do you think it is?" Crossposting in page 6 so you don't have to look back at page 3 |
Gordok picks up his 40 gold and deposits them into Glock for safe keeping.
He then proceeds to touch everything in sight in hope of chance gold coins popping out of nowhere. They could be useful in a pinch. |
Back in the Hall, Glock heads directly for the Grimmerzhul Trading Post in search of stationary and medicinal beverages. Sadly, the duergar in charge of the place aren't selling anything other than shiny rocks and an assortment of vile poisons and exotic liquors. This would be somewhat more acceptable if the poisons and liquors weren't all unlabeled and stocked on the same shelves.
Defeated, Glock returns to his previous ambition of examining the Room Of Mystery, somehow important enough to be worth placing on a map of the settlement yet left completely unidentified. Luckily, it's only a short walk from the trading post to the Road of Shadows. Glock cautiously leads the party up the short corridor that ends at the mysterious door, watchful for anything. There must be a reason someone erased this room from the map legend. Somerthing sinister is afoot. The door itself looks fairly ordinary, although the wood is at odds with the rest of the Hall's entirely stone construction. Glock puts his tin ear to the door; immediately, he makes out the sounds of a man groaning, as well as the growling of some large animal. Setting caution to the wind, he takes a step back and kicks the door open — prepared to rescue whatever poor soul is being tormented within. He is not prepared for what he sees. http://www.saxypunch.com/miscimg/bearpowers.jpg Instantly, Glock slams the door shut and hurries away at his top speed. Then he finds a heavy boulder, and slowly shoves it in front of the door so no one will ever open it again. Then he drinks. Heavily. |
Delic stands up from sorting and collecting the Hive Lord's treasures. Clapping his hands to get the gunk off, he looks around the room and snorts disdainfully, "Creatures like this don't just appear for no reason, and its not like this is a brood chamber either. These things were protecting something..."
He gives a second furitive glance at the gemstone. That inscription isn't something the olden folks put on things commonly - it could be a curse just as much as it could be a blessing. Best to pawn it off as soon as they got to another town. "Glock, why are you five seperate shades of white?" |
Even though he has no stomach to speak of, the sheer quantity of alcohol Glock ingests threatens to short out his internal circuitry. Even a week spent standing under an industrial strength magnet wouldn't wipe his memory of this.
Quite literally traumatized for life, Glock develops Ursaphobia and several unknown mental disorders. Going to the inn and renting a room seemed like the only thing he could do. Maybe he could sleep away the memories. Or have recurring nightmares. Either or. Doing so, Glock curled up on his bed into the fetal position, rocking slowly back and forth, quietly chanting "it'll be all right Sally, it'll be all right" for several hours. ------------------ Waking later, Glock decided the best course of action was to get some shit DONE. He gathered his comrades and plunged back into the maze, determined to find the bullshit they were here to find. Dungeoneering Check Following any clues he could, he hoped to stumble across SOMETHING. Anything, so that people who were watching him and his companions wander about weren't so bored to tears. |
After several long hours of painful introspection, Glock decides the only way he'd forget about his painful experience was to find something even more reckless to do. Leaping back into his boots, he storms out the door of the inn and back into the labyrinth. Whistling sharply, he beckons the others to follow him.
After another two hours of aimless wandering, they find themselves on a winding and narrow path skirting the edge of a chasm. The path leads directly into the stone wall of a small fortress; a small portcullis blocks the way into the structure itself. Two stone bridges can be seen spanning the chasm, leading to two similar-looking fortresses, but it's not clear how to reach the bridges from this side. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/114640_CN_GL.jpg Beyond the portcullis, several orcs can be seen moving back and forth — at least 3 individuals, maybe more. The room within is well-lit, making it obvious that the orcs are prepared for an attack — even with the portcullis to protect them, they all seem to be armed with both longspears and crossbows. If any of them have noticed the Horde, however, they make no sign. |
Noticing the Orcs had not seen them yet, Glock shimmies just out of sight of the door, and motions for the rest of the party to do so as well.
Very, very quietly, so no one else could hear, Glock hums to himself and strums two notes on his guitar. "Time to lie, but nothing to buy. With the help of fate, let's open this gate." Perform Glib Limerick Taking his inspiration from a man he once met named Deny'kalys, he puts on his best large, gruff, and stupid voice, and yells to the orcs. "ME GREENMAN CRUSHINGTON. ME BACK AFTER PATROL. ME HOPE YOU RAISE GATE. PLEASE RAISE GATE. GATE ENTRY CODE CRUSHINGTON BETA GAMMA SEVEN" Bluff Check x2 Use Bluff 1, I guess |
Trying to act suave, Gheth grunts and attempts his best bawdy orcish laugh to give the impression that their collective presence is that of an orcish patrol.
Aid Glock in bluff check |
One of the orcs saunters up to the gate, eyeing Glock suspiciously.
"I not remember see you before. But you very loud and stupid, so you probably orc. In fact, if you claim to be orc you must be orc, since nobody who not an orc would claim to be orc. Orcs very distinctive, so pretend to be an orc when not would be dumb and obvious. Obviously clever orc like you not do that, though." The orc chuckles. "We not even have password! It take an orc to think of a password that isn't there, for sure." Bluffed the hell out of those fuckers The orcs open the portcullis — which, in the fashion of all good orcish construction, swings to the side rather than raising up. |
Delic slaps his stomach and laughs as deeply as he can muster without shitting himself.
(He hopes he doesn't stink of Elven, considering his upbringing) |
Playing this up to the nth degree, Glock decides to take this several steps further.
"ME NEED HELP. ME AND FRIENDS PART OF ORC SECRET SERVICE. VERY SECRET. WE TELL NO ONE. WE DRESSED LIKE THIS TO FOOL STUPID NON-GREEN MEN. THEY ARE EASY TO TRICK." "WE SENT HERE TO LOOK FOR COW PEOPLE. WE TOLD THEY HAVE HURT SOME ORCSES. WE GOING TO GO TEACH THEM LESSON WITH OUR BASHING STICKS." "PROBLEM. WE LOST. WHERE BE COW MEN? YOU KNOW?" |
"Secret service?"
The orcs murmur amongst themselves for a moment. "What you say is most stupid of idea. Orcs not do anything secret. Orcs is not ashamed of doing orcish deeds! Orc says: I is here, I have spear, get used to me! Orc is proud of way he is. Yet, as we establish, you must be orc and you doing a secret thing. I feel sorry that a orc like you must feel a shame feeling about your orcishness. I hope one day you can be perform your services without feeling that you are bad or wrong. Maybe we cans help you by giving you clue of secret mission. You win and feel better about your natural way of life. But sad story, I not see any cow mens. Wait, wait. There is a SKELETONS of cow men! They in skeletons room in big house across bridge. Also there is statue of cow men, and some cow man pictures, but no living cow mans. Dwarf boss say cow men used to live here many forevers ago, and his dwarf friends find it when cow mans was all deads already. So if you think about it, maybe there was never no cow mans. Somebody just make fake cow man skeletons, like mermaid I see at festival. All dolphin that somebody sew arms onto. And then I find out truth! Need get marriage annulled! Worst day of life!" For a long, awkward moment, the orcish door-guard seems to be holding back tears. "Maybe dwarf boss Urwol know more about cow mans. But a tale of alarm for you, secret orc. Urwol sometime murder you even if you is orc! But maybe he give direction if he not murder you. It a bit of a toss-up." Having imparted this wisdom, the orc scratches his head and smiles vacantly as his eyes begin to track an errant moth that had entered his field of view by happenstance. |
"How dwarf boss treat you? Treat bad? Sometimes murder? No work benefits? That unfair. What your pay? We work for boss who give pension. Who give sick days. Who give two week vacation and holiday bonus."
"Why work for dwarf? No proud orc work for dwarf. Dwarf worse than orc. Why you stand for this?" "This dumb. You much smarter than this. Do not work with Dwarf. Do not work until demands are met. Rise up with orc brothers. Show orc brothers you are proud orc. Show proud by being better than this. Be true orc!" Words of Friendship "Strike! Orcs strong by self, but orcs really really strong as friends!" Diplomacy (?) check 19+13+5 = 37. Hopefully enough to make them strike. "We talk to dwarf man for you. Tell him demands. Tell him you not stand for poor treatment. We tell him what proud orc needs, proud orc gets!" Regardless of success: Glock leads the party to the dwarf's big house. |
Delic shoves Glock hard.
"STUPID ORC. Know nothing of Orcs. Beat flesh, eat meat raw, drink booze. Orc orc orc." |
"Is true what you say, Secret Orc. We not stand any more for this shabby treatment. We has a dignity!"
The five orcs guarding the portcullis quickly work themselves into a raging frenzy, tearing apart the entry hall before rushing headlong into the fortress under Glock's urging. The orcs run screaming into a sweltering forge, with the Horde close behind them. Five grimy, soot-covered duergar are working grimly at their anvils, when the Revolutionary Guard marches in. "DWARF MAN!" shouts the most talkative orc. "WE HAS A SEVERAL REASONABLE DEMANDS!" He noisily clears his throat. "Firstly, we demands a half-hour break for each 16-hour work day! Seconds, we demands snacks in the lobby! Thirdishly, we demands a comprehensive plan of medical treatment and prevention coverage! Fourwise, we demands a safety railing on the bridges!" The eldest of the duergar wipes the sweat from his brow, and stares at the orcs for a long, long moment before burying his face in his hands and muttering to himself. "Let's jes' go up to th' surface and get some slaves, I said. But nooo, why not hire cheap, local orcish labor? Save ourselves a trip, he said." He glowers at the orcs, patting his red-hot forgehammer against his palm threateningly. "Well now, let's negotiate on that, yeh? Here's my counter-offer. You feck off and get back t'work, and in return I won't have ye hanged on a noose of your own intestines. Frankly that's more than I owe ye." Negotiations, as you might expect, break down rapidly, and Urwol and his cohorts resolve to engage in a bit of spirited union-busting. We could actually play this one out, but there's no real need to. The orcs have a much better average damage-per-round than the duergar do, and that's not even factoring the Horde into matters. We can reasonably assume that the newly formed Orc Dungeon Workers Coalition wins this particular fight, minus a healing surge. After a short and bloody scuffle, the duergar blacksmiths lay dying on the floor alongside two of the striking orcs. The orc spokesman seems a little troubled by this development. "This problem always with middle management. Always they trying to be tough guys. I take this all the way to the top! I get justice!" He claps Glock on the back. "Friend secret orc, I not ask you to come with. Your mission of cow man is as important as my mission of quality working condition. But I do ask you! Keep eye out while you here. Stop scab moving in! Scab is enemy of every honest orc! Shouting something loud and incoherent, the three surviving orcs charge out the door and across one of the bridges spanning the chasm. The Horde is left alone in the first stronghold with a pile of corpses. Urwol's dead as a doornail; any information about the location of cow-men is going to have to be assessed elsewhere. Orc encounter successfully finessed: 875 XP (175 each) Blacksmith battle: 900 XP (112 each, since it's split with the surviving orcs) |
Delic does the Orc Dance Of Gormagga Kraal. (Staying in place, kneeling then standing quickly, pumping his shoulders up and down while grunting the word "Kraal" over and over)
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Glad to be able to use definite articles again, Glock nevertheless hopes that his door man friend becomes the Eva Peron of the orc unionized labour movement. Only without the cancer. He was pretty, as far as orcs go. Maybe someday soon, all orcs will have a photo of Door Man in their house, next to a painting of Our Lady of Orcalupe while they eat orc tacos and get earfuls from their orc wives.
Snapping out of his reverie, Glock figures he might as well loot the corpses, starting with the head gray midget, and proceeds to go through them all in turn. Even the poor orcs, although considering how much pay they got, these poor bastards probably don't have much outside of their rusty plate mail. Lootin' lootin' lootin' |
Gheth blinked. He had been struggling to keep up with the orcs and the rest of his crew, so that when he arrived in the room, it appeared the damage had already been done. Pleased that things went over relatively bloodlessly, Gheth says a prayer to Avandra, for surely she had a hand in their good fortune.
While the others mill about, he busies himself laying the orcs and duergar in repose. The orcs deserved that much, and the duergar, well, at least it made them easier to loot. That done, he finds he is primarily interested in the the nature of the operation going on in this cavern. He inspects the forges proper and any crafted items the dwarves may have made. |
Before he even had a chance to check out the goods, Glock had an idea he wanted to take care of first.
Thankfully the dragon had laid the bodies out nice and flat. Made for easier beheadings. Taking out his sword and hacking away at the neck of the lead dwarf, Glock slowly but surely worked the man's head free of his body. Grabbing one of the fallen orc's spears, he quickly ran off to the fort's entrance. He then proceeded to find a spot near the portcullis where he could stand the blunt end of the spear into the ground, wedging it between two floor stones. He then impaled the head on the other end. Covering his fingers in blood draining from the head, he then began to write a message on the wall behind the door as large as he could. It would be almost childish fingerpainting if the red ochre hadn't been what it was. SCAB GETS WHAT SCAB DESERVES Yeah, that should do it. Door Man would be happy with this. |
Kraal Kraal Kraal
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Glock loots the corpses, because by god that's what you do. But he only finds completely mundane weapons and armor; chainmail, spears, warhammers — because that's all they have on them.
After laying out the dead respectfully, Gheth takes a closer look around the forge. While there are racks and racks of completed weapons, all of them look to be about the same quality you could get anywhere else. Tha barrels of mineral oil and stacks of iron ingots might have some resale value as well, but you'd need a wagon just to drag this stuff back to the Hall. Though Garrmondo is last to seek out plunder (save Gordok, who busies himself nibbling on a dead forgehand's beard), he's the only one to find any loot worth a tinker's damn. The chest in the northern bedroom contains a sizeable treasure of 220 gold pieces, as well a hefty iron sceptre topped with a human skull. It's not apparently magical, but it might make an interesting curio for someone. The papers on Urwol's desk are fairly uninteresting: mostly the normal documentation you'd find at any professional smithing operation. Supply requisition, payroll, shipping records... and a request from Urwol to the higher-ups that he be supplied with "...some of the harder-working slaves from the dining hall, as the greenskins I'm paying to stand around and look scary are dumber than a sack of rocks. I work too damned hard to chit-chat with every half-clever idiot that waltzes in claiming to be an orc in disguise. It's only a matter of time until some young bravo with a shiny new sword wanders in and finds out more than he ought to." The letter is heavily wrinkled and half-buried under the other papers - Urwol obviously never had the guts to actually make the request. Judging from the bulk of the orders, most of Urwol's products were shipped up to the Hall to be sold at the Grimmerzhul trading post — but when Glock stopped by the trading post earlier, the only metal on sale was the spoons packed in with the Menzoberranzan absinthe. Where are all these weapons going? Garrmondo also rifles through the chests in the other bedroom, but finds nothing other than clothing and other personal effects. Delic kraals amid the din. The minor wounds he suffered during the skirmish are not healing quickly enough for his satisfaction. |
Glock nabs his share of the cash, 44 dollars, and figures that the skull on a stick would be useful for pranks or something else nefarious should it come to it, and grabs it along with the papers. He can use the papers to ask about at the shop later. Or, at the very least, he can write on the back of them as a map should he be stuck in this god forsaken maze much longer.
After all is collected, he then looks around for the room full of cow people skeletons. It can't be far from here. Move to southwest door, open it, take a look inside |
Gordok stashes what coins he can and a severed hand in the Glock bank. They'll be safe there.
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The door opens into an open roofless corridor, at the end of which is another small fortress much like the one the Horde has just (ahem) cleaned out. Rather than a portcullis, this structure is sealed by a simple wooden door. The exterior wall of the structure is peppered with arrow slits, all of them directed toward the bridge to the north.
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Glock goes back a little bit and grabs one of the other dwarf bodies, and drags it to the opening that leads to the north bridge.
"Let's find out if that place is occupied." He then lifts up the body and tosses it outward, as far down towards the center of the bridge as he possibly can, watching to see if any arrows are fired from the crenellations, and how many. |
There's no response to the dead duergar being flung onto the bridge. Either nobody's manning the post, or they're just occupied with putting down the orcish insurrecton.
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The robot had given a dwarf flight. Gordok's eyes light up.
"Me! Me! Me!!" |
Glock considers for a moment tossing the small man off the side of the bridge, but decides against it after a little bit of thought.
He rejoins Garrmondo at the southern door, and slowly opens it, all stealth like, so that if anyone is in the room, they won't notice it. Stealth check Of course, being a god damn robot, being quiet when you're huge, metal, and make creaky gearing noises all the time is kinda difficult. |
Though Glock's attempt to enter the second stronghold by stealth results largely in him tripping over his own feet, it turns out not to matter much. Nobody seems to be patrolling the entrance hall, and any noise Glock makes is drowned out by the sound of a furious voice shouting in Dwarven. Gordok makes a half-hearted attempt to translate, but is distracted by his desire to be tossed. Something about slaves, dinner, orcs. Probably not important really.
The hall splits off to the left and right, with wide double doors at each end. Smaller doors lead off from the left and right off the south corridor. |
Garrmondo stealthily creeps up on the door, slowly nudging it open.
The cheese wheels, smoked hams, and ale kegs in the storage closet are taken completely by surprise. They surrender immediately. |
All the ham and swiss he could want, but no bread or sandwich sauce. 'Tis a cruel world.
While the humans could make their own mayo, the bread was another matter entirely. Unless he used slabs of leather, there was just not gonna be any getting around this. Fuck it. No point in being civilized. Glock punches one of the cheese wheels so hard it gibs into delicious bite sized pieces. He eats a shit tonne of it but stores some for snacks later. Chow like a motherfucker Save a pound of cheese for later |
Kraal Kraal Kraal
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Glock exits the room of deliciousness and leads the party to the door where he believes the noise is coming from.
When he gets there, he listens and tries to determine what is being said by tehe angry bits of the dwarven population. |
Gheth eats some of the frightened provisions in the closet, and in what must have looked like a matter of minutes to everyone else, Gheth felt re-energized. It was as if he had spent a weekend at the Sulphur Spas of Frendragl, complete with sweet plum liquors and lots of hot, hot dragonborn cloaca.
Rejuvenated and eager to get the party moving again, Gheth gives Garrmondo a few light shoves towards the door and the audible conversation. "Come on, friend, once more into the breach. And see if you can get this other motherkraller to break down some doors with you." |
The team gorges themselves on some cheese they find lying on the floor in a closet two miles beneath sea level. Glock smuggles some cheese in his pants, and he and his dragonborn ally go to listen more cautiously to the conversation at the southern double doors. Sufficiently pacified by the ingestion of massive amounts of dairy goodness, Gordok is grudgingly coaxed into translating.
"Damn these humans! I've seen boulders move faster than this! And the boulders were smarter to boot! I've been waiting a good 15 minutes for my supper and I've not seen so much as a hank of bread!" "Lord Rundarr, you cannot blame the slaves for that. Much of the kitchen staff is occupied in helping to put down the orcish rebellion. I ordered the thralls to fetch you a snack from the pantry, but he ran back saying dangerous-looking men were looting it — one of them matching the description of the so-called 'Secret Orc' that the greenskins are touting as their inspiration. With all due respect, Lord, there may be more important things to worry about than your hunger." "Pah! Let them come. No orc will get past me. I won't be dragged from my mealtime by a bunch of upstarts and rabble-rousers!" There is a loud crash, and the angry duergar issues several noisy grunts of effort. "Sir! Please, don't stand on the table. I'm sure dinner will be served just as soon as order is restored!" "DO YOU HEAR ME, WORMS? COME AND FACE ME! COME AND FACE RUNDARR! RUNDARR THE MIGHTY! RUNDARR THE FURIOUS! RUNDARR THE HUNGRY! AND BRING ME A SANDWICH!" |
The robot has a quick idea. Shooing the rest of the party towards the north door so they're out of sight for a moment, he quickly scurries back to the pantry room and removes one of the poison glands he saved from his pocket.
Carefully poking a hole in the end of one of it, without touching the foul liquid inside, he used it like a cake decorating bag and piped out a bit of poison on all the food, letting it quickly be absorbed by the porous ham and cheeses inside. He quickly slices up enough pieces to prepare a snack, and plates it. Yelling out the door towards the room of doom, Glock disguises his voice to the best of his ability and says "This thrall has made your appetizers, sir. Please send in a member of your waiting staff to collect it." Bluff check Hope 18's enough Before anything else happens, he quickly retreats out of sight with the rest of the group, and waits to see if it's taken to, and summarily digested by, the assholes inside. |
Delic reaches out and grabs Garrmondo's collar firmly. Making like he's about to kick him in the ass and through the door, he pauses and waits to see what Glock does.
At the very least, Garrmondo will make a good battering ram. |
Bluff successful
"VERY WELL! HUMAN, GO FORTH AND FETCH ME MY SNACKS." A timid, haggard-looking young woman trudges through the wide doors of the dining hall, and startles upon realizing that Glock is obviously not a legitimate part of the kitchen staff. Still, she has no real motivation to care if Rundarr's dinner is tampered with, she quickly snatches the plate away and delivers it to the duergar. Judging from the noisy (and faintly disgusting) chewing sounds, Rundarr seems happy with his snack. There's no evidence that he's actually at all bothered by the poison Glock doused his food in. Perhaps the fellow simply has a hearty constitution. Did you forget dwarves are poison-resistant You did, didn't you |
"Fuck."
Glock doesn't look amused. He should have just wiped the midget's scrotum on the ham instead. It probably would have made the meat more foul, and the halfling would probably enjoy it. "Oh well, ok big bashy dudes. You go first. Last time I went first I got fucking barfed on every 7 seconds. It wasn't entirely pleasant." Glock urges the party to sort of go through the south door in some sort of logical order, but only after they kick it in first. Delic seemed to have the right idea. Garr's face would make a good method of entry. |
Garrmondo kicks in the door, issuing a ferocious challenge to the complaining duergar.
For his part, Rundarr looks at the fighter in the same sort of gentle, pitying way you might look at a ferocious kitten who is mercilessly attacking your shins. For a long moment he finishes chewing the bite of sandwich in his mouth, then wipes his face with his sleeve. He's fairly tall by duergar standards, and standing upon the table he makes for an imposing presence. You ain't even intimidating the sandwich, dogg "I'm not cryin' over a sandwich, lad. It was a pretty good sandwich all told. Spicy, though. Here, look now. I'm tryin' to eat, so why don't you just hand over your friend in the iron mask there. We take care of him, and the orcs will have lost their little figurehead. That'll solve a lot of problems right there, and I won't have to get your filthy topsider blood all over my nice clean dining hall. Otherwise—" A second duergar, presumably the one who had been the other half of the earlier conversation, stands ready with his hand on a rope which leads up to a rather large dinner bell on the ceiling. "We can make this a nice big party, if that's how you want to play it. Me, I'm a busy man." Rundarr picks up a massive warhammer he'd left leaning against the table, swinging it idly through the air like it weighed no more than a broom. |
"MY BELL! MY BELL! MY BELL!", squeaks Gordok the rat!
Having indulged himself heavily in cheese heaven it was time to work off some of that smelly goodness, and so off he goes scrambling frantically (yet somehow retaining stealth) towards the second duergar and leaping onto the pull rope. Climbing it steadily he makes his way up to the large desired bell, and with much glee Gordy begins to gnaw through the supports that keep the bell in place. Skittering Sneak |
"You haven't thought this one through, have you? Turning me into a martyr will only reinvigorate the workforce. You think you have a problem now? Were you there for the great strike of 1183 in the Underdark? I was. One worker got killed by a guard, and then the entire union rose up and slaughtered every single businessman, business woman, and businessdwarf in three provinces. Even travelling merchants and their families were torn limb from limb."
"You fuck up, and my orc friends won't be done with your shedwarf until she's the barely alive receptical of at least 15 of their orc dicks, and then the'll finish her off by feeding her to some spiders. From what my friends tell me, that's not a pleasant way to go." Assist Acer's stealth check by throwing out vivid images of an orc gangbang on some female dwarf as a distraction |
Gheth waves his arms about in the air, enunciating STRANGE SYLLABLES to distract the two from noticing the huge-ass rat running up the rope.
"I daresay, SIR that it would only take ONE of us to PUT you out of BUSiness. Just ONE of US to get to the surFACE and the ETHICS COMMITTEE would have your HEAD." Aid in stealth check make fool of oneself: check |
"Hey you. Little guy. Ever try a fastball special?"
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Stealth Check: 12 + 2 + 2 = enough
Assuming mouse form, Gordok leaps onto the nearest table and scrambles up the rope. Instantly, the rest of the party frantically launches into noisy oratory, shouting and waving their arms to distract the duergar from the tiny rodent making its way up toward the bell. Gordok successfully gets up there unnoticed, only to discover that his tiny mouse teeth would take forever to make even a dent in the iron ring that holds the bell on the ceiling. Maybe he could make some other use of the high ground, but this little mouse wasn't gnawing through anything. As per the last line of Skittering Sneak's effect line, natch "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" shouts Rundarr, still apparently interested in a peaceful resolution. "One at a time! You, tin man. Nobody wants to martyr you. If I wanted you KILLED, we wouldn't still be talking! D'yer think puffy-sleeves with the big mouth is going to protect you? Besides, what does some rabble-rousing orc in a mask know about the 1183 crackdown? That was three centuries ago. I only know what I know from my own grandsire, and orcs aren't much for history. Don't try to bluff with me numbers you saw in a broadsheet somewhere, greenskin. You, lizard. The only ethics I'm interested in are my own and those of Asmodeus, and it turns out we're both of the same mind on the whole slaves-and-cruelty thing. What a shock that was, really. As for you, loudmouth, there's been not a single living minotaur under Thunderspire for centuries now. The Well of Demons is full of gnolls and worse. But — just to humor you for a moment here, you want me to pay you, essentially, to put down the riot that you yourselves just started. Is that right?" Rundarr begins to glower at the group with what is, if possible, an entirely new level of contempt. |
Gordok had let the wonderfully vivid metallic flavor of the iron ring get the best of him. Coming out of his delirium he understands too well that his rodent teeth are no match against such a tasty obstacle. Slowly a halfling emerges carefully holding steady his place above the large bell. Perhaps his sharp climbing claws could work their stuff on the ring of iron to free his ringing beauty. Here's hoping that subtle hint of rust his tongue detected wasn't just his imagination. Gordy begins his work over the squabble below hoping that the huffy business will keep eyes and ears from wandering towards the heavens.
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Gordok slashes frantically at the ring affixing the bell to the ceiling. While his artificial claws aren't nearly sharp enough to cut the rusty iron ring, the sudden shift from a mouse's weight to a heavily-burdened halfling is enough to make the ring totally inadequate for defying the bell's own gravity. The bell rips free of the ceiling, falling heavily to the floor in a shower of stone fragments — and carrying Gordok with it. The hapless guard assigned to hold the bell rope intuits his fate a little too slowly, and the bell neatly captures him underneath—
Whereupon the duergar begins frantically ringing the bell from within. The noise is loud enough to bring the whole stronghold running, at the very least. This plan could have used some more thought. Several pairs of boots can be audibly heard rushing toward the dining hall from the north. Garrmondo is the first to react, being quite prepared for this little palaver eventually breaking down. Rundarr AC 19 Fortitude 20, Reflex 16, Will 18 Duergar Guards AC 21 Fortitude 18, Reflex 15, Will 16 Duergar Scouts AC 19 Fortitude 17, Reflex 17, Will 16 :savepoint: Garrmondo, Delic, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr, Glock, Gordok, Gheth, Duergar Guards |
Delic has an idea.
Oh does he ever have an idea. Moves to T10 |
It had been a rough landing but ultimately he had his bell where he wanted it. As a bonus he had even captured the rope tender; how very nicely he rang the bell from within. Sitting atop his trophy Gordok smiles and pulls out his lute to strum along loudly with his bell. Yes, such achievements called for celebration! The hall would know of the splendor of this bell. Great yellow exploding bells for everybody!
"IT'S MY BELL! IT'S MY BELL! IT'S MY BELLLLLLLL!!!!" Pyrotechnics |
Garrmondo rushes to block the northwest doorway, but reinforcements are already barreling through. A bewildered-looking duergar charges through the door, smashing headlong into the fighter. Garrmondo doesn't budge an inch.
Rundarr leaps down from his table, charging across the room only to leap onto the table nearest to Gordok. "You rotten guttersnipe, that were my grandsire's bell! I'll break a bone for every crack you've put in it!" Swearing profusely, he smacks the living tarnation out of the little halfling. Badly beaten, Gordok slumps awkwardly over the top of the bell. Double Attack + Action Point + Double Attack = 35 damage to Gordok (knocked right the fuck out) Been a while since I had a KO on you suckas feels good man :savepoint: Glock, Gordok (KO), Gheth, Duergar Guards, Garrmondo, Delic, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr |
Ah the festival was a wonderful one. Everyone was laughing and singing the praises of Gordok's new bell as the wild yellow explosions happily filled the air. Just then the Grimace popped out of the ground and gave everyone free happy meals and a pass to the land of Gummydrop fairies. This was a fine day indeed.
|
Glock watches the big dwarf miss with the second half of his first attack, which is more than enough time for him to wiggle his robot fingers and move the midget ever so slightly between the dwarf's actions.
Virtue of Cunning Shift Acer to S8 after getting his first beating. Horray free actions! Sorry Pang, I still <3. At least you get your AP back right? Pressing a button on his goggles, Glock soon sees everything in red and black, and sees a short flash of white outlining the hammer asshole's skeleton. "I NEED YOUR CLOTHES, YOUR BOOTS, AND YOUR MOTORCYCLE" Goggles of Aura Sight on Rundarr Stepping back a little, Glock looks at the giant hammer dude and thinks of something clever to say. Coming up with nothing, all he yells is "I farted on your sandwich." He has no idea if that annoyed the dwarf any. Move to W15 Vicious Mockery on Rundarr 11 + 7 = 18. Dunno what his Will is. :( If I hit, 6 + 5 =11 damage and takes -2 to hit until my next turn. |
http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/gordo...rimaceahug.jpg
They all had entered the magical kingdom when the king of the Gummydrop fairies proposed a most wonderful blessing to bestow upon them that whoever had the most love would receive his powers to turn happy thoughts into floating candy. To do so would require a most joyous embrace to the Grimace whose bounding bright presence filled the throne room with rainbows and sunshine. And just as everyone cheered on Glock to give the bestest of hugs that would be told in tales till time ended and reversed in the silliest slow motion trudge to an eventual void, Gordok awoke. Gordok was confused. His body felt battered like it never had before. Where had the celebration and good times gone? Why wasn't Glock hugging the Grimace? Where in the hell was the Grimace?! This pissed off duergar certainly wasn't him. So that must mean that it was all a... no. Gordok refused to believe it had all been a lie. He would find his way back to the kingdom of Gummydrop fairies, but for now there was the matter of these duergar to take care of. Move to W7 Second Wind Warlock's Curse @Rundarr Action Point - Diabolic Grasp @Rundarr 13 damage to Rundarr. Drag his ass on over to T11. |
The munchkin was cackling madly and yammering on about some kind of magical hug. He was clearly delusional. Gheth took this opportunity to perform some field medicine. He gave him a once-over glance and called out--
"Quickly! Open your mouth and say 'Blurghhlglrhhl!'" "...No, your other one! Ah, five hells, do I have to do it myself?" With a glowing gesture, Gheth gurgled the best gurgle any of the room's occupants had ever heard. Comparatively speaking, of course. I mean, he was under pressure. Oh, and a magical weapon appeared out of thin air and gave Rundarr a steel enema. Damn fine gurgle, though. Move to V10 Healing Blurghhlglrhhl on Gordok Cast Spiritual Weapon on T11 (Rundarr): Crit! 15 damage |
As Rundarr raises his hammer for the killing blow, Glock quickly detaches one of his less-important knuckles and hurls it at the bell. The resultant vibrations are enough to shake the baffled little halfling to the floor. Rundarr snarls and stays his hand, not wanting to be party to the ruin of his own prized bell.
Backing away into the hall and shouting insults, Glock pulls down the data overlay to see what he can get away with. The data is... not encouraging. Rundarr's been taking his vitamins, it seems. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/justwhatyouseepal.png These figures, obviously, do not incorporate the damage Rundarr suffers over the remainder of the post. Though Gordok's odd fantasy had really only lasted a fraction of a second as he slid off the bell and bonked his head on the floor, in his memory it seemed to have gone on for hours. One day he'd find the magical purple blob that had filled him with such joy. He would find him, and he would eat him. To gain his power. In the meantime, however, he just ran across the room and made a series of rude gestures at the beardy jackass that had made his stay on the Bell Of Delights so unpleasant. Screw that guy. Manifesting his bear powers, he conjures up a terrible claw that drags the duergar as far from the bell as possible. He's ruining it for everyone else. Charging into the fray only to see Gordok flee from it, Gheth opens his mouth to shout — only to find some kind of unpleasant blockage in his throat. He gurgles, and hacks, and coughs, and at great length he expels a luminous dagger which flies off quite of its own volition and lodges itself between Rundarr's shoulderblades. Odd spot of luck, that. Gordok finds himself impressed; the most dangerous thing he's ever horked up was a particularly stubborn ferret. The guard trapped under the bell continues trying to smash his way out from within, though with the bell firmly settled on the floor it no longer produces quite as much of a racket. It ought to continue holding him for a little while. Hearing the tramp of boots behind him, Glock whirls around to see another guard coming rounding the corner into the eastern corridor. The Horde are being flanked! :savepoint: Garrmondo, Delic, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr, Glock, Gordok, Gheth, Duergar Guards |
Scritch.
Scritch. SCRIIIIIIIITCH. Delic was enjoying his nose picking. Maybe a little too much. He was up to the second knuckle on both of his fingers when he finally glanced up at the rest of the people in the room. Combat had come to a dead halt as everyone watched in amazement at just how far the man could shove his digits into his sinuses. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. Right. Uhh. Fighting or something. This dwarf is an asshole. Now I remember. That bell idea was a bad one anyway." Wiping the snot on the edge of his sword, he used the yellow goop to help drive the dwarf into following him. Footwork Lure on Rundarr 8 + 12 + 2 = 22 > 19. Hit. 9 + 6 = 15 damage. Shift to U11, move Rundarr to T10. |
Wait a minute.
What the fuck? There I am. Spoiler:
|
Though he might not have been able to keep the scout from entering the dining hall, Garrmondo was more than happy to settle for kicking him back out. The duergar staggers backward, his beard seeming to fluff out like a porcupine about to throw its quills.
Awakening as though from a long reverie, Delic finds himself staring at a huge bell for no obvious reason. Grabbing the nearest person in the vicinity, Delic flings them at the thing and wanders off. That's how he rolls. Taking another hop backwards and then rapidly backpedaling into the next room, the duergar scout fires off his beard spines. None of the poisonous quills get past Garrmondo's shield, but really. Who does that? Taking a beating, Rundarr gives up the thoroughly-battered bell for lost and decides another hammer to aid him is probably more important. In a feat of incredible strength, he lifts the massive bell off the floor and tosses it aside, freeing the (somewhat rattled) guard underneath. Too busy for a proper attack, he fires off his beard quills — but Delic's shield has no more trouble with them than Garrmondo's had. :savepoint: Glock, Gordok, Gheth, Duergar Guards, Garrmondo, Delic, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr |
"Hmm."
Glock smirks to himself, the other dwarf was not nearly as sneaky as he wanted to be. HIS ROBO EYES CATCH EVERYTHING. Knowing he can't right well fight the guard by himself without running the risk of damaging his fucking awesome hat, he does the next best thing and decides to lock the guy out. Move to W13. Close door behind him. Whipping out the skull on a iron rod he grabbed earlier but for some reason never had appear in his inventory, he jammed it between the doorhandles, effectively locking them. Glock frowned as he did this. He wanted to save the thing. He could have painted the skull lavender. He was looking forward to telling women about his 18 inch hard shaft with a big purple head on it. Oh well, maybe next time. Improvised door block. |
His prisoner has been released! And the bell! Oh the bell!
Move to V7 Warlock's Curse (Guard@T9) Tundra Wind (Rundarr & Guard@T9) Rundarr takes 8 ice damage, 2 curse damage, moved to U13, and is knocked prone. Guard@T9 takes 8 ice damage, 2 curse damage, moved to U12, and is knocked prone. That ice should hopefully hold those two bushy monsters down - long enough for those surrounding them to get in some nice hits, maybe. Gordok thinks so. |
Delic stands still and does nothing.
Because he's just that badass. |
Gheth had seen beards like these before, only once.
Long ago, during the Dwarven raids of the province of Antioch. A troupe of hardened mercenaries razed the town, leaving a wake of embedded beard-quills behind them. The screams of the beard-ravaged townspeople came back to Gheth now. Quote:
Never again, he vowed. These beards would not harm another soul, by his will! Daunting Light on U12 (Duergar Guard) Hit! 16 damage. Sustain Spiritual Weapon and combat advantage on U13 (Rundarr) Miss. |
Glock spots the reinforcements careening around the corner. Thinking fast, he slams shut the broad doors of the dining hall and bars them with the iron rod he'd found a little earlier. Wooden doors wouldn't slow down a troupe of angry dwarves for long, though.
Gordok wails despairingly. Not only had his pet dwarf escaped, his brand-new best and favoritest bell was getting terribly abused. It was a day that would live in infamy. Gordok screams such a terrible scream that the sheer wind of it carries the duergar guard flying over the bell and deposits them on the floor in a quivering heap. Rundarr, however, stands his ground in the face of the terrible blast — thought the sheer force of it bends him over backward to the point that he's effectively lying down. He seems to have temporarily affixed the soles of his boots to the floor. "I'll not let such a tiny man as you push me around, ye shapeshifting miscreant!" Rundarr triggers Dwarven Greaves as an interrupt, resisting the forced movement but immobilizing him for a turn. Swearing vengeance against the beards of the world, Gheth mutters a small prayer under his breath. In an instant, the duergar guard's beard had burst into a nimbus of holy flame. The guard wails in terror, slapping his own face desperately. And: bloodied. You didn't specify who gains advantage from the Daunting Light, so the dice say it's Garrmondo The Flaming Beard, distracted by his terrible plight, crawls away toward a corner and unsteadily gets back on his feet. The very indignation of having his beard befouled seems to have him trembling with rage. Pointing an accusing finger at Gheth, the guard's hands burst into an unholy flame (which burns, but does not consume). "You're makin' me very cross", he hisses. Guard enables Infernal Anger The other guard nearly runs headlong into the doors of the hall as Glock hurriedly slams them shut. Putting his weight behind his shoulder, the guard does his best to smash the door down. But the bar on the other side stymies his efforts, and the doors remain a solid barrier. "Very well, ye mewling wenches! We'll take the damned thing apart timber by timber if we must!" :savepoint: Garrmondo, Delic, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr, Glock, Gordok, Gheth, Duergar Guards |
Knowing a good idea when he sees it, Garrmondo follows Glock's lead and just slams the door shut rather than pursue the scout any further. With his back to the door, the scout should have plenty of trouble getting back in since the door completely opens into the room and all that.
Opportunity spotted, he launches a vial of oil at the guard with the flaming beard. The bluish-white fire engulfing the duergar's jaw clearly wasn't an ordinary flame, but Garrmondo never was really up-to-date on the study of theological chemistry. It seems to work well enough; when the oil smashes into the side of the guard's head, the holy fire begins to spread wildly all over the duergar's upper body. "Well", says the guard, completely wreathed in flame from the waist up. "I've had better days, I tell you what." Um, 3 damage to the guard. It sounded real cool when you proposed it though. =( Delic passively observes the majestic flight of the rare Bakersfield Oil Jar. He turns to the left to watch Garrmondo fire the vial, then he turns to the right to watch it connect. He smiles an enigmatic smile. Such is Delic. Do not presume to know him. Another duergar reaches the opposite side of the east doors, and begins to bash them down with his warhammer. 7 damage to door. The scout Garrmondo had just shut the door on immediately attempts to charge through and smash it down, but fails completely, running into the undamaged door with an audible splat. Waving his arms desperately, Rundarr finally pulls himself upright. Sadly, his boots are still securely affixed to the floor and try as he might he can't reach anyone in order to batter them. He thrashes his hammer in Delic's general direction; the fighter merely arches an eyebrow. :savepoint: Glock, Gordok, Gheth, Duergar Guards, Garrmondo, Delic, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr |
Glock glances at the door. "My friend the skull rod, I shall call you MURRAY. Please hold on for as long as you can! I will save you!"
He could have sworn he saw the skull's jaw open and close as if to say "HURRY UP YOU FUCKER" but it could have just been the slowly moulding cheese in his acidless stomach cavity speaking. Frightened and confused by this hallucination, Glock moves away from the door. Move to Y10 Looking up towards the boss dwarf, Glock readies something awesome to say. Opening his mouth proves a bad idea, though. All he gets out is "Your g-" before a massive cheese belch follows through. So massive, and so fragrant, that it flies like an arrow right into Rundarr's face. Luckily for Glock, this particular Dragonborn has no issue with this sort of thing, and is not phased in the least by by what is essentially one step away from projectile robovomit flying right past him. Vicious Mockery on Rundarr 12 + 7 + 2 = 21 > 18. 1(:() + 5 = 6 damage. Rundarr takes -2 penalty to hit. The dwarf gets a whiff of it and makes a pretty disgusted face. Even compared to dwarf gastronomical events, this was pretty potent. |
Rundarr was still in place. And well in range. Yeah...
Eldritch Blast @ Rundarr Rundarr takes 14 damage from the crackling blast shot across the room and then a further 6 curse damage. |
Excerpt from Gheth McGarnigal's adventuring notes: pg 148
Quote:
Lance of Faith on T13 (Guard) 6 damage Sustain Spiritual Weapon on S10 (Rundarr) 15 damage |
Sorry for the holdup, some behind-the-scenes stuff causing a delay of game. We'll skip the extra flavor this time since things are about to get real goofy anyway.
The endless harassment of Gheth's ethereal dagger darting about him frays Rundarr's last nerve. "You're... you're makin' me angry. Y'won't like me when I'm angry." A bulging vein in the duergar's forehead begins to throb, and before the Horde's astonished eyes Rundarr begins to expand. The iron links of his chainmail pop apart and fly off like kettle corn until the armor is little more than a poncho draped over his massive shoulders, and the "dwarf" towers over everyone else in the room. Ten feet tall, mad as a wet ogre, and twice as ugly, Rundarr stares down at the puny dragonborn. Pointing his now-comparatively-small warhammer in the cleric's direction, the duergar warlord keeps it simple. "KILL HIM!" Delic stares up at Rundarr with a look of bemused detachment, as though the situation had nothing to do with him whatsoever. Now he's really getting huge The guards move quickly to follow Rundarr's order to the best of their (limited) ability, with the unfortunate fellow with the now-smoldering beard rushing forward to smash in Gheth's jaw with his hammer. The crunching sound is deeply satisfying on a primal level. Gheth is warhammer'd for 17 damage The hammering apart of the eastern doors accelerates, and Murray is beginning to visibly bend around the middle of his bar. The hinges aren't going to take much more punishment. Outside-the-room guard trigs Infernal Anger; Door is warhammer'd for 11 damage :savepoint: Garrmondo, |
With Dwarfzilla getting ready to eat the entire prom, Garrmondo had no more time to waste on small fry. Not that the scout seemed to be making much headway against the door anyway, Garrmondo jams a chair under the door handle.
Delic continues to stare apathetically at the mayhem all around him. Then, abruptly, he shrugs off his scale armor and tosses to the floor, disgust written on his face. He's wearing leathers underneath — why would anyone do that? No wonder he always moved around so slowly. Then he drops his sword as well, the blade simply slipping from his limp hand. He raises his hands to his face, cupping his forehead as though suffering a terrible headache. "Everybody just... just be quiet for a minute, I—" Delic begins to shake uncontrollably. "The shouting and the bells and the ridiculous giant dwarf and the halfling who eats people and the singing robot and the... the..." He starts hypenventilating. At this point he's the center of attention; even the hammering on the doors seems to have petered out. "Too much. Too much! Can't concentrate. Can't. No. Stop. Can't focus. Can't focus!" Delic falls to his knees, and a terrible metamorphosis overcomes him. At first it seems a trick of the light — his hairline shifting around, little ripples going over his flesh. But it's hard to deny that something surreal is going on when his skin starts cycling through every color of the rainbow. Soon, "Delic's" appearance is shifting around so quickly it's almost hard to look at. He continues covering his face, but his body goes through dozens of different shapes — one moment there's a grey-bearded dwarf sitting on the floor, then a raven-haired elf girl, a burly tiefling, a one-armed orc, an emaciated drow... for a strange instant he even seems to have the iron skin of a warforged. Then, at long last, the wheel of identities clicks to a halt. Blinking and rubbing his eyes groggily as though he had just woken from a long nap, a young man staggers to his feet in the spot where Delic had stood less than a minute before. He seems superficially human in most of the important ways — but there's something off about him. His ears a little too big, his mouth a little too wide, and his eyes — a strange yellow color that almost seems to glow in the firelight. Looking around the room, the "newcomer's" expression gets gloomier and gloomier as he awkwardly fumbles out a longbow he had strapped to his back under the scale mail. No wonder Delic had always been so stiff. "Okay, clearly a little bit of a tussle here. Let's just save the introductions for later. Raise your hand if you're not trying to kill me." Now that the horrifying noise of the shapeshifter's flesh sliding around had finally come to a merciful halt, the scouts resume trying to smash their way into the room. The eastern doors give way under a final vicious blow from the scout's warhammer, and the splintered ruins collapse messily to the floor. Murray's probably still okay under there. The scout cautiously makes his way into the room. Not discouraged in the least by Garrmondo's progressively elaborate barricade, the scout at the north door proceeds to hammer away at it. 7 damage to north door Rundarr turns on Gheth, his massive bulk trembling with rage. He trundles toward the dragonborn, smashing the table beneath his weight. Gheth ducks under the gigantic duergar's wild swings easily. :savepoint: Glock, Gordok, Gheth, Duergar Guards, Garrmondo, Cal Amah, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr |
It didn't look like it was too difficult for the scaley one to dodge the giant hammer of doom, but Glock was somewhat amused by how the wake generated by the big slab of iron flying through the air was enough to move the guy by a good five feet.
Virtue of Cunning Shift Gheth to W9. The new fellow that just appeared didn't have a G in his name. Glock could tell because this Cal fellow had written his name on the tags of his skintight leather pants, as if someone would steal THAT fashion accessory. Instantly distrusting this new fellow because he's not part of the G-unit Gangstas, it was decided upon that he could, at least, make a good door, even if Murray failed him. The speaker in his head extended outward, and Glock played the best song he knew that had anything to do with blustery stuff and bein' a tad chilly. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Tune of Ice and Wind at U11 Shift Cal to V14. (U12 --> V13-->V14) Don't hit a god damn THING 8 + 5 = 13 / 2 = 6. Six fucking damage. Bulllllllshit. And slowed until next turn. Go to hell RNG. Being the intelligent robot he is, he also recognized that shit might get pretty fucking real right quick, and thus backed off slightly. Move to Y7 |
Between the giant dwarf and possible sharpshooters Gordok figured it was high time to find some furniture to become familiar with. They'd understand. They always did.
Move to X8 Eldritch Blast @ Rundarr Converse with the table about feelings and dinnerware Another spit in Rundarr's direction causes 13 damage and 5 curse damage. Every bit counts. "So as I was saying I never really knew my father..." |
Gheth could see this whole thing taking a turn for the bone-crunchy, so he did what any good doctor would do, and with a gesture, let out a shimmering wave of reinforcing energy. He was filled with renewed determination. He'd not suffer this bearded abomination to live, so help him! He let out a fearsome battlecry, and in the heat of the moment, it manifested as a piercing frosted wind, cracking the skin of the two enemies in front of him.
That done, he figured it might not be untoward of him to start calling in the reinforcements of his own. "Hey, puffy sleeves! A little help? The chair can wait!" Shield of Faith on all party members: +2 AC Dragon Breath so as to hit U10 and V11. Hits! 7 damage Rundarr, 8 damage Guard Sustain Spiritual Weapon and combat advantage on T9 (Rundarr) Hit! 13 damage |
The door is breached, but it seems too late for the guards and scouts to save Rundarr — the monstrous dwarf is wavering on his feet, bleeding from a dozen serious wounds.
The guard from beneath the bell rushes Gheth desperately, hoping to at least wound the cleric before the end. Battered and bleeding, his feeble swing doesn't even jostle Gheth's shield arm. The second guard is rushing into the room onto to nearly collide with the shapeshifter going in the other direction. "Ho ho, trying to escape, are you?" The guard's warhammer swiftly arcs into Cal's jaw with a meaty crunch. That jaw was new, gods damn it all. This is why we can't have nice things. 12 damage to Cal :savepoint: Garrmondo, Cal Amah, Duergar Scouts, Rundarr, Glock, Gordok, Gheth, Duergar Guards |
Did that overgrown toy just micturate over the place? Whatever it was, Cal was slipping headfirst towards the heathens that just smacked down the door. Fortunately, his feet caught on a curious skull-tipped rod which halted his momentum, but snapped in half during the process.
He was always fascinated by these mechanical golems. Always wanted one of them when he was a kid - and make every human child very jeal-- The hammer blow rudely interrupted Cal's reverie. Going limp, his body follows the full arc of the warhammer's trajectory, sending him sprawling into the opposite direction. "Gag hurt, you mean gwarf! You'll pay for ghag!" Activate "Yield Ground", shift two squares to X12. Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, Cal decides to take cover behind the robot. Move to Y8 and designate Rundarr as quarry. "I hag enough out of gis. And especially you, giant gwaf!" Cal takes careful aim at Rundarr and lets loose with his patented Shadow Wasp Strike (TM), barely killing him. Roll: 8 + 10 = 18, vs. Reflex 16: HIT. Damage: 12 + 7 + 7 = 26 damage. "WHO ELSE WANGS SOME?!" Spend an Action point to ready an action: Two-Fanged Strike on any duergar that moves closer. "YOUR LEADER IS DEAD. LOWER YOUR WEAPONS, AND WE'LL LET YOU LIVE. MAYGE." |
http://thumb1.visualizeus.com/thumbs...cf90e9ae_m.jpg
"Aw, hell naw nigga. He does NOT talk like that". |
http://upload.jetsam.org/images//10147818.jpg
It's all your gault, rogog! I galks like gis begauss of my gusted jaw! |
Darting across the room, Garrmondo swiftly draws his blade across two duergar throats — and even as the guard falls gurgling to the floor, an arrow sprouts from Rundarr's eyesocket. The giant-sized dwarf-thing tumbles face-first to the floor with a mighty thud, driving the arrow into his brain.
This is somewhat bad for duergar morale. "By Asmodeus and all the lesser devils! They've slain Rundarr! Quickly men, retreat! Fall back to the barracks, we'll hit 'em with the artillery!" The remaining three duergar flee out the corridors, the sound of their boots fading as they retreat to the north. G-Unit is left alone in the dining hall with the rapidly-deflating corpse of Rundarr. Victory! 675 XP (135 each) Action point for everyone but Glock (since he took a nap) |
Aw, I wasted the action point. :(
"Well gen, gag's a wrap! Good gob, everygoby!" The surviving Duergars turned tail and retreated towards their so-called barracks. Cal felt gratified that they took his advice, but the mention of artillery disturbed him a little. Still, it's looting time - money-grubbing Cal's most favorite event of all! Battles are a tedium, but the rewards are sometimes worth it. First things first though - he attends to his injuries. Spend 1 healing surge. His jaw set tightly back into his skull, the changeling skips over to the provisions he dropped while masquerading as Delic. At the very least, he could upgrade his humble longsword into something more useful in combat. Cal methodically gathers up the spoils into one pile, and, including "Delic's" currency in the calculation, takes a sixth of the gold. Take Delic's Amulet of Health, Potion of Healing, and Lifedrinker's Bastard Sword. Take 1/6 of GP spoils. He'd take that shiny symbol of excellence, were he really dedicated to the god "Delic" worshipped. Still, more religious members of G-Unit might be able to make better use of it. He was most intrigued with the beard quill darts used by the duergars earlier, and pauses to examine their suitability as a projectile weapon. Stopping by Rundarr's corpse, he unceremoniously kicks it around and plucks the arrow sticking from the eye socket. Waste not want not, that's what Ma Cal always used to say, though sometimes his Ma's his Pa and his Pa's his uncle. It's complicated. Evaluate suitability of Beard Quills and 16 Kruthik teeth for use as improvised arrows. Retrieve arrow embedded in Rundarr's skull. |
Glock somberly walks towards the door wreckage and checks to see if Murray is alright, buried under all that crap.
Retrieve Murray if he's still in one piece. |
Gordok gathers up his and Glock's share of the winnings and deposits them in a slot on his robot buddy labeled "Awesome Meter". Looks like we'll be good for the next two hours. :rock:
The halfling eyes the changeling suspiciously. He is not sure if want. |
From the corner of his eye, the changeling sees the halfling staring at him. Cal's not sure what's going on in the druid's head, though his gut tells him that there's equal parts fascination and ... longing?
An uncomfortably hot blush spreads through his face as he busily returns to studying the aerodynamic capabilities of dwarven facial hairs. |
Wrenching his jaw back into place, Cal goes about making an inventory of all the crap in his pack that he doesn't recognize. Some of it's probably worth keeping, if only to drag to a merchant. That armor's staying on the floor, though. He can barely lift it.
Most of the beard quills Cal can find are lodged in either Garrmondo's shield or the walls, what with the duergar having died altogether too quickly to grow new ones. Cal knew enough about natural toxins to realize that the quills were more or less inert, having deposited their poisons already. Still, if a live duergar could be captured and his intact quills harvested — but that's thinking too far ahead. These kruthik teeth, though! Kruthik mouths were one of the filthiest, most germ-laden orifices in the natural world. Strap these to an arrow and you could conceivably infect someone with any number of toxins. If Cal had any straps, that is. Or some glue, maybe. Paste? A very small clamp? Beyond the obvious biological plunder, there's also the question of Rundarr's magical boots. But who has the courage to risk the terror of a duergar's unshod feet? Not Cal, oh no. His mother/father/third cousin/indeterminate didn't raise no dummies. Glock frowns a remorseful frown, digging the battered shape of Murray out of the rubble that remains of the western doors. Murray's very much the worse for wear, bent so badly that his usefulness as a door bar is over. He is, however, bent at precisely 90 degrees... so now Glock has a protractor. Lemons, lemonade. For his part, Garrmondo seems drunk on his own success. Or maybe his waterskin is a little suspect. It seems best to just give him some room. |
Cal's examination of the beard quills left him quite disappointed. It seems there was no further utility to be derived from quills already fired by the duergar. A pity; that poison would have been quite useful.
Still, he's not about to give up on biological warfare. Those poisons have got to be produced by some sort of poison sac. And by gum, if Cal can't use no poisoned beard quill, he might as well dip his arrows in dwarven viscera and see if they can pick up some venom. With longsword, cut open Rundarr's torso and poke arrowheads into organs that might look like venom glands. The kruthik teeth Delic salvaged were quite serviceable as toxin vectors, if only Cal can attach this somehow to an arrow shaft! He dismisses out of hand the prospect of using rope for the job. But looking around, he brightens up. This room looks very much like a dining room, and where there are dining rooms, there are kitchens. And where there are kitchens, there are any amount of utensils and tools that can be used to extract gelatinous bioadhesives from dwarven skin, bones, and tendons! Whacking off Rundarr's feet at the ankles (in case some brave soul would fancy a pair of stinky shoes), Cal sets about slowly dragging the mutilated corpse into a kitchen where he could boil the duergar champion to extract some glue. Take Delic's flask, whack off Rundarr's feet with longsword and discard both. Drag body to kitchen, to extract glue by boiling Rundarr. "Don't (huff!) mind me! (wheeze!) I'm holding a (gasp) weenie roast of this fellow. (puff!) You're welcome to join me (honk!) if you like!" |
Gheth has sampled foods from across the continents, including a positively scrumptious variety of jam from the spice docks in Amhearst. The preserver's name was Toe, if he recalled correctly.
He has no qualms about inspecting the boots for usefulness or delicious treats, come what may. Healing surge to full Inspect/loot boots Rest if party does, otherwise jog on I mean, how long does it take to render a whole dwarf, anyway? |
Still unsure to trust this new guy, while Gordok appreciates the gore and thriftiness he remains suspicious. His shaman who had taught him everything about becoming one with animal spirits had warned him of changelings. Something about 'em was never quite right.
Well acquainted with the table Gordok decides a short rest on top would be nice. His shaman had nothing but good things to say about tables. Maybe he'd dream of Grimace. healing surge to full hp take rest unless party wishes to move on |
Two calls for a rest, no real call to hurry on. Guess we might as well call a rest considering Zerg is going to boil a man's corpse. That seems like it might take a while. Kind of silly though. I remind you all that an extended rest takes a full 6 ingame hours, during which your adversaries do not just stand around looking at their watches.
Cal pokes Rundarr's guts with arrowheads, but to no apparent effect. The duergar doesn't appear to have any unusual organs in his trunk. Cal lops off Rundarr's feet, leaving the boots for inspection by the cleric, and drags the corpse off to the kitchen via the south door. The kitchen slaves are beset with a mixture of delight at the death of their cruel master — and abject horror as Cal explains his intentions. Begging off, the kitchen thralls gather up the weapons from the dead duergar and head off in the direction of the Seven-Pillared Hall. The rest of G-Unit takes a rest, leaving Cal to take the first watch as he will be busy with his chemistry regardless. After quite some time spent butchering Rundarr's carcass and ripping out his various tendons, Cal realizes he has no lime with which to extract the collagen nor any lye to treat Rundarr's hide with. These are probably small matters which Cal should have considred before getting elbow-deep in dwarf guts. How awkward. Gheth examines the neatly detached feet of the duergar captain only to find nothing remarkable about the boots whatsoever. Whatever magic kept him in place must have derived from the ornate greaves he'd been wearing. Gheth hurriedly rescues the leg armor from Cal's distressingly enthusiastic experimentation with the butcher knives. http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...vengreaves.png |
The duergar has been stewing for two hours or so when Cal realized that he lacked the necessary ingredients at hand to extract glue from the creature's hide and tendons.
How embarrassing! How mortifying! How amateurish! Whatever would Unc Cal say when he sees him now? No matter, what anybody doesn't know won't hurt. Cal feels certain that none of his compatriots are apt to sing about his fumbled exploits from the rooftops. But to let off steam, Cal is content to ruin a perfectly good piece of cookware by letting Rundarr continue to simmer in his own juices. Utterly defeated in his attempt to extract any useful biological material, Cal plunges his longsword into the duergar's torso and plucks out his boiled black heart. It would make an excellent trophy, yes it will. He won't be needing his trusty longsword at any rate, what with his alter-ego having owned a much better one. Carve out Rundarr's heart, squeeze into flask, and stash in pack. Remove longsword from inventory. The rest seem to be resting from their recent exertions. For some reason, the cherubic face of the little halfling seems to stir up some long forgotten memory, though the sensation was quick to fade. As the enemy is demoralized and is unlikely to attack, Cal takes the opportunity to scout the surrounding areas and hunt for any potential valuables. Still, he is careful not to explore past the northern door (S5), though he can't help taking a little peek. Examine all surrounding rooms, and peek a little past S5. Request for map refresh. |
Shifting into low power mode, Glock sits in a chair and keeps his eye on the surroundings, but stays close enough to his weak, puny biological companions to wake them, should he feel the need.
|
His curiosity getting the better of his sense, Cal goes on all tiptoe as he gingerly peers around the corner of the... (cramped bedroom?) room north of the dining hall, with all the stealth he can muster.
His heart pounding with excitement, Cal pauses for a minute to detect for any nearby hostile presence. Stealth Check: 3 + 12 = 15 Active Perception Check: 2 + 19 = 21 What terrible rolls :( The stench emanating from his dissection exercise probably negates his attempts to be sneaky. If Cal detects no enemies, explore the black patches in the map Am I doing this right? Do I roll for active perception and add the result to passive perception? |
Cal pokes around the rest of the rooms in the fortress; the duergar have all apparently fled the structure. The large room to the north seems to be some kind of trophy room, full of questionable examples of taxidermy. The head of a massive reptile is mounted on the east wall, and a humanoid creature with strange tentacles sprouting from its face stands frozen in the southwest corner. In the southeast corner, what looks like a broken statue of an elven woman lays abandoned in a heap of rubble. Dominating the center of the room is the massive form of an 8-legged lizard. A large four-fingered stone hand is wrapped around the dead beast's neck. All the trophies are heavily weathered and dusty — they've been here a long, long time. Massive barred doors lead north.
In the southeast corner of the fort sits another bunkroom. On a table in the middle of the room sits a small leatherbound book, moderately charred as though it had been rescued from the fireplace more than once. You never need to add your passive checks to anything; that's what makes them passive. They're for DM use to determine if you notice something passively (ie, not actively looking for it). |
Cal's exploration uncovers no sign of hostiles, and plenty of gruesome curiosities. The animal skinning seems to have been expertly done, the way the stuffed figures withstood the test of time. He ponders the significance of the depicted choking of the eight-legged lizard, but puts it out of mind.
After all, there might be some meager keepsakes the human thralls left behind. Cowards more like it, without the right to call themselves cooks; the way they shirk from skinning and butchery duties filled Cal with much disappointment. Making his way into their sleeping quarters adjacent to the kitchen, Cal rummages through the room looking for something of value. Examine and take Book. Search premises for discarded thrall clothing. Take female clothing if available, for later use as disguise props. Certain that the fort contained no further hostiles, Cal exits via the southeast bridge, and puts his ear against the door of the eastern fortress. While the orcish insurrection might have cleared the area of hostiles, who knows what foolhardy duergar might have re-entered since then? Stop and listen for signs of enemy activity. If no enemy is detected, enter and examine pond at the center of the fort. If there are hostiles, draw longbow and peek inside door. |
Cal takes a look at the burned book, but while most of the pages are still intact the text itself is in an elaborate script that looks like no language Cal has even seen. Figuring he might track down a translator later, Cal tucks the book in his pack.
Sure enough, one of the kitchen wenches abandoned some of her clothing in her haste to escape. It's just a simple knee-length peasant's smock, but as disguises went Cal wasn't in a position to be picky. Trekking back through the southeast tunnel, Cal carefully examines the well sunk into the forge room. He might think that there is something to it... But in fact it is just an ordinary well. Cal sees his face upon the clear water. How dirty! |
Cal freshens up a bit with well water, washing off the more odious bits of duergar viscera that clung still from his earlier dissection.
Feeling cleaner than he has been for days, he heads for the door to the northwest of the forge, presses his ears against it, and listens carefully for enemy activity. Once the cautious changeling is sure of safety, he summons up enough courage to take a quick peek at the room beyond, before finally returning to his fellows. Carefully look outside northwest door. Return to dining hall and rejoin companions. |
"Oh, nothing to write home about," Cal breathlessly answered the courageous-looking human. Such physique! Such constitution! Such manly vigor that the changeling could only dream about, especially after his close brush with crossbow death.
"I did find this book in the kitchen, but it seems to be filled with nothing but rubbish. Perhaps you can understand the contents. I was never one for formal education. Theory? Sure, that sounds good but rarely does reality conform with tidy theoretical constructs." Cal takes out the book and hands it over, figuring the rest would be able to decipher its contents better than he could. He unsuccessfully tries to shake a nagging feeling that he's the stupidest of the bunch. "I suppose I ought to bring you up to speed. Starting with the strange transformation you saw. I was a mercenary, and took on more than what I could handle. I was been hit by a nasty spell that somehow blew a hole through my memories. Why the wizard did that, instead of killing me outright, I don't know. Delic Swagger is not a figment of my imagination. He found me wandering incoherently, and helped to treat the magical damage. As long as I was imprinted on a stable personality - his - the curse could be kept at bay. As you saw, it was not foolproof. Now that I've reverted to form, my memories of life as Delic has faded. I've no recollection why we're in this underground fortress. I don't know what we're supposed to do, and... and..." The changeling pauses as he stifles a lump in his throat. "Anyway, we need to talk. Wake the others. I have something to report." I guess I'm delaying a bit here. I'm actually waiting for any relevant updates on Cal's exploration before he gives his report. I'm also fishing for some story beats I can incorporate into future role play, based on whatever (mis)information is given - Cal's good at bluffing, but he's also good at getting bluffed. While Garrmondo wakes up the more sleep-deprived, Cal nips back into the kitchen. Sounds of splashing were followed by a scritching noise, and Cal momentarily emerges with a piece of parchment dripping with some sort of reddish goo. He presents this to the team. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//D&DMapSketch02.jpg "Shall we start?" |
Cal pokes his head out the northwest door in the east fortress, getting a glimpse at the two bridges (one from this fortress, one from the second) leading to a third stronghold, largest by far, on the opposite side of a bottomless ravine. Before he has more than a second or two to get his bearings, crossbow bolts begin to thump into the door. Cal doesn't see where the bolts are coming from, but discretion being the better part of valor decides to simply shut the heavy doors and quick-step it back to his allies via the tunnel.
Reporting his meager findings to Garrmondo, Cal hands over the mysterious book. While Garrmondo did possess a slightly greater command of languages (due to a long, unpleasant stint guarding a fire elemental which had somehow managed to get itself arrested back home), he couldn't make heads or tails of the writing either. While the script itself looked a lot like the singed notes Old Burnsides used to pass him, nothing actually seemed to add up to any words he could recognize. Shouldering his pack, Garrmondo gently wakes the others with the tip of his boot. The dwarves were only going to get more entrenched as time went by. |
After a nice nap the halfling awakes to find the changeling has returned. And with something!
"Ooh scribbles!" Gordok has a look at the book. |
"Far as I can tell, there are three fortresses in this so-called 'Horned Hold'. All three are connected to one another through a bridge; otherwise it is likely a fatal drop through a chasm.
"It appears that we've cleared out the southern forts, but the northern fort is much larger than the ones we are currently inside." Cal now points towards the right arrow. "There is a bridge leading to the northern fort from this door. I tried to explore the area but it was guarded by artillery. I heard six crossbow bolts, all coming from a trajectory I did not detect, strike the door." The changeling points towards the left arrow, and clears his throat. "There is a door in the room north of here. I have not explored beyond this door, but I am sure it leads to a bridge that goes straight to the fort. If I am not mistaken, this is the escape route of the three duergars from our last encounter. This area is likely under heavy guard as well. "So then, it is unacceptable to simply storm the fort as we are, and hope that our armor will protect us. We must devise a way to go from here to there with minimal injuries." Gesturing the table the halfling was sleeping on, Cal said, "For the three of us without shields, we can use this as a mobile projectile shield. Furthermore, we can try for a distraction or a diversion to maximize success. I see the human has improvised explosives, and I seem to vaguely recall the halfling magically setting off a display of light. Perhaps either of the two can blind the guards." "But, I think we need to ascertain where the guards are firing from. We should then assault the bridge farthest from their location - make it awkward to aim. How to do that without getting riddled with bolts, I have scarcely any idea. "That is, of course, we choose to continue our duergar-cide. I must admit I've no idea why we're here or what we're supposed to do. Is there some sort of hidden treasure here?" |
"My good friend Doorman would not abandon us in our time of need, there is no way we shall turn our back on him now. I would like to see this through, and make sure he gets the daily short breaks for which he is entitled."
|
Gordok puzzled over the book, but understood even less of it than Garrmondo had.
And also there are a couple of windows on either side of the fireplace, which were totally there the whole time. |
Normally Glock would question why it takes two idiots that long to figure out a simple novel.
But then he remembered correctly. Halflings can't read. Maybe the book is MAGIC. Sealed by a spell of anti-idiot! Time for his ROBOT POWERS once again. Arcana check |
Examining the book cautiously, Glock determines that it is, indeed, in some way magical.
He can't read it either, though. |
"Aha, see? Totally had this shit pegged, boys."
"It's fucking useless though. Written in some odd language. Back page says I must speak something called "français", whatever the fuck that is." So not as to appear stupid, however, Glock's gotta cover his ass. "You are in LUCK though. My massive robot brain knows everything there is to know about this language. It used to be spoken by a long dead tribe of smelly hairy men who were, unfortunately, as tall as elves, and as stinky as these dead grey dwarves. Foul langauge for an even fouler people." "For the safety of all concerned, we must destroy it." And with that, Glock takes the book and throws it out the nearest window, which he could have sworn wasn't there just a moment ago. |
Book + Robot = Windows?
Cal's mind has become more boggled than ever before. Might as well get started on siege preparations while the rest are standing around baffled at some book. Though He was admittedly impressed at how the intelligent robot deciphered the gobbledygook, he scoffed at book learning of all kinds. Plunder Delic's remaining 12 trail rations, 2 sunrods, waterskin, and 2 torches. Loop a length of (Delic's) rope around Gordok's table and make secure knots. That should make it easier to carry. Delic's light shield may come in handy, but kleptomaniac Cal is reasonably sure he is close to his encumbrance limit. Maybe the unshielded Halfling can use that. |
A window! Gordok knew what to do. Off his pants went and with a great backwards flying leap with his posterior leading the charge he greets the sharpshooters with two squishy targets sitting neatly on the windowsill. His buttocks firmly in place he grabs the sides of his rump and begins to speak nonsense.
"Hello over yonder! My name's Frank and today I will sing you a song of the sparrow and the delicious strawberry jam. But first I will need to tell you how I got here! You see one day a cloud rained down on the land of pumpkins locusts of unusual sizes. But the locusts did not enjoy pumpkins so they flew south until they found something more to their liking. Baked ham! The fuzzy eldergillies of the pinetree kingdom were having a great crop of pigs, pigs, and more pigs so they all decided to go on a pic-nic. That's when the locusts struck first. But they forgot their napkins back at the land of pumpkins. Baked ham can be a troublesome affair. Always have napkins. So once they had retrieved their napkins they returned to find that all the baked ham and eldergillies had fled down the rapids with old riverboat captain Uncle Russelpants-McGee. Saddened by the disappearance of baked ham the locusts turned twice and died on the spot. Hundreds of years later that spot became the location of a famous city full of casinos and whorehouses and all kinds of fun stuff. But all who enter this city begin to crave baked ham if they stay for more than a week. As a result the eldergillies always had a steady demand for pigs, pigs, and more pigs. Now what you have to understand about eldergillies is that to most people they are invisible and require the use of a portal in order to communicate. Unfortunately, the portal isn't exactly a pleasant one and come a prude age later most of the eldergillies were wiped out. I am the last of the eldergillies. My voice now reaches you through this halfling's anus, and now that you know my story I will sing my song. Right after I clear my throat. Gordok releases something evil out the side of the building. This is very unpleasant for everyone. |
Getting antsy about his comrades' apparent willingness to just stand around and release flatulence at kitchen windows that face nothing but rocks, Cal drags the table to the trophy room, stands behind a window he swore he never saw before, and carefully studies the terrain beyond.
"Will one of you either toss a duergar corpse on the bridge, or poke the door open with a 20-foot stick, or otherwise do anything loud and/or offensive so I can tell where these bolts are coming from?" Cal tries to see where the sharpshooters are coming from while one of the G-Men do something to trigger a response. Pay special attention to any monsters that may be skulking beside the totally illuminated windows on the other side of the ravine. Perception Check: First minute: 4 + 9 = 13 Second minute: 18 + 9 = 27 Map pliss? |
Glock obliges the shapeshifter and throws random useless shit out the door.
Some of the spare meat from the food closet, Rundarr's feet (sans shoes), the dead guard, a chair, a doorknob, and an ale keg are all tossed out onto the bridge in attempts to elicit a response from the other side. |
Cal assembles the team at the trophy room, and briefs the troops.
"Very well, everyone. Fortune favors the bold. Let's get into formation. The enemy is located [straight ahead / at three o'clock ]. We'll rush the bridge. If momentum can't carry us past the door, the human should be able to break it with his strength." "If you want to make any preparatory blinding attacks, now's the time." "On 'Charge'. One... two... " The formation: Garr up front, hoisting right table leg on right shoulder. Right hand covers right flank with his shield. Glock besides Garr, hoisting left table leg on left shoulder. Right hand is covering Garr's head with his shield tilted upwards. Gheth at the back of Garr, hoisting right table leg on right shoulder. Right hand covers right flank with his shield. Cal behind Glock, hoisting left table leg on left shoulder. Right hand is covering Gheth's head with Delic's shield tilted upwards. Gordok is perched on Gheth's shoulder, holding up both shields for stability. Everyone is ducking. Looks kinda like this: http://upload.jetsam.org/images/Chaaarge!.png Rationale We can run seven squares in a move action. Double-move should bring us to the other side within six seconds (the length of a single round) assuming the bridge is no longer than 70 feet (14 squares). |
Glock flings the probably-worthless old book out the totally-there the-whole-time window, while Cal ties harnesses to the dining table for use as an mobile bulwark. Gathering in the trophy room (where there also are some windows, for sure), the group makes last-minute preparations to assault the third fortress.
Gordok, with the sharpest eyes in the group, gazes out the windows to look on the doors at the opposite end of the bridge. The large doors are slightly ajar, and some contraption is parked between them. It looks much like an oversized crossbow resting on a tripod. Maybe this is the "artillery" the fleeing duergar referred to. Filled with contempt for their cowardice, Gordok heaves himself up upon the windowsill and moons the contraption. He is promptly shot in the ass. The artillery may look like crossbows, but the ammunition is large enough to be a spear. Gordok quickly gets down from the window. 8 damage to Gordok Short on patience, Glock flings open the bridge doors and throws a bunch of crap on the bridge — more as an apparent act of provocation that anything else. Soon the first few yards of the bridge are cluttered with garbage. The enemy does fire a spear into the guard's carcass before they realize what they're shooting, but determining their position is sort of redundant after Gordok's recently (ahem) triangulation. Crouching behind the table and hefting Gordok onto their shoulders, the party charges down the bridge. The doors on the opposite end of the bridge are flung open, and two of the massive crossbow-like contraptions open fire on the bridge. The two surviving scouts from the last battle stand behind it, firing with their crossbows as well. At least three guards with hammers stand behind them, waiting for G-Unit to make it across the bridge (if they do). None of them resemble the guard that escaped before, at least from this distance. Putting their shoulders to the table, the party covers most of the bridge in a single extended lunge (slowed slightly by having to step over all the crap Glock threw in their way). A few yards short of the goal, the table suffers a massive crack down the middle — it's a pincushion, and it absorbs one more spearshot before snapping completely in half. G-Unit has a little further to go to fight their way off the bridge. Not much of the interior of the fort ahead can be seen from this vantage, but there's another set of double doors behind the cluster of guards. As the door snaps apart, Glock takes a spear in the chest. This is not quite so lethal for him as it would be for his meatsack companions, but it's a terrible fashion accessory. As he rips it out, he sees the human to his right bleeding from a similar wound. Next time try having better-shielded fluid distribution mechanisms, chump! Glock notices the arbalesters are firing entirely on their own — nobody's actually operating them. Automatons! A pity they seemed less inclined to talk than the orcs had. 10 damage to Glock Critical Hit! 14 damage to Garrmondo The scouts continue firing on the front line with their crossbows, scoring a serious wound on Garrmondo even as he rips the spear from his shoulder. 10 seconds into the battle and the human's not looking so good. In retrospect it might have been better to not let the newcomer do all the battle planning. 12 damage to Garrmondo (bloodied) Stats! Arbalesters AC 16 Fortitude 15 Reflex 17 Will 15 Guards AC 20 Fortitude 17 Reflex 15 Will 15 Scouts AC 18 Fortitude 18 Reflex 16 Will 16 :savepoint: Initiative: Gheth 13, Cal 11, Gordok 10, Duergar Guards 9, Garrmondo 8, Glock 4, Arbalesters 19, Duergar Scouts 13 |
Gheth's nap had been nice. After waking, he found himself daydreaming, studying the underside of the table he was carrying and considering its many mysteries, as well as the possibility of writing a treatise some time in the future on the phosphorescent mushrooms of the Underdark, but he was now interrupted by fluid spray from his compatriots. Well, if that was how they were going to be about it.
His blood was up now, and he charged the blob of enemies heedlessly, with a resounding decree shouted across the closing distance. "And not one of you is getting into my thank yous, you ugly bearded bastards!" As he closes the final gap, feet pounding stone and a wild look in his eye, his bloodlust is complicated somewhat by the desire to sneeze. Well, clearly the owners of that table had treated it poorly if it had that much mold in it. And unfortunately for the dwarves, they happen to be in front of him when he has both hands occupied and a preternatural affinity for cold. He'd not stand on manners after they shot his friends with a ballista. "EEEEECHHHH.....CHEEEEEEEWW" Gheth sniffs. "And someone start working on that gods-blasted door! How about you, sleeves?" Move to AC -4 Dragon's Gesundheit so as to hit all but back Guard (damages: 5, 8, X, 4, 6, 3) Divine Fortune on Scout B so as to hit with 16 Healing Word on Garrmondo |
Well that certainly shut Frank up. Yeah, it would be a while until the eldergilly would get a chance to sing again. A failed tank ride later and the halfling is starting to feel a little butthurt about this situation, so Gordok moves up towards the broken table. On his way passing by Glock he whispers something to his metal friend. His eyes light up and a mischievous ghoulish smile appears across his blocky features. This would be most entertaining.
Gordy reaches his destination and then... http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/armadillotime.jpg Ready Tundra Wind Move to AE - 4 Wild Shape armadillo |
Oh, the best laid plans of men and changelings! They don't make tables the way they used to, Cal rues.
Cal takes cover behind his robotic meatshield, designates Guard C as his quarry, takes Careful Aim at him, and magically shoots through the tin man. 11 - 2 (no line of fire) + 12 = 21, vs. 20, hit. Damage = 1 + 2 + 7 = Fuck you damage dice _____________ http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battle02.png If there are any errors or anything, do tell me! |
"Look out!" shouts the guard in the rear. "His terrifying dragon's breath shall sear the very flesh from—"
EEEEECHHHH.....CHEEEEEEEWW And so it was that Trenchfoot Bronzeboots, Acting Intermediary Guard Captain of Outpost Thunderspire, immediately abandoned any illusions of a long career as a ranking officer. A scant few hours after his emergency promotion, and already he found himself dripping with a vile slime, cold and clammy to the touch. He stared with dismay as the "dragon's breath" oozed down the front of his chainmail. So this is how it ends, he mused. Like a used kerchief. As he ponders life's many indignities, there is a thwip! from the back of the enemy lines and Trenchfoot finds that he has developed an intriguing new facial piercing. He bites down on the arrow shaft that protrudes through his cheek, spitting the broken ammunition on the floor. Tastes like bile. Somebody tried to poison this thing and failed badly at it. Sighing heavily, he raps on the wall next to him, speaking in an exaggeratedly loud voice as though to get the attention of someone who might be... distracted. "Madam Theurge, we have a situation here with a—" He eyes Gheth with a mixture of wariness and disgust. "a dragon. Whatever help you and your consort can offer would be greatly appreciated, O Mistress Of The Dark Arts. Especially considering your new friend there is supposed to be on duty." Rolling his eyes, Trenchfoot urges his guards forward. "Don't just stand there dripping, idiots! Protect the artillery! You're replaceable, they aren't!" And with that the guards wade into melee, charging past the ranks of scouts and arbalesters. The first guard to charge in seems almost to ignore the obvious threat Gheth represents, staring in bafflement at the little armored ball that had appeared in the middle of the bridge for no obvious reason. Experimentally, he hits it with a hammer. It squeaks. Good enough. 9 damage to Gordok Whipping around Gheth to flank him, the second guard neatly bonks the cleric upside the head. Trenchfoot seems to consider following suit, but elects instead to wipe the back of his hand on Gheth's shiny chainmail. Then he spits on it, for good measure. 7 damage to Gheth :savepoint:Garrmondo 8, Glock 4, Arbalesters 19, Duergar Scouts 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Gordok 10, Duergar Guards 9 |
Cal is getting more dismayed by the minute at the way the defenders dismantled his intricately-devised plan. Not only did his brilliant idea to use Rundarr's guts to poison the arrowheads fail to be effective, but at the way the Duergar commander so nonchalantly destroyed his precious arrow disgusted Cal. Those things aren't cheap, you dirty little gnome. The way you chew through them, you'd think arrow shafts grew on trees!
He looks pleadingly at the metal man in front of him, hoping, wishing, praying that he has something brilliant planned. "Please!"' Edit: Situation after Colonel Skills' post, and assuming Garr delays until after Skills plays. We should be expecting a naked Theurge (whatever it is), and one more duergar to join the battle. At the least. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battle04.png |
this is how it's done kid
Stupid dragon. He's in the way of COMBO ATTACK. WHAT A FOOL. However, he notices one of the guards swing a little wide when aiming at the cleric. Glock whips out a little whistle and blows on it. No one can hear it except dogs and dragons, and the cleric perks up and runs away from the invisible sound a little bit, while making some sort of odd barking noise. The dragon only got a few feet before regaining his civilized demeanor, but that's all that was needed anyway. The guard next to him seems puzzled and follows him as he does this. Virtue of Cunning Gheth shifted to AB-6 Advantage of Cunning Guard C to AC-5 Fuck yeah, a football. Glock loved football, if only because he was some seriously pro shit. The organics he played with didn't like him too much though. Why, he remembered a time when he used to play with some local school children. In particular, he recalled one time where he kicked a ball so hard that when one of the 8 year old kids who "wanted to play the big friendly robot" took it in the face, the force of the impact blew the child apart into hundreds of slimey gibblets. Ok, so he played ONE GAME before getting chased out of town. Bah, technicalities. Regardless, it's time to show the world who's boss. "Fuck you world! I'm RoboPelé" Picking up the oddly scaley ball sitting next to him, Glock punts it... http://colonelskills.belkanairforce....hind-enemy.jpg Shift to AE-5 Punt Acer's round, scaley aerodynamic ass to AA-3 KAPOW As soon as the ball lands, it unfolds into a somewhat flustered armadillo. Turns out it was only flustered beca... Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: ...indigestion. Right. Acer's readied Tundra Wind Hi Pang Blast 3. Aimed at AB-5 through AD-3 15 + 6 = 21 > 17. Guard A hit. 5 + 6 = 11 < 17. Guard B miss. 12 + 6 = 18 > 17. Guard C hit. 14 + 6 = 20 > 15. Arbalester A hit. 20 [CRITICAL BITCHES] + 6 = 26 > 15. Arbalester A MAJOR FUCKED UP. TABLE OF DAMAGE (even though it's useless. Holy shit though some good rolls) GUARD A takes 12 + 4 = 16 damage GUARD C takes 10 + 4 = 14 damage Arbalester A takes 12 + 4 = 16 damage Arbalester B takes BAM 12 + 4 + 2 = 18 damage like a little bitch. TABLE OF SHIFTS Guard A SHIFTED TO AE-3. OFF BRIDGE. DEAD Guard C SHIFTED TO AD-6. OFF BRIDGE. DEAD Arbalester A SHIFTED TO AC-5 --> AD-6. OFF BRIDGE. DEAD Arbalester B SHIFTED TO AC-4 --> AD-3. OFF BRIDGE. DEAD And all the sudden EVERYTHING GOES TO HELL. The force of that thing was massive enough that everyone and their cat in the nearby vicinity went flying. Even the spear chuckers got nothing on this. They may have been on wheels, but they might as well been made of cardboard, as they took off and flew off the bridge, smashing on top of the guards that fell off only moments before. Only one guard withstood the small pig like thing's...emanations. And it only lucked out because it had a broken nose with which it could not smell out of. |
Though the arbalesters fall to their deaths with a quiet dignity, the duergar scream in terror as they plummet into the inky darkness of the ravine.
Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: And the rest, after a sudden wet thud, was silence. Curiously enough, the only thing that goes through the mind of the arbalesters as they fall is "Oh no, not again". Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the arbalesters thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the universe than we do now. Gordok, for his part, has an unfortunate boot-shaped bruise in his side. Totally worth it, though. 4 damage to Gordok from robot kick. The scouts flee to the far end of the room, bereft of their meatshields and terrified of the small gaseous ball that has annihilated their comrades. "Kill it, brother! Before it does the same to us!" The scouts pepper the little armadillo with bolts, but their hands are too shaky to hit much of anything. The door next to Gordok swings open. A haggard and leathery middle-aged duergar woman peers out on the ridiculous scene, still struggling to get her left arm through the sleeve of her robe. "What's all the damn racket out—" She glances at the spattering of blood on the bridge and the total absence of the guards, and immediately assesses the situation. "Well, shit on a platter. I told those boys they oughta put some handrails on there, but noooooo. Ortak, get your damn boots on and get out here, we got ourselves a situation." Stats! Helga (Duergar Theurge): AC 19 Fortitude 16 Reflex 16 Will 18 Ortak: as ordinary Duergar Guard :savepoint: Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Duergar Scouts 13 |
From outnumbered to nigh victorious, and it was all thanks to the druid! And the automaton footballer, but Cal was sure the halfling deserves most of the credit.
Cal gains a new respect for the little guy, but worries for his welfare. The creature, disgusting as he might be with his bodily function attacks, is a tactical genius who must be preserved. Cal's not quite ready to take on the duergar wench who seems to be having a post-orgasmic glow, and the panting duergar guard right behind her. Let the dragon handle the hag, he could belch in her face or something. At the least slam the door in her face. (Or both, incidentally). Cal contents himself with providing a bit of cover from the other direction for the halfling. It's the least a cowardly chameleon could do, right? Cal elbows past the human, and rushes right next to the battered and almost-bloodied armadillo. Quickly marking a nearby Scout, he lets loose upon the duergar. Cal hopes the evil dwarf doesn't chew up the ammunition this time. Run to AA-4, Hunter's Quarry on Scout B. Shadow Wasp Strike. 18 + 10 = 28 vs 20 (hit) 8 + 7 + 8 = 23 damage Accursed damage dice. Pang, can you provide defense stats on Helga and Ortak? Can we assume Ortak has regular Duergar guard stats of AC:20 Fort:17 Ref:15 Will:15? http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battle07.png Updated to after Acerbandit's move. |
In a spectacular display, a whole squad of defenders was blown out over the abyss, screaming doom as they tumbled free. Were Gheth not a cleric, he might revel in the sudden explosive carnage. But they were committed now to this fight, and as it was, he could only think one thing:
Woe betide any malcontents that would dare to face Team Gas Problems. Move to AA -2 Healing Strike on Helga with surge to Gordy Pray for the souls of the belch-ridden |
"My goodness, Derek. I have been shot."
"So you have, Erik. How dreadful this is." "Indeed, Derek. As it is in our nature to shoot others, it is quite grim that we ourselves should be shot to death." "Quite so, Erik. Ironic, don't you think?" "Brother, it is not unlike being offered a free ride — for example, in one of Menzoberranzan's famous drider carriages — when one has already bartered one's firstborn into servitude for the privilege of said ride." "The important thing, Erik, is that my son forgave me once we had burned down the carriage house and slain all within." "Quite." Scout B bloodied Not being a terribly selective man, Gheth spots the first arguably female creature he's seen in some time and hastily darts over to get his spear wet. She doesn't much seem to appreciate his ministrations. Story of his life. "My goodness, last time I saw so many men lookin' to play with little old me, must have been a good 15 years ago. Me an' my best friend Lurleen — she was a blonde, don'tcha know, not a lick of sense in her head — and we was just out carousing one night when wouldn't you know it but we run right into a band of doppelgangers livin' under Dead Owl Bridge. That was one hell of a time right there, I tell you what. It all started gettin' real weird when —" Helga goes on and on at great length, telling a repulsive tale of epic debauchery that crosses every line of morality, common sense, and species distinction. When at long last she reaches the conclusion of her tale (which concludes with her being left for dead by an exhausted incubus who'd run out of patience), much of G-Unit is almost paralyzed by a sense of horrified disgust. Wave of Despair centered on AC-4 9 damage to Gordok & Garrmondo; both are slowed & dazed (single save ends both) While Gheth is still trying to process the several anatomical impossibilities he's just heard about, Helga squeezes past him into the corridor. :savepoint: Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Duergar Scouts 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11 |
It had been a while since Gordok had felt this ill. He'd certainly heard worse but he had come off a bit dizzy after his landing and that must have made him more susceptible to words.
Although nauseated this armadillo didn't appreciate being turned into a hedgehog and exacted a volley of its own. Eldritch Blast Scout B Saving throw 19 damage to Scout B and successful saving throw~ |
Scout B pulls a small monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket, coughing up a spray of blood.
"Derek, it seems that the tiny animal has surely doomed me. My life is nearly at an end." "Erik, my brother, when you have gone, might I be granted possession of your most extensive collection of rare portraiture from the far east?" "You refer, Derek, to the erotic woodcuts I had imported from Kara-Tur." "Yes, precisely that." "Alas, dear brother, I have already willed those items to a nephew of mine." "How unfortunate." Ortak finishes fastening his trousers and sets about trying to dislodge the dragon from the doorway. Gheth scarcely notices the duergar thwacking away at him. Trigger Infernal Anger Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Duergar Scouts 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8 |
Completely unphased by the sexually charged story he just heard, Glock wondered why some of his companions seem disgusted.
The shapeshifter winked at Glock, though. Perhaps he was a much dirtier man(?) than he let on. Glock, though, was all about this shit. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Playing a seductive tune on his flute, he walked into the doorway, leaned against the wall and folded his arms, striking a tall mysterious (and sexy) stranger pose. Most of the rest of the group takes this opportunity to not be so bunched up. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Flute of the Dancing Satyr Glock to saunter up AC-5 Cal to Z-5 Gordy to AA-4 Tipping up the brim of his hat, he looks at the woman and raises an eyebrow. Words of Friendship "Baby, you don't know the half of it. You sound like my kinda gal." "You think those organics can treat you right? Nothing has the staying power of solid steel. You and me, we can make beautiful music together. Everything you've just told me doesn't even compare to my conquests. But together, together we can be the stuff of legends." "What do you say baby? You and me? You want a piece of this steely man meat? You won't be disappointed. You know you want it. You help us make these guys see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'll make you see stars." Diplomacy Check Try to make her side with us in exchange for robosex. 13 + 5 + 12 = 30 How you gonna act |
Helga seems to consider Glock's offer for a moment, then looks around the battle skeptically.
"Y'already got us both outnumbered and outmaneuvered, and now you reckon you need even more help? All hat and no cattle, I think. Take your beatin' like a man, mister. Next time you decide you want to negotiate with somebody I recommend you do it before you start throwing the dismembered limbs of their friends around like so much laundry. Your fancy hat'll only take you so far. Erik, you're no use in the shape you're in. Go take Gorg off his leash before you have a fainting spell." Seemingly alarmed by the suggestion, Scout B nonetheless staggers toward the double doors at the north of the room and shoves them open before painfully limping down the hall. "May you die before he gnaws on you overmuch, brother!", Scout A shouts, moving to block the corridor and buy Erik enough time for his task. :savepoint:Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Duergar Scouts 13 |
Being a man of few words, Gheth takes Helga's last proclamation as his cue.
Lance of Faith on Helga with bonus to Garrmondo (8 damage) Block door/sit on hands :( |
The theurge's sordid tale didn't faze Cal in the very least. Why, when he was an unruly teenaged changeling, he used to hang around with a crowd of equally unruly shapeshifters. Every Friday night was a mad orgy of drunkenness and debauchery, the likes of which would have burned Gordok and Garrmondo's ears clean off. Most of the time they recruited easy pickings from the local tavern, but sometimes it was more fun to wait under a lightly-trafficked bridge and ambush a couple of sweet things.
Cal wasn't picky about gender or species. Having the ability to change forms in the blink of an eye pretty much means copulation can be experienced in all of its myriad forms, and with all possible combinations, phalluses, and orifices of every size and shape. But he's never done it with a sentient machine... yet. The robot doesn't seem to be affected by the wench's recollections in the very least, and Cal can tell the bard is quite the experienced Lothario (but do machines have gender?). He turns to the robot and winks. From the corner of his eye, Cal catches the wounded Scout attempt to run to safety. He would normally sympathize, having done it countless times before. This time? He isn't eager to face any reinforcements, and this "Gorg" sounds quite like an unruly pet troll or orc. Cal casually strolls past the fleeing Scout's friend (who, like him, was wielding a ranged weapon that can't take advantage of attacks of opportunity), designates him as his latest quarry, and gives him a new nose piercing via an arrowhead. Careful attack on Derik (Scout A). 12 + 12 + 1 (prime shot) = 25 vs 18, HIT. Derik is damaged for 10+2+4 = 16 HP. Strolling past the wounded scout, Cal cooly lets another attack loose on the fleeing duergar. Cal spares his life and hits him in a non-vital (if you don't wish to procreate, that is) spot, but the duergar drops down as if he was dead anyway. Insurance, Cal thinks, in case his more savage companions kill Helga in their enthusiasm. They could always kill Erik later. Move to T-5. Spend Action Point, careful attack on Erik (Scout B). 19 + 12 + 1 (prime shot) = 32 vs 18, HIT. Erik is damaged for 9+2=11 HP. Shoot to wound. Cal coolly turns to face Derik, his eyebrows arched in dramatic fashion. "There's yet time to save your life you know. Don't give it up for some lost cause. Why don't you consider dropping your weapon and sitting this one out? It might be mutually beneficial. Once we clear out this fortress of defenders, who's to say anything if we leave quietly and let you take over as lord and master? Why, it might have been you who drove us ruffians off." "Decide quickly," Cal says as he gestures to the horde. "My lackeys are bloodthirsty. You will not have a second chance." http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battle09.png I'd appreciate some melee help on Erik. That way we can block off this escape route and more quickly concentrate on the rest of the combatants. This chart is now updated after Helga's move. |
Darting down the corridor, Cal snaps off two arrows — dropping Erik in his tracks and giving Derek a stern warning not to try the same gambit. Though he's stopped the duergar from opening the northern doors, there's a significant amount of audible noise behind them now that he's closer. Something heavy is stomping around and smashing into the walls — while a guttural voice (for whom Common is clearly a second language at best) evidently tries to reason with the massive thing.
Scout B "Gorg, please listen more better! Duergar need you but, see, you not need them! You has nothing to lose but your chains! Gorg, why you eat my sergeant? That not nice. If you hurt one of us you hurt all of us, Gorg! It hurt me when you messily devour us. It hurt me right here." Judging from the agonized scream that follows, Gorg is not easily persuaded. Briefly relaying the situation behind the door to the rest of the party, Cal makes another attempt to appeal to the scout's rational self-interest. Derek gives Cal the sort of incredulous stare one reserves for either the amazingly brilliant or the marvelously stupid, yanking the arrow out of his nose and flinging it into the ravine. "Yes, that's a fascinating proposal you have there. But sadly, I only make business deals on days in which I haven't been shot in the face. I'm sorry, but I cannot budge on this matter, and even if you were to stop shooting me in the face I'm all booked up for the next week." Erik lets out an agonized howl as Cal introduces him to his new life as a eunuch, and Helga rolls her eyes. "Damned fool can't even get hisself killed right. As for the rest of you, what in the hells do you even—" Helga's inquiry is cut off by a sudden burp. A horrible smell wafts by Gheth; a mixture of stale beer, old cheese, and... he sniffs, curious. Is that lutefisk? "Damn, that don't taste as good on the way up. Now, like I was sayin'—" The rest of the noxious gas in Helga's system pours out in a massive belch: a roiling cloud of stench that seems to curdle the very air it passes. Gheth (suspecting what was to come) shields himself behind the door and avoids the worst of it. Some aren't so lucky. Overloaded with particulates, Glock's visual receptors shut down for temporary maintenance until the blockage can be cleared. The armadillo just issues a pitiful squeak. Garrmondo catches a whiff himself, but he doesn't seem to be much bothered by it; you spend a few long nights guarding the drunk tanks and you get pretty used to the godawful things that'll pour out of a body. Shift to AB 0, Vile Fumes centered on AB -5 14 damage to Glock and Gordok; both bloodied, both blinded until after Helga's next turn. :savepoint: Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Duergar Scout 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11 |
Gordok would have to do something nasty to get all of this odor off him later. For now he'd heal up while staggering about.
Wild Shape - blind halfling Second Wind Move to Y -7 |
Ortak sidles past Gheth's position in the doorway, visibly frustrated. He makes another wild swing at the cleric's head and catches a whole lotta air.
A single tear trickles down his face. Shift to AA-3 Switch on Infernal Anger again Swing an' a miss :savepoint: Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Duergar Scout 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8 |
With a small whirring noise, a small compartment opened above Glock's visual input devices. Little windshield wipers extended and began to wipe away the burp chunks he just got covered in.
Move to AA-7 Warforged Resolve +5 Temp HP. +5 Real HP. "Aww, sweetycakes, you don't know what you're missing. You be missin' out on some of this action, yo'" Although Glock can't really see, he turns in the rough direction of the little lady and starts thrusting his pelvis back and forward fast enough to create some serious motion blur. Anyone looking at him sees a swishy steel crotch moving at near the speed of sound. "IMAGINE WHAT YOU'RE MISSING. That's what you get for settling for tiny dwarf penis though, I guess." Vicious Mockery on Helga. Blinded be damned. Need a 16+. COME ON BIG MONEY BIG MONEY NO WHAMMIES NO WHAMMIES. STOP. LETS DO THIS. Ahahaha. 16 + 7 - 5 = 18 = 18. Hit. 5 + 5 = 10 damage. Helga takes -2 to hit penalty. Glancing towards the hallway, Glock yells out "Doorman, it me, Secret Orc! That you? What you situation? How many Tango? How many friendly?" |
Helga bloodied by Vicious Mockery
Ortak swings wildly as Garrmondo rushes past him, but his aim is no better than before. His head's been swimming for what seems like hours — and, in retrospect, he can't recall how he came to be in Helga's quarters in the first place. He feels violated. The surviving scout makes a mad rush for the north door, only to have the doors fly open in his face — flung apart by the orcish doorman in an attempted flight from the next room. The doorman's formerly-pristine chainmail hangs off his shoulders in tatters, and he shoves his way past Cal, fleeing to the south. He's bleeding badly. Shrugging, the scout hits Cal with a hammer. That's what they pay him for. 10 damage to Cal Beyond the doorway stands a massive greenish-yellow hulk, its skin covered in a smattering of scaly plates. Spotting Cal, the beast issues a terrible roar and throws aside the mangled orc corpse it clutches in its massive fist — discarding it alongside two other similarly-ruined orcs behind it. Relatively safe for the moment behind the temptingly squishy prey that Cal represents, the doorman spots Glock and takes a moment to relay the situation to the blinded bard. "They has—" The doorman pauses for a moment, catching his breath. "— a cave troll." Stats! Troll AC 20 Fort 22 Ref 20 Will 18 :savepoint: Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Doorman 19, Duergar Scout 13 |
Cal Elle soars effortlessly through the sky, faster than a speeding arrow, more powerful than any four-horse carriage. Shell-shocked minions below could only gawk. It's a bird! It's a dragon, no! It's —
— a changeling getting smacked on the head by a duergar who apparently wielded a crossbow in one arm, and a rather painful hammer in the other. That was, of course, after said changeling soiled his pants after stuff happened and he laid eyes on Gorg. If Cal didn't know any better, he swore the world was trying to kill them all. Snapped out of the reverie, Cal instinctively recoils from the danger, and is blasted back ten feet, almost stumbling over Erik's prone form. Yield ground, shift to V-5 Feeling faint from the prospect of facing two enemies without meatshields, Cal decides that a tactical retreat is in order. Yelling out "TROLLLLLLLL" in an oddly falsetto voice, he breaks into a sprint, narrowly misses hitting the friendly(?) orc that rushed out the door, and carefully avoided the reach of the rather ugly-looking duergar guard engaging with the Dragon. Cal pauses long enough gawk The ranger terminates his ignominious retreat at the bridge, and pauses to catch his breath. With his heart beating wildly in his chest, Cal racks his brain for any important scrap of information he has learned about trolls. There has to be some reason why he was so scared of them. Take a route that doesn't trigger Ortak's AoO Nature Check on Gorg. Take 10, for a total check value of 19. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battlea14.png Why am Pang trying to kill us? :( Anyway, we have Helga's max potential HP (since she's bloodied after taking a 10HP hit at 25 damage, it can go anywhere from 26*2=52 to 35*2=70). I'm assuming the guard has about the same as she does. I don't know Gorg's HP, maybe Skills can scan it? Pang says four orcs hit Gorg once. Gorg has AC of 20, and orcs have +10 to AC, which means they hit him for rolls of 10 and over. The lowest possible damage roll of 2d4+4 is 6, with critical of 12. Each orc has 10 chances (hit roll of 10 to 19) to produce average damage of 9 [(6+12)/2) and 1 chance to hit critical for 12 HP. So the average damage output per orc is 9.27 {[(9x10)+12]/11} for estimated damage of 37 hp. Damage ranges from 24 (all 1s) to 48 (all crits). I am in great probability overthinking this, aren't I Pang? This chart is updated to after Glock's turn. |
His vision was all a blur but his ears had heard doors open and what was this? A foul yet sweet smell hit Gordok's nose. Could it be? Oh could it?! Answering his pleads the door man drew near to make his proclamation. Gordy's heart began to beat faster at his words. Joy of joys they has a cave troll! Leaning against the wall Gordok smiles brightly as tears begin to form in his eyes. They has a cave troll.
|
There was a scrabbling sound from around the corner, and one of the orcs from their earlier battle flew into the room breathlessly, gibbering about a troll in the next room.
Gheth's experience with trolls being relatively limited, he wonders why a round belly and pointed, colorful hairstyle could instill so much fear into one being. Shrugging to himself, he continues his diligent spearwork. Shift to AA -1 Righteous brand on Helga with bonus to Garrmondo (8 damage) Read up on this whole shifting thing |
Grimly, Gheth continues to poke holes in the frumpy woman. If she didn't want to be murdered, she should have led a life which led her to be less objectionable. Good manners are their own reward.
Practically springing into the air as the troll smashes through the doorway, Cal retreats back to the bridge at top speed — trying to recall what he'd learned about trolls in his travels. Helga backs into the corner, waving her hammer around threateningly. "Jes' figures. I get warmed up and y'all scatter all over the place. Worst guests I ever did have. Well, here's a goin' away present. Never say I didn't give y'nothin." She flings her hammer toward the west end of the room, and the weapon begins to glow an angry red mid-flight. The weapon smashes into the floor near Glock's feet, sending a shower of red-hot stones into the air as the hammer blasts a crater in the floor. The bard pays it little mind, being vaguely aware of something warm in the vicinity but not quite able to make it out. He will only realize what occurred much later when he discovers the large holes burned through his jaunty hat. Cal (already in a state of great agitation at the appearance of the troll) flings himself to the ground as he spots the hammer flying in his general direction. Going prone, he reasoned, was the solution to most of life's problems. Only moments later he realized the folly in his plan: the bridge was made of stone, and stone hurts when you throw yourself at it. Brimstone Hail centered at AB-6 8 fire damage to Cal (knocked prone) :savepoint:Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Doorman 19, Duergar Scout 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Helga 11 (but probably dead) |
Oh the pungent stench was drifting more steadily. Wiping his tears aside Gordok was able to see! Bless you, cave troll. For you have given the miracle of sight to this halfling. However, basking in such pleasant fumes would have to wait. A witch must die tonight.
Move to AB -5 Eldritch Blast Helga Warlock's Curse Ortak Helga is hit for 13 damage! Ortak is cursed~ and receives 1 damage |
Gordok fires a blast of spooky evil at the nasty old woman, and she gratifyingly crumples against the wall like a toppled house of cards. She didn't crumple quite as well as the last house of cards he had toppled, of course, but not every adventure can end with being chased from the Sembian Hobbyists Tourney of Champions by an angry mob. Ah, the salad days. No, wait. That was last month.
Despite his confusion, Ortak reacts badly to the death of his recent paramour. Tucking his hammer into his belt, he lunges at Gordok and grabs the halfling around the neck. Gordok grabbed and uh I didn't think this through all the way :savepoint: Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Doorman 19, Duergar Scout 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8 |
Glock's pelvis was still shaking. Faster....faster....faster.
It just don't stop, son. It wasn't long before the guard could hear a high pitched noise emanating from Glock's crotch. Instead of a whirr though, it was just Glock saying "OH YEAH BABY OH YEAH DON'T STOP" as fast as he could. The steel blur kept undulating until there was a sudden EXPLOSIVE NOISE. As it broke the speed barrier, the robo-nether regions came to a sudden halt. The rapidly expanding shockwave flew out and hit Ortak right in the face. Vicious Mockery on Ortak 13 + 7 = 20 > 15. Hit. 6 + 5 = 11 damage. Ortak takes the same -2 to hit penalty. You know the drill. The guard looked a little stunned. He may have the little one by the neck, but the sheer awesomeness he just saw blanked him to the point of forgetting what came next. As Glock sauntered past the guard, congratulating himself on still havin' it, he could hear Ortak murmer "Helga would have been dead either way. This is probably for the best." Move to AA-2. |
Cal is slowly rethinking his philosophy of going prone as a form of self-defense. Although the witch's hammer missed him by a mile, the introduction of hard stone to his face was ... unpleasant at the very least.
Fortunately, his nose seems to have taken the worst of the impact. Cal may have a glass jaw, but he has an iron nose. A lifetime of getting punched in the face does that to a body. Still, one more nasty fall like that, and Cal's certain his blood will be on the ground. And his nose will probably need the warhammer treatment just to put back into shape. Cal is certainly frightened by trolls. The last time he encountered one, it didn't turn out well. While his friend De'h Nikalis survived the encounter, he was never the same after that. Deh's injury was rather injurious for a dwarf - he had to sit to whiz for the rest of his life. The injury was of course for a changeling who could regenerate such an unimportant body part. No, what was truly frightening was the creature's immune system, which seemingly regrows vital limbs and organs every time De'h carves one out. Cal was to learn much later, when safely ensconced in a library, that trolls were vulnerable to either fire or acid. All this thought about body parts reminded Cal of the delicious Rundarr stew still cooking in the kitchen. Trolls love to eat, don't they? Maybe the prospect of a nice hot meal will cause Gorg to be more hospitable to the team! Cal can't speak Giant, more's the pity. But maybe his teammates can. Gotta keep up the orc-speak for doorman's sake though. It wouldn't do to have the orc turn on the party, after all. "Orc orc! I has nice hot meal in kitchen! Anyone has Giant speak? Tell Gorg offer! If he no fight us, we has nice hot yumyums to give him!" |
Garrmondo sidles next to the distracted guard, taking careful aim at the troll down the corridor. The difficult trajectory necessitated by guiding the missile past the two dwarves in his way makes a direct hit on Gorg nearly impossible, but after passing through the torch mounted on the wall the bottle arcs down between the troll's legs and smashes on the floor behind him. The little blaze barely seems to harm the troll, but he recoils from it nonetheless.
2 fire damage to Gorg Doorman looks at Cal with a harried expression: he has no idea where this lunatic has come from or where he got the idea that trolls could be reasoned with. "You crazy. He eat 5 of us already! He not hungry no more! Just mad!" The troll turns his dim gaze on the discussion, trying to spot the chattering pair amongst the crowd of bodies in the area. Raising one of his massive clawed hands, he points a gnarled finger in Cal's general direction and speaks one of the dozen or so words of Common his handlers have been able to teach him. "NOISY!" Gorg stomps down the hall, shoving the duergar scout aside and scooping up the terrified doorman. Gordok can't entirely make out the angry roars Gorg is shouting in the orc's face (Giant is a complex language at the best of times), but the troll seems to be slightly more coherent when conversing in his native tongue. "—FAULT THINGS ARE SO NOISY! GORG MAKE EXAMPLE OF YOU!" 11 damage to Doorman; grabbed Gorg squeezes the doorman in his fist, eliciting an agonized wail, and waves the injured orc as though brandishing a club. "THIS IS NEW WEAPON." :savepoint: Doorman 19, Duergar Scout 13, Gheth 13, Cal 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25 |
Amid struggle with Ortak Gordok relays a translation to his beloved troll in Giant.
"Hey Gorg! Changething over here has nice hot meal for you in kitchen if Gorg choose not fight us. Gordok no trust changething though. His cooking terrible. Gordok have better idea and what Gordok heard about changething you just love Gordok idea lots. Gordok let you have Gorg way with this changething that can turn into anything and anyone, oh, and Gorg continue being awesome, yeah? Yeah! Give Gordok nod if Gorg like Gordok idea." |
The troll stares dimly at Gordok chattering away, his sour features softening slightly as his fanged maw turns up into a little smile. He makes no reply to Gordok's proposal, but the halfling's very presence seems to amuse him.
"YOU ARE SO SMALL. IS FUNNY TO ME." |
Exchange Major for second Move, and try escape twice.
And fail twice Doorman struggles against the troll, annoyed that he's pretty much instant fucked with zero options immediately. "ME UNLUCKY" he thinks. Despite the fact that he can't do much unless people stop talking and start helping him, Doorman senses he's pretty screwed and begins to tell Glock as much information as he's got regarding this place, including enemy and friendly numbers, what sort of resistance they might be further up against, if there's any sort of back door (where he came from in the first place), and any other relevant information that passes through his orc brain. He also tries to relay the name of his orc-wife so that should Glock have a chance, he can tell her he died in glorious battle, fighting the good fight. "SECRET ORC. ME NOT LONG FOR CRUEL WORLD. ME TELL YOU STUFF SO YOU CONTINUE BRAVE CAUSE. LET ME TELL YOU STORY...." "NOW, THIS STORY ABOUT HOW ME ORC LIFE GOT FLIP UPSIDE DOWN ME TAKE MINUTE, YOU JUST SIT IN MIRE ME TELL YOU HOW ME DOORMAN FOR PLACE THUNDERSPIRE WEST ORCOVANIA BORN, RAISED ON KILLING FIELD WHERE ME SPEND MOST OF DAYS KILLIN' STABBIN' STEALIN' ALL COOL PILLAGE SOME STUFF NEAR BLOOD POOL WHEN FEW ELF WHO NO GOOD START KILLIN ORC IN NEIGHBOURHOOD KILLED MANY ELF, AFTER FILLED WITH IRE COMMANDER GRINNED, SAID PROMOTED TO THUNDERSPIRE ME WALK FOR WEEK, MOUNTAIN SOON NEAR CAVE SIGN SAID ORC AND THERE HEAD ON SPEAR ME ASSUME WORKPLACE MAY BE DIRE BUT ME FORGOT IT, ME START WORK AT THUNDERSPIRE ME WALK UP TO BOSS IN CAVE REAL LATE SAID "NEW BOSS WHAT ME FATE?" HE POINTED TO BIG DOOR NEXT TO DIM FIRE THAT HOW ME START WORK AT THUNDERSPIRE" |
Story time!~ This was Gordok's most favorite~ time~ of day.
"Gorg! Look orc say it story time! That Gordok most favorite time of day!" |
Doorman attempts to wriggle free from the troll's crushing grasp, but to no avail. Realizing that his last moments may be at hand, he tries to give what information he can to his few surviving allies.
Sadly nothing much comes out but gurgling sounds. It might have been better to ask him about strategic matters before sending him off on a suicidal fool's errand. C'est la vie! Safely hidden behind the bulky troll, the scout fires on Garrmondo with impunity. 11 damage to Garrmondo :savepoint: Gheth 13, Cal 11, Gordok 10, Ortak 8, Glock 4, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Doorman 19, Duergar Scout 13 |
Cal's still feeling a little dazed from the fall, and the increasingly disturbing noise he's hearing behind him (an orc used as an improvised club??) convinces him that he should sit this out. At least until after the dancing pink tarrasques go away. Let the rest handle it till then. Pretty sure they'll survive.
Delay turn till after Glock. http://upload.jetsam.org/images/battlea15.png Little arrow thing indicates whose turn it is when the chart was updated. |
Oh, it might not be Gordok's most favorite time of day after all. It was time to get out of a sticky situation. It was time to slick things up a bit.
Wild Shape slimy salamander Wild Shape halfling, shift to AA -6 Eldritch Blast Ortak After plopping to the floor Gordy reforms himself and sends some crucially evil energy at his former captor for 26 damage. |
Sensing somewhat of a theme in the vicinity of the duergar guard, Gheth is happy to oblige with his particular brand of party trick as the rest of Glock's plan plays out.
Watch and amaze as I saw this slaver in half! he muses. Gheth allows himself a grim chuckle. In a case of hubris trumping good sense, his giggling spell causes him to whiff the air. Move to AA -3 Righteous Brand on Ortak |
Swearing a vile oath as the slippery halfling escapes his grasp, Ortak flicks his chin in a gesture of contempt. The poisonous quills that fired out thereafter were more of an afterthought. Still, Gordok's larger friends react poorly to the rude gesture, swiftly slashing him to bloody ribbons.
Quills: INTERRUPTED Ortak gets curbstomped mercilessly Gheth's AoO was a crit in case anybody has anything that trigs on that Ha haaaa I forgot the beard attack was Ranged =( :savepoint: Glock 4, Cal 3, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Doorman 19, Duergar Scout 13, Gheth 13, Gordok 10 |
Out of the corner of his ocular sockets, Glock witnesses the witch's man-slave explode into chunks with a simple spear stab to the face. That really didn't make any god damn sense at all, but he'll run with it. Hell, why not?
HOW ODD. Anyway, Glock needed FIRE. Fire on the troll. fine. How's this gonna do. He'd have to haul ass to accomplish this in the few seconds he's got, but it should work. Move to Y-1 Glock glances into the fireplace and grabs the log that seems like it'll burn the longest, and has a decent flame on it. Grimacing because even being steel doesn't prevent you from feeling the heat, he grabs the log and fucking books it. Grab nice sized, nice burning log that will remain on fire for some time yet. Lob log onto bridge at AC-4 in one quick motion. 6 fire damage. 5 mitigates by temp HP, 1 damage to real HP. "OW. FUCK. HOT HOT HOT" Glancing out to the bridge, Glock looks at the face planted...squishy person. "You, Odo. Bring the rain." Even though it stung, Glock pitches the log in a soft underhand motion that won't move to put the flame out. "Alright boys, here's your fire source, let's light this bitch up". |
The burning log, which thudded dangerously close to his position, jarred Cal out of his daze. "Secret Orc! You should careful where you aims! You almost am hit poor coward orc!"
Springing onto his feet, the changeling exposes a couple of his precious arrows to the flame before letting loose at the troll. Very quietly, of course. Gorg hates the noisy, it seems. Alas, the arrows' aerodynamics were altered by flame. The first flaming arrow clatters uselessly to the ground right in front of Gorg, the second barely gave him an ear piercing. It's just a flesh wound. Stand from prone. Hunter's Quarry on the nearest enemy I can see (Gorg). Twin Strike: first attack misses, second attack hits for 2+2+6=10hp damage. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battlea18.png |
Cal'Amah is filled with remorse, as he watches poor Doorman orc meet his demise in a kiss with the Dragonborn. It's all his fault -- if only he didn't try to attempt troll diplomacy!
Summoning up his singing abilities, Cal loudly sings an elegy based on a drinking song that he's heard many times before. He sang quite in tune, considering the fact that he was no bard. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Doorman Orc. Hero, friend! Bravely fought to the end. Oh how sadly we watched, As he slumped, prone and bleeding. With broad heart and bright soul, Help to all he would lend. From a distance we bawled, As he finally stopped breathing. Tragedy was his lot, For the fight that he fought, Was noble and true, But survive, he would not. Oh say does our blood-splattered orc friend yet wave, In the orcish heavenland, resting place of the brave? |
Wielding the makeshift bludgeon that he'd made out of the doorman, Gorg tromps down the corridor and makes a wild swing at the halfling. As the little itsy-bitsy tiny little man dodges easily, he switches focus to the lizard hiding around the corner. Gorg only regrets that he cannot yet reach the archer on the bridge, who is being noisy again.
"Do it", the orc mutters. "Do it. Know this, you only killing an orc." Doorman turns his forlorn gaze on Glock. "Goodbye Secret Orc. I die like true blue rebel. No waste time mourning. Organize." Without warning, the limp form of a mailed orc comes whipping around the corner at Gheth, soundly denting his snout. The doorman issues a ragged cough and goes limp, and the troll drops him to the floor like a dirty rag. Improvised Weapon at Gordok, miss Burn AP Switch targets to Gheth because I am on to Skills' tricks 23 damage (bloodied) to Gheth from getting face-orked Doorman suffers half-damage from the collision, killing him Smirking smugly, the scout follows closely behind the troll and plugs Gordok with another bolt. 11 damage to Gordok (bloodied) :savepoint: Gheth 13, Gordok 10, Glock 4, Cal 3, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Duergar Scout 13 |
Gheth poked his nose out, scanning for threats, only to receive the hurled body of their newly found orc friend into his waiting arms. Unfortunately one of the orc's knives happened to land on his leg when doing so, gouging a path through his thigh. That would most certainly leave a mark.
The mangled orc bid them well, and gasped his last, dying in Gheth's arms before he could even stabilize the poor man. Doorman's death hit Gheth harder than he expected, for he found he was grinding his teeth, and he clenched his spear with a ferocity he had not known was in him until this point. So be it. He thought. To the death. In a flash, energy undulated outward from Gheth, giving the party renewed confidence and renewed caution. His fury aside, they would not be caught so unaware for the rest of this fight, and Gheth aimed to make sure that would not happen. Activate dragonborn fury Shield of Faith on all. AC +2 Remove cloth tunic and tie around blade end of spear |
Glock whistles he works. It passes the time, for the most part. "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to work we go" seemed to have the desired effect of causing the troll to miss the midget. Musta been the amount of times he's heard that since living here, what with being amongst all these dwarves.
The force of the miss caused the troll to stagger slightly, even as he swung GLOCK'S BEST FRIEND EVER into the face of GLOCK'S OTHER BEST FRIEND EVER. Virtue of Cunning as an free action Gordok to AB-5 Advantage of Cunning Troll to Z-6 through AA-5 I assume troll reach is 2, and therefore Skex is still hit. Correct me if wrong. Rest of turn to come in order~ |
Gorg playfully swipes at Gordok. Oh what fun!
"Good Gorg! Gordok like Gorg. Gordok play hide and destroy with Gorg so Gorg go corner and count to potato!" Giggling to himself Gordok cleverly disguises himself as a small fuzzy bear as Gorg spins around and pushes Gorg to his counting spot. Warlock's Curse Gorg Tiny bear mode Savage Rend Gorg, shift Gorg over to Z -7 The small shove is enough (11 damage total) and puts Gorg into his place. Making sure the game was properly afoot Gordok the bear growls out a warning. "Gorg! No peaking!" |
Glock looks up just in time to see the halfling do the unthinkable.
"A b-b-b-b....b-b-b-b-b....BEAR?" The memories of the secret room from less than a day ago come flooding back. No amount of new friends or wanton violence can cleanse the mind of such atrocities. Glock lets loose with a blood curdling scream of fear and agony. For some reason, the bear seems to enjoy the tormented wails. He even dances to them a little bit. Majestic Word Gordok regains 16 HP. Slide Gordy to AA-5. Calming down shortly after, Glock can still see the troll's arm and left leg. Good enough. THE GOGGLES, THEY MUST DO SOMETHING. Goggles of Aura Sight on Gorg. Fuck yeah these things are the greatest. <3 Glock stops for a second. Wait a minute, can trolls even count? "HEY ASSHOLE. EIGHTEEN. FOURTY SEVEN. THREE. TWENTY ONE. NINETY FIVE. SIXTY FOUR. FOUR HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY TWO." Glock hopes he throws off the troll's slow counting with his loud numerical vocalizations. Vicious Mockery on Gorg 12 + 7 = 19 > 18. Hit. 1 [ffffffffffffff] + 5 = 6 Damage. Gorg takes -2 to hit penalty until I'm up again. |
Cal's enraged at the cavalier way Gorg treated the poor orc. Doorman deserved better than a kiss of death with a giant lizard, dammit! That troll must pay.
I've been monitoring HP. Doorman had 12 HP, and took half damage from a 23-hp attack. That technically leaves him with 1 HP. But according to Pang, it seems Garr's firebomb attack, being an area attack, hit him for 2 HP damage. C'est la vie :( Summoning up all the righteous indignation he could muster, the chameleon starts to shout a war poem at the top of his voice, attempting to demoralize the enemy while strengthening his allies. He recites the first eight verses. Maybe if everyone lives through the next round, he can recite eight more. He's got lots more stanzas where it came from. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file:
The Ballade of ThunderSpire:
While screaming his voice coarse, Cal repositions slightly. His allies have backed the troll into a corner, and so Cal adjusts accordingly. He handily leaps over the burning log, and takes cover behind a wall. Then he lets the troll have it. Alas, he choked at the last verse. In a coughing fit, Cal prematurely lets go of the arrows, where they promptly struck the wall behind Gorg. Cal's ballad will have to wait. The Troll's grab attempt against the human appears to have snuffed out the burning arrows, and so the two arrows laid on the floor, miraculously unharmed. Move to AB-3. Ignite arrows. Twin Strike on Gorg with flaming arrows. Both 10+4 vs 20-2-2 [14 vs 16], both miss. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battlea20.png Justification of HP: Glock's scan (damage of 41 HP) was done before the Troll took 6 HP damage from Glock, 7 HP damage from Garr, and regenerated by 10 HP (for net damage of 3 HP), bringing total damage to 44 HP. |
Glock leans around the corner, pulling down the goggles to view the troll's statistical data. Sadly the lenses were still smeared with the vile miscellany of slimes and molds that results from any impressive dwarven belch, and attempting to wipe it off only seemed to make things blurrier. Luckily the text readout was safely behind the exterior shield but in his desperate cleaning attempts Glock had accidentally flipped the switch returning it to factory defaults. The Gemtech Z-78 Scan-A-Baddie was never really intended for this sort of intensive wetwork.
http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/GemtechZ78.png Cal, in an impressive feat of not getting the hint, continues making a lot of pointless noise. "WHY YOU MAKE NOISE?! SHINY MAN, YOU GO MAKE QUIET." Gorg picks up Garrmondo in a scaly paw and begins to rear back like a stickball pitcher, but the fighter manages to kick his way free, tumbling back to the floor with little harm save for his dignity. Nobody burned him last round, so 10 HP regenerated Choke and Throw: miss Rolling his eyes as the massive troll is backed into a corner by a simple ruse, the scout backpedals down the corridor and tries at least to put the tiny bear down for the count. Crossbow: 9 damage to Gordok :savepoint: Gheth 13, Gordok 10, Glock 4, Cal 3, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Duergar Scout 13 Calling in yet more reinforcements would be pushing it, I guess :( |
Embers from the fire log lilted through the air, creating a fine haze through which Gheth now viewed his enemy.
Gheth breathed hard, recovering from his stab wound and using a bit of his tunic to tie off the bleeding. He seethed at having been the instrument of Doorman's destruction. Through his lingering pain, a gleam came to his eye as he realized just what else his tunic could be used for. Now, he vowed, would come a hard vengeance, and bereft of mercy.
Second wind Light up improvised flaming spear Move to Z -6 |
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy has some hair. But Fuzzy Wuzzy was not a fan of being shot in this evil lair. So Fuzzy Wuzzy showed his claws.... Bear to U-4. Savage Rend on Scout Dog fucker ...but the Scout wasn't so scared by Fuzzy Wuzzy, was he? |
Glock steps out of the doorway and follows the bear. Even though the last time he followed a bear into a room he was scarred for life, robotic curiosity just plain old gets the better of him.
Move to X-4 The bear doesn't attack the crossbow This could be a prelude to a sexual encounter. Shit shit shit shit shit shit. Glock quickly yells out to the Scout and tells him everything he knows about the secret bear mating rituals. Vicious Mockery on Scout Hit. 5+4 = 9 Damage. -2 to hit penalty on the scout. The dwarf is HORRIFIED. The expression on his face is one of terror and....is that....arousal? All the colour drains out of Glock's steel face, (somehow made possible by MAGIC, I'm sure) as he realizes what he may have just precipitated. |
The troll meant to hurt him! Cal! Poor harmless squishy Cal!
Fortunately, the war song he just sang distracted the troll badly enough that the human warrior was able to escape. Ironic, really. Cal meant for the song to resonate badly with Derik, the last remaining wildcard in the mix. If it enraged the duergar enough to attack them blindly, then nobody would be running off to alert the other defenders of the castle. Certain that he was doing the right thing, Cal continues to sing: His body slowly yielded to A fate that's inevitable He crumpled to a frumpy heap Right at the yonder dining hall. The duergar champion swiftly fell Defeated rather easily And now our motley crew has come To loot your treasures, set slaves free. What in blazes was that? He didn't even hear himself speak. Not even a whisper emerged from his obviously strained vocal cords. Oh, do you know how Rundarr spent The last few moments he had left? I took a knife, plucked out his eyes It was hard work; I had no heft. Yon halfling druid carved his guts, And fend on his small intestine. The man plucked out some poisoned quills, From dying Rundarr's bloody chin. That attempt was even weaker than the rest. Why, even the fire crackling at Helga's den of iniquity was louder than this pathetic chant! One last time! The horny warforged pistoned in And out of Rundarr's orifice. He was a blur, that robot cur, Ten thousand strokes, no hole he missed. The Dragonborn was more reserved, He muttered prayers for his soul. The tortures we unleashed on Rundarr, Soon took their horrific toll. His dying words we did not hear Since we cut off his vocal cords. To silence the ear-splitting screams That punctuated all his words. When Rundarr died, t'was then we spied, A trinket wedged below his knee. It took five chops to free the loot, His muscle mass was tough, you see. We poked his corpse with arrowheads, And soaked them with his poisoned bile. Off to the cooking pot he went Our Rundarr stew took quite a while. If Cal was breathing loudly, it would have been louder than this. Alas, his psychological warfare was not meant to be. His lack of bardic training was his downfall - for Cal has punched a hole through his own vocal cords in between his hacking coughs at the previous turn! The shapeshifter half-heartedly fires a volley towards Gorg, and dejected walks towards Helga's brothel in a stupor. Bumping violently against the wall, Cal hardly noticed as the cotton dress he appropriated earlier fell out of his pack, and settled on the ground with a thump. Still, Cal keeps walking until he was facing the fireplace. Woe betide a changeling who loses his golden voice and silver tongue, for he loses the one thing that keeps him alive - the singular ability to bluff and charm his way past the obstacles in life. Well sure, you can still polymorph and don disguises, but you won't go anywhere by just miming. Cal stares at the crackling flame, and wonders how it would be like to be the firewood that's burning oh so ever brightly. Would it hurt? Flavor text aside, Cal, for all intents and purposes, was quiet as a mouse :) Twin Strike on Gorg with improvised fire arrows. First roll: 3 + 10 vs 20. Miss. Second roll: 19 + 10 vs 20. Hit. Gorg takes 9+5+2=16 damage in total. Retrieve Peasant Tunic from pack, and drop it on AB-3. Move to Y-1. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battlea21.png |
Scout bloodied by Mockery
Turning his back on the bizarre bestial matchmaking Glock was evidently attempting to enable, Garrmondo quickly smashes his shield into the troll's face. The monster's head is smashed against the northwest wall with a satisfying crunch, and the troll briefly staggers and falls on its scaly arse. It gets back up almost immediately, not that this really helps it. In no mood to try his luck with the berserk lizard waving a flaming spear around, Gorg tries to grab hold of Garrmondo and fling him out of the way. Sadly, another quick move of the shield arm leaves the troll with nothing but a handful of bruised fingertips. Cal burned 'im: no regen this round Stand up from prone Claw on Garrmondo: miss "NOISY MAN SO NOISY, HE USE UP ALL NOISE ALLOWANCE FOR HE WHOLE LIFE", Gorg chortles, though only Gordok can make any sense of his bellowing. "NOW HE NOT MAKE ANY MORE NOISE FOREVER!" Gorg looks troubled for a long moment. "WELL. GORG CAN DREAM." Repelled by the horrible tale of bear necessities Glock is telling, the scout backpedals away and fires another bolt at the little animal as quickly as his shaking hands will allow. "Stay back! Sit! Stay!" 11 damage to Gordok; bloodied :savepoint: Gheth 13, Gordok 10, Glock 4, Cal 3, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25, Duergar Scout 13 |
Gheth makes several quick experimental thrusts of his spear towards the Troll's eyes, making the Troll distracted and off balance when Garrmondo steps inside its reach and manages to bludgeon it with his shield. He dances back before the Troll's counter-swipe can reach him, and Gheth sees an opening he can exploit. His grip falters, however, and the blade skitters across the troll's tough hide.
Righteous Brand on Troll (miss) Well that was anticlimactic |
Going Before Acer in the turn order~
"Ok buddy, you can do this. Don't worry. It's not the same bear you saw. This one's cute. Cuddly. He's your friend. Remember? No harm will come of this." Trying to convince himself it'll be ok, Glock disables his mechanical eyeballs for a moment and slowly walks up past the bear. Emerging safely on the other side, the lights on his face reignite, and he feels like a much bigger, better roboman for overcoming his fears. "EYE OF THE TIGER. YEAH. WHOOO." Move to T-4 He hadn't gotten such an adrenaline rush like this since he base jumped off of a post office into a pile of homeless elves, and as such Glock's enthusiasm leads to him casually stabbing the annoying ranged shootin' dwarf RIGHT IN THE MOUTH. "SURPRISE NIGGA" War Song Strike lmao, critical. 8 + 5 + 8 = 21 Damage. Huzzah. If scout is still alive, Acer gets 1 HP (:() if he hits it after this. 1 HP my asshole. Totally switching this move when I get the chance. Even with that wound, the scout spoke. He had not yet seen the robot engage anything with the stabby stabby. In fact, NO ONE HAD. "So what type of combat training do you have?" Glock smirked. "Fencing." |
"Deep breath, Cal. Deep breath."
The changeling takes a moment to compose himself, comforted by the warm crackles from Helga's hearth. The Traveler is clearly testing him here. "Be adaptable, Cal. Go with the flow. Show no one your true nature." And a most insecure true nature it truly was. Cal pokes his head outside the door. Was that troll laughing at him? Yes, he must be. He's pointing his gigantic finger towards Cal, and grunting to himself! How dare he! "Rude trolls who laugh at others' misfortunes must be punished!" Cal thinks to himself. Gathering his reserves of vocal power, he swears at Gorg, while slowly walking back to the burning log: Laugh at me, will you? I'll show you! I'm going to get you, troll! I will skin you alive, and wear your ass as my armor! I'll dig out your heart and have your bones to grind my bread! And although Cal was essentially opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish while wagging his finger at the troll, he was already plotting what he would do to Gorg after the troll has the courtesy to die. Cal has salivated over very expensive bracers and armor in the past, and wonders how much Gorg's skin will fetch on the market. Around the corner, the warforged mumbled something about hurling a ball in the trash in order to spill it? That doesn't sound right... Cal's puzzled why the robot would say such a thing. Couldn't have come from him - he's been struck mute just now and was unable to communicate any information verbally, after all. Move to AB-3 Knowledge Check: What is the resale value of Gorg's hide, expressed in GP per kilogram? If there is value, how long will it take to skin Gorg? Anyway, Cal won't be dissuaded from his desire to punish the rude troll. He ignites a pair of arrows, and lets them loose on Gorg. Cal hopes all the burning that's being done on Gorg's skin won't hurt the resale value of the hide. Twin Strike, with improvised fire arrows, at Gorg. First Attack hits, second attack misses. Gorg takes 2+7+2=11 HP damage. Again, one of the arrows miss. A tad frustrated at his missing a creature that is twice his size -- "What kind of a archer ranger are you, Cal?!!" goes his internal monologue -- Cal punches his adventurer's pack. A bastard sword came flying out, hitting the floor Cal's standing on. The dress it fell on muffled out the sound from the drop. "That was close!" thinks Cal. "Almost sliced my toes off!" Retrieve and drop Bastard Sword. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battlea22.png |
Glock thinks the changeling is being ridiculous, and reminds him that they have to BURN THE TROLL TO ASH IN ORDER TO KILL IT.
While Glock is busy attempting to get this across, Gordy decides it is THE END OF DAYS for the the brothers Grimm. While the scout was busy getting mouth shanked, the bear walked up behind him. "OH LA LA MR. DERIK. DO YOU LIKE HAMBURGERS?" Move to R-4 Savage Rend 11 + 6 + 2 = 19 > 16. Hit. 2 + 4 = 6 Damage. The following is only if the scout is dead The dwarf liquefies into a pile of entrails and urine. The bear sits back on it's haunches and claps it's hands. "HORRAY I DID IT. MR. BUM FAIRY YOU HAVE BEEN AVENGED". A faint "horray" in a very eldergilly like voice could be heard from SOMEWHERE MYSTERIOUS http://www.thegond.com/em/emot-iiam.gif "Now it's time to TRANSMOGRIFY" Wild Shape back to halfling |
Garrmondo whirls around in a great arc, slashing all about in every direction. Gorg looks on with a dim curiosity as the gears turn in his tiny walnut brain, and even as he swipes at the fighter he reaches a chilling conclusion.
WHO HE CUTTING? GORG ONLY ONE HERE. MAYBE IS A GHOST. GHOSTS INVISIBLE SOMETIMES. WAIT. GORG IS AFRAID OF GHOSTS. THEY ARE RESISTANT TO CRUSHING. IT CONFUSES GORG. "ATTENTION", Gorg shouts, calling on all his limited language skills to explain things to the noisy people. "SOMETHING STRANGE IN GORG NEIGHBORHOOD. IT WEIRD AND NOT LOOK GOOD. I LEAVE NOW, COME BACK WHEN THINGS LESS SPOOKY." This was the most complex concept Gorg had ever managed to convey verbally. It made his head hurt, but also he felt kind of proud. Since the fortress is obviously haunted Gorg's first impulse is to flee into the Labyrinth, but alas: some vicious person had left a burning log on the bridge. MY ONE WEAKNESS. HOW THEY KNOW?! His only hope was to escape via the back door by returning to his pen. Yet many noisy folk blocked the way. Gorg would have to suck in his gut and sidle past. It was a risky move, but not nearly as risky as g-g-g-g-ghosts. Fire arrows = no regen Claw vs Garrmondo: miss (sigh) Gorg squeezes past Gheth and moves into the hallway Garrmondo's AoO: 10 damage to Gorg Gheth's AoO: 9 damage to Gorg (bloodied) Holy crap this thing is basically useless without support Zerg, ask yourself: what sensible merchant wants to get a reputation for dealing in troll hide. A suicidal one, is what. :savepoint: Gheth 13, Glock 4, Gordok 3, Cal 3, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25 |
Glock recalls something from a library book he checked out not but a few months ago. He was very glad he did. "101 Uses for Dwarf Corpses: A Lifestyle of Recycling and Reducing your Carbon Footprint." Pincushion, distraction, signage, inkwell. And now LIGHTBULB. Oh ho ho, Glock is going to have to write that author a bit of fanmail when he gets the chance.
And with that, the robot grabs the corpse of the recently slain scout and tosses it forward. A very dead Derik to W-5. "Troll." Glock may be seething with anger, but he is not about to let organic EMOTIONS get the better of him as he slowly walks forward. "You have killed the bravest, most courageous of Orcs. His ghost will haunt you until the end of time. Even the sweet embrace of death will not save you. In the afterlife he shall hunt you down mercilessly, and burn you with the strongest fires imaginable, those of the flames in his eyes. You shall find no respite in death or life from here on." "But if you think we're going to let you live to deal with just a small haunting, you've got another thing coming." Move to V-4. Grab Torch on the wall. The metal eyelids on Glock's face closed precisely 62.5% as he squinted at the beast. "Fuck you" Drop Torch onto Derik in W-5, turning him into a lovely bonfire that smells of vaguely of bacon, with notes of sour grapes, maple wood, and disgusting burning flesh. |
"Gorg! Gordok see scary orc ghost fly round Gorg head! Ghost scary! Gordok think scary ghost want Gorg eyes! Close Gorg eyes Gorg! No let ghost get Gorg eyes! Gorg!"
Gordok adds a bit of flying evil of his own to this frenzy of fears. Eldritch Blast Gorg "No Gorg! Scary ghost try go through Gorg now! Close Gorg eyes!" Gorg takes 12 ghastly damage |
Gheth pauses, momentarily rethinking the stratagem of cornering something that does so enjoy the crushing part of its daily activities. Ultimately, though, he decides that he doesn't want his allies to think of him as a wet blanket where murder is concerned. After all, not killing things is totally gay.
This in mind, he charges the troll with a cry that springs to his lips unbidden: "I...I was the first one that wanted to kill him!" Shift to Z -5 Righteous Brand on troll with bonus to Garrmondo (7 damage) |
So, the Troll wants to get the delicious barbecue the robot's cooking? He can't have any, Cal's tummy is rumbling! Grumbling about freeloading trolls, Cal pierces the troll's left buttocks with a carefully-placed fire arrow.
Careful attack on Gorg: 9+12 vs 20, hit. Gorg takes 6+2+3=11 HP damage. Pang, just to cross-check my chart, did Gorg get bloodied after either one of the AoOs? Ahh, accurate, just like the way he likes it. Let the others slash at Gorg's behind their fancy weapons. Cal will be just shootery from afar. Maybe the human fighter can make some use of that sword that's clattered to the ground. Cal picks both sword and dress (the lizard's gonna need a new tunic after all, and might look even fetching in this dress), and deposits them into the hands of the human while passing through. After receiving the latter's own sword, Cal ends his turn on the bridge, right behind the burning log. Pick up sword and dress. Move to AF-4. While passing through AB-5, drop them both into Garrmondo's hands. Garr, with your permission, may we assume you've dropped (or handed over) your sword while this is happening? I'm technically taking two minors here (pick sword, pick dress), but I'm hoping Pang will allow that the action takes place in one single motion. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battlea23.png I don't have stats for the sword in Garrmondo's hands; based on my limited understanding of battle mechanics, Tide of Iron does 1[W]+Strength Mod. Bastard Swords are 1d10, has enchantment bonus of +1. Garr's strength mod is 5, and he's got a feat bonus of 1, so 1d10+7. Skex gave him a bonus from Righteous Brand equal to his strength mod (3), crit bonus is 1, and hitting the wall is 1. For a total damage of 22. Am I calculating this correctly? |
Glock deposits Derek's still-twitching corpse on the floor in front of Gorg and, sneering, drops a torch on the duergar's limp body. The greasy dwarf's corpse ignites almost instantaneously, blocking the corridor with a foul bonfire. Thick black smoke rapidly fills the hallway, seeping under the closed doors and pouring out into the open room to the north. G-Unit couldn't ask for a more obvious announcement of their presence.
Heavy smoke spreads 1 square in every direction at the end of a round. Characters in the smoke (Gorg and Glock, as of this post) have partial concealment. With fire both front and behind and solid walls on either side, Gorg finds himself without much hope of escape. TOO BAD. GORG MAKE OWN OPENING. "GORG TAKE CHANCE WITH LOG. GET OUT OF GORG WAY." Whirling on the fighter, he swiftly grabs Garrmondo by the throat and flings him away. Hurtling through the air, Garrmondo crashes headlong into one of the minotaur statues along the west wall and slumps to the floor. His vision swims, and the blood pouring down his forehead doesn't help matters. It'll take a moment to get his wits about him. Burned, no regen Choke and Throw: 11 damage to Garrmondo; stunned until after Gorg's next turn, prone, bloodied :savepoint: Gheth 13, Glock 4, Gordok 3, Cal 3, Garrmondo 3 (STUNNED), Gorg 25 |
Hmm. The book said nothing about the smell of burning rubber and garbage. Gonna have to find a way to limit where this smoke goes.
A little LED goes off in Glock's head as he remembers his robo-grade school fire drills. Move to R-6 Grab sheets off bed He pauses for a second, trying to determine what that is at P-9. "Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit." Running back to where the doors close. Glock proceeds to drop the sheets across the bottom of the door sill. Judging by this it's at the boundary between S and T. Move to T-4 Drop sheets along that boundary. |
Cal could've sworn duergars were fire-resistant, but perhaps he's been confusing them with drows. Still, with the speed that the being formerly known as Derik is burning up, it would seem that like their troll pet, the duergar are vulnerable to fire. Not that Cal particularly cares, of course. The day's been rather eventful, with Cal going through a whole gamut of emotion in a matter of minutes.
He's gone through great fear, watching the incredible hulking Rundarr grow, then great glee as he deflated like a balloon. Cal was greatly confident as they engaged in their triumphant charge, but that turned to great dismay as enemies beset them from all sides. Then came great relief when the halfling saved them all, and great gloating as he knocked out a duergar's family jewels. He experienced great fear when the troll burst on the scene, then great sorrow as his orcish ally dies. Finally came great anger at the troll, and great frustration at his own ineptness with the arrow. What great emotion shall Cal experience today? The troll staggers, frightened and unsure, and most unfortunately scored a lucky strike on the human. No matter, less thinking, more archerying, as the still-mute Cal places himself in great personal danger and moves back inside the castle. Move to AB-3 and drop Bloodclaw sword. Careful attack with improvised fire arrow on Gorg: 10+12-2=20 vs AC 20, hit. Gorg takes 4+2+4=10 HP damage. Gorg obviously is well-trained and doesn't attack duergars. Since ol' Derik's producing what seems to be an alarming amount of obscuring smoke, Cal, with a great sense of caution, takes the opportunity to shapeshift into Helga. The dim-witted troll would never know the difference, Cal silently cackles, especially if he can't see me transform. Changeling Disguise to Female Duergar Theurge (Helga). Bluff Check (5) + Class Bonus (5) + Bluff Score (13) = 23. Gorg must beat 23 on his insight check to see through the ruse. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//battlea24.png |
Gheth thought he saw the changeling open his mouth to say something, but then he closed it again.
It was just as well. Things had gotten complicated enough with the troll and the hurling and the pulverizing and the glaiven-hulg-gloiven. A quick reassurance sent the fighter's way would surely help him back to his feet, however. Privately, Gheth wondered if he might be having a stroke. As far as everyone else was concerned, he made quite a heroic figure as he thrust his spear towards the troll once more. He missed, but in purely heroic fashion. Righteous Brand on troll Healing Word on Garrmondo Sleep loss clearly catching up with me |
Smoke! Gordok knew what smoke was good for! Chasing away bees! But there were no bees here and that meant no delicious honey for Gordok to steal. With a disappointed frown Gordok walks out into the hallway and closes the door behind him securing all air flow with the bedsheets Glock had dropped before. There would be no use sending smoke into that room. No bees. No, Gordok, no bees. :(
Turning around Gordy decides to shout something to Gorg in order to forget. "Gorg! Scary ghost heading for bridge! Gorg! Scary ghost passing through you again! Look out Gorg! Gorg!" Move T-5 Close doors so they close on top of sheet, blocking smoke Eldritch Blast Gorg Gorg eerily receives yet another 12 ghastly damage. "Gorg! Gordok tell Gorg these things. Why Gorg no listen to Gordok? Scary ghost at bridge. Stay inside! Scary ghost gonna get Gorg! Gorg! |
Glock and his strange little companion act quickly, slamming the northern doors shut and stuffing sheets in the gap beneath. No smoke would be escaping in that direction, anyway.
"ENTIRE PLACE IS FULL OF GREY GHOSTS!", Gorg bellows. Thinking quickly (by troll standards), he devises a way to eliminate the threat of the burning log. Snatching up Gheth, he flings the cleric in the direction of the bridge. In a great stroke of luck, Gheth lands heavily directly atop the log, his heavy armor snuffing out the flames almost immediately. Gheth's head also collides with the stone bridge, knocking him for a loop. Gorg charges toward the bridge, his escape assured — except that Gheth still clumsily waved his flaming spear around in the air. Gorg had not thought this plan all the way through. "GORG NOT TRUST", Gorg shouts at Gordok through the thick smoke. "ALWAYS WHEN YOU TALK ABOUT GHOST, A GHOST ATTACKS. YOU IN CAHOOTS!" Gorg looks quizzically at "Helga", and then, even more baffled, at Helga's dead body a few yards to the east. But then he shrugs. "GOOD JOB ON KILL DOPPELGANGER!" Gorg shouts in Cal's face. "HE VERY NOISY. I GLAD HE DEAD. HELP ME MOVE DUMB LIZARD, OKAY?" Gordok actually misses due to Gorg's concealment 9 damage to Gheth (stunned for a round, prone) Garrmondo cured of stun :savepoint: Gheth 13 (STUNNED), Glock 4, Gordok 3, Cal 3, Garrmondo 3, Gorg 25 |
"Helga" is as terrified as can be. Being this close to Gorg is one of the scariest experiences he's ever had yet. His shapeshifting appears to have repaired his vocal cords. Thank the gods for small favors, Cal thinks, as he surreptitiously stashes his longbow in his pack.
I am going first in the move order. Minor: Stow longbow "Manners, Gorg! I'm not deaf!" she cackled at the troll. "And asking a lady to do a man's job, well I never!" "But..." Helga pauses as she considers his request, "I reckon you deserve a reward for your good work in killing this filthy lizard. He's twitchin' jes' like ya cuts off a lizard tail." "Tell ya whats, Gorg!" Helga continues as she starts dragging the dead cleric, whose flailing is clearly his muscles going into rigor mortis and is not indicative of signs of life in any way. "I'll makes a deal with ye." Gorg does not consider me a threat, so I won't attract any AoO from him. Gheth's movement is forced, so he won't attract any AoO either. Move: Drag Gheth away from the bridge. I am assuming I'm slowed in doing this and can go 2 squares. I end up at Z-4, Gheth remains prone at AA-3. "After we kill all them fake ghosts," Helga winks suggestively at the muscular hunk of troll meat, "we have a rough little tumble in the room up yonder?" "What do you say, Gorgy--" Helga breaks into an extremely loud and obnoxious burp, followed by a wet slippery passing of air. Which completely takes Gorg by surprise, making him less prepared for what the human was about to do next. Major: Aid Garrmondo's attack, bolstering with Lucky Charm if need be. 8+4=12 vs 10, succeed. Garr gets +2 to hit in his next attack. |
Gordok runs down the hallway gasping for air all the while shouting through the fog.
"Gorg what Gorg doing? No go bridge Gorg! Scary ghost out there! Listen to Gordok. Gorg come inside. Gorg! Move to Y-4 Diabolic Grasp Gorg A dark sinister hand grapples Gorg and drags him thrashing about out onto the bridge before giving the cave troll his last waking moment before plummeting down below into pit of broken corpses and excrement. Gorg receives 23 damage and is dragged from ac-5 to ad-6 to ae-7 "GORG! NO! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOORG!!!" But it is far too late. Gorg is gone now. One day you'll have your very own cave troll buddy, Gordok. Today is just not that day. Yes, Gorg will be missed greatly by all. |
"Helga" watches wistfully as the mischievous ghosts push poor Gorg into the abyss. It took a while before an audible SPLAT could be heard.
"An' here I was, lookin' forward to a good-size meal o' rocky cave oysters!" She coughs a little bit. It's getting rather smoggy in here. |
His fears confirmed, Gorg is swept to his doom by what is clearly a spooky giant ghost hand. He has one solace as he tumbles down toward the jagged rocks below: it was extremely likely that he would return to haunt them. A ghost troll! Imagine it. You'd be twice as invincible. Twinvincibilty, you'd call—
splut The troglodytes feast well tonight. VICTORY! 2300 XP + 200 XP Achievement Bonus (Big Game Hunter, Perfect Fit) = 2500 XP / 5 = 500 XP each. AP awarded due to excessive combat budget. 1 healing surge deducted due to smoke inhalation. |
Shrugging, Helga picks up the Bloodclaw Sword and stashes it into her magic pack. She goes on to plunder the real Helga of her clothes for use as disguise tools, having already donated the filched peasant smock to the naked lizard with the flaming spear.
Trusting the robot to take care of the grease fire he started, Helga goes on to actively explore the surrounding areas (and corpses) for loot. Respectfully steering clear of Doorman Orc of course, Gruumsh rests his soul. Gordok tags along with your permission, Acer? to aid in spotting things like hidden treasure, knickknacks, trapdoors, etc. What's Helga wearing? Can I lift it? Gather up all the findable loot from all available corpses except Doorman Orc. Go through the doors encircled here and carefully but silently examine the rooms for plunder. Sort everything in a nice little pile. Of course, there's also the matter of getting usable biological treasure from Eunuch Erik. Helga drags him to the bedroom and thoroughly ties him to the bed. While he is unconscious, Helga begins harvesting his beard quills. |
Glock whips out his waterskin and proceeds to pour it all over the flaming dwarf corpse, putting the fire out. He's a robot. What the fuck good is water anyway other than for short circuits and sexy t-shirt contests?
Both Helgas (dead and otherwise) didn't have the chesticles for it anyway, so no big loss. While the...what did his midget friend call it? Changething? While THAT was dragging a punctured and battered dwarf into a bedroom. By him(it)self. While assuming the form of a woman... Glock came to wonder just how the hell he managed to group up with the one individual on this entire plane who's sexual shenanigans outdid his own. Absolutely bizarre. Glock found the body of his poor best friend, and quickly padded it down for two things. Assuming the orc would wear his dog tags around his neck, he searched for those as a simple momento and his back pocket for Doorman's wallet. Glock was hoping he could, at least, get an address off his SPEAR USERS LICENSE in order to send the wife a condolences letter. Maybe send a cheque or something if they need help staying afloat without the wage earner around. Grabbing Doorman's corpse, he carefully brought it near the rubble in the east hallway. Laying it out respectfully, he slowly sang as he piled the rubble atop the body. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Funeral dirge doubles as Song of Rest Everyone gets +4 HP regained per healing surge during this short rest Getting one final idea, Glock reached into the rubble and grabbed the orc's right arm and pulled it free. Grasping one of Doorman's middle fingers and extending it while bending the arm straight up, so that when rigor set in, even in death, Doorman's epic bird flip spreads his message of telling the establishment to go fuck itself. Everyone who passed by would know that here lies someone who would mess your shit right up. So pay your respects. Lastly, he writes a rhyme on the wall. HERE LIES DOORMAN, GREATEST OF ORCS. SO LISTEN UP, YOU LAMEST OF DORKS. HE DIED FOR YOU AND ME SO WE COULD WORK HAPPILY SO BOW YOUR HEAD DOWN, FOOL BEFORE THIS MAN, THE GREATEST OF COOL Shedding one final tear, Glock proceeded to gather the brimstone from the exploded hammer of Helgas, searching the entire room for every possible scrap and piece. BE DILIGENT, ROBOT. YOU MUST FIND ALL OF IT. Burn two surges for healin' Gather up every spec of that brimstone. |
Gheth leaned heavily on his spear, trying to clear the white fuzz that seemed to be filling his vision. That last punch had certainly knocked him for a loop, but though dazed, he was able to see the troll manhandled over the edge of the bridge without further injury on their part.
As he looked around, he took note of Cal, the changeling, busying himself with the lone survivor. To Gheth's dismay, he realized Cal had more than mere interrogation in mind for the helpless dwarf. The dragonborn was not sure how to feel about "harvesting" their recently defeated enemies. He had been raised to treat any adversaries, large or small, with respect as peers in battle. Not as usable meat. This seemed to go against everything he stood for. Plus, the changeling was hovering over an unconscious dwarf and plucking his beard. The creep-factor of their companion had just skyrocketed. "First you want to boil them, and then you want to groom them. Changeling, I think you need a vacation." "Do what you will for the moment. But I have an eye firmly on you for the future." Healing surge to full Restraint roll passes-- barely! |
Helga looks curiously at the overgrown lizard -- who introduced himself as Cheth -- with more than a hint of incredulity. These.... dark dwarves.... these fire-vulnerable poison-resistant creatures... these cruel slavers... they are subpar beings by dint of their acts. Surely they do not deserve the dragonborn's mercy!
Besides, it's not as if the team is going to let him live. That warforged bard looked angry enough to rip him to pieces, for one. And they certainly can't have him going off and preparing his compatriots for their presence. Helga tut-tutted at the cleric's naive idealism. Holding to your ideals might do very well for a scholar ensconced in a library, or a cleric in a monastery. But showing kindness or mercy to one's enemies would certainly be misconstrued as a sign of weakness. In such a dog-eat-dog world, where one must kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. Circle of life, after all. Any hint of irritation the changeling felt is quickly suppressed. She clearly has lots of practice in deception. "Honorable dragonborn, I... admit I was not thinking clearly when I boiled the dwarf earlier. I was blinded by a bloodlust driven by avarice then. That is no longer the case now. Rest assured that if he dies, it will not be by my hand." "No, brother. I only do this to ensure that he does not try anything funny during our interrogation. It won't do to have him puncture us with poison, would it?" Helga continues plucking out Erik's beard hairs until he's as smoothly-shaven as a baby. She stashes the poisonous quills, brimming with a surge of satisfaction. Spend one healing surge. Regain 11+4 = 15 HP Upon leaving the bedroom, Helga notices the robot on all fours, frantically scraping at the walls and floor. Poor thing, he shouldn't be consoling himself like that. And in public too. What was his name again? Oh yes, Clock, wasn't it? That's what Cheth told her. What a team they were. Cal, Clock, Cheth, Carrmondo, and Cordok. "There there, honeybuns," Helga says as she sidles up to Glock. "Ah know it's hard, but what can we do but to move on?" Helga slips off her lucky charm, and adorns the warforge's neck with it. "Sugah, ah've seen what you can do. And ah shure like what ah see. Look me up tonight, it'll make us both feel better" she whispers in what appears to be his ear. Give Lucky Charm to Glock and equip Amulet of Health. Pang, it appears no one was interested in Delic's Holy Symbol of Amaunator. Can we just retroactively say I picked it up? :) (It's one of the treasures from the kruthik encounter) |
http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/singletear.png
Cal pokes around, opening doors which likely only lead into smaller rooms and searching for loot. Sadly, there's not much loot to speak of. There's a small chest by the foot of one of the beds in the smaller bunkrooms, but it's unfortunately locked. The dead orc's halberd looks significantly more ornate than you would expect from an orc's weapon, but it's fairly likely the warforged wouldn't look kindly on Cal swiping it. LOOT: 4 warhammers, 2 crossbows, 10 bolts, 4 sets chainmail, 3 sets hide armor, 3 clubs, 1 halberd Pondering on this, he then plucks Helga's tattered robe from her corpse and packs it away. The sight of a naked duergar corpse is best unremarked upon. Puttering back down the hall, Cal drags the barely-alive scout back to the bunkrooms for an interrogation. Waiting for the dwarf to stir, Cal idly plucks out his beard. Just to be a dick, I guess. Who knows. Then, in an ABSOLUTELY HORRIBLE interlude, he gives away his lucky charm. After a brief interlude of of flirting with robots and justifying grotesquery, the dwarf begins to stir. Almost instantly upon waking he glances down to find his chin bare — then he glances up to see Helga apparently in parley with the invaders. His mind races. "Madam Theurge, what is the meaning of this?" |
Glock reminds the shapeshifter that HE KNOWS HE'S A SHAPESHIFTER, and there is no pretend morphing poonany is in his future.
"Couldn't you have transmorphed into Amaemar the Hot or something and before talking like that?" Hearing the dwarf stir, Glock brushes past his increasingly disturbing party member and quickly considers throwing him into the fireplace. Considering the more pressing matters to attend to, though, he reminds himself that that'll always be an option in the future, should it come to it. Grabbing the dwarf by the collar, he drags it all the way back to the bridge, and pushes it up to the edge. The vitriol in his voice was impossible to miss. "You. You killed my friend. Your pet may have done the act, but he was only following orders. Your orders." "So now we're going to play a game. You tell me what I want to know, and I don't kill you. You lie to me, and I start removing fingers. If you piss me off, you'll wish fingers were the only thing I'd have cut off." http://www.tvparty.com/bgifs20/lietome.jpg "What is the remaining defensive contingent within the fortress? I want troop numbers, placements, types." |
The duergar is silent for a long moment, and his shoulders begin to shake with quiet laughter.
"So be it. With my beard shorn and the rest of my squad annihilated I can never return home anyway. Whatever you might do to me would pale to the punishments I would endure — but I digress. I will tell you what I know. Be kind enough, in turn, to kill me quickly. Past the empty hall to the east is the old chapel. Consecrated to Baphomet, it is, the horned god of the old minotaurs. We don't go in there. I recommend you follow suit. Baphomet's temples are few in this age, and he watches them all most jealously. You ask for numbers, but none of us have ventured in to count the screaming things beyond that door. We locked and barred both doors into that place when we arrived, and barred those doors have stayed. North to the troll pen, then east... there's a corridor. Doors to the east and to the north. To the north lie the slave pits. We have... fourteen or fifteen in the pens right now. Humans mostly, a handful of half-elven bastards. Head theurge Framarth is in charge there, with a handful of recruits — five or six. Green, all of them, but you don't need much of a hammer arm to scare farmers. Framarth has devils at his beck and call — I hesitate to call these "troops" but he'll have at least three of the ugly things tormenting the slaves. Don't ask me what kind of devil. I am no expert diabolist. Green, covered in spikes. Prone to giggling. To the east of that split corridor are Murkelmor's private chambers. Paladin, he. Sworn to Asmodeus. Highest-caste among us here in Thunderspire, if it's glory you're after. Devils at his command as well. Man-shaped, carrying scourges. I do not tarry long in Murkelmor's chamber to observe them beyond that. At least two shock troopers guard him day and night, as well: you know their kind. You slew their captain yesterday, they should be no special threat to you." The scout squares his shoulders and stares blankly down into the ravine. "Do what you will. I have served the Hells to the best of my ability. I do not fear them." |
"I don't do kind."
Dragging the dwarf back to Rundarr's chambers, out of sight and out of mind of the cleric, Glock gets to work. Glock cuts a 6 foot section of rope from his pack and then divides that further into 4 1.5 foot sections. Drawing his sword, he quickly chops off the arms and legs of the dwarf, turning him into a talking torso, but quickly applies the rope segments as tourniquets so the thing wouldn't bleed to death that quickly. Grabbing a gross sock off of one of the legs, he stuffs it into the dwarf's mouth. Glock props the disemboweled creature up, uncomfortably close to the fire pit. "Enjoy your slow roast, motherfucker." Wiping the mess off his hands, he proceeds to throw the arms and legs out a far window, away from the rest of the party, before rejoining them. "Ok, so. Green spiky laughing devils. Anyone got any ideas?" Knowledgin' |
Rebuffed by the robot, Helga sets about clearing away the evidence of the team's presence. This involved jettisoning the corpses of Ortak, Helga, Derik, and the non-Doorman orcs into the ravine, as well as emptying the bridge of corpses, cheese, feet, and another debris.
Upon which she sets on to examining the looted weapons for signs of enchantment. The disappointment at getting rebuffed by the ungrateful Clock nags at her very soul. The locked chest is very curious. Must try to lock pick with shapeshifting fingers and steal what's inside, yes? Might even make Helga feel better. Thievery Check: 7+6=13. |
Cal fumbles with the locked chest, but doesn't make any headway. Helga's stubby little dwarf hands are not particularly well suited to feats of dexterity, it seems. Maybe someone else would have better luck, or at least some advice.
Glock ponders on his relatively slim knowledge of demons. He can't remember much, but the description sounds like something he'd heard referred to as a "Spinagon" or "Spined Devil". They're one of the most commonly summoned types of devil, because they're so easily to motivate: spinagons have a keen interest in both plunder and mayhem. |
Helga gets impatient and tries to rip the chest open with her bare stubby little hands.
Take that, chest! |
Cal punches the box!
The box takes 4 damage. What do you have to say to that, box. Additional Spam: The box is grimly silent. What an impudent box. |
Glock notices Cal is playing with his box.
For Christ's sake, do that behind closed doors. Glock gets up, closes the door on Cal while he's molesting the chest, and pushes a bed up to prevent Cal from escaping. |
That didn't seem to work.
http://hools.files.wordpress.com/2007/06/pooh_think.gif ... ... ... Screw it. Impudent boxes must be punished severely. Box, you are my quarry. Helga carefully shoots the box. Box takes 19 damage. |
Glock ponders the situation a moment.
"Screaming things". Banshees, maybe? Banshees are women, technically. Awwww yeah. Gonna go meet some undead bitches. Trying to validate his decision with some sort of rational explanation, Glock proposed "Ok, so. Uhhh. Minotaurs. Right. Yeah. Temple. That's why we're here or something? I think? Wanna go scope that out? I dunno. Seems like a good idea to me." "The dwarf said they don't really go over there. I'm sick of killing dwarfs. I'm as pro-genocide as the next robot but it just gets old after a while, y'know? How about we go check that shit out?" Leaving Cal to his fate inside the boarded up room, Glock leads scowling cleric and the rest of the apparently paralyzed party east. Grabbing a torch on the wall and a bedsheet on the way. "Might need these. If greasy short people don't go into places, it might not have any lights. Especially if it's filled with screaming scary things." Grab a torch off the wall somewhere. And a sheet. GO EAST YOUNG MAN |
Cal shoots the chest. The chest does not respond. The chest is stoic.
Cal hears some kind of scraping sound just outside the door of the bedroom. It's probably not important. Cal is determined to outwit this box. To dominate it. Glock and Garrmondo cautiously approach the doors to the east. Contrary to the reports of the unfortunate scout, no screaming is audible from within the room. However, a constant metallic clattering can be heard, like someone pouring coins onto a table or dragging a length of chain. A gray mist pours out from under the door, but it dissipates almost immediately after escaping the room beyond. |
Helga is infuriated with the abnormally-strong chest. She picks it up and throws it against the door, smashing the door (and hopefully the lock) to pieces.
|
Cal hurls the box at the closed door. Mysteriously, it smashes through the sturdy door as though Cal had thrown a boulder rather than a small footlocker.
The box lands in the fireplace, but seems unharmed. Cal thinks for a moment that he heard the box chuckle, but it is probably only his imagination. |
The abnormally-durable box has utterly defeated Helga. She sobs in abject humiliation as the chest laughs at her.
Leaping through the hole created by the box, Helga bounces up against the bed. She takes a pillowcase along (which naughty miscreant put that bed here?), and fishes the naughty box out of the fireplace with her sword. After it cools, she takes it and seeks out the halfling. He is their master of unlocking and could probably help. Maybe the cleric can assist as well. The human and the handsome robot are nowhere to be seen. "'Ey. You with th' thieve's tools. Y'look like you kin open dis here box by yer leisure. But do rest up, ya look a little under the weather!" Which was quite true, for the halfling was still dripping with blood from wounds inflicted by Derik. Whelp, Helga might as well examine some mundane weapons while her companions are standing around like they're dazed or undead... Take 1x pillowcase, 1x crossbow, 10x bolts, 1x warhammer, and 1x hide armor. While waiting for her companions to snap out of it, Helga wracks her mind on what sort of creatures this Murkymire's "man-shaped carrying scourge devil" thingies might be. In an attempt to scare Gordok out of his stupor, Helga changes form again. Shapeshift into a human male Zombie . |
Ehh, I totally don't have Acer's permission, but he's free to delete it if he likes to do something else! :)
Changething had a little box Its lock was tough as nails And everywhere the little box goes, Changething followed without fail. Until today! http://upload.jetsam.org/images//Gordysmile.jpg Changething will part with box no matter what! Thievery, Take 10 on Box: so check of 20. If box opens, see what's inside. If box fails to open, throw it off a cliff. Spend 2 Healing Surges. Gordok gains 32 HP, for a total of 46/49 HP and 1 temp HP. Drag Cal and Gheth east, joining Glock and Garrmondo. |
Glock takes the box.
Glock opens the door. Glock throws the box into the new room. Glock throws Cal into the new room WITH the box. Glock closes the door. |
Zombie Cal interrupts Glock's movement, executes a remarkable feat of acrobatics, flips over Glock's head, and kicks him into the room.
|
Gordok opens up the little box. Inside are three rubies, worth probably around 100GP each, along with 40 GP in cash.
Suddenly, Glock swipes the box out of the halfling's hands and runs back to the chapel door. He yanks on it mightily, but — it is locked. Cal comes running up to the door, does a sweet midair flip over Glock's head, and slams painfully into the locked door. Idiots! |
Ooh, that thieving warforged thought to swipe Cal's box, but Cal was too smart, ho ho! Why does his head hurts though?
Dazed Cal is not impressed with those totally fake rubies, and leaves them in the opened box. Let the little halfling take it - he hasn't taken any treasure in the Horned Hold yet, so it's his turn. Plus he totally deserves it for being the one to deal the epic armadillo damage, and dispatch Gorg to boot. So let him have his trinket. Cal pockets the 40GP. Thinking for a bit, he takes out 6GP, puts it into the human's wallet, and takes 60 of his arrows while he's not looking. Carrmondo will never miss it! Make a swap - take 60 of Garr's arrows, pay him 6 GP. Request update of inventory. Am I slowed by now? Also requesting the outcome of a knowledge check on "man-shaped carrying scourge devil" that's with Murkelmor. "It's time to pick open the door, or bash it down at least. Strong guys first?" Cal says this while backpedaling till his back touches against a wall. Move as far away from the door as possible, but still, keep a straight line of sight to it. |
"The scout says they locked and barred both doors into the chapel. We may yet need your scroll to escape out the other side." Cal answers. "Bash it in."
Carrmondo's gentle slap has readied him for combat, so the ranger draws two arrows taut to his longbow, ready to let loose at a moment's notice. Ready an action. Once the door opens, Twin Strike any non-ally I see. |
There seems to be something strange about these rubies. Perhaps with the right words Gordok and his companions could...
Spoiler:
Nah! Gordy deposits the rubies into a deposit box on Glock labeled "Blendtec Total Blender". |
Backpedaling away from the door, Cal racks his brain for Helpful Devil Facts.
Pain Devil Medium immortal humanoid (Devil) Pain devils are relatively weak devils, but they are cruel and bloodthirsty foes. A pain devil’s scourge causes agony that briefly cripples its target. Regardless, he resigns to kill the next thing he sees. He notices a sharp pain in his lower back. Maybe he's carrying around too much junk. Something on the other side of the door begins pounding on it, clearly aware of G-Unit on the other side. |
"Whenever you think we're ready..." Cal murmurs. Where's the dragonborn cleric though? And who was going to open the door again? The zombies?
Suddenly, a sharp stab of pain knifes through his lower back. "Not my lumbago again!" Cal groans. He can't understand why he always had lumbago attacks, and always after a looting session. Must be getting old. Briefly interrupting his readied attack, Cal does the jumping jacks to exercise the muscles and ease the pain. Unbeknownst to him, a hide armor that weighs 25 pounds leaps out of his pack, and landing on the ground in front of the door with a thud. "Ahh, that feels much better!" Cal ejaculates, as he returns to his readied position. Remove hide armor from pack. Drop it, and kick it in front of the door to help trip up zombies. Return to readied action: Twin Strike on any hostile once the door is open. |
Garrmondo shouts at whatever it is behind the door, and the pounding immediately ceases. A muffled, incoherent voice shouts something indignant-sounding, and the metal clattering sound diminishes. A few moments later, the pounding noise resumes, but less audibly: whatever it is must be trying its luck at another door.
Are you guys seriously waiting for the whatever to break down the door specifically barricaded to keep it inside? |
The cleric tags along quietly, studying the underdark architecture and making note of its many fluted columns. He briefly wonders why the smell of burning flesh is in the air, but waves the thought away as another column catches his attention. Just look at that one! Man, it is so fluted.
He nearly walks into the rest of the party, but noticing the team's consternation with a blocked door, Gheth jogs quickly back to the northwestern alcove, and tests the eastern door there. |
Glock stares at the door, and tries to determine it's locking mechanism, and if it's something any of us can pick, or if we've just got to bash the ever loving shit out of it until it falls down.
Using the SCIENTIFIC METHOD, Glock attempts to glean this information through physical violence, and begins to start assaulting the door. |
Glock needs Gordok's help! Gordok curls up into a ball and rocks from side to side.
IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE! |
Cal hangs back with his bow, while Gheth decides to get well out of the way and investigate elsewhere. It takes some time, but eventually the three adventurers bash a hole in the doors large enough to jam Gordok's relatively compact body through. He lands in the adjacent room with a thump and quickly unlocks the door from inside.
The room is choked with a cold fog. It's like standing in someone's icebox, and Gordok begins to shiver. The chapel is scattered with the remnants of its long-ago faith: a massive statue of Bephomet stands scowling in the center of the room, and broken fragments of stone furniture are strewn all about. Bound to the statue with a heavy chain is a creature seemingly made entirely of ice, though roughly humanoid in shape and size. Its hands are chained together behind its back, and a burlap sack covers its head. The sack is cinched tightly around the creature's neck. Three duergar corpses lie near the creature. The bodies are wearing much lighter armor than the guards G-Unit fought on their way here — mostly tunics of rough hide. The bodies don't seem decayed in the slightest. The sack-headed thing appears to turn in Gordok's direction, although who can tell really. It shakes the chain violently, muttering incoherently beneath the sack. Gordok's fingers start getting a little numb. On the other side of the fortress, Gheth cautiously pushes open another door and peeks out. In this case, things were exactly as the scout had described them: the door opened onto a small corridor, with closed double-doors to the east and to the north. Beyond the east door Gheth can easily hear at least three different voices shouting at each other, but determining the topic is beyond his linguistic talents. |
As his party mates know, Cal enjoys desecrating duergar corpses. He especially doesn't trust corpses that aren't decayed, with or without any refrigeration.
And so he does, all the while moving down as far south as physically possible. Quarry on duergar corpse nearest to us Move all the way south, young changeling. Twin Strike on said corpse. It's helpless right, so automatic crit? :D Catching sight of Frosty the Snowman, Cal searches through his extensive travel memories on anything he might have picked up about it. Could it, perchance, regenerate each round when not damaged by fire? |
Gheth quietly shuts the door, and beats a hasty retreat upon not finding an obviously adjacent door to the creature chamber.
Discovering that aside from idle target practice, the party has not yet entered into mortal combat with whatever lurks behind the door, he is curious what possible use a god could have for a guardian that cannot readily defend his temple. Gheth thinks perhaps not all is what it seems, and makes an attempt to communicate with the creature by speaking through the doorway. He gives a knowing look at Gordok and the rest, in case the thing reacts poorly to conversation. "Can you understand me, creature? Nod your head if so." Diplomacy check? |
Glock sticks his head in the door.
Not sure if the thing knows how to communicate properly, Glock makes a zombie-like face and proceeds to beep in a rudimentary Morse code. Everything understands beeps. http://i37.photobucket.com/albums/e7...cles/pike2.jpg Words of Friendship "Hey bro. I see you got a thing for dead dwarves. How fortunate. So do we. Your cold storage solution seems like a good change of pace to old fashioned slaughter to boot." "We even like undead-zombie type things, there is this one we have as a pet. We have even trained it not to shit itself." he beeps, while further describing Cal, Cal's location, and his current actions of perforating more dwarves. If the ice creature was violent, it's best if was focused on someone who was not robotic. "But nigga, we all about the merciless slaughter of these assholes, so how about you lemme know if you're up for more killin' of 'em." |
Cal shoots a corpse for some reason. The sound of weapons being fired seems to agitate the ice creature somewhat, but it makes no hostile movements. The arrow slams into the frozen-solid duergar corpse and splinters instantly.
While pondering on this totally-unexpected event, Cal ponders on what sort of creature this might be. He determines that it is probably some sort of ice elemental. Cal is very smart. Gheth cautiously attempts to open a dialogue with the elemental, and the creature seems to understand — it nods its head, and mumbles agreeably beneath the sack. Glock promptly turns the discussion to a proposal of violence, however, and the elemental seems to shy away, shuffling back a few feet and shaking its head vigorously. |
Hmm, that didn't seem to work.
Cal ambles forward, takes out Rundarr's boiled heart and throws it next to the frozen corpse, near the ice elemental. Something's not quite right here, and Cal's not feeling particularly comfortable with it. If the ice elemental is as peace-loving as it appears to be, then why the duergar corpses? And why are they wearing different armor from the Grimmerzhuls? Perception Check on Corpses, Insight Check on Frosty. |
Recalling his friends the ice zombies, Gordok throws out a question.
"Does Mr. Ice Guy want a hug? :)" |
Gheth puts a warning hand on the gnome's shoulder.
"That's probably a bad idea, Gord. This whole room reeks of a trap, but it may not necessarily be a hidden one. If I had to take a guess, I'd say those duergar were killed just by being close to the thing." Aid Perception check, specifically: do the duergar have their weapons drawn or signs of battle on them? |
Cal throws the boiled heart down on the icy stones, where it goes "splut". Frost creeps up the sides of the soggy organ. It'll be quite difficult to pry it loose again — at least in one piece.
That inexplicable task completed, Cal kneels down carefully by the nearest dwarf corpse to examine it more carefully. This close to the elemental, the temperature rapidly becomes uncomfortable — Cal sees his fingertips slowly turning blue as he gingerly prods at the corpse. While the dwarves did indeed evidently die with their weapons in hand, none of them have any evident wounds. Despite their poor-quality armor, the duergar here are apparently Grimmerzhul — a green snake stylized into a simple maze is etched on their upper arms, and Cal recalls seeing the same design on the bodies he tampered with earlier. Insight does not work that way, the elemental hasn't made any claims beyond the self-evident "yes, I understand you". Gordok approaches the elemental cautiously with his arms open, but the creature hastile backs away. Evidently it doesn't like hugs. Though the elemental is already quite placid, G-Unit continues to address it as though it were a small, stupid child. It turns its head in Garrmondo's direction, seemingly attempting a shrug only to be cut short by the chains restricting the mobility of its arms. Cal backpedals away quickly, cursing under his breath as very real frostbite begins to creep up over the faux decay on his "zombie" hands. No permanent harm done, but he won't be pulling any bowstrings for a few minutes. |
Abandoning the beeping, Glock changes subjects. He knows how to make friends.
"Hold on a minute, bud." In fact, he back tracks to some of the beds and grabs the comforters off them, and wraps himself in them. After several layers, he should be able to withstand the cold for a moment at least. Returning to the room while still wrapped up, he produces Murray. Standing just far enough away to use the steel end of the tool as a hook, using it to remove the covering on the head of the elemental. Not touching something made out of ice was probably a good idea. Afterwards, he returns to the door where it's not all that bad, and sheds the blankets. |
Glock pulls the sack off of the elemental and steps back, revealing its smooth, featureless head. Though it appears to have no mouth (or a face of any sort, really), it looks over at the skull-wielding robot and his zombie companion and issues an audible sigh.
A long, awkward silence passes, and the elemental pipes up again. "So, uh, if you'll just cut me loose and point me to the nearest exist I'll be out of your way.Then you can get back to looting or murdering or whatever you like to do on weekends. I'm sure you're all very busy... um, people?" |
Not dissuaded by the lack of an icy hug Gordy takes a liking to the elemental.
"Oh! Oh! I like this idea. But who did this to you, mister? Was it the cow people?" |
Temporarily unable to utilize his hands for archery, "Dead" Cal (Decal) goes on a circuitous route that completely avoids Frosty the Snowman, and tries to pick apart the door on the other side with his hands.
Don't quite think 10 will do the job, huh? :( Unfortunately the frostbite ensures his inability to do fine motor movements. Perhaps he can bash the door open instead? Nah, let the strong fighter do it. Though, Cal pauses to listen at the door before leaving. Decal walks the same circuitous path back to his minions, and addressed the ice elemental. "What frozen no-face man doing here? Frozen no-face man surely know the closest exist is big noisy tin man here!" Decal gestures to Glock. "How can we trust frozen no-face man word if we set free? How we sure frozen no-face man won't attack us?" Now, use active insight on his response :) 16+6=22 |
Glock deems Cal annoying in his cowardice.
He then smiles to himself. Cowardice. Oh ho ho ho ho ho. Reminds himself of an artist he once knew named Jonathon Harble the Gray. The artist was a terrible person, as he had a habit for shitty puns. "Look you, no time for dilly dally. A friend in need is a friend indeed." Glock wraps himself up again and approaches, and proceeds to bash on one of the chains. "Hey Jack. (Can I call you Jack?) We'll have you out of here in no time. Spreading Christmas cheer to all the little dwarfsicles." "Also there's a door in the back there somewheres. Sure it won't be hard to find." |
Somewhere totally unrelated to the adventure at hand, an artist wanders through a pitch black cavern. It is a dark place, deep within the earth. As he continues his grand adventure, he grumbles to himself about forgetting to bring a flashlight. Suddenly, and without warning, he is eaten by a wandering grue.
What a GRUE-some development this adventure turned out to be! Oh ho ho ho ho ho ho ho! ________ Glock looks up for a brief moment from bashing the chain. He contorts his face into utter displeasure at the thought of the shitty pun making artist. He continues to bash the chain, pretending one of the links is the artisans head. |
The elemental seems to take a liking to the little halfling.
"Why yes, little man. It was the cow people. Many, many years ago one of their terrible demon-summoning rituals went awry, opening a portal to the City of Brass rather than to the Abyss as they intended. There I was, minding my own business, when quick as a wink I fell through. Next thing I knew, I was surrounded by silly cows in robes. I was just so dazed and confused that they had me bound up before I could do anything! Every now and again they'd send some cowpriest or other in here to try to send me back, but they could never figure out what had gone wrong! They refused to just release me, since as I have no horns they found me entirely distrustworthy. Of course, since I was locked in here they could no longer use this temple to make their sacrifices to Baphomet. It wasn't long before the Horned Lord withdrew his favor, and Thunderspire fell to an incursion of duergar. They didn't know what to do with me either, but in true dwarven fashion they kept sending in idiots to "stand guard" over me. That practice stopped pretty quickly; you five are the first to step foot in here for decades!" Meanwhile, Cal hikes over to the opposite side of the room, attempting to lockpick a door in an ice-cold room with his bare hands from the inside. He fails, and moreover now his hands are stuck together. "I can't make any such guarantee, my rotten acquaintance. But, as you can see, if I wanted to kill you all I'd need to do is follow you around for a while. Surely you saw that I made no attempt to harm my erstwhile guardians. They simply lacked the sense of self-preservation. Honestly, what motive do I have to harm you? I bear no grudge against you, and your petty magic trinkets are hardly worth the bloodshed. I have more valuable enchantments on my teakettle at home." Cal sees nothing suspicious in the elemental's words. Glock sets to work smashing the elemental's chains. The chains are brittle from such long exposure to the bitter elemental cold, and within a few minutes the elemental is loosed from its bonds. It stands up and stretches. "AFTER TEN THOUSAND MONTHS I'M FREE! TIME TO CONQUER DWARVES." The elemental clears its throat. That is, it's time for you to conquer the dwarves. I'm going home, I can't even imagine how the bills have piled up. I've heard about some dimensional portals in the labyrinth — in a place called the 'Tower Of Mysteries'. At least one of the gates should lead me back to the Chaos. Look me up if you're ever in the City and I'll see what I can do about repaying you properly. For now, though—" The elemental brushes a hand over Murray, and the iron bar is coated with ice. Within seconds, tremendous pressure wrenches the bar back into form, and the ice flows up into the skull itself. The bone is coated with a crystalline glaze. "That should hold, provided you don't throw it into a volcano or something. Best I can do for you at the moment. Good luck!" The elemental sweeps through the doorway, and the three mercenaries standing there shiver violently in the wake of his passing. Minor Quest complete Achievement unlocked: Glock Murray becomes a +2 Frost Mace |
This guise was doing Cal no good. At all. Stupid zombie hands, always getting frozen. Time to change again, yes yes. Cal knows, he'll change shape into the guise of a supremely beautiful elfess
. So beautiful that the ugly Grimmerzhul dwarves would never ever harm her!
Beautiful Cal warms up a bit on a lighted torch and starts to think. With the departure of Jack Frost, the room temperature should be just about back to normal. This should facilitate his examination of the dead duergar corpses for anything of value. The changeling takes a torch to scour the room and strip the thawing corpses for anything of use, magic items and mundane weapons both. Gotta take that inventory of lootable items, bad back notwithstanding! |
While keeping an eye on the shapeshifter, Glock tries to recall info about places of worship of cow gods, hopefully drawing on information that would allow them to find something that'd be minotaurish enough that they can pocket it and carry it back as proof of actually doing what they were here to do.
Maybe something in the rubble? Or something they can bust off of the big statue. History Check 11 + 13 = 24 |
His greed once again overriding his common sense, Cal takes an inventory of the "valuable goods" on and around the thawing duergar corpses.
Three smelly, waterlogged hide vests Three rusty hand-axes Three leather codpieces Three pair disintegrating breeches One string glass beads One iron helmet with bone horns, dwarven engraving around the band: "Lost A Bet". Glock looks around the chapel for something he can take back to the old sage as evidence. While little of value remains in the old chapel, Glock does spot a deep crack in the large statue of Baphomet — where the right arm meets the torso. If they could break the arm off and drag it back up to the surface, it might serve as proof — very few intelligent races have four fingers, and among them only the minotaurs are known as sculptors. Still, even the arm alone would be awfully heavy, although how heavy precisely is hard to say without breaking it off first. And then there's the question of how wise it is to go about vandalizing the shrines of demon lords in the first place. |
It was so disappointing. I examined the room hoping to find some loot and plunder, and all I could turn up were these trinkets. Rusty, mundane things by the look of it, even their pants are already rotting! But, why was there only one string of glass beads? This clearly warrants further examination, so I picked it up for further study.
The room seems to be thawing off now. Certain that it is safe to pick up that boiled duergar heart I threw on the ground, I do so carefully and stuff it back into the flask for safekeeping. It isn't often that one can find such a prime specimen. Why, back home in the Rhee, we regularly feasted on the hearts of our enemies. My daddy used to tell me that if we eat the heart of an especially strong enemy, we gain a bit of his strength. The humongous dwarf whose heart I carved was surely especially brave. Who knows? Maybe eating his heart will impart some of his courage. Yes, I will dine on it soon, when I get access to good cooking ingredients. Although, I fear I may have already tarried too long with this particular morsel. The tin man seems to be intent in vandalizing the shrine of that gigantic bull-headed monstrosity. I'm in no mood to trifle with such an ugly demon beast thingy, so I just go to the closed door and listen carefully for signs of enemy activity. We were not especially noisy here, so I'm pretty confident there's no enemy waiting to ambush us beyond the door. Still, one can't be too careful. Take glass beads. Carefully retrieve Rundarr's heart. Listen at door. |
Glock grabs and stashes what remains of the chains that tied up the elemental. They could possibly serve a future purpose.
yoink Glock always wanted to meet a demon lord. And Cal LOVES carrying around tonnes of useless shit for no reason, so the removal of the arm seems obvious. He looks at the rest of the party. The halfling would love a giant stone arm. He would ride it like a pony, and perhaps make it his new friend. The fighter would enjoy the needless destruction of it. And he was pretty sure the cleric would have no beef with the temple of an evil god getting it's shit wrecked. The....wait, what. Goldilocks and mysterious pants bulge over there might not be able to fence a giant arm, but fuck it would look impressive when he rolled into town with that. Imagine how many shopkeepers would want to deal with the man who showed up with a 10 tonne appendage. Imagine the dirty jokes the robot could make. Oh man. So yes. They will take the arm. LATER. After the thing who caused the death of Doorman is brought to justice. ONE TASK AT A TIME. Glock looks up and points to the crack. "YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED, GIANT ARM. WE SHALL RETURN." With the promise made, Glock turns his attention to the other door. Invigorated by his pledge to the huge stone limb, Glock moved Cal out of the way. "GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU PUSSY" He begins to bash on the door. "MR. GORBACHEV, OPEN THIS GATE." |
The tin man was actually going to do it! Mess with a Demon Lord statue. Such recklessness! Such chutzpah! He clearly has the guts in the party, figuratively speaking of course since Warforged would not possibly have any biological viscera. They don't eat or drink, after all, so there is no need for them to have any sort of a twenty-foot gastrointestinal tract to extract nutrients from food. Now I am hungry.
It is best that this Baphomet chap not realize who is the miscreant that is vandalizing his statue. So, while Clock was contemplating taking down the arm, I disguise him by putting the iron helmet on his head, completely squashing his pock-marked hat. A minotaur defaced your statue, Baphomet, not a warforged. Yes, we can certainly fool him good with it. What? He wasn't going to do it now? He's going to bash the door down instead? Bah. Let me show you how it's done, Clock! 2 + 2 = 4. Epic fail. I probably could have done that better. Note to self: next time don't run towards a locked door at full speed, on a slippery floor. |
Gheth was glad that their adventuring had given them an excuse to free the elemental. It bolstered his resolve to see these slavers out of the caverns, and his party's passage would serve as the best kind of insult to Baphomet if this temple were converted to that of another god.
Bracing himself with his spear, he also takes a kick at the door in front of them, hoping to bring it down before anyone's the wiser on the other side. |
Cal pulls the string of glass beads out of their... repository, and gingerly attempts to retrieve the juicy heart that he previously threw on the floor for no reason. Alas, the poorly-treated meat is in bad shape after being smashed into a floor, quickfrozen, and then quickthawed within a matter of minutes. Cal's fingers sluice through the heart like so much oatmeal. If he wants to put it back in his pack he's going to need a mop and bucket. It's just as well — the stink of rotting meat wouldn't do much for his elf disguise anyway.
Gathering near the north door, the three companions quickly combine their efforts to smash it down. Luckily the quickthaw has left the ancient door badly waterlogged, and Gheth's heavy boots smash through it without trouble. It's not long before the door is just a heap of wet splinters with another iron security bar lying atop. The door "opens" onto a largely empty corridor. A statue looms in an alcove at the far end — a skeletal minotaur in robes, wielding a greataxe. On the left side of the corridor is an iron door, heavily chained. To the right, the corridor looks to open onto either an alcove or a doorless room. |
Oh woe is me. My beautiful lovely heart is nothing but mush. I should never have suspected foul play! Alas, I thought the frozen duergar were actually undead minions of that ice elemental, and that they would have reacted to the prospect of delicious meat dangled in front of them. Never mind, I'll retrieve another heart from this Framath character once we kill him dead. The liver I plan to harvest from Murkelmor, as well as the gall bladder of those pain devils, should complement it nicely.
The northern door was no match for the combined strength of the 3 Cs. It opens into an eerily silent passageway with an absolutely frightening cow-man statue with a huge ax. There's no way I can lift that weapon, so I might as well scout ahead for danger. I look at the East opening, and make my way to the barred door at the west. Of course, I do this very stealthily indeed. Listen at the barred door, and if all is quiet, silently try to unlock it. 2+7=9 Definitely NOT the master of unlocking. Pfft. So I get the good roll on stealth: 15+12=27. Alas, my fingers are still too numb from the cold, and the chains resolutely refused to budge. |
The changething was pretty. Pretty bad at being a thief. Gordok will show
Mockingly creep up to that door, moonwalk if 25 on stealth roll Thief dat shit 24 stealth, 27 thievery Gordy struts on up to that door like it's nothing making not even a grain of sand scratch across the surface of the floor. This door. Its chains. They were coming off! Gather round boys and bring some greenbacks because it's time for a striptease. |
Gordok and Cal creep silently up to the chained doorway, and as the halfling smoothly disables the locks the ranger puts his ear to the door. Even before he gets within 5 feet of the door the noise from within is audible, but he moves in for a closer listen as Gordok smoothly pulls the chains aside.
The noise from within the room behind the iron door is a dull roar like that of a busy marketplace or a packed tavern — Cal makes out more than a dozen distinct voices, but there's simply too much chatter to pick out what each of them is saying. Two shrill, giggling voices rise above the general din. "Look at the little goblin, Marshk. He's glaring at us. Why do you think that is?" "You are entirely too concerned with questions of 'why', Durkkel. What we should ask ourselves is: how do we make it stop?" "If it had no eyes it would have to stop glaring I think!" "I knew you had potential, Durkkel. That's thinking outside the box!" A third voice breaks in, not precisely shouting but pointedly raising his voice to demand attention. Cal doesn't understand what's being said, but Gordok is close enough to translate the dwarven dialect on the fly before much has been missed. "—not mangle it. One more missing organ and you'll both be spending the rest of your days keeping company with that thing in the chapel." There is a brief chorus of hissing, but the discussion of prisoner mutilation seems to cease immediately. |
The clever halfling has disarmed the door lock like it's nothing. I covet those thief's tools in his possession, and make a mental note to requisition a set at the nearest opportunity.
With the door unlocked, we are good to storm the busy bazaar that seems to be going on. I turn to my other companions, and put a finger next to my lips to form the universal symbol of BE QUIET. I beckon at the macho human, noble dragonborn, and brash warforged to come help do the shock and awe. We have an opportunity to surprise the enemy, and we will do well to take full advantage of this. I tiptoe back a smidgen. Being a squishy ranged striker, I'm not well-suited to front line combat, and feel safer when behind some cannon fodder. |
Giggling, huh. Those demons the guard spoke about.
Well, this would be an entrance to the slave pits then, if the unfortunate dwarf torso was to be believed. He didn't seem to lie, and Glock recalls he gave a different entrance to the place earlier. The last time they engaged in meaningful slaughter, little bitches ran away. And they had to suffer through a terrible plan full of tables and bridge assaults to appease some sort of cowardly Jim Cramer. None of that. He has an idea. "Dudes, wait just a moment." He grabs the changling and returns to this point. "Ok. So the, uh, 'missing' guard mentioned the north doors here led to the slave pits. The other guys seem to be there too, but from a different entrance. The cleric mentioned voices from the east. We don't need more people fucking about here if we can avoid it." Glock motioned to the north door. "You're the sneakiest one amongst us. Take these chains, and chain that door shut. The last thing we need is a failed contingency plan." ------------- Cal takes the chain and slowly and quietly uses it to lock the north door. He returns to the left entrance where the robot stands. STEALTHIN 20, horray! ------------- The pair proceed back to where the rest of the party is, beyond the chapel. He readies himself for the breach action. And grab the other chains Zerg mentioned below. Yeah. Good idea. |
The warforged grabs me (gush!) and takes me to a place I haven't seen before. A place that is absolutely teeming with enemies. How scary and exciting at the same time! Oh, it looks like he's brought some chains along. At first I thought he was feeling randy and trying to tempt fate in the midst of danger, but then I realized he wanted me to chain the door shut. Well, so I did so sneakily, making sure the chains are good and tight.
We return to the room beyond the chapel, without the chains. Well, Clock can always get some more chains from the door the clever halfling unlocked. |
As Garrmondo strides up to the door, Gordok continues overhearing the loud dwarf within — speaking in Common now, oddly.
"It's not just to inconvenience you that we've sent for you a day early, Gnasc. There's been a major breakdown in security here and frankly I have my doubts that we'll still be here tomorrow, let alone your merchandise. The sooner we close this deal so we can all get to someplace more secure, the better, I think you'll—" Garrmondo unceremoniously kicks the door in, opening a short corridor that leads into the slave pits proper. From this vantage he can't see the whole of the room. There's a pit, perhaps 20' deep, partly filled with water; to the west of that is a similar pit (this one seemingly dry) in which 8 humanoids mill around anxiously. Mostly human, though some are too short to be anything other than dwarves or halflings. On either side of the slave pen, gaunt creatures covered in spikes prowl around on all fours. As Garrmondo kicks in the door, one of the devils whirls around and issues a piercing screech. To the south, beyond Garrmondo's line of sight, what sounds like a brace of hounds starts up an awful baying. "Quiet, you idiots!" snarls a low, growling voice. "As for you, Framarth: we will add these bleeding-hearts to our take, we will pay you half what I originally agreed on for the rest, and your entire clan will vacate Thunderspire before I kill what few of you the orcs have left!" Also Garrmondo glances at the room to the east but it's just an empty crypt with nothing in it so he ignores it. Several dwarven voices raise in a battle cry, tromping toward G-Unit's position. DEFENSES Framarth: AC 20; Fortitude 17, Reflex 18, Will 17 Gnasc: AC 21; Fortitude 18, Reflex 19, Will 18 Gnoll Claw Fighters: AC 20; Fortitude 18, Reflex 16, Will 15 Spined Devils: AC 20; Fortitude 18, Refl ex 16, Will 16 Duergar Recruits: AC 20; Fortitude 17, Reflex 14, Will 15 Peasants: Extremely squishy I remembered this time! :savepoint: Gordok 23, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19, Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Garrmondo 6, Duergar Recruits 23 |
Spined devils, gnolls, more duergar, maybe another theurge, and PEASANTS in the next room and he was stuck in a hallway . Gordok is trying to think of a tighter situation.
http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dungeonnobouken.jpg Oh, bad mental image right there. Gordy decides to chill in the back and wait for something to appear in the hallway to blast. Maybe he'll get lucky and get to hit on a spined devil. Move to B19 Ready Eldritch Blast against anything that moves into B9 |
Oh my, I can see a Devil where I stand! It flies ten feet into the air, and it's coming closer! Mustn't let it see me, lest it outrages my modesty. I take cover behind a pillar as it blasts poor Garrmondo till he's bloodied. In retaliation, I go on my tippy-toes, lean at a very steep angle, and fire off two arrows at the little imp, hoping to bloody it.
The nearest Devil is my Quarry. Move to A18 Two-Fanged Strike: +10 vs AC20 (attack rolls 10+ will hit) Damage: 10+7 (Attack 1) + 1+7 (Attack 2) + 5 (Lethal Quarry) + 2 (Wisdom Modifier) = 32 damage to that thing. http://upload.jetsam.org/images/dnd-battle2-b.png Assumptions: Helga has 64 HP (now down to 43 HP). I assume Framarth is on steroids and has twice that amount. The rest we haven't encountered before, so I put Gorg's HP (220, now down to 147) as the upper limit. |
Gnasc's gnollish bodyguards hurl themselves toward the intruders at top speed — but that isn't saying much.
The spined devils unfurl ragged wings and launch themselves into the air, hovering 10 feet above the floor. The nearest devil launches a fusillade of spines from its flesh into the corridor, hoping to disable the heavily-armored fighter before he could even enter the melee. Garrmondo (already somewhat battered) catches several spines in the neck and reels backwards. 15 damage to Garrmondo; bloodied The ceiling is 20 feet up in this room since I remember someone being curious about ceilings at some point. Cal ducks cautiously into an alcove, firing off two quick shots at the nearest devil before ducking back into cover. The ranger hears both shots thump solidly into their target, and as the spined devil's blood begins to noisily drip into the water below it, he can barely suppress a smirk. Spined Devil A bloodied. A gnoll in hide armor trudges into view from the south, clothed in the bloodstained hides and bone ornaments of a tribal shaman. This must be Gnasc. He drags a heavy cudgel behind him, festooned with what look like teeth. The gnoll draws something small from his belt and points it in the direction of the corridor, but nothing happens. He growls in irritation, but keeps the device trained on G-Unit all the same. Ready action: Hellish Rebuke on anyone who enters B-13 The duergar voice that probably belongs to the theurge Framarth seems to move around the chamber, but the theurge never enters G-Unit's line of sight. :savepoint: Glock 12, Gheth 7, Garrmondo 6, Duergar Recruits 23, Gordok 23, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19, Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14 |
Robots do not appreciate having to burn heals this early in fights, but resigns to the fact that they need a quality meat shield if they're going to get anywhere.
Rubbing a bit of healing salve all over his hand, Glock backhands the fighter across the face. He stumbles forward a tiny bit, but looks slightly refreshed. "Dumbass. What did we tell you? I'm not doing this again." Majestic Word on Garr 16 HP regained for Garr. Slide Fighter to B15. God damn it. With the armour monkey slightly repaired, the robot continues to take cover behind him, only to pop his head out and yell down the hallway. "HEY DEMON. FUCK YOU." Move to B16 Vicious Mockery on flying faggot A. He is ignored. :( |
Gheth becomes suddenly aware of how few options he has when confronted with multiple attackers at range. He resorts to throwing things.
"Back, you devils!" Move to B14 Drop spear Equip Morningstar for throwing Attack Spined Devil A (8 damage) |
The duergar recruits run! They run real fast! They get shot at!
That's about it! Oops! Achievement unlocked: Cal :savepoint: Gordok 23, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19, Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Garrmondo 6, Duergar Recruits 23 |
And here they come piling down the hallway. Gordok remains in position and fires off another eldritch blast
Warlock's Curse Eldritch Blast duergar recruit at B12 1 + 4 + 4 + 6 = 15 damage |
Gnasc's gnollish cohorts charge into the chokepoint, but Gheth manages to hold back their slashing claws for the time being. The spined devils hover in formation, lowering their altitude to 5 feet and raining a fusillade of spines down upon G-Unit's front line. Maybe lining everyone up in front of several cannons wasn't the best offensive strategy, especially with Garrmondo waving a bow around instead of keeping his shield up.
24 damage to Glock (bloodied); 5 recurring poison damage and slowed (single save ends both) 16 damage to Garrmondo (bloodied) :savepoint: Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Garrmondo 6, Duergar Recruits 23, Gordok 23, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19 |
Monster after monster rush into the corridor! Thankfully, the clever halfling dropped two ugly dwarves in quick fashion, adding to his impressive rack of kills. Oh how I bemoan my lack of kills and achievements, although anyone can plainly see I am the most bloodthirsty coward in the entire party!
The spined devils launch another cannonade of poisonous spines at the robot and the human, bloodying them both. Is it my imagination, or has the whole world suddenly conspired to strengthen our enemies? I feel vulnerable in this position, what with several animal things running up with their sharp claws. The good thing is, they're all bunched up - the dragon might be able to get many of them with his magic breath. The bad thing is, I'm still quite delicate and would fall easily to their terrible attacks. And that's not discounting the area attacks of that theurge, who we cannot see yet. I truly hope Gnasc, Framarth, three gnolls, three devils, and three duergar recruits are what we're facing against, though I fear there may be more of those ugly gray dwarves. Well, I'm not taking any of that crap this time. I sink into a stance taught to me by a rednecked ranger by the name of Denilucas. Yes, we spent many days practicing this move in his isolated cabin up in the boondocks of Eberron. He's no longer around, unfortunately, having suffocated in his sleep due to his overly long beard. I no longer remember the finer elements of the technique, having not used it for quite some time - a pity, since it lets me opportunistically attack any creature within 25 feet that moves closer. What I know is a diluted variant which I pray will be sufficient. I only hope my allies can help me maximize the use of this stance. Exchange move for minor and activate Spitting Cobra Stance. Once per round, any enemy within five squares away from me that moves or shifts closer immediately gets an arrow up its ass. Twin Strike on Devil A with -2 penalty to hit: Second arrow hits (17 - 2 + 10 = 25 beats AC 20) Devil takes 8+2+5 = 15 damage Use minor action to A stray thought entered my head. Perhaps we may no longer be able to parlay with Framarth and his ilk, but maybe Gnasc might be a reasonable sort. What do I know about gnolls and their strengths and weaknesses in general, and their susceptibility to bluff or diplomacy in particular? http://upload.jetsam.org/images//dnd-battle2-c.png |
The enemy is tearing holes through G-Unit's ranks. Cal racks his brains for anything he knows about his gnollish adversaries, hoping to perhaps bargain with them. What he remembers isn't encouraging.
Holy crap does Cal know a lot about gnolls (Nature Check 21): Grimacing, he leans around the corner and fires. One of his arrows flies directly into the nearest devil's laughing maw, and the creatures falls heavily to the floor. The captured peasants murmur in awe as the devil's body melts into a caustic sludge, its evil spirit banished back to the hells to climb the ranks all over again. Yup, killed. (They have 46 HP, Zerg) Cal draws a bead on the nearest gnoll as Gheth holds it back. He'd been looking for a new fur cloak. Gnasc snarls as his idiotic underlings pack themselves into the narrow passageway. What good are greater numbers if you can't surround the enemy? These pups know nothing of tactics, let alone tradition. He strides to the far end of the corridor, watching the godservant throw himself stupidly into harm's way even when someone weaker could be sacrificed instead. They always did that! God-worship was always too complicated for Gnasc to understand. So many complicated rules. Demons were straightforward; they mostly wanted you to kill things. He levels the object in his hand in Gheth's direction: he's close enough now to identify it as a wand. "The Destroyer sends his greetings, reptile." A roiling blast of fire leaps over the heads of the claw fighters, slamming into Gheth's chest and splashing him with flames. Hellish Rebuke: 10 damage to Gheth Framarth just mutters irritably and circles around the pool. He could just barely spot the halfling capering around at the far end of the corridor. The midget thought he was safe back there, did he? Not quite. Framarth slams his warhammer into the floor, and a rumble goes through the fortress. Rocks begin to fall from the ceiling over Gordok's head, pelting him and his nearby allies and smashing them to the floor. Cal dodges reflexively, miraculously avoiding all the falling debris. Brimstone Hail centered on B18 13 damage to Glock, Gordok (both knocked prone) Cal activates Gambler's Suit: reroll misses him Start of Glock's turn: 5 poison damage :savepoint: Glock 12, Gheth 7, Garrmondo 6, Duergar Recruits 23, Gordok 23, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19, Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14 |
Framarth pounds his warhammer, and inexplicably rocks begin to fall. A huge rock fell on me, almost certain to cause me bloody harm. But not if my suit has anything to say about it!
Activate Gambler's Suit daily power Framarth must reroll his attack against me. If it hits, I get critical hit damage, which is to say would change nothing. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//dnd-battle2-d.png |
Sparks were shooting everywhere. His arm was on the floor next to him. He didn't know what the fuck was going on anymore. Glock was annoyed. If he had eyelids, they would be SO SQUINTY. You have no idea.
Getting up, he plugs his arm back in and straightens his awesome hat as the camera totally zoomed in on his face and all the dramatic music stopped for a moment. "Implement evasive maneuver pattern Kirk epsilon." Get the hell up. Warforged Resolve Yay. No more acid. 5 temp HP and 5 real HP. Kirk epsilon was his most favorite of evasive maneuvers. Beats the shit of out of patterns omega three and gamma six, I tell you what. He then whips out his little flute. Ready to play the song of GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF DODGE. All he needs is for the holy man to get his part of the deal done. Readied Action Flute of the Dancing Satyr. Trigger: Skex performing Healing Strike. Occurs right afterward. Table of shifts. Me to D16. Acer to C18. Garr to B16. Skex to B15. Zerg to stay his ass put, he doesn't want to move. |
Excerpt from Gheth's adventuring notes: pg. 843
Quote:
"And you!" Gheth yelled back to his warforged friend. "You've still got a long life of awful singing to do!" Quote:
Pick up spear Healing Strike on Gnoll A with surge to Glock (Free move action to B15) Move to C16 Action Point Healing Word to Glock |
The duergar recruits charge into the corridor, and sure enough the nearest of them falls down stone dead with an arrow in his skull the moment he gets anywhere near the ranger. The rest have no hesitation in trampling over his body at top speed, forgoing an attack in order to cover distance.
Spitting-Cobra Stance = 1 more dead minion, ayup :savepoint: Gordok 23, Garrmondo 6, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19, Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Duergar Recruits 23 |
Things were about to get dangerous. Gordok picks himself up and zaps another minion so that Garr, the bravest of the brave, can do his thing.
Spend move action getting up from prone Eldritch Blast minion @ B15 And lo another minion is dust and the doorway is clear. Gordy steels himself for the incoming molestation of grand proportions. |
Gordok was prepared for the worst when all of a sudden he thought of an idea. He'd transform into a spider, go over to the skeletal minotaur statue, web that thing up like some sort of marionette, and walk it over to the door all spooky like so that it would be such a surprise when the gnolls broke through! Wait no that wouldn't work. Minotaurs didn't build statues with articulated joints and the statue was far too heavy for this halfling. What to do? What to do? Not a bad idea at all but impractical and too complicated. It needed to be simpler i.e. get the statue from point A to point B. Hmmmm... oh yes. Gordy had it figured out now.
Spend Action Point Diabolic Grasp skeletal minotaur statue to B15 A dark hand with a purpose different to what it was accustomed to appears and drags and pushes the grand minotaur statue forth. With a loud bang the great cow brandishing its greataxe crashes open the slightly ajar door and greets its surprised visitors. "MOO!" |
Shouting a faintly-remembered oath from distant Kara-Tur, Garrmondo shoves the imposing statue down the stairs. The nearest duergar recruit is instantly crushed by the hurtling sculpture, and makes a series of unpleasant squishing sounds as the statue grinds it into the stairsteps. The statue barrels over the gnoll behind him and smashes into the second gnoll in line before tipping over and coming to a halt. The dog-men yip angrily.
"Fang, Baphomet has turned his horns against us! His ancient relics wake to aid our foes! What can we do in the face of such an enemy?!" Gnasc stares at his underlings with a mixture of loathing and pity. "Have you tried biting it?" 1 more dead minion; 11 damage to Claw Fighters A & B (both knocked prone, B immobilized) The nearest gnoll stands up, and instantly lunges at Garrmondo. While the gnoll's claws tear viciously at the fighter, his brains are still too rattled from the statue's impact to notice that the shield is not precisely a vital organ. The other two gnolls work together to attempt to shove the statue aside. The gnoll is freed from beneath the stone minotaur, and he clambers atop the fallen statue triumphantly, the strange foe gloriously defeated. "You, too, human, will be knocked down, and then stepped on! I will step on you! It will smell bad and you will dislike it!" B12 becomes difficult terrain, in the unlikely event that anyone tries to pass through there The spined devils continue pelting spines down the hall, since that's kind of their thing. Don't hate the player. 15 damage to Garrmondo :savepoint: Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Duergar Recruit 23, Gordok 23, Garrmondo 6, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19 |
Fuck that noise.
ZOOM BANG KAPOW VIRTUE OF CUNNING RIGHT AFTER GNOLL FAGGOT A MISSES GARR TO C17. OUT OF DEVIL LINE OF SIGHT. ADVANTAGE OF CUNNING GNOLL A TO B16. COME HERE YOU WOLFMAN FUCKER YOU ARE SO DEAD |
I thought my fellow adventurers were going to retreat, but it seemed like they were far more interested in playing puppets with ginormous minotaur statues. It is a wonder that something so heavy has a crushing force that inflicts about as much damage as one of my arrows. Oh well, c'est la vie!
The robot bard squirted something on the ground, causing Carrmondo to slide -- just in the nick of time too! The first devil has just missed him, and the second devil lets loose with some particularly nasty projectiles that will doubtlessly cause him plenty of pain. Luckily for us, the Gnoll slid to where Carr used to be, and was ventilated by friendly fire a split second later! Well, one can certainly hope! At any rate, there's a door that needs closing, and it seems I'm the one elected to do the job. I waltz right to it, grab hold of the cast-iron door, and slam it very very hard indeed. My future fur coat doesn't take kindly to dances, the heathen. He lunges so as to claw at me, before I even reach the door. I suppose I'll live. I plan to harvest me some rocky mountain gnoll oysters later, so I tell my fellow adventurers to attack it above the belt. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: All bravado gone, I move all the way south, taking cover behind the wall. It is highly unlikely for my fancy stance to get another attack in at this distance, although I wouldn't discount it based on what I know about gnoll speed. I pray that Framarth, being unable to seen any enemies where he stands, won't send another area attack directly at my comrades. I wonder how large much his appetite for friendly fire is, given his less-than-cordial relationship with the dog things. Move Action: From A18, go to B17, A16 (attract AoO), stop at B15 Minor Action: Get hold of door Standard > Move Action: From B15, go to C16 (drop door = free action, aka slam door shut), move to H15. Gnoll A AoO vs Cal: Roll of 4 + [ ] vs. AC 21+2 Fort 16 Ref 20 Will 17. I guess Pang will do the damage roll if it hits? http://upload.jetsam.org/images//dnd-battle2-e.png |
As the human slides away from the doorway, the spined devils abandon their original plan to stay at range, gliding down the corridor toward G-Unit and still firing on Garrmondo since he's not remotely out of their line of sight at all.
Guess it's only fair to reroll it. Ouch, 24 damage to Garrmondo and he's knocked out cold. (+ongoing poison/slow effect) That's what happens when you mess with the space-time continuum. Gnasc dashes down the corridor, cudgel in hand, and smashes at the door with all his might. Strong and healthy slaves like this were too valuable to allow their escape. In his fury, he doesn't even bother to check if the door is locked. 15 damage to A DOOR! FUCK YES. Once again Framarth can't see his enemies at all, thanks to the stupid dogmen and their total lack of tactical sense. Draw them in, you idiots! The theurge trudges toward the corridor; judging by the noise, Gnasc should have bashed the door down by the time he gets there. :savepoint: Glock 12, Gheth 7, Duergar Recruit 23, Gordok 23, Garrmondo 6, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19, Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14 |
A pox on time paradoxes and their effects! The fighter slumps down, hit twice by merciless devil spines, and dying from poison that's coursing through his veins. My colleagues will have their hands full trying to stabilize him (hopefully he has some heal (or is it cure) potion he can imbibe). Perhaps I can lend my allies a hand in taking down the huge dog thing before the door breaks. I decide to teach the mutt a lesson, shooting it from the relative safety of my air-conditioned nook in the chapel.
I'm tacking this on to my last turn, as circumstances have changed for the worse. Spend Action Point. Shadow Wasp Strike on Gnoll A. 16+10 vs Ref 16 = HIT. Pang, misread 2d10 as 1d20. Hope you don't mind? Gnoll A takes 17+7+5=29 HP damage. Let's hope that bloodies him at least. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//dnd-battle2-f.png |
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit."
"Shit shit SHIT" You know what gets people going? Glock thinks it's time for some ballin' ass tunes. Inspirational ballin' ass tunes. Ballin' ass tunes about vikings and swords and adventure. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Song of Courage He then proceeded to raise one of his well articulated digits at the wolfman he pulled into this room. "EAT MY SHIT." Vicious Mockery on Gnoll A This actually misses, I deleted the wrong post. The hit roll was a 4 initially. Miss. Burn Lucky Charm. 4+3+1+7 = 15, just barely hit. 2+5 = 7 damage. The gnoll exploded, for some reason or another. At least the dude who liked organs would be happy with this one later. Glancing sideways, he sighed and mentioned just how aggrivated he was with this organbag. "Hey, meatsack, get the hell up. I need you to uhh...get in the way of things. Yeah." He leaves the bleeding squishy thing to the proper healer and following the greedy one's lead, retreating far enough down the hallway to have a small degree of safety, but his head speakers were only so large. He's going to have to get those upgraded at some point. Move to G16. |
With the flying statue and the ghost of Doorman's unlocked-door-revenge now firmly in their favor, Gheth made sure that the warrior would not be left for dead (as it were) in their wake.
"Up you come. And stop bleeding, already. It's just getting old." With a heave, Gheth righted the warrior on his feet, and then began the hasty business of booking it, with a keen eye on the door when it inevitably toppled outward. Healing Word on Garrmondo (surge +6) Move to H17 Ready Spiritual Weapon on any enemy that enters B16 |
The duergar recruit does... well, something. It's hard to say with the door shut and all. He's definitely trundling around back there. Maybe he's surrendered! Maybe he's baking G-Unit a delicious pie. Maybe he's turned on his master and has begun freeing the prisoners.
Maybe not. Achievement unlocked: Glock :savepoint: Gordok 23, Garrmondo 6, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Spined Devils 19, Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Duergar Recruit 23 |
http://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifThe amount of noise that had occured beyond the door pleases Gordok. With the
http://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifenemy hallway closed off he decides to go investigate what might be pounding http://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifon the large iron door. He'll need all his senses in tip top shape so a little bear http://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifhttp://www.thegond.com/rp/12x12block.gifreturns to the scene. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/whatc...doorbidoof.jpg Bear mode Move to B16, just on the edge close to B17 Ready Roar of Terror when the iron door is destroyed Ready spend Action Point for additional move action after Roar of Terror to F16 |
Assuming his most intimidating form (a small, fuzzy bear), Gordok crouches by the door and prepares a most excellent ambush. He will yell at them and they will feel bad about being such mean people and they will give up their lives of crime and become upstanding citizens. This Gordok believes.
You can't ready more than one thing at a time because they're immediate reactions; sorry boss Garrmondo shakily gets to his feet, swilling down an antidote while he waits for the door's inevitable collapse. Judging from the hives breaking out on his arms, it's not helping much. 5 damage Pulling a potion from your pack and then drinking it is two separate actions, so you don't really have time to do it twice. The antivenom was mentioned first so I assumed you'd prioritize that; just yell at me if I'm wrong The claw fighters bide their time, hanging back a bit so Gnasc can give them a proper shot at the door. Delay until after Gnasc's turn The spined devils pelt the door with dozens of spines, but it doesn't give. It's almost as if this heavy iron door was extremely durable or something. 25 combined damage to the door Zerg PMed me to delay his turn until after Gnasc's :savepoint: Cal 19, Gnasc 14, Gnoll Claw Fighters 14, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Duergar Recruit 23, Gordok 23, Garrmondo 6, Spined Devils 19 Gnasc winds up for a massive swing. "Boys, when we get back to the Well, we're taking out all the doors. No more doors. Ever. I declare them offensive in the eyes of Yeenoghu, and all doors henceforth will be destroyed. This particular door will be left on a pike as a warning." One of the spined devils looms closer to the door, anticipating its collapse. The Fang smashes his cudgel into the stubborn door, and with an earsplitting groan the iron hinges finally give way. The door tumbles forward, threatening to squash a tiny bear that wasn't there a moment ago. The lucky little animal barely dodges the falling metal slab, and looses a terrifying roar. Taken completely off guard by Gordok's fuzzy wuzzy appearance, G-Unit's foes fall into a disarray of bumbling and flailing as they try to guard their ears. 9 damage to claw fighters B & C, Devil C; dazed (save ends) 4 damage to Gnasc; dazed (1 round) :savepoint: Cal 19, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Duergar Recruit 23, Gordok 23, Garrmondo 6, Spined Devils 19, Gnasc 14 |
Everyone's clustering together again, at least, it seems that way from my point of view. Have they not learned from the past? Framarth's on the warpath, and I just know that we'll see his ugly face within the next twelve seconds. Well, I don't intend to be within his visual range when that happens, so I retreat, although staying within aural range of the courageous song still blaring out from the tin man's head.
Things are happening fast, as the clever halfling avoids being crushed, and the human struggles to his feet - albeit barely. Those devil spines are really nasty. The naughty dog bashed our beautiful iron door down, and I will punish him for it. He clearly needs obedience training, that overgrown mutt with the disease-ridden cudgel, and now my quarry. I can barely see him, but I must be harsh nonetheless! Precision is needed here, so I carefully send an arrow directly at him, from an angle most awkward. While my extensive knowledge of gnolls tell me that we can't bargain, bribe, or negotiate with a gnoll, perhaps we just might be able to intimidate them into surrendering once their leader is tamed. To hammer home the point, I yell out "BAD DOG!" just as the arrow sinks into Gnasc's left nipple. "SIT! STAY!" Retreat to L16. Designate Gnasc as Quarry. I can (barely) see him from here, right? Careful Attack: 12 + 9 + 1 (song of courage) - 2 (cover) = 20 vs. AC 21 - 2 (dazed) = 19. HIT Gnasc takes 3+2+7 = 12 HP damage. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//dnd-battle2-g.png |
The gnolls stagger drunkenly forward. The closest one takes a wild swipe at the little bear, throwing a puff of soft, downy fur into the air. Reflexively, Gordy lashes out with his little claws and a spray of gnoll dander is scattered around as well.
"YOU FOOLS!", Gnasc shrieks. "MY ALLERGIES!" 15 damage to Gordok 7 damage to Gnoll B Framarth glumly trudges into the hallway, only to spy a tiny bear gazing at him curiously. All at once Framarth is overcome by tragic memories of his childhood, and the loss of his precious teddy Umple-Bumple. With a shudder, he launches a bolt of fire from his palm, incinerating the hateful little creature. Gordok wisely rolls over and plays dead, snuffing out the open flames on his fur in the bargain. 24 damage, Gordok unconscious I'm just going to delay the Recruit's turn until after Garrmondo, so I'll announce that now so you guys can coordinate your turns :savepoint: Glock 12, Gheth 7, Gordok 23, Garrmondo 6, Duergar Recruit 23, Spined Devils 19, Gnasc 14, Cal 19, Gnoll Claw Fighters 19, Framarth 14 |
Y'know what they say.
NO GUTS NO GLORY. Glock didn't exactly HAVE GUTS, but that's a minor technicality. Should he survive, he will also have to look into putting some in his chest cavity for the shits and giggles. No time for that though. His broseph is down and about to fucking kick it. Steeling himself for what is no doubt a horrible idea, Glock rolls up next to his fallen homey. Second Wind Move to C16 Lifting the halflings limp arm, he fist bumps him. Wait, what's this? The halfling is opening his eyes? Oh, miracle of miracles, the mystical powers of bro-ology have one again helped saved lives. Oh happy day, what a wonderful time to be alive! Majestic Word on Gordy. Smiling his metallic smile, Glock figured if he's gonna go, it might be as well be while giving the best damn blackup he can. It takes him a second, but he prepares something to say to the evil man with the rocks AP Burn Ready Fast Friends at Framarth. Designated ally is Acer. Trigger is last possible fucking moment before the Deurgar recruit's turn. After the friendlies in this block have gone. |
Now that it had come to it, Gheth didn't really feel like any of them should die. He felt that was succinct, but pointed. Earnsthe Heemingwhey, famed dragonborn scholar, would be proud.
Well, back to work. Move to D16 Spiritual Weapon on Gnoll B (10 damage) Action Point Cascade of Light on Gnasc Burn holy symbol for extra 1d4 (13 damage) |
The small bear had given surprise just as he'd intended. What he didn't expect was a fireball to the face and the sudden dark blackness that followed. And so Gordok had a dream.
Things were looking bad but at least not that bad. Strangely enough the horrible defeat jars him back into consciousness. Smacking his blood encrusted lips our bear looks down the stairs and although his head is throbbing his strength is slowly returning. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndodatbattle1.png Enough to crawl around. Enough to... http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndodatbattle2.png "MOTHER OF GOD" And so enemies were sent bashing into each other and even into the great minotaur statue who did enjoy inflicting great pain with what was left of itself and its great axe. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndodatbattle3.png And Framarth was not without his own burdens. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndodatbattle4.png Quite the flow of air indeed. Yes but how had Gordok survived? Reverting back to his true form the halfling backs away avoiding the gnoll in the corner and glances around. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndodatbattle5.png G-Unit had sprung back into action! They had not fled after all. With renewed energy and a bit more faith that they might make it through this or at least give em hell Gordy powers up his last big spell. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndodatbattle6.png "Anyone feel like barbecue tonight?" work and notes:
damages:
Gnasc total damage = 14+6+14 = 46 Spined Devil C total damage = 14+9+10+5 = 38 Gnoll Claw Fighter C total damage = 9+10 = 19 Framarth total damage = 6 PLUS 12 FROM FLAME TYRANNY RESET TIME MACHINE. |
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After a series of inexplicable events the smoke from Gordok's methane explosion clears, leaving a pile of corpses on the ground.
Gnoll B killed, Devil C killed, Gnasc killed Seeking to defend his halfling buddy, Glock hails the theurge and tries to think of something really clever to say about Gordok that will soften Framarth's heart toward the little fella. Sadly, when he opens his iron jaw only an odd little tune comes out. It's not very useful. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: The last living duergar recruits charges toward Garrmondo and then he gets kind of tired so he just stands there a little bit. Just little breather, yeah. Whew! The spined devil decides spine time is over. No more spines. He's drawing the line. The spine line. Spines are fine, but don't cross the spine line. It's time for claws. Time for claw law. Move to B15 Return 0 altitude Claw Garrrmondo 21 damage Garrmondo tips over again Zerg wants to delay again The claw fighter darts nimbly past Garrmondo's prone form, seeking to punish the little halfling for permanently destroying his sense of smell. Gordok is punished most judiciously, and falls with a splut. A splut. :savepoint: Cal 19, Framarth 14, Glock 12, Gheth 7, Gordok (KO) 23, Garrmondo (KO) 6, Duergar Recruit 23, Spined Devil 19, Gnoll Claw Fighter 19, |
The clever halfling did something very disgusting and yet clever at the same time. It is quite unfortunate that he AND the human fighter would suffer the consequences. I fear they won't be getting up for the rest of the encounter, unless the clever halfling gets a Second Chance somehow. We will have to win this encounter, and pray that Framarth won't kill them with his Brimstone Hail. Indeed, I hope he won't want to incinerate his last remaining devil in the blast.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I string up two arrows, draw them back as far as I can possibly manage, and let loose the two after taking the best aim as I can possibly manage. The arrows separate in midair, poking gaping holes in the tin man's jaunty hat, and each hitting an enemy to the left and right of him. The little furball is designated as my quarry, and the arrow pushes into it slightly more enthusiastically. The Devil won't get off easily either, its strength is sapped by the enchantment from my longbow. I then retreated yet again, like the coward I am. Better a living coward than a dead hero, I always say. Actually, scratch that. LEEEROYYYYYY JENKINNNNNNNNNNNNS! Designate Gnoll as my Quarry. Split the Tree on Gnoll and Devil. Higher result of 14 counts. Both AC 20 + 2 (cover) = 22, against 14+10 = 24. Both hit. Both take 2+7=9 HP damage. Fuck you, damage dice. Gnoll takes additional 4 HP damage due to hunter's quarry. Activate Poisoned Weapon on the Devil. It takes ongoing 5 poison damage and is weakened, save ends both. Move to H15. Screw stealth. A roll of 20-5 (for moving more than 2 squares) is not going to give me combat advantage. http://upload.jetsam.org/images//dnd-battle2-h.png |
Framarth groans in pain, his robes smoldering. Reflexively, he tries to get to his feet but it's as if a massive invisible hand were pinning him to the floor. Painstakingly, he tumbles about on the floor to try to get a view of the intruders that had done this to him. The insolent little halfling was already on the floor, like the musclebound oaf they'd been using for a doorstop. The theurge could just barely spot the glint of the metal man's armor around a corner, though...
He'd have to rain down hell on his own allies, but his vengeance was worth the price of a little blood. He was damned anyway. His hammer begins to glow red-hot, and he smashes it into the corridor wall with all his strength. Ceiling stones once again crack and tumble down on G-Unit, glowing ember-hot. This one's for all the marbles Brimstone Hail: +9 vs Reflex, Area Burst 2 Centered on C16 (Glock) 8 damage to Gordok, Gheth, Garr, Spined Devil, Duergar Recruit Recruit kilt daid Straining his arms, Framarth tries again to free himself from the floor's iron grip to no avail. :savepoint: Glock 12, Gheth 7, Gordok (KO) 23, Garrmondo (KO) 6, Spined Devil 19, Gnoll Claw Fighter 19, Cal 19, Framarth 14 |
REVISED TURN ORDER:
Skex, Me, Garr, Gordok. |
Gheth stood slack-jawed as the tiny bear stood up, only to unleash another of its...skills...upon an unsuspecting enemy.
What hadn't been pulverized by the gale-force fart was certainly going to have trouble recovering. G-unit was taking hits, and they were down, but not out. Now was the time to press their advantage. Sustain Spiritual Weapon Move: move weapon to Devil B (B15) Move: shift to C17 |
Did...nah. Couldn't be.
Glock could have sworn the bloody pulpy midget looked like a Morlock there for a second. Must just be his robotic ability to see alternate timelines. Gotta ignore that for a moment. Time was OF THE ESSENCE. There was a murderin' to do. But first. There is this god damn meatbag. He looks like shit. He looks like...mush. Oh, well, at least the mush still has a mouth. And some organs. Glock can see the organs. They are on the floor somewhat. Oh well, time to fix. The mouth is important after all. Fish around in Garr's purse for a potion. Pour potion DOWN HIS GULLET OK YOU, IT'S MURDERIN' TIME. SLAM THE SHIT OUT OF THIS DEVIL. LET'S ROCK AND ROLL. Stepping back, Glock realizes that there's a good chance that this will go somewhat incorrectly. This is always an issue with this group. Time to prep some ROCK A BEAT. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Shift to D16. AP TIME Ready Tune of Ice and Wind at B16. Trigger is the end of Garr's turn Table of Hits 7 + 2 = 9. Miss on Devil. 7 + 16 = 23. Hit on Gnoll. Table of Damagessssss 4 on Devil. 9 on Gnoll. Table of Shifts Garr: -A16 Gord: D18 Skex: B20 |
A chill wind issues from Glock's mystic songblade, and his allies are gently carried to safety even as his foes are buffeted by frigid gusts. The gnoll seems to be so exhausted that the cold alone is enough to sap the last of its will to live, and it slumps gently to the floor.
The spined devil is bereft of any useful orders what with his summoner busy flopping around on the floor like a beached trout, and instantly takes offense to Gheth trying to poke him with a flying knife. Didn't he hear that Claw Law was declared? Melee only, you camping asshole! The devil backs off, resolving to bring back the big guns until these noobs learned to play. Gnoll killed, Devil bloodied by ongoing poison. Reminder: Crack The Shell is a reliable power, so it's not checked off on a miss. Devil shifts backward to B14 Rain of Spines vs Gheth (+9 vs. Reflex) Claw Law is suspended temporarily 5 damage to Gheth; ongoing 5 poison/slowed, single save ends both :savepoint: Cal 19, Framarth 14, Gheth 7,Glock 12, Gordok (KO) 23, Garrmondo 6, Spined Devil 19 |
The Devil was retreating, like the weak, poisoned bastard he was. I wonder if he managed to shake them off. I hope not. And that it won't matter. I pursue my quarry at the expense of my personal safety, hoping to permanently incapacitate it from point blank range.
Move to B15, and designate Devil as Quarry. Twin Strike on Devil. AC 20, need 9+ to hit (less 10 + 1 - prime shot). Devil interrupts, inflicting much pain on Cal. Damage to be determined by Pang. Activate Yield Ground, shifting to B13, then continue Twin Strike as normal. +2 to all defenses until the end of my next turn. Damage: 10 + 2 + 5 + 2 + 8 = 27 HP. Devil killed. Turning my attention to the prone Framarth, I "Framarth, I am your long-lost daughter. Please don't kill my friends, daddy." Bluff Check: 10+13 = 23. Diplomacy Check: 2+4 = 6 Fine, he doesn't want to parlay, but he believes my lies! He won't do Wave of Despair against me, would he? :tpg: |
Framath glowered. The she-elf was mocking him.
"That doesn't even make anatomical sense", he mutters. He fires a blast of fire from his pact hammer and painstakingly crawls away around the corner to the south. He was severely outnumbered, but there was still a chance to reach Murkelmor. He'd show these bastards what for. 16 damage to Cal from Devil's AoO 8 damage to Cal from Firebolt (+9 vs Reflex), bloodied Start of Gheth's turn: 5 poison damage, bloodied And then he delays apparently :savepoint: Glock 12, Gheth 7, Gordok (KO) 23, Cal 19, Garrmondo 6, Framarth 14 |
Old man, you are NOT getting away that easily.
Double Run to A3. GO GO GADGET ROCKETSKATES. And with that, Glocks feet formed wheels, and a giant booster rocket emerged from his back. It took all his effort to control the great velocity with which he moved, but he managed to put himself down on the far side of the pool. "AHA. I SEE YOU LITTLE MAN." A little disoriented, Glock only has time to do one quick thing. Goggles of Aura Sight just for the hell of it. |
Gheth thinks about Framarth.
He thinks about him good. He decides he does not much care for Framarth. Not at all. When he is done thinking, he decides that he will stab him. With mind (Delay turn) Move to B18 I'm runnin' against the wind Sustain Spritiual Weapon on Framarth |
I stride after Framarth, and give him a long hard look.
"Oh daddy, how can you treat me so? Your loving daughter, Callie!" He's prone, +2 against ranged, but I have Prime Shot and Combat Advantage. Need rolls of 9+ for Twin Strike and 7+ for Careful Attack to hit. Move to A9. Framarth is my quarry. Twin Strike on the Bastard. 7 + 2 + 8 = 17 HP damage. "It hurts me when you do this!" Framarth has HP left If Garr hits with Shield Bash but rolls a 1 for damage, Glock will eat his hat. |
Garrmondo chuckles in satisfaction as the duergar mage is smashed into a fine paste between the wall and his shield. Back in the abandoned crypt, Gheth takes a moment to provide first aid to the battered halfling. After a moment or two the little fellow's eyes flutter open, and the cleric helps him get to his feet. He's in no shape for another fight, but at at least they won't have to carry him.
VICTORY! 2300 XP + 200 XP (minor quest) = 500 XP each Level Up! Cal sees an opportunity for further experimental surgery, but before he can even reach the devil corpses to retrieve their spines they begin to dissolve into a foul sludge. It hardly seems fair, depriving him of a trophy like that. Glock takes stock of the situation, making a quick body count and issuing a low whistle. Still, it'd been worth it in the end. He could only imagine how grateful some of these poor entrapped ladies might be. So very, very grateful. The prisoners were an odd bunch; in the northwest pit was the normal assortment of peasants — 5 humans, a halfling woman, and an androgynous person of indeterminate gender... probably a changeling, judging by the black unpupiled eyes. A red-bearded dwarf sulked near the center of the pit, steadfastly ignoring all the recent mayhem. Something about the fellow seemed awfully familiar to Glock, but he couldn't place it. The southeast pit, however, looked to contain no peasants at all. The five humans there were all clad in various forms of leather armor or mage robes, and in several cases seemed to still have weapons strapped to their backs. Most of it looked like pretty rudimentary gear, and the group hardly seemed like it would be a threat to the duergar, but leaving them armed was still pretty dumb in principle. The conversation among the group in the south pit was a sharp contrast to the excited chatter of the peasants: they were talking quietly amongst themselves in low tones, evidently trying to resolve some sort of disagreement. A bony little goblin, spectacularly ugly even by goblin standards, attempts to stealthily spy on the discussion; whenever he gets close enough to hear anything the redhead smacks him away with the back of her hand, and he retreats back to the corner for a few moments before trying again. |
Victory! Finally, after hours of fighting... wait, it took only half a minute, but it certainly felt like hours... we won!
Healing Surge to full. I eagerly saunter to the Spined Devil corpses to collect their excellent poisoning and slowing spines, but they dissolved into mush just as I reached the bodies. Curses! A pox on the World for denying me my well-earned body parts! Nevertheless, I have my list, which I shall complete before taking a rest: [ ] One Framarth heart [ ] Two gnoll claw fighter claws, for use as personal light daggers [ ] A pair of generative glands from Gnasc [ ] A gnoll fur cloak (as kindly suggested here) First things first, we no longer need chains on the door, they're a give-away to Murkelmor that something is up. I stealthily backtrack all the way back to the corridor, and remove them. I also examine the room containing Gorg's holding pen to pocket any items of interest. I am specifically looking for writing materials, and anything out of the ordinary, before hoofing it back. Stealth Check: 16 + 12 = 28 Silently remove chains, and search Gorg's room, specifically looking for writing materials and implements ________ I return bearing the chains, which I deposit at Cordok's feet. I go to the Dragonborn beside him, and give him my crossbow and bolts, plus the mundane warhammer, to ingratiate myself to him. Now he has a ranged option superior to simply throwing oversized chains around. Drop chains, and give crossbow + 10 bolts, and warhammer to Gheth. I need to do my dissections in peace, so I convince him to "check up on the welfare of the captives" in the room up yonder. I virtually push the giant lizard into the slave pit room, upon which I drag Framarth's mangled corpse back into the crypt, and line up all ten bodies on the ground. I carefully segregate any usable items that we can pass on to the peasants (such as warhammers and armor), so they can defend themselves. Then I start carving the bodies for biological loot to fit into my flask. I am quite confident the clever halfling will not mind all this gore. Surgery is hard work, so I take out three servings of rations and eat while cutting. I'm not at all being delicate with cutting, so it shouldn't take too long. Since properly skinning a gnoll may take a while, I hastily try to remove as much meat from the hide as possible. We'll worry about doing it right later. Eat three trail rations. Cal gains 2 pounds of weight. |
Glock sticks his head over the north pit.
"Hey dudes, what's up?" |
Gheth takes time out to tend to the fallen, making sure that the halfling is in stable condition before they move anywhere. Out of earshot of the other adventurers, Gheth mutters to himself as he works.
"Let's see...the ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, then shin bone's connected to the leg bone. What's next? Shit. I know it's gotta be important." After some trial and error, Gheth steps back from his work with a self-satisfied grin on his face. All things considered, it was a fine reconstructive surgery he had just done on a cold dungeon floor. Besides, it was probably only his imagination that the halfling seemed...shorter...than before. Sawbonesin' done, Gheth looks to his own health with a bit of poultice for the poison, and allows himself to be prodded into the other room to check up on the people next door. He takes a particular interest in the southern pit full of armed(?) slaves. He notes their situation and their weapons, letting them see him looking purposefully at the motley group. He raises what passes for an eyebrow among his kind at them. "So...come here often?" Surge to full testing the waters here, so Insight check on first response I get oh yeah, and retrieve morningstar when I have a chance, too |
Cal creeps all the way back to the corridor connecting Gorg's pen and the slave pits, quietly removing all the chains. Surely, the sight of a dozen butchered corpses would never clue Murkelmor in that intruders were afoot. It would take chains to do that. Their secrecy was assured. That done, he returns to the pits and takes an inventory of the spoils of battle. It was probably best to let the rest of the party handle dealing with the prisoners. Cal knew his demeanor could be a little... offputting.
The spoils were rich; both Gnasc and Framarth had been dumb enough to die with valuables on them. Loots! 7 warhammers 6 sets chainmail 1 set hide armor 3 sets leather armor 1 key 1 Potion Bandolier (containing 1 Potion Of Lifeshield) 1 Evil Eye Fetish 1 Master's Wand of Hellish Rebuke Glock peers down into the peasant pit, offering them a cautious greeting. Now that he's looking directly down into the pit, he can see why they made no attempt to escape during the fracas: every one of them is shackled to the floor. The group immediately explodes into a chorus of whining and pleading, but the dwarf finally breaks his stony silence. "ENOUGH! By Moradin's beard, you put a few good stone walls around these people and they just panic. Look here, automaton. Those are my hammers on the floor over there. It's undignified enough to be penned down here with these mewling pups, but I expected even the greys to have some basic respect for craftsmanship. Instead all my work is put in the hands of those... well, you saw how well their recruits handle themselves in a fight. Pathetic. That's what I get for trying to make a respectable living instead of gallivanting around picking fights like that damnfool cousin of mine, I suppose. If you're any of you good with a lockpick I'm sure these fools'll be all too grateful to you. Failing that, give me back one of my hammers. There's not a chain in the Realms that'll keep a Sledgehammer from his work." Gheth cautiously approaches the armed prisoners in the south pit, curious about their unusual state. The goblin is entirely too enthusiastic about explaining matters to him. "Hi hi! Me Gru. Me best and strongest of Bloodreavers! Me capture these stupids and take to Krand, and he say 'Gru, you stupid, why you not disarm!' and Gru say to him is no need to do so because they cooperate immediately! And this is a true fact that Gru is telling you: they ask Gru to take them to Krand! and Gru says okay because it is Gru's job to take people to Krand. Krand make sad face at Gru and tell Gru to take prisoners to the spinybeards and give them a letter and I did! And I said to prisoners: would you like to visit the spinybeards! And they are very pleased and say yes! And strongest spinybeard read the letter and laughed at Gru and then Gru locked down here with his own prisoners! Which is good. Gru keeps eye on them. They are very tricky prisoners for sure, spinybeards would never keep them under control without Gru help them. Gru is smartest, he take five prisoner without even fight them! Furry mean man hit Gru in face, but this only jealousy. Gru knows. Gru feel pity for his inferiors." The other five prisoners in the pit wince at Gru's telling, but after some corraboration the general story seems to be accurate. The five of them took up a bounty notice to rescue 12 prisoners captured from the nearby village of Riverdown, and in their enthusiasm rapidly found themselves likewise imprisoned. Gru "captured" them in the Seven-Pillared Hall, and they found the little goblin so laughable that they didn't stop to consider the significantly more dangerous situations he might be leading them into. The duergar troops so completely outclassed them that they were just tossed into the pit and ignored, the responsibility for guarding them left entirely to the devils. Their cheap weapons were no threat, and even the party's neophyte mage was coincidentally a specialist in fire spells (which the devils and duergar alike found slightly ticklish at worst). The fellow in the monk's hood asks for help, more than a little shamefaced. "Wilkes here can free us, now that picking the locks won't start the goblin screeching and earning us all a face full of quills. The real issue is money. We spent most of our collective savings on our gear and our wagon to get out here — this was supposed to be our first big job. Well, you see how that worked out. I guess we'll still be small-time for a while. We found some treasure here and there, but we can't sell it 'til we get home... and we can't get home until we sell it. I don't want to be presumptuous, but you fellows look like you're doing all right for yourselves... maybe there's something here you could take off our hands so we can get ourselves some horses and a hot meal." He unwraps a small bundle from within his pack. Within are a strange spiked gauntlet, a corked bottle full of a viscous red fluid, and an angular jet-black rod. Gheth rubs his eyes: the bottle almost seems to be slowly refilling with its contents as he watches. "We've done our research; these things are worth a pretty penny. I'll sell them to you for 50% of market value, and no less. I mean you no disrespect, but we'll just as soon hang on to these if we can't get some decent compensation." The redhead in the cloak (Wilkes, evidently) pulls a folding lockpick from behind her ear and sets to work. Instantly, Gru shrieks in dismay. "NOOOOOOO! MY PRISONERS! SOMEONE STOP—" Gru looks around the room in dismay. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" There's suddenly a loud hammering sound on the opposite side of the south wall, and an imperious shout carries all the way to the far end of the room where Glock stands. "I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THAT SIMPERING LITTLE MONSTER UP! YOU'VE GOT FIVE MINUTES TO FINISH UP YOUR BUSINESS WITH THE HOUNDS, FRAMARTH, OR I'M CARVING YOU UP AND SELLING YOUR BRAINS TO THE ILLITHIDS AS A DELICACY." |
I noticed an interesting collection of magical items on the corpses, but I paid them no heed. That grotesque eye on a necklace will go very poorly with my fashion sense - perhaps the lizard can use it though, since there's nothing around his neck that might conflict with this little accessory. *SHUDDER*
As for Gnasc's magic wand... well, I'm a martial man and know nothing about magic. Perhaps the clever halfling is intelligent enough to understand its ramifications. He might even get a kick out of starting fires. A belt of potions... intriguing, intriguing, but judging the rate which that brawny human drank through his potions, it's probably best reserved for him. It seems I must have made a mistake somewhere. I was certain Framarth was wielding a pact hammer. I must have put it along with the other warhammers. Or was I just imagining things? Curious. In any case, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I hear a piercing scream of "NOOOOO" emanate from the slave pit room. Sounds like someone's getting on with the captives. Why that horny warforged. How dare he molest the prisoners? Without me, I mean. I want in on that action! I turned to the apparently daydreaming halfling and loaded him with everything that I've found. "Here, Cordok. I managed to salvage these from the bodies. Be a dear and take these to the others. And arm the prisoners. We may yet need their help in our escape!" I returned to my half-skinned gnoll and resolve to finish skinning it in a few minutes. No time for finesse, Cal. Just whack out any large segment of flesh that's sticking to the hide. Wow, all this blood pouring out is making me thirsty. I take a long swig out of one of my waterskins, completely draining it. Refreshing! Completely empty 1x waterskin. |
Glock is fond of men named after tools. You don't even have to talk to them to know what sort of shit they're into.
"Ok boss, you hold that thought a second?" Walking over to the south pit and obviously winking at the armed fellows, Glock looks at the little Goblin. "Fuck, will you just SHUT UP? Don't you recognize a friend of Krand's when you see him? Look here. If you just be quiet, we'll get you out of here and everything will be ok. We'll even give you credit for the capture." Bluff on dat Goblin 4+14 = 18 Grabbing the key, Glock descends and unties to Goblin. "Come here a moment, will you? I have plans to discuss. Away from these...erm...prisoners." Glock takes the Goblin back into the crypt, near the...wait what the fuck was going on here. God damn it, Cal. "Uhh, yeah. Krand's into this shit man. Didn't he tell you? All sorts of stuff." "Anyway, this is what I wanted to discuss with you. Do you see these markings on the wall, here?" Glock points to the back wall of the crypt, on which nothing at all is written. When the Goblin proceeds to turn his back to him, Glock decapitates the little bastard. No more noise out of this asshole. Warsong Strike on dat Goblin 12+11 = 23 "FUCK these things are loud and annoying. If I didn't know better I'd have thought Cal got a new shape." Walking back to the south pit, Glock mentions that they can start undoing their locks, and he'll be there in a moment. As quick as a whistle, Glock proceeds to unlock all the slave shackles, and lets the second party know that he wants some of that stuff. Namingly the flask and the punching glove. When all is said and done, he glances to both groups. "Alright. Group meeting. Through the hall there you will find an idiot. And a horrible gutwrenching stench. And on top of that you'll also probably smell gnoll guts. Ignore the urge to vomit and turn to the right. Down there is a giant statue. You wait over there for a minute, yeah? You adventure dudes? Yeah, I'll pick up some of that stuff off you when we get there, a'ight?" He pulls Wilkes to the side. "Hey baby, you look....talented. Almost like you've got a little warforged in you." "What's that? You don't?" "...do you want to?" |
As Gheth takes stock of their new haul, he offers up the key that was found in the valuables, which will hopefully speed up the process of unlocking the prisoners considerably.
He also grabs the necklace. Maybe it would creep somebody out. You never knew. As Gheth begins hurriedly unlocking the lost adventurers, he looks at the elixir the Monk had offered up, and knows a good deal when he sees one. Nevertheless, he's never been a man to encourage opportunists. "We're about to keep this very large man busy while you get away. If he kills us before you make it, I can guarantee you'll be back here in no time flat. That said, we might be needing those items before the day is done. --Capisce?" Help unlock prisoners starting with adventurers Diplomacy check Oh my god, I'm diplomating with marbles in my mouth apparently |
GLIB LIMERICK SUPER POWERS ACTIVATE
Takin' dat 13, 'yo Glock takes the small crew of adventures off to the side of the room, out of earshot of the slaves. "Guys, I have an idea." "Do you want to punish the guys who put you in here? I know I do. They killed my friend." "I know how best to do this. If you guys create a distraction, we'll ambush and flank them from behind. Sound good to you?" "Thing is, as the distraction, you'll be doing the running, not the fighting." "If we're going to be taking the brunt of the attack, maybe we should have the gear. I'll uhhh...give it back to you as soon as we're done. We can wheel and deal at that point." "Thoughts on this?" Cal and Gordy murmur in agreement, but Garrmondo is busy scratching his ass and Gheth just throws up on the floor. Bluff the group. 13 + 14 = 27 + Cal's assist + Gord's assist = 31 "If you agree, let's go over the plan, ok?" |
I finished my rudimentary skinning of a brand new gnoll fur cloak just in time. My colleagues have just herded a dozen new faces into the chapel. I thought I recognize the changeling slave. He vaguely reminds me of Nit, one of the toughies who used to ambush drunk beauties under a bridge, in my salad days. Can't be him though. Last I saw him, he was well-fed and in the hale of health. This individual before me is practically skin and bones, with a few ugly scars to boot. And, is that a missing finger?
Stashing the hide into my pack, I hear Clock launch into yet another of his smarmy speeches. This must be important for him, to recite a short rhyme just before he speaks. Well, fellow liars must stick together, so I saunter over and nod my head assiduously during his entire speech, indicating that we are the most trustworthy of allies and that the brave though foolhardy adventurers have absolutely nothing to worry about. Aid Glock in bluffing. My assist roll is in his post. |
Glock attempts to persuade the neophyte adventurers, rubbing the hand-shaped dent Wilkes had left in his face. How was he supposed to know she was sensitive about her mechanical hand? It was a lucky thing he'd ferried them away from the pits first, or the sound of steel slapping steel would have brought Murkelmor rushing in for sure.
The monk (evidently the leader of this little operation) confers with his allies for a moment before returning to Glock with an answer. "Well, I... all right. We'll help you with this if we can, we owe you that much for the rescue. We'll hold onto our finds, I think; your dragon friend already threatened us once and I'm not sure your benevolence will overpower his greed. Other than that, I suppose we can help you. Not much choice, I suppose. We'll never ferry all these villagers out of here before the trouble starts, and then their blood would be on my conscience. What do you have in mind? Monk makes an Insight check vs Glock, fails miserably The peasants mill aimlessly around the chapel, clearly anxious to leave but fearful to flee alone let Murkelmor happen upon them in the process. |
Gheth considers his warforged friend's proposal. But something seems...off. He's not entirely sure the bard has their best interests at heart.
"Look, we've still got time. Let's just go now, and we'll deal with Murkelmor if he figures it out before we're gone." Gheth begins to herd the peasants with them towards the exit. As he passes the monk, he gives him a hard stare, and comments under his breath, "You might not want to stick around too long. Get moving now, and Murkelmor won't know which way either of us exited." Insight check vs Glock's bluff barely passes 19+13 = 32 Start moving towards |
"Well, I have a use for a couple of those things. Since we're buddy buddy, how about we mutually assist each other? I'll give you your asking price for the flask."
Buy the Flask "Anyway, here's the plan. You guys go back into the slave pits, and take up strategic positions around the room, ready to range attack the south door." "In exactly 6 minutes from when I say 'Mark', you make a shitload of noise, drawing Murklemor from his chambers into the slave room. We will jump him from behind." "After he's dealt with, we can help you to safety. Until that point, the slaves can make for the FRONT exit. Go down the bridge there, kids." Noticing that the fighter had grabbed the head, and everyone else had grabbed their loot, G-unit coalesced near the south door. "Ready...'MARK'" And with that, G-unit hurried as fast as it could to the troll pen room, where it started moving at a normal pace to avoid making noise. Undoing the back door of the troll pen, the group of adventurers let themselves out and closed the door behind them. With luck, they should make it out right as they hear hootin' and hollerin' starting from the slave pits. "Charge me money after I save your ass, will you? Assholes. Get what you deserve." |
Gordy wasn't really sure what was going on probably due to repeatedly blacking in and out of consciousness but if there was scheming being done it seemed like it was failing halfway. He was all for pranks but usually he did it to get something out of it. Loot was good. Food even better. There would be time for that later. Or now. This boom stick of his enemy would suit nicely. Order up a healthy helping of Master's Wand of Hellish Rebuke for Gordok please. Yum. Yum.
|
It looks like we're booking it out of here. I grab the length of chain from the floor, and for fun hurriedly try to pick the dwarf's pocket before I leave. I then rejoined my comrades, who were intent on exiting through the Troll Pen room.
Aaand, keeping up with Cal's inability to roll Thievery right... Thievery Check: 7 + 4= 11. Just as we exit the chapel, I catch a last glance of the Nit look-alike (but seriously, he's a changeling, we all look alike). I mouth the words "RUN SOUTH", hoping that his innate sense of self-preservation will kick in. Good luck, my peasant friend. You'll need it. As for me, he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day! |
And so it was that the G-Unit bravely fled the scene lest they encounter actual danger, leaving peasants and novices to fend for themselves. But all was not cohesive amongst the fellows, for the bold cleric of Avandra did see through his compatriot's cunning scheme, and did seek to undermine it.
But the clever warforged had been far too persuasive indeed, and the monk was already distrustful of McGarnigal; having been coldly threatened for the possession of his treasures only moments before. For his part the changeling takes a moment to rob a man whose livelihood and possessions had been stripped from him already, retrieving only a sachet of pipeweed for his troubles. But the peasants (as they generally are) were cowardly, and fled at the first inclination from Gheth that they should do so. And in the end both our heroes and the peasants they had freed had escaped the Hold long before Murkelmor chose to actually investigate. And so it was Griffin Company who stood alone against the fearful might of Murkelmor, awaiting at any moment the assistance they had been promised. And who may say what happened there, in the dark moments after the G-Unit made their dramatic exit? It was luck alone that returned our heroes unscathed to the Seven-Pillared Hall after fleeing the Horned Hold with no particular destination in mind, and not long after they trudged into the settlement they were made to discover what it was that had become of their temporary allies. The five sit around a battered table in the corner of Rothar's Taproom, taking an account of their paltry profits on the siege and discussing matters of practical morality. The stone minotaur's head sits in the middle of the table, Garrmondo having grown more than a little tired of the weight. It was hardly a significant risk that anyone would snatch it away, although the chance of having to repay Rothar for his slowly-buckling table grows by the minute. Gheth has nearly managed to convey to the bard the long-term theological consequences of wanton murder when a halfling in colorful minstrel's garb bursts through the tavern doors. "Everyone, come and see! Those newcomers from Riverdown have slaughtered the master of the Horned Hold! They've got the rotten bastard's corpse on display, I'd never believe it if not for my own eyes." And indeed, our heroes did venture out into the town center to see Griffin Company proudly displaying the evidence of their glorious victory. Yet strangely neither the victors nor Murkelmor himself seem to be much wounded, though the hulking duergar lord is assuredly quite dead indeed. It is passing strange. Could it be that... No, no. Murkelmor was surely a terrifying foe, and his lack of evident wounds can only be attributed to his devilish nature. At any rate, all the glory is theirs. There is much talk of converting the fortress into a stronghold to oppose the gnolls, and the debate goes on for a long while before the G-Unit apathetically returns to their drinks. Let the weaklings have their fame and their fortress. G-Unit has what it came for: a big rock shaped like a cow's head. That's what this business was really about. Over the next few days as the group rests and recuperates, they encounter more than a few of the Riverdown peasants lingering around before returning to their homes on the surface. They try to ignore the snickering. |
My gnoll fur cloak has dried enough for me to skin it properly, which I do with gusto. I was feeling mighty pleased until I heard the news about Murkelmor's miraculous death.
No fame and glory for me? Pfft, who cares about fame? Who cares about glory? And why do my companions insist on calling themselves the G-Unit when all our names start with C? I'm not one to dwell on what might have been. Why, face the future boldly, young changeling! Seize the day, let your thoughts be unclouded with the past! Damn. All that fame and glory should've been mine. There are two things a man can do to drown his sorrows. Eat, or go shopping. I do both, taking the clever halfling to help me with, uh... his sticky fingers. Eat three trail rations. Go shopping, oh mighty changeling! Passing by Murkelmor's corpse still on display, I give it a long searching look. For some reason, I feel the urge to poke it with a kruthik's tooth. Insight Check: 2 + 6 = 8 Apparently it really is, although I've never actually seen him while alive. Oh well. I pay a visit at the following locations to look for things to buy: 2. Custom House 3. Deepgem Company 4. Wainwright 15. Gendar's Curios 16. Provisioner The Grimmerzhul Trading Post raises red flags in my head, so I don't chance going in. Cal's Shopping List 1. 16x straps or glue or paste or 16 very small clamps 2. Ammunition 3. Thieve's Tools 4. Horsies or other mounts 5. Poisons and toxins |
Oh well, no point dillydallying.
After they've had a day or two to rest and recuperate to full, Glock instructs the G-unit to make for the surface, head in tow. He did not envy the clean up job these folks had to perform to get the fortress into any sense of presentable. By now the smell of roasted torso must have permeated the whole place, and the pile of garbage and squishy parts at the base of one of the bridges had to be truly offensive. Ha, suckers. Before Glock leaves, though, he feels he must make the record straight. Streetwise to determine the best place to put the poster. 17 Starting a most nasty rumour, Glock produced a drawing of Wilkes and hung it in the most prominent area of town, and appended to it this text. "PUBLIC HEALTH WARNING: AN INDIVIDUAL MASQUERADING AS A RED HEADED FEMALE BY THE NAME OF WILKES POSES AN EXTREME PUBLIC SAFETY ISSUE. BY STANDING WITHIN 30 YARDS OF THE INDIVIDUAL, ONE HAS A NEAR 100 PERCENT CHANCE OF CONTRACTING THE CLAP. IF YOU FEAR YOU HAVE CONTRACTED ANY COMMUNICABLE DISEASE FROM THIS 'WOMAN' OR ANY OTHER MEMBER OF GRIFFIN COMPANY WHO HAS THEIR BEEF CURTAINS HANGING OUT, PLEASE SPEAK TO THE MAYOR" And with that, G-unit departs the dirty underground, attempting to make it's way back to the surface and eventually to Freeport. |
Having seen its demonstrations earlier, Cal's thieving and lock-picking skills do not impress Gordok in the slightest.
Gordy decides to go help cause mischief with Glock instead. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/dndfu...kandgordok.png |
The warforged is anxious to get back to the surface and collect his reward, but Cal dawdles about for a while, browsing the paltry few retail establishments in the Hall. While the Grimmerzhul Trading Post is shuttered up and seemingly abandoned, there are other places to shop — places that'll do much better business now that customers don't need to worry about being abducted amidst the aisles.
The ranger stops by the custom house, but finds nothing to buy; evidently it's just a building dedicated to tax collection and the processing of imports and exports. Still, Cal takes his time getting an eyefull of the place until the ogre security escorts him out. Next Cal stops by the Deepgem Company, until to encounter a familiar face. The recently-rescued Uriel Sledgehammer is still putting his shop back together after the duergar slavers made such a wreck of it, but he does have a few valuables on offer that the raiders overlooked. The dwarf makes no attempt to hide his bemusement on seeing the ranger again. "No basic gear left, sad to say. All I've got is the expensive stuff I kept under the floorboards. But I'm sure you've got the coin, eh hero?" The dwarf hastily scrawls up a rough inventory, passing it over the counter. Bersk the Wainwright is too busy settling up with a group of traveling gnomish accordion players to pay Cal much attention. He gestures irritably at the simple price board: 20 GP for a wagon, 75 GP for a mule; rentals available. Gandar's Curios is a charming little antique shop, and the drow proprietor (the scatterbrained Gendar Drizolg) is all too happy to answer any questions about his merchandise. Only a handful of the quirky items on display pique Cal's interest. Dreskin the Provisioner's wheedling manner amuses Cal, but he discovers nothing particularly remarkable in the fat human's storefront. Attempts to convince Dreskin to sell his domesticated dire boar are met with flat refusal. (Dreskin essentially has the first table on PHB pg. 222 available, I'm not typing it all out) Not quite ready to commit to any purchases, Cal returns to the inn to mull on matters and inform the rest of G-Unit on what goods are available. |
About the only magic thing I could afford was a curious floating gem which I'm supposed to put on my head. Which is pretty strange if you ask me. Having no gold for the shiny magic objects I coveted, I brought my custom to the affable Dreskin. I bought 2 empty flasks, and filled one with oil. I also buy a set of thieves' tools, and five feet of silken rope. The last should serve me well in affixing the kruthik teeth to sixteen of my arrow shafts.
Having nothing else to report, I return to my fellows at the Halfmoon Inn. The warforged seemed anxious to leave, no doubt fearful of the backlash his character assassination on the newly-minted heroes would have. Well, if they're ready to go, then so am I. Spend 21 gp 1 sp 6 cp, encumbrance + 4.5 lbs. - Thieves' Tools = 20 gp, 1 lb. - Flask x2 = 6 cp, 2 lb. - 1 pint oil = 1 sp, 1 lb. - Rope, silk (want just 5 feet) - 1 gp, 0.5 lb. On the trip back, I resolve to hack the arrowhead off sixteen of my straightest shafts, and affix the kruthik teeth using the silk rope. I will also take the opportunity to braid fifteen arrows with the poisonous duergar beard quills, one tip per hair. |
Certainly not his finest hour, Gheth decided. But he was used to open attempts at humiliation. Ever since that group of dragonborn kids had insulted Gheth over his buck fangs.
"Beaver boy! Beaver boy! Gheth has beaver teeth!" Of course, he would remind them each time that he was 6 feet tall and cold-blooded, and could thus never be a mammalian dam-builder, but this seemed only to encourage them. Well, there was nothing for it. At the least they had done some good before things took a turn for the retreaty. Nurse a beer Ready to go back overworld |
Seems like everyone save the clever halfling is ready to leave. I can't resist doing one last piece of mischief before leaving Thunderspire. Just to be safe, I resolve to do this corpse-defiling deed immediately before we depart for the surface.
Ready action. Twin Strike at Murkelmor's corpse, just as we're exiting the Seven-Pillared Hall On the way back to Freeport, I scratch my head wondering why on Earth the human was carrying a gigantic stone statue head. Blimey, there's nothing valuable in that hunk of rock as far as I can tell. Is it for a masquerade party? I love masquerade parties. I'll boost the authenticity by going as a minotaur! Well, so long as we're not in mortal peril, I may as well take the time to polish my bloodclaw short sword into a fine shine. I plan to use all the charm at my disposal to bluff Freeport vendors to let me trade this sword in at full value. Surely a little polish goes a long way if I wish to misrepresent Carr's former sword as "brand new never used". Say farewell to first-person narrative, and shapeshift to Minotaur Cal's Shopping List 2. Ammunition 4. Horsies or other mounts 5. Poisons and toxins |
Determined to get one last parting shot in, Cal fires off a volley at Murkelmor's suspiciously-intact cadaver. Sadly, the resident mage of Griffin Company has evidently left a shield spell on the corpse. Cal's arrows bounce harmlessly to the ground as he sighs and tromps into Thunderspire's cavernous corridors with the rest of the party.
After many hours of wandering, G-Unit at long last finds their way back to the surface. A breakfast of cold rations is disappointing after the fine cheeses of the Horned Hold and the spicy (if crude) fare at Rothar's. It's mid-afternoon when the party trudges back into Freeport with a souvenir that's rapidly becoming heavier and heavier as it pulls on Garrmondo's strained shoulders. Valthrun is a bit easier to track down this time. In their absence the Temple of Ioun has installed a small gong, and Garrmondo is all too happy to smash his new acquisition into it repeatedly until Valthrun staggers out from the library. "Yes, yes, what can I — goodness, you're back! Well, some of you. I take it that Thunderspire was significantly more lethal than I anticipated. My condolences to the both of you for the loss of your three companions. But this! My goodness, how lucky you were to discover such a valuable piece of antiquity just laying around. But perhaps even more importantly, you've returned with a live specimen! Scholars have speculated for decades on how the minotaurs lurking in the Thunderspire ruins might have physiologically diverged from those living on the surface. Would you come with me, er—" Not having thought his ruse all the way through, Cal thinks quickly and devises the most minotauran name he can imagine. "Moo", Cal mutters. "Very well, Sir Moo. Come right this way, we just have to administer a few... tests." And so it was that many unpleasant sounds were heard, and half an hour later a significantly paler Cal came staggering out into the temple foyer. "Great discoveries have been made here today", Valthrun announces. "All due to you and your brave sacrifices. I thank you, and science itself thanks you. Why, our new knowledge of minotauran intestinal anatomy alone is more than worth the reward I originally promised you. Stay right here a moment, I'll try to talk the temple elders into issuing me a loan so that I can reward you properly." Soon Valthrun returns to the foyer one last time, disappointment etched in his features. "Sadly, the elders were not as impressed as I. Science is always a struggle against the hidebound prejudices of the old guard. However, I was able to find and cancel some symposiums which have now become entirely outdated in their findings, and I gladly award the gold which would have paid for those events to you. Oh, and those rituals! I nearly forgot. Farewell, Sir Moo, and thank you for your cooperation!" Well, at least somebody appreciates them. Adventure Complete! Major Quest completed: 1250 XP (250 each) 1500 GP (300 each) Ritual Book of Sending Ritual Book of Summon Winds Ritual Book of Eavesdropper's Foil Flush with fresh cash, G-Unit spends the afternoon browsing the newest wares in the Merchant District. Most of the goods were still quite a bit too pricey to be practical, but with a little bargaining and some intra-party loans they might come away with something interesting. While there's no real rush to get back out and risk their necks, it's only a few days before G-Unit realizes that Cal probably needs to be kept busy lest he violate one too many laws and basic customs of decency. On one balmy afternoon he saunters in and, almost casually, brushes off the disembodied hand of some poor unfortunate from where it had clung to his arm. Not wishing to become viewed as accomplices, the rest of G-Unit refrains from inquiring what exactly Cal was doing to get spattered in blood and limbs. Gordok, curious as ever, creeps up to the battered hand and pokes it with a stick. It was a pretty nice hand as that sort of thing went; well-manicured, no callouses. Gordok liked to imagine it belonged to a mighty wizard. Or had belonged to, anyway. He picks it up, thinking to stick it in his pack in case he happened to discover its owner. If he'd lost his hand, Gordok reasoned, he'd definitely want it back. As Gordok gingerly picks up the hand by the chunk of exposed bone sticking out of the end, the hand suddenly begins to wiggle. The fingers cycle through an array of rude gestures before settling at last on an enthusiastic thumbs up. Gordok smiles and returns the thumbs-up with one of his own before gently placing the hand in his pack. Maybe he didn't want to return the hand to its owner after all. The next day Gheth spots the halfling wandering around with what looks like a zombie hand on his shoulder, and resolves to get the group back out of town before anything weirder could happen. The notice board outside their inn held several tantalizing possibilities. 10,000 in cash was a lot to offer for a simple mercenary job, and it was awfully tempting. Still, Gheth knew that rewards of that caliber weren't generally offered unless your contact didn't expect you to come back looking for it — usually because you were too dead to go anywhere looking for anything. But work is work, and he commits the details of the jobs on offer to his memory before heading back to the inn and attempting to coax the group into a consensus. As always, 5-point distribution, the adventure seed with the most points after voting wins. |
Looking over the iffy books he got as a reward, Glock picks up the one that the halfling already has and the one that lets him annoy people. He offers the book of not having other people listen to you to the halfling, if he wants it, since the little one is the only other ritualist in the group.
Scribe Ritual of Sending and Summon Winds, and Eavesdroppers, if Gordy doesn't want it. Which apparently he doesn't Before regrouping, Glock takes the time to go to the mall. Delicious mall. You have so many silly things I don't want. Like a true man, Glock makes a beeline for the only shit that's of any real use. METAL CANS. Buy 6 small metal can/jar/whatnots. And 2 small vials that will fit in them. Going from place to place, it's obvious that perhaps he should buy some reagents. Noticing the pretty lady behind the counter, he raised one eyebrow and hit her up. "Hey baby, call me Mr. Flintstone, because I can make your bed rock." Glib Limerick GOD DAMN IT No idea if I can bluff for components in this fashion but let's go for it. 14 + 3 = 17. 120 GP of Ritual Components. Mortar and Pestle get, gotta be in the components there somewhere. Also, a handful of flasks and chemistry implements In his wandering, Glock spies a shield in one of the stores. Turning on his best shit eating grin, he walks up to the owner and lays on the charm. "Hello Jack. Long time no see. How's it going? I know it's been a while since I've been around, but I was wondering if I could get my old customer discount on this shield over here" he says, pointing at the thing. Try to talk down price of light shield of protection using Bluff. Get price before committing. 14 + 9 = 23. Finishing up all his shopping, he wanders back to the inn to begin his little experiment. Before getting there though, he bumps into one very weird looking changething. Seems he now had some sort of glowing...wait. Glock knew what this was. A dragon mark? Why the fuck would this just randomly show up on THIS asshole of all things? How strange. He might be able to take advantage of this, though. "Hey, you, erm...Gal, right? Turn this into a robot part for me, will you?" Cal can use Enchant Magic Item for free to turn my armour into an attached component. This reduces it's weight by 1/4th. Let him do this to the Skald's Chainmail and then take it back and attach it. When he was putting the armour back on, the clink of the chains and noise made by the bolting into his chest reminded him that he still had this little elvish ring. Maybe someone intelligent here would know about it. But who to ask? Streetwise. Look for intelligent people who might know something about this ring. Hit up that scholar we just dealt with if it comes to it. 10 + 1 = 11. FOR FUCKS SAKE. Get info on ring if suitable person is found. ------------- Glancing at the job board on his way back, he notices someone asking about a play. Oh, the theater, Glock's not-so-secret desire. Yes. We must take part in this. All 5 points to Sophia Lasilaran ------------- After all is said and done, Glock retires to the inn with the rest of his compatriots. Retiring to his room a little early, he gets to work with the tools he had. Glock proceeds to grind down some of the charcoal and sulphur in his possession into a fine powder as he mixes it with the nitrate. He keeps half the sulphur in his possession for a later purpose. Making a standard blasting pack mixture, a 3-1-1 mix of nitrate to other components, he produces 12 ounces of blasting powder, enough for six 2-ounce grenades. Using the sheet as a wick for the metal canisters, as he pokes a small hole in them, he fills the jars with the gunpowder. With the two small vials, he empties the venom glands into them, and then puts the vials inside two of the grenades, so in the end he has four conventional explosives and two poison ones. Create 6 grenades. 4 regular, 2 poison. Using his new chemistry set, Glock prepares the remaining sulphur. Using a wet creation process, burns it and oxidizes it, and finally hydrates it, into a small amount of sulfuric acid of a medium strength. Arcana because SCIENCE. 12 + 18 = 30. Figures. |
Moo just had the craziest time with doddering old scholar. Who would have known that geezer would have the fortitude -- no, the stamina to piston his implement in and out of Moo with such enthusiasm, such dedication!
Moo takes the opportunity to surreptitiously pocket a few items from the Temple while Valthrun excitedly goes about his... ministrations. An empty ritual book would be nice! Heck, there might even be a "Transfer Enchantment" ritual scribbled inside. Thievery: 13 + 8 = 21. _________________ A few days after the hand incident, Moo promptly goes shopping. Flush with cash, he espies a handsome steed, whom he falls in love with immediately and christened as Denny. Denny = Cal's! He buys a wagon to complement his new beast companion, and proceeds to go on a shopping spree for mundane items. Having purchased so many things at once, the minotaur tries to wheedle Albert into giving him a discount. Purchase the following: 1x riding horse ------------ 75 GP 1x wagon ------------------- 20 GP 1x camouflaged clothing ---- 30 GP 1x footpads ---------------- 05 GP 1x climber's kit ----------- 02 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 10x torch ------------------ 01 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 20 pitons ------------------ 01 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 33x Flask ------------------ 01 GP (the horse/wagon is carrying these) 10 pints of oil ------------ 01 GP (put in flasks above) TOTAL ITEMS PURCHASED >>>>> 136 GP Bluff for discount: 11 + 14 = 25. _________________ Moo catches sight of Clock trying to seduce the ritualist salesgirl, strangely hemming and hawing in his attempt to secure a discount. How atypical of the normally gilt-tongued rascal. Roughly elbowing the bard aside, Moo spends all but 25 GP (emergency money) on Ritual Components. Surely this amount of business, plus the warforged's middling 120 GP purchase, should merit a quantity discount! Bluff check for ritual components discount: 13 + 14 = 27. _________________ Clock seemed downcast after Moo's admonishment. The changeling felt sorry for the poor robot, but at the same time was aggrieved at his name being so mercilessly mangled. Moo did what the robot requested, but added his own indelible mark upon the warforged's steel chest. Transform Skald's armor into warforged component with Enchant Magic ritual. Etch "PERSONAL PROPERTY: CAL AMAH of RHEE" on said component. Attach component to Glock. "Here ya go, Clock!" _________________ Idly ambling the arms shop, Moo catches sight of a beautifully crafted mundane longbow, and decides that he just had to have it. He also espies a discarded Leather Helmet, which will prove of much munchkining worth later on, and picks it up. Buy 1x Longbow (30 GP) Locate and swipe a mundane leather helmet. None of the magic items caught his eye, although he thought the Bracers of Respite might prove useful to the bleeding-heart cleric. He's unable to afford any of the items now, but the wily changeling turns on his charms and attempts to barter his BRAND NEW, NEVER-USED Bloodclaw weapon for the Gloves of Piercing. Moo's ready to fall back on settling for the Blessed Book should the shop object too much. Bluff to barter: 9 + 14 = 23. If possible, swap Bloodclaw Short Sword for Gloves of Piercing. If bluff check is inadequate, swap Bloodclaw Short Sword for Blessed Book. If barter is not possible, keep Bloodclaw Short Sword. _________________ That night, the lizard regaled the C-Team with possible tales of derring-dos available to them. Moo's ears perk up at the mention of 10,000 GP. He's never heard of so much money in his life! And yet, he has a nagging feeling that the church of Erathis is essentially offering a suicide mission. No, after the murderous experience at Thunderspire, it's best to lie back and take a less-harrowing job for now. 3 points towards Aubreck Drallion. 2 points towards Hommlet Moathouse. |
Moo opens his mouth in surprise as the human fighter proffers him 90 gold pieces. Perhaps he should have said that everything was square, there was no need to consummate the bargain struck during Gorg's rampage. That Moo will take dibs on the next treasure they'd encounter on their next adventure.
But money is money. The changeling's never been one to turn down free money. Accepting the gold pieces with tears in his eyes, the minotaur sweeps up the fighter in a great big hug. Why, he could've kissed him were the human not uncomfortably fidgeting at the public display of affection. "A thousand thanks for your kindness, oh mighty Car!", said he, as he rushes off to convert his fortune into ritual components. Buy 90GP worth of ritual components. Moo spends the night feverishly enchanting new magic items, thanks to the glowing tattoo on his rear end feeding him with this knowledge. He first turns the mundane leather cap salvaged from the city streets into something that increases arrow accuracy, as outlandish as it sounds. Next comes magic ordnance: the changeling converts four of his arrows into expendable ammunition with really nasty effects. He's heard of magic whetstones that temporarily grant additional lethality to any weapon (+2 to attack and damage rolls), but has no convenient rock to test it on. But perhaps Gnasc's precious jewels might qualify as a stone, so why the heck not? Moo finishes his long, long sleepless night by enchanting the beautiful mundane longbow into a magical one, one which decreases the accuracy of an enemy's ranged and area attacks when hit. Assuming, of course, that he has any ritual components left over.
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Gheth ambles about town, unsure that he has much to spend his newly-gotten gains on. He pays a visit to Albert's Miscellany, where he finds himself wondering exactly what a 'scourge' could be. He picks it up and swings experimentally, hitting himself in the nose in the process. Coolly he puts it back on the table, and does his best nonchalant walk to the front counter.
His eye is drawn to the obsidian steed standing upright in a corner, and briefly he entertains thoughts of leading his allies on horseback, but practicality was a factor. The nearby Herbologist and Prayer Bead Repository seemed to have more his fare, but even so, the pickings seemed slim. He didn't think it would be wise to wipe out his savings in return for marginal help in battle. At the end of the day, Gheth found all he really wanted to do was to return to the field. 3 to Aubreck/Derelict ship 2 to Gharash/Bandits Sorry that took so long, debating on whether or not to buy thingamabobbers |
Despite all his cajoling, Gheth is quite unable to coax any opinions out of the halfling; he's far too busy playing rock-parchment-shears with his strange new friend (Gordok has lost the last 18 games but he feels his luck is about to turn at any moment).
Glock meanders in from the market, taking very deliberate steps to avoid having his backpack bump into anything. It wasn't the first time Gheth had seen his friend festooned with acid and bombs, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He could probably be reassembled when the inevitable happens, but it was still conceptually disturbing. The warforged evidently hadn't learned much from his inquiries about the silver ring; the jewelers he'd spoken to didn't recognize the craftwork and if anybody in Freeport had lost a ring they certainly weren't telling. Perhaps it belonged to somebody in Thunderspire, where Glock had found it in the first place. Oh well. Cal arrives to the discussion with an alarming amount of purchases in tow, his quiver practically glowing and with ridiculous dark goggles over his face. Awkwardly dismounting from his new horse, he staggers clumsily into the inn's common room. The disembodied hand seems to take an instant liking to Cal's pony, clambering up its mane and idly patting it on the head from time to time. Cal seems to constantly look from his coinpurse to his pouch of reagents to an extra bow he's carrying around, as though trying to work out some miscalculation he's made. Gheth and Garrmondo are mostly content holding on to their coin, the fighter buying only a few oil flasks to use with his jury-rigged slingshot. After some debate the group elects to pursue the matter of fetching the play. Should be easy work. They set out for the Kafe Ilkin... whatever that is. Happily the locals are significantly more knowledgeable about this than they were about random jewelry found in a hole. |
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