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Magnum Innominandum (GFF D&D Adventure 7)
What Has Gone Before
Spoiler:
But stranger still is Lost Carcosa. And so it was that, reveling in their new wealth from the profitable (if embarrassing) Thunderspire job, the G-Unit went in search of the Kafe Ilkin: the only coffeehouse in the city. It's easily distinguished from the clutch of taverns and whorehouses that surround it; patrons wander out chatting excitedly instead of staggering around and scratching themselves. The proprietor of the Kafe, a young fire genasi woman called Arzu, greets the G-Unit excitedly. No one else had come to inquire about the play since it had slipped her mind to offer any form of reward and she'd been far too busy to get a corrected message put up on the chanter's board. She explains her situation in bits and pieces, shouting over the din of customers while darting in and out of the back room. Glock peers through the doors as she passes back and forth, catching a tantalizing glimpse of the vast and complicated device that pressed the imported coffee beans and steamed them into the bitter black beverage. Something about the huge device seemed hauntingly familiar, as though it had been once been meant to build something far less innocuous than hot drinks. "Ah, thank Pelor you've come!", the genasi shouts excitedly, shaking Glock's hand before shrugging apologetically to the others. She was sure they'd understand; most folks would prefer to skip the handshake if they avoided severe burns in the bargain. While Arzu could control her elemental heritage, keeping her hands piping-hot during business hours saved quite a bit in firewood for heating the coffee. "So it's like this. My father built this place with his own hands before I was born, and I waitressed for him as soon as I could carry a tray. It was rough after Mom passed away but we survived — Freeport's never been a big city for drinking anything other than rum, but the handful of upper-crust types tipped well enough to pay the bills. A few weeks ago somebody finally took care of whatever in the hells was fouling up the Fang lighthouse, and a dozen backed-up shipments poured into port all at once. We went from having almost no beans in stock to having more than we could store. Dad and I talked it over and we decided to serve the coffee at double strength to get rid of the overstock without just throwing it out. We underestimated to some degree the effects of concentrated coffee on some of the smaller-statured races, I think." Her eyes roll up toward the ceiling, where a sweaty, twitching gnome clings desperately to a rafter — and then she carefully climbs atop a barstool to take his empty cup away and hand him a fresh one. "We also underestimated the value of such a powerful stimulant to the criminal classes, who derive great value from staying up when sensible people have gone to bed. Once all the hoods were drinking it, the watch decided they needed to be drinking it too, and before we could even talk about hiring more help we had more business than we could handle. Dad's an old man, and unfortunately the strain of the past few weeks have taken their toll on him. He's been too weary to rise from bed. I'm running the place in all but name, and I think it won't be long before I hang up a shingle for the Kafe Arzu. Dad lived in Hallowfeld before pulling up roots and coming to Freeport, and it was a bitter blow to him when the playwright Sophia Lasilaran made the same move in reverse. He's always admired her work, but he's spent his life working too hard to give up an evening for leisure. He's seen all her plays in the theatre of his mind, refusing tickets to the performances and just reading the written plays over and over. But now—" Arzu smiles self-consciously. "I'm babbling, aren't I. I probably shouldn't sample so much of my own brew. Here's the thing. Lasilaran has announced the premier engagement of her newest play — a work she calls The King In Yellow. It will take months, if not longer, for written copies to filter their way out of Hallowfeld... and my father almost certainly doesn't have that long to wait. I certainly can't leave the kafe long enough to fetch it myself... the addicts will rob the place blind once they catch on that nobody's watching them. It shouldn't be a hard job. Just get a copy of the play's script any way you can. If you can get Lasilaran's autograph on it that would be wonderful, but I won't hold my breath for that. I've heard she lives in a big mansion overlooking the rest of the village. I can't offer you much in the way of a reward, but once Kafe Arzu does see its grand re-opening maybe we can talk about cutting you in for a share of the profits — and all the free drinks you want." It sounds like easy work, and the vague promise of future profit is more than enough reward for a simple fetch job. After asking around for directions to Hallowfeld (Arzu can barely remember the place, having left as a child), G-Unit is on their way. ————— When the party arrives at the empty-looking village that a sign on the town outskirts assures them is Hallowfeld, they're a little confused: a makeshift wooden stage has been assembled in the town square and a handful of props are still scattered atop it. It seems they've already missed the premier performance of the play, but why haven't the locals disassembled the set? In fact, where are all the locals? It's nearly high noon when G-Unit rolls into town aboard their one-pony wagon, and it seems that everyone else is still laying in bed. It's a tiny little town by any measure; 3 or 4 storefronts and perhaps three dozen residences all told. On a hill just south of the village proper, a tall manor house looks down upon the party — casting a long black shadow in the noonday sun. It's Gordok who first notices signs that there may have been some kind of accident; several of the buildings nearest the square bear faint scorch marks, as though they'd weathered a small explosion. Worse, the rough-cobbled road leading through the center of town is splattered here and there with dried bloodstains. Cal, one-time woodsman that he is, immediately takes an interest in the dozens of faint foot tracks in the muddy ground on either side of the cobblestone road. Some of them strike him as out-of-place, and he can't quite determine their species of origin. Cal was the last person to make negative assumptions about someone based on the shape of their feet, but you don't usually see anything but humans in middle-of-nowhere burgs like this. Still, maybe the play had attracted some strange patrons. Four sets of tracks, all clearly human, diverge from the muddle and lead directly out of town. A strange symbol has been painted in bright yellow across the purple curtain that hangs behind the stage as a backdrop. It strikes Gheth as almost religious in nature; since the drawing doesn't seem to represent any physical object he can recognize, perhaps it's some kind of icon. But it's not the symbol of any god he's ever heard of, and he finds that he feels more and more uneasy the longer he studies it. Glancing around at his companions, he notices that they, too, are studiously looking at absolutely anything other than the yellow paint. Garrmondo in particular has found his bootlaces absolutely fascinating. For Garrmondo's part, he is actually less worried about the painted curtain than he is about the sounds he hears coming from the butcher shop to his left. Judging from the hissing, the sloshing, and the noisy labored breathing, a half-dozen fat bastards are coming his way with a bucket full of wet snakes. Even as he reports these sounds to the group, Glock begins to hear similar noises coming from the general store on the opposite side of the road. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/yellowsign.png |
There could only be one explanation for the mysterious yellow mark.
http://upload.jetsam.org/images//aahmars.jpg Fear washes over the minotaur and he instinctively commands the horse to move back - away from the noises. Ride on dat horse and move back. Keep 16 squares away from the town square and buildings. Can we has map? Ready Twin Strike against any creature that's clearly hostile. Nature Check: Rack brains for monster trivia. Fat overweight snake men. Anything comes to mind? 6 + 10 = 16. Perception Check 15 + 10 = 25: Are snake-like hissing approaching from directions other than the left and the right? How far away is the source, judging by the sound and the volume? How many distinct hissing/shuffling sounds can Cal hear, in addition to the half-dozen heard by Garrmondo? |
Glancing at the yellow symbol, Glock thinks it might be some sort of rune or magic something something. He scans his databases for something of interest.
Arcana on interesting signage. 31 But snakes! Why did it have to be snakes? Glock shoves the coward to the ground. "Hide behind me again and you're a dead man." Looking out towards the noise, the robot starts hissing back. "Sssssss~" "Sssss?" "Ssss-sss!" |
Cal quickly vaults back atop his mount and retreats back to the village outskirts. He has no idea what could be approaching or whether or not it represents a threat; he just knows he is absolutely terrified of everything.
Glock studies the weird symbol on the curtain, but can't make any sense of it. To the contrary, it almost seems to make less and less sense the longer he stares. There's no wind and the curtain itself is absolutely motionless, but the yellow symbol almost seems to be undulating... turning... its horrid appendages reaching out from the curtain and seeking to grasp him in their slimy— Glock breaks from this reverie with a start, banging the heel of his hand against his temples to knock the glitches out of his visual apparatus. It's just paint. That's all it is. Still, Glock finds himself strangely reluctant to look directly at the yellow paint again. Utterly unconcerned with the signs of slimy doom scattered about the village square, Gordok whiles away a few minutes with his wonderful new hand. The noisy locals didn't seem to be in any hurry to come greet them. They kept coming closer but nobody had come out to say hi. Maybe they had broken legs! Just a whole bunch of broken-legged guys. A really short guy with a stick had rolled into town and he just went crazy, that was the trouble here. It explained the blood AND the weird footprints! People with broken legs walked funny, after all. Gordy had the mystery all figured out. Little Dexter kept skittering around in a panic, but what did he know? He didn't even have a brain, technically. Garrmondo and Gheth stand by stoically, for they are men of action. After many long moments, the residents of Hallowfeld at long last stagger out of their homes to meet the new arrivals. A dozen horrid things pour out of the surrounding homes and storefronts, their individual human features mostly obscured by clusters of writhing feelers and scattered clumps of iridescent scales. Only the occasional shredded tunic provides any indication that these things were ever really human to begin with, and their bodies dangle limply in midair — suspended by thick, rubbery tentacles erupting from their backs. There's no sign that the villagers are aware of their horrid transformation, or for that matter aware of anything: they stare dully ahead as their tentacles drive them forward, less looking at the G-Unit then past them. A horrid susurrus pours from their slack jaws; the raspy, desperate wheeze of a drowning man. Among these pitiable forms one stands alone. A man in priest's robes stands nearly unchanged among the hideous horde, with only his translucent skin and his long, sinuous arms to mark him as the horror that he is. He smiles, and as he speaks his jaw slowly unhinges from his skull and transforms into a long, pale needle like that of a mosquito — or a stirge. These were the last words he would ever speak. "Tell me, have you seen the Yellow Sign?" His neck bloats as strange new organs erupt inside him, and a broken chain bearing Avandra's symbol falls forgotten into the mud. The amassed abominations issue a horrible groan, and the G-Unit prepares to defend itself. Expecting trouble, Cal looses his readied arrow at the nearest creature — but his shot goes wild, lodging between the planks of a humble woodshed. Defenses: Transformed Villagers AC 18 Fort 14 Ref 17 Will 15 Transformed Priest AC 22 Fort 20 Ref 21 Will 20 :savepoint: Cal 22, Gheth 21, Priest 20, Glock 20, Villagers 16, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7 |
Relieved that they aren't facing any martians with tripods today, Moo's heart returns from his throat to his chest cavity, and starts beating more normally.
It's time for battle, and Moo gets into combat-ready mood by humming a heroic song in his head. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Drawing a bead on the nearest monsters, Moo lets loose his patented Twin Strike barrageTM. The nearest villagers at I-2, I4, and G3 evaporate as each arrow finds its mark. Buoyed by his success, the changeling nudges his precious mount forward, but only by a little bit. As confirmed by Pangalin, transformed villagers are minions. AC18 vs. 11 to hit = 7+ attack rolls to hit. Villager at I-2 takes 3 damage, Villager at I4 takes 12 damage, Villager at G3 takes 4 damage. Move to center of P4-Q5 |
Shambling horrors! Tainted personifications of warped thinking and warped being. These creatures caused one's sight to scrabble for familiar purchase. Dark writhing limbs splayed in impossible positions, blind milky misshapen eyes staring without sight...it was enough to loosen the hinges on one's mind.
Gheth heard the rattling gasp of the priest, saw the symbol of Avandra fall to the mud, and steeled his jaw for what was to come. This place had been ravaged, body and soul, but he'd be damned if he'd permit himself the same. Gheth approached a small group of the creatures, and with a frozen bellow, put voice to his rage...and his fear. "BACK WITH YOU, ABOMINATIONS!" Move to -B-1 Dragon's Breath so as to hit all three northern minions Crit on -C-3; miss -E-2; hit -C-1 (3 damage) |
Within seconds nearly half of the former villagers had been sent to their rest, and G-Unit breathed a little easier. Glock turns to the corrupted priest to make a cutting remark when one of the cleric's long, sinuous arms lashes out and wraps around his neck. The priest drags him closer, piercing Glock's neck with his obscene proboscis and draining nutrient fluid from his circulatory tubes. Evidently these guys aren't picky eaters.
Tentacle: Reach 2, +13 vs AC, 2d6+5 damage; 9 damage to Glock, grabbed and immobilized Inexorable Drag: +12 vs Fortitude, targets grabbed creatures; Glock slid to -A4 Start of Glock's turn: Vitality Leech effects grabbed creatures; Glock takes 10 necrotic damage, Priest gains 10 temporary HP :savepoint: Glock 20, Villagers 16, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Priest 20 |
"Dude, what the fuck? If you wanted Glock juice you could have just asked. I'm always down for making more of that."
Asshole may have him by the throat but tha...*BAM* ROBO HEADBUTT. Warsong Strike on priest, let's just run with the flavour text alright 14+11 = 25 > 22. Hit. 6+5 = 11 damage. Glock's forceful impact of his forehead upon soft flesh brings squishy bits and mucus all over his frontal bits. That's no good. It doesn't help him when he tries to wiggle his delicious booty free either. Alas. Escape! Fail. Shaking his head a bit makes the goggles slide down amongst the flesh gunk, though. Oh yes. GOGGLE TIME GO. Gogglin' dat priest |
The warforged slams his forehead into the shifting face of the priest, but it does nothing to loosen his rubbery grip. Although Glock had taken the time during during their stay in Freeport to adjust the settings on his goggles to something more practical, they still refused to respond promptly. At first the view through the goggles shifted wildly, flickering through dozens of different scan modes — and when the viewfinder finally settled on "Humanoid" it started throwing out calibration errors. What the hell was wrong with these things, you'd think the designers had never heard of an... um.
http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/hallowfeld-aniscan.png The priest issues a low, wet gurgle from deep in his throat, and the rest of the villagers abruptly turn and beeline directly for the entangled warforged. Dinner is served, it seems. Garrmondo tries to stop them as they go rushing past, but their undulating forms make it hard to judge where to aim his blade. Within an instant, Glock is completely surrounded by the shapeless horrors. Try as he might, their sheer numbers make it impossible to stop them from pummeling him with their flailing limbs. Metal joints or no, the bard isn't really designed to stand up to this kind of punishment and he struggles to stay on his feet. Villager 5 Claw: +14 vs AC; 7 damage to Glock (bloodied) Villager 9 Claw: 7 damage to Glock Villager 6 Claw: 7 damage to Glock Villager 4 Claw: 7 damage to Glock Gordok prepares to spring into action to save his metal buddy when he spots something else entering the fray. Crawling (although the things did not walk so much as pour over the ground like an animate fluid) out of the houses on either side of the stage were horrible bundles of undifferentiated flesh, roiling bundles of gore studded with eyes and teeth. Gordok could hear the things babbling away in some incomprehensible tongue. Even the earth itself seemed to recoil from the touch of the abominations; little clods of dirt and rock shifted around in their wake, making everything around them into a tiny earthquake. Special considerations: Gibbering Mouthers have All-Around Vision: they cannot be flanked Gibbering Mouthers have a 3-square Warped Ground aura; squares within the aura are Difficult Terrain. Mouther Defenses: AC 20, Fort 21, Ref 14, Will 17 :savepoint: Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Priest 20, Gibbering Mouthers 20, Glock 20, Villagers 16 |
Surrounded by assclowns, Glock fears a beating. HOW UNFORTUNATE.
Although he's being throttled a bit, he can st...*BAM* ROBO DODGE Immediate Interrupt: Skald's Armour. Villager 9's claw bounces off and impacts the face of one of the other villagers attacking. 6, I guess. Why not. Damage saved from Villager 9. Villager 6 disintegrated before he can do damage. 14 HP saved! Bullet time does have it's uses. |
Gordok walks up to the group after seeing Glock quickly dodge a punch.
"How did you do that?" "Do what?" "You move like they do. I've never seen anyone move that fast." Still showing some signs of wear, the robot frowned. "Not fast enough." Glancing around, he adds "Can you help me?" "Not yet." The hand on Gordy's shoulder approaches his face and curls all fingers except his thumb and pinky. "Dexter G, I need a magic program for a V-212 wind spell. Hurry." Not a moment later, Gordok smirked. "Let's go." Move to B2 I know tundrawind-fu entire 3x3 square group Tundra Wind deals 11 damage to the priest and four villagers and misses Glock and 2 villagers. The priest is pushed 3 spaces and knocked prone freeing Glock from the priest's grasp. Villagers at A4, A3, -A3, -B3 turn into dust and muck. Priest is pushed north into villager at -B5 killing that minion. Then the priest is shoved east into the building at -B6 for 5 damage. Bouncing off the building he reaches his destination at -C5 knocked prone. |
The clever halfling rides to the hapless bard's rescue, as his magnificent wind blasts away all but one of the minions. But lo and behold. Is that a squirming set of protoplasmic eyes and teeth that now grace the battlefield? This is surely a sign from the gods. A sign admonishing the ranger on the perils of looting biological material from corpses of slain enemies! How did they know that he was trying to create his own Übermensch, his modern Prometheus, with the body parts?? Well, perhaps the dozens of specimen flasks he brought along was a dead give-away.
Whatever. The ranger, ever irreverent, ignores the omen and starts dreaming up ways to harvest the abominations for useful body parts. It's a shame the fighter was too busy making jokes to concentrate on the task at hand! Moo lets himself a small chuckle as he prepares another barrage. A poorly-stifled giggle sends the first shot flying into the sky; the ranger recovers in time to let off a subsequent shot. The second arrow swiftly changes the first one's direction, repositioning it to slam deeply inside the hapless Wallace. Now that has got to hurt. Two-Fanged Strike against Priest: First attack fails miserably. Second attack is a crit. Priest takes max damage for 1d10 + 7 (17 HP) and 5 poison damage, for a total of 22. 1 temp HP gained (lulz) due to Glock's Warsong Strike. Hooray! My first critical! :savepoint: Enemy Stats :savepoint: Priest [AC 22 Fort 20 Ref 21 Will 20] - 39 dmg [19/58] (bloodied at 29) - currently prone: +2 to melee rolls, -2 to ranged rolls Mouther A [AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] - 0 dmg [xx/xx] Mouther B [AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] - 0 dmg [xx/xx] Minion [AC 18 Fort 14 Ref 17 Will 15] x1 |
This ramshackle congregation was rapidly dwindling. Stepping carefully to avoid the shaky ground surrounding the piles of creeping flesh, Gheth steps in to give the former priest his last benediction.
Move to -C4 Healing Strike on Priest with bonus to Glock (20 damage) Hasta la priesta, baby :cool: |
The priest gurgles noisily, strange ichors pooling around the gaping wound left by Gheth's spear. The former holy man reaches out with a ropey arm toward the symbol dangling from the dragonborn's neck, then slumps into eternal silence. Even as the priest's breathing draws to a ragged close, his flesh begins to melt away like a candle tossed carelessly into a campfire. Within seconds there's nothing left of Wallace Kohl but the tattered shreds of his tunic and a greasy stain on the dirt; not even bones remain. A quick glance around confirms the same fate has overtaken the fallen villagers. So much for a proper burial.
The gibbering monstrosities begin to lurch toward G-Unit, the earth boiling in their wake. One of them lunges at Gordok, seeing the little warlock as an easy target, but the halfling nimbly dodges the horrible psuedopods that come lashing out at him. He'd never had anyone try to throw their mouth at him before, if you don't count the incident with old Widow Greybucket. It took the hobgoblin shamans three weeks to dislodge the wooden dentures from their... unfortunate target. He still had the scars. Bite: +13 vs AC, Miss. Mouther A grants combat advantage for a round due to "running". The second flesh-heap issues a terrible wail, ululating with its dozens of toothy mouths. Both Gheth and Garrmondo were close enough for the horrible noise to overwhelm their senses, but the cleric swiftly throws his hands over his ears. The fighter is not so quick, and the noise starts to reverberate inside his head until he can scarcely concentrate. The sheer vibration of the sound seems to tear the last of the standing villagers apart, and it collapses into a slimy puddle like the rest of them. As soon as the wail returns to its ordinary background babbling, Gheth turns to see the mouther hurtling at him with its many awful maws poised for a bite. His shield holds back the bulk of the monster, but several pseudopods whip past his defenses, ripping little chunks out of his vulnerable head and neck. Worse, the freakish thing's saliva burned away at the open wounds. Gibbering: +10 vs Will, Garr is dazed for 1 round Bite: 10 damage to Gheth, ongoing 10 acid damage (save ends) :savepoint: Glock 20, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Gibbering Mouthers 20, |
It sure didn't take long for the squishies to fall. As it should be.
Look at all those mouthes, Glock thought. Man, if he knew a woman like that, well... Snapping out of his little fantasy and wiping the grin off his face, He loo...*BAM* ROBO INSULT Move to D5. Vicious Mockery at Mouther A 9 Damage. -2 to-hit penalty. |
Gordok is no stranger to being eaten but frankly this thing is a bit much and too close for comfort. Dexter G does not find a disembodied pile of body parts very distressing and cooly passes Gordy the items he needs. With his trusty rod of reaving in hand the halfling deals out a curse and winks at Garrmondo.
"Garr, give this thing something to chew on." Suddenly Gordok with Dexter G in tow and Garrmondo are momentarily whisked away. When they reemerge Gordy now has the range he seeks and Garr is next to an easy target ready for smashing. Dexter G exchanges the rod of reaving for the wand of hellish rebuke. Oh mouther, your hunger has led to great misfortune. Dark energy lights up beginning this monstrosity's doom. FREE ACTION: Dexter G gives Gordok Rod of Reaving MINOR ACTION: Warlock's Curse on Mouther A. Mouther A takes 1 HP damage MOVE ACTION: Feyswitch with Garr FREE ACTION: Dexter G swaps Rod of Reaving for Wand of Hellish Rebuke STANDARD ACTION: Eldritch Blast Mouther A. Mouther A takes 13 damage from Eldritch Blast and 2 curse damage. 15 damage total. |
And just like the evaporating spined devils, the villagers collapse into a muck. This is very unfair, Moo thinks. Why can't he have nice biological things? Framarth's heart is aching for new companions! Technically, Gnasc's gonads do too, but they've already been turned into magic consumables, so...
Unable to clearly see the enemy from his vantage point (as the wooden wagon is blocking his view), Moo nudges Denny to the northwest, stopping far short of the monster of course. It wouldn't do well for the changeling to lose his faithful and loyal steed on the first outing. Curiously, the steed is even more squishy than he is. Plus, horses aren't cheap, costing a staggering 9 months of a common laborer's wages. Fishing out a Kruthik Tooth arrow, Moo takes aim at the closest thing that he can see, marking him as his quarry. Maybe this will dissuade the overgrown amoeba thing from eating poor dazed Carr! Move horse 9 squares to I-5 / J-4 block. I am located at, and am shooting from I-4. Mouther A is my quarry. Twin Strike with Kruthik Tooth Arrows on Mouther A. Need AC20 - combat advantage (2) - 11 = 7 to hit. Second arrow misses. Mouther A takes 14 HP damage (6 + 6 + 2). |
Sensing that the first fleshopoid seemed to be taken well in hand, Gheth focused on the one that had tried to relieve him of his life juices. After all, like his professor had always said--
Quote:
Move to -C2 Daunting Light on Mouther B with CA to Garr (20 damage) Divine Fortune for save roll Saved vs. acid |
The shapeshifter looses his modified arrow, wondering what vile biological toxins may be imbued within a kruthik's bite. As it turns out they're pretty good toxins, if not especially fast-acting.
Mouther A bloodied by Cal's Kruthik Arrow, exposed to Filth Fever. If it contracts the disease it may lose a healing surge! The nearest sludgelump to the wagon issues its terrible howl again. Gheth is too busy dealing with its companion to cover his ears in time, and Glock (truly a sensitive musician at heart) finds the dissonant noise too appalling to ignore. Gibbering: Gheth and Glock dazed for a round As the party reels back from the noisy horror, it lashes out with its pseudopods in all directions before reeling them back in — with chunks of bloody flesh in tow. Gibbering Feast: Close Burst 5, +13 vs AC, 8 damage to Gheth and Garr, 10 ongoing acid damage (save ends) The second mouther emits a similar screech (dazing Gordok in the process), and lumbers closer to the wagon. Gibbering: Gord & Gheth dazed for a round With Gordok too dizzy to stop the creature as it flows right past him, the mouther settles into a position closer to its companion — and closer to the center of G-Unit's party formation. Gibbering Feast:11 damage to Gordok and Glock (Glock bloodied), and ongoing 10 acid damage (save ends). Garrmondo recovers from being Dazed. Start of Glock's turn: 10 acid damage. :savepoint: Glock 20, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Gibbering Mouthers 20 |
Virtue of Cunning
Garr to A2 Glock shakes his robo-head. Wait a minute, what the fuck is go...*BAM* ROBO RESOLVE Warforged Resolve 6 Real HP. 11 Temp HP. Acid gone. |
(I am going to assume Acer's silence means he's onboard)
(Acer, Garr, and Cal delay until after my turn) The chunks taken out of his shoulder had the secondary effect of waking Gheth the hell up as he snarled in pain. Nothing like a gouge through one's shoulder meat to put a shine on the rest of the day. Gheth reacted, firing off another holy bolt at one of the weakening creatures, and hoping his legs would be able to keep him upright for the duration. Lance of Faith on Mouther A with bonus to Garrmondo (6 damage) |
"IT BURNS! IT BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURNS!"
Oh my! Hmmm... well this isn't too bad. Gordok desperately needs a bath anyway. Writhing in agony as the acid tears away layers of collected filth and grime Gordok crooks his hand and concentrates on the terrible glob of itsmommadon'tevenlovethisface. He would make it feel bad. Gordy does not enjoy forced bathing. He has the right to his dirty. Unfortunately the acid doesn't seem to care and continues removing his caked buildup. Gordok's turn is after Gheth and Garrmondo. Diabolic Grasp Mouther B Mouther B is pushed into Mouther A and bounces back into square -A2. Total Damage: Mouther B (33 damage), Mouther A (2) |
The changeling marvels at the unusually quick reaction of the clever halfling. Usually, Cordy takes longer to plan his seriously-damaging attacks, but this one was accomplished in record time.
Enough marveling, and back to business. The bullying warforged has mandated the gibbering twit's execution, and the ranger is only happy to oblige. Drawing a bead on his quarry, Moo lets loose an impossibly quick attack as fast as a shadow wasp. http://s3.images.com/huge.15.79852.JPG It's super effective! Moo only hopes that a few mouths and teeth, or perhaps even some vocal cords, can be salvaged from the monster's corpse, when all is said and done. Shadow Wasp Strike on Mouther A. It takes max damage of 27+8+6 = 41, of which 6 is poison. Designate Mouther B as quarry. It's got 21 HP left, I don't think I need to do this, but with Garr's dice, who knows? :savepoint: Battle Stats :savepoint: [AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] Mouther A : 87 dmg [xx/56~76] [AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] Mouther B : 55 dmg [xx/56~76] [AC 22 Fort 17 Ref 21 Will 18] Cal: 49(1)/49 [AC 23 Fort 22 Ref 17 Will 17] Garr: 39/57 | ongoing 10 acid [AC 23 Fort 18 Ref 16 Will 21] Gheth: 19/56 | dazed / ongoing 10 acid [AC 22 Fort 15 Ref 18 Will 20] Glock: 14(11)/50 | dazed [AC 19 Fort 17 Ref 16 Will 18] Gordok: 34/54 | dazed / ongoing 10 acid |
The mouther flops around uselessly like a fuckin' idiot. THE END.
Fuckin' things never come through in the clinch Gheth and Glock dazed again :savepoint: Glock 20, Gheth 19, Garrmondo 7, Gordok 6, Cal 5, Gibbering Mouthers 20 |
A mysterious noise started playing out of Glock's headspeakers.
"Oh yeah baby, you and me. Mmhmm. Ohhhh yeahhhhh". *wink* Vicious ::Furious Porno Noises:: 15 + 8 > 17. Hit. 6 + 5 = 11 damage. |
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Confused by the strange (yet oddly appealing) sounds erupting from the robot man, the mouther promptly collapses into an immobile heap of its component parts. Whatever fell energy kept the abomination alive has been thwarted — by the power of funk.
Whatever those things had been, there don't seem to be any more of them; the unpleasant noises had come entirely to a stop. There was nothing but the utter silence of a dead town. Without greasy horrors breathing down their necks, there was time to investigate matters. Victory! Combat XP + 1 Achievement = 1828 XP, 365 XP each Cal earns Achievement: Brave Sir Robin |
Victory at last!
Having beaten back the abominations, Moo dismounts from his beloved steed, and hitches Denny back to the wagon. Sifting through the sludge heap that was once a gibbering mouther, the ranger scoops up some protoplasm, any lips, tongues, eyes, vocal cords, and a few dozen pieces of teeth. The biological specimens are promptly sealed in various flasks, and combined with some of his unneeded items, stored safely in the wagon. Each component part in a different flask, naturally. Inventory Reorganization: Transfer to wagon: Gnoll fur cloak, Helga's tunic, 10 trail rations, mundane longbow Take from wagon: 1 torch Finally able to make a point of comparison, the ranger studies again the inhuman footprints. Did either the transformed villagers or mouthers make these tracks, or are there more enemies to fear? And while the four distinctly human tracks lead out of town, where are they headed? Freeport? Knowledge Check: 16 + relevant skill mod. I'm guessing Nature (16+10=26) since it's kind of like a tracking skill. Feel free to correct me. The midday sun was oppressive, and Moo felt the need to micturate. Politely excusing from his fellows, the ranger relieves himself on the eerie curtain, taking care to paint a coherent picture with strategic maneuvers and mid-stream gymnastics. Shaking off the last fulsome drops of amber liquid, Moo lets out a sigh of relief and stands back to admire his artwork The utter desecration of the yellow sign thus complete, Moo pops his head into the surrounding buildings, searching for any survivors who can explain what just happened, and perhaps something extra perquisites for purging the village of the shuffling aberrations. He certainly does not expect the ordinary peasant to have any magical loot, but perhaps even the mundane might prove useful. While still unsure what caused those monstrosities to manifest into the world, the ranger has a nagging feeling that the bard they are here to find has something to do with it. And he needs a little insurance to make sure any charismatic bard spells would be ineffective on him. An old myth about some crazy human warlord named Odysseus and some mischievous female water genasi bards suddenly came to mind. Look especially hard for any living ponies or horses I can "appropriate" for use. Denny needs company! Secondary objective - look for beeswax or honey. Tertiary objective - produce or hay for my horse. |
Oh yeah, R&R time. After a hard 30 measly seconds of being just too funkalicious to handle, the robot needed to clean some nasty off him.
And why not whistle while you work? Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Song of Rest. Surges to full. There was an odd red glow to the north-west. Robot curiosity got the better of him. When he approached the house, he knew why! THE DECK WAS MADE OF LAVA Figure out what the fuck is up with House -H-11. |
Gheth slumps next to the wagon, patting his wounds down with ammonia strained from places unmentionable, but feeling better now that he had a chance to rest.
Quote:
Inspect holy symbol Wax a little poetic Follow Glock |
Cal stows some of his gear in the wagon before taking a closer look at the tracks. There's nothing there that can't be explained by the unique anatomy of either the warped villagers or the gibbering beasts — if any other monsters are lurking in Hallowfeld, they've stayed off the streets.
As far as he can tell, the tracks leading out of town stick to the road; whoever left this mess behind them is heading almost exactly due west. Well, as exact as rural roadcutters ever are anyway. Cal ponders constructing a makeshift compass but thinks better of it. Other than scattered farmland or the occasional ruin, the nearest point of interest in that direction is the town of Lamid — a farming community of around 1,000. Oddly enough, Cal experiences no ill effect from relieving himself on the yellow sign. If it was some obscure god's holy symbol, the god in question wasn't especially attentive. All the same, the "water" washes away some of the still-fresh paint and mars the sign's integrity. It's still unpleasant to look at, but it's as though it's been disarmed somehow. Immediate needs being resolved, Cal pokes around the nearby houses and shops in search of any survivors but finds no-one. Despite the evidence of animal pens attached to several of the homes, Hallowfeld's livestock are entirely absent. But their troughs are still full, and Denny is soon enjoying fresh alfalfa. Surely no one would mind overmuch. Without any beehives nearby, Cal joins Garrmondo in the general store. With the door wide open and the shopkeep either dead or in hiding, everything in stock was free for the taking — but that wasn't saying much. The simple folk of Hallowfeld hardly needed the broad range of goods that you'd find in the shops of Freeport, and this was reflected in the goods on offer: animal feed of a dozen types, farming implements... and a handful of overpriced imported goods, mostly liquors and fancy clothes. Still, if they wanted to take the time to pilfer everything they could still line their pockets a bit. The best Cal can manage in his search for wax is a half-empty box of candles. Honey was evidently beyond the aspirations of these poor folks. Gheth knelt down by what was left of the priest, and gingerly scooped up the chain on which Avandra's symbol hung. The little round stone fairly leaps into his hand, the smooth etched lines of the Open Road providing a familiar comfort in the midst of the horror. The goddess knew what had happened here, and in time she would see fit to let him discover it for himself. To discover it, and to stop it happening again. http://www.ddwiki.saxypunch.com/imag...of_avandra.png Clutching the sign of the goddess in his fist, he follows the bard to the "suspicious" house in the south of town. His old friend had been seeing things again, perhaps: the wood of the veranda did bear a deep red stain, and it's true that varnish was unusual for such a rustic locale — but lava it was not. It was really nice wood, though. Gheth quietly admires the craftsmanship for a few moments, knowing that the carpenter was probably a local and more than likely a puddle of goo. |
The robot continues to wonder why the wood was stained such a colour as it could be seen from low orbit, but dismisses it when his sixth sense picks up the vague hint of alcohol.
Jack all that pricey liquor Glock takes a sniff and tries to deduce what sort of proof they are, and just how fucking shitfaced he's gonna get when it's party time. |
Oboyoboyoboyoboy, an unattended shop! Never before has such an opportunity presented itself. Sure, there was once when young Moo raided a shop he thought was seemingly abandoned, trying to abscond with a few candies. Unfortunately, the rather harsh proprietress, an easy-to-miss halfling, caught him red-handed. The bare-backed tanning he endured at Conmara Provisions (which left an indelible palm print on his behind*), plus the missing pants taken as "punishment" (which he couldn't explain to Ma Cal), were almost enough to dissuade the changeling from a life of thievery.
Almost. His perceptive eyes confirming no hidden halflings (other than the clever one playing in the muck outside), Moo felt confident that he could filch with impunity. His eyes bulge with delight at the virtual cornucopia of imported delights that's simply ripe for the taking. He steals a set of fancy clothes and -- as the warforged steps inside out of nowhere to appropriate all of the alcohol -- rescued a couple of expensive liquors from the thieving robot's grasp. It is certainly puzzling that villagers who couldn't afford honey would somehow make it worth the storekeeper's while to keep some expensive liquor on stock. Oh well, if the ranger can't find some honey in the village to block off his ears from nefarious songs, he might be able to forage for some when the party inevitably heads west to the hick town of Lamid. Take a set of fancy clothes, 2 bottles of liquor, and dry animal feed. Stow all but one bottle of liquor in wagon. Strolling up to the dejected human fighter, who was still fretting about his inability to hurt anything during the last encounter, Moo fishes into his pack and takes out one of Gnasc's testicles. Holding the glimmering orb over the human's hand, the ranger hands it over to his friend. "Cheer up, Car! Everyone can have a bad day! Here's a little pick-me-up, for situations when you can't afford to miss. Just rub this augmenting, uh... gnollstone over your weapon, and you'll really see the difference!" Give 1x augmenting whetstone to Garrmondo. Finding nothing else of interest, Moo steps out to the street to catch sight of the clever halfling, who's inexplicably playing games with ol' Dexter in the mouthers' ichor. Having liberated Dexter from his previous owner, Moo obviously knows who the hand belonged to, but it's a story for another time. Grabbing Cordok by the shoulders, the minotaur shakes him vigorously until the gibbering protoplasm drips off from his wounds, allowing them to close and healing to begin. Gordok surges to full. It seems that any answers here can only be found at the manor overlooking the town. The ranger mounts Denny, sidles next to the morose cleric, and, eager to take shelter from the punishing noonday sun, points towards the southern mansion atop the hill as a logical point to begin their investigation of what the fuck just happened. _____ * Funnily enough, the changeling's ability to craft magic items only came after this indelible mark started to glow a deep shade of turquoise. Perhaps he needs to track down ol' Conmara to thank her, after all! |
Cal and the bard swiftly raid the general store's liquor stock, making off with:
1 bottle plum brandy 2 jugs cider 1 bottle gin 1 cask watered-down beer 1 bottle raisinjack 1 bottle rum 1 bottle whiskey 1 bottle rye whiskey 1 bottle sour mash 1 cask stout Cal takes the brandy and the jack for himself, leaving the more bitter brews to the tender cares of Glock. After depositing one of the bottles (and the rest of his ill-gotten goods) in the wagon, he stops a moment to pick up the halfling and shake him violently. Nothing productive seems to happen as a result, but it's satisfying on a visceral level. |
Moo is very happy with his ill-gotten gains. This brandy will surely quench his thirst - and since the warforged possesses an icy rod he fondly called "Curry", they have the ability to produce refrigerated spirits on demand.
Sweating profusely, Moo brings over the horse and wagon closer into the mansion, but stopping well short from the manor's front gates. With Gheth in tow, the ranger cautiously approaches the imposing front doors of the mansion. Aware that his unorthodox appearance might cause alarm to anyone who might be taking shelter inside, the changeling changes into a form that any villager would find comforting. Strolling into the ominous mansion doors, Callace ponders the skull-shaped knocker for a moment. Shapeshift into Wallace Kohl, pre-tentacles. Verily, I didst assume a guise that would comforteth the villagers of Hallowfield. I sense that any sought answers lie deep within the walls of Lasilaran's manor. Hence, I taketh the knocker most large, and vigorously didst slammeth it against the door. With my ringing bass, I hereby shoutheth at maximum lung power: "BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR, AND KNOCK: IF ANY MAN HEAR MY VOICE, AND OPEN THE DOOR, I WILL COME IN TO HIM, AND WILL SUP WITH HIM, AND HE WITH ME!" But all the same, Avandra helpeth those who helpeth themselves, so I steeleth myself for anything hostile. With yon Dragonborn battle cleric of Avandra by my side, who wouldst I fear? Retreat 5 steps, ready Twin-Strike against anything aberrant. |
Gordok manages to finally rid himself of the acid and flings himself into the muck and grime left behind from the carnage moments ago. He must have his filth back.
Mum had always been rather strict on Gordy being covered proper and would share her excess if she had the slightest inclination that a spot was not right on her little shortstuff. The jeers and prods of the children having recognized such a motherly stink drove the halfling to always figure out how to become completely foul and dusty as quickly as possible. Dexter G gives him a couple tosses of dirt here and there conditioning and patching new layers to cover up any unsightly baby-soft skin. Making mud angels Gordok thought of home for a moment before grabbing Dexter and tossing him in the air for fun. Mum would have loved his little buddy. surge to full |
Cal knocks at the front door of the mansion on the hill, shouting to anyone who might be hiding within. Nobody comes to answer the door, but Cal spots a young girl of perhaps 16 looking down from a second-floor window. She glances down and spots "Kohl" evidently trying to break into the house, whereupon she issues a terrified scream and vanishes from the window.
|
Proceeding up to help the coward, Glock hollers to the girl.
"Hey baby, don't be scared! Your big powerful robot defender is here! Come on out, eh?" Diplomacy! |
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Avandra art with me. His rod and staff, they comfort me!
Child, be ye of good faith. You are safe now. Are you not hungry or thirsty? Come, join us as we give grace to Kind Pelor, blessed Avandra, and noble Bahamut." The child is clearly shaken. So while I try to comfort her with words, I also holdeth up the bottle of brandy, offering to soothe her nerves with it. Aid Glock's Diplomacy check. 5 + 5 = 10. Verily did I briefly entertain requesting the aid of yon cleric and warforged to boost me into the second storey window. Upon reflection, I decide that such a brash course of action is counterproductive. Easier it will, and less painful as well, for us to go through the front door. Test door to see if locked. |
The girl pops the window open and leans out, confusion lining her features.
"Um, Avandra is a lady, thank you very much. You're clearly not any kind of priest, so stop pretending. You're bad at it." Thanks to Cal's weak grasp on theology, the girl's abject fear of him vanishes — he's obviously not the priest he inexplicably decided to mimic. All the same, she just slams the window shut again and retreats back to wherever she was hiding. Cal tries the door: unlocked. Ostensibly poor planning on the girl's part, but then it's not especially likely that the mutated villagers remembered how to open doors. |
Unwilling to give Cal a chance to be the initiator of some surprise sex and organ harvesting (he's not entirely certain on the order of his priorities, but it's best to be on the safe side), Glock shuffles in ahead of him, (but stays behind the fighter apparently).
Calling out "Don't worry miss, this man is too cowardly and stupid to be threat to anything that's not a treasure chest, a cupboard of silverware, or a drawer full of pants." "Look, your town be all right fucked up in here. You know anything about a playwright?" |
Yon whelpling has seen through mine guise. 'Tis embarrassing, especially to a changeling. Often had I thought Avandra is a man, for clearly male deities are superior to female ones. For is it not written in the Scriptures, that a Woman is called such, because she was taken out of man?
Indeed, the deity I worship, the Traveler, is far superior to any old Avandra - similar their teachings may be. My compatriots can handle the girl. Mine belly rumbles for sustenance, thus do I seek a place to eat and enjoy my brandy. If she's hale and healthy, then rest assured no surprises wouldst be encountering us in the manor. Investigate kitchen for clues. Clues like delicious steak and cheeses. Look hard for honey and/or beeswax. Oh, and fine silverware/china's great too! |
The girl sits at the top of a stairwell, nursing a half-empty bottle of wine and glowering down at the bard.
"My town? No no no no no. My town is doing great. Welcome to Maeganville, Population Six. I'm the mayor! Who wants to be the sheriff? You there —" She points at Garrmondo, a little unsteadily. "You're the sheriff. And you with the funny hat, you're his deputy. We are forming a GOVERNMENT! This is SERIOUS BUSINESS! And you, you can be the new justice of the peace, since it's like being a preacher but not quite. That seems to be about your speed. We'll also need a new village idiot. He was the first to go. Kind of sad, it was." Maegan seems to sink into deep thought for a long moment, rubbing her chin as though pondering a universal truth. "The playwright! Yes. Sophia went thataway.." She points in a roughly western direction, although she can't quite keep her arm steady. "Everybody liked her, you know? Great lady. Great. Then a year or so ago she just stopped comin' out of her house. My house, now. My house. It's a good house, really. Got to clean it up a bit. She left such a mess! Anyways —" She polishes off the bottle, letting it roll empty down the stairs before reaching into the darkness for a new one. "So about two weeks ago, it was, she sends out that she's got this great new play! She don't come out of the house, mind you, she sends one of her weird little friends to post the bill. Nobody saw those guys move in, you know? Just one day there's three new people in town and they all live at Sophia's place. So we're pretty excited, we'd all figured she was pretty much retired or else why would she move to some backwater like this in the first place, right? Anyways I don't know what happened there on stage, exactly. It's just the four of them up there, Sophia and her weird friends with these creepy masks on. I couldn't really follow the story, tell you the truth, so I step away to visit the privy — and well, when I got back everybody was melting into puddles and screaming their fool heads off. Didn't like it one bit, no sir. Anyways I hid in the attic for a while there but I reckon this is my house now so I'll go where I please. I don't expect Sophie's ever comin' back from wherever she went. You guys can take a powder here if you want to, bein' the heroes of the day an' all. Just don't steal nothin'. This is the mayor's house now, an' I wouldn't want to have to sic the sheriff on you!" Maegan grins, awkwardly getting to her feet and staggering back into the darkness upstairs. Cal pokes around the mansion until he finds the kitchen — or what passes for the kitchen, anyway. It's obvious nothing has been cooked here for months. Everything is coated in dust, and the only signs of any food whatsoever are a few loaves of extremely stale bread in the pantry. Sophia evidently took her meals elsewhere. Cal's inexplicable yen for honey goes unsatisfied. |
Verily, I hath examined the kitchen, and found it wanting, but for a few loaves of bread. Well, in the sweat of mine face shalt I eat bread, til I return unto the ground; for out of it wast I taken; for dust I art, and unto dust shalt I return.
Though not for a good number of years, I pray. The stale bread was not to my liking, although I console myself with fine silverware and china that's surely here. Stowing the utensils in my pack, I search ever more fervently for food. Surely in her time here, Sophia must have eaten somewhere? She was still human, wasn't she? Steal fine silverware and china. Look for food and wine in any kind of dining room, basement, and bedroom. Stay away from girl, let the sheriff and deputy mayor deal with her :D I hath caught brief snatches of Maegan's babble. I can't help but wonder, hath she been driven insane, or was it just the wine talking? If it were the former, then I suspect yon warforged wouldst findeth a use of his chains, sooner than he expects... Umm, not sure again, perception or insight. Probably perception (before Pang inevitably corrects me). |
Try as he might, Cal finds no targets for his larceny. The silverware drawers are empty, and the plates are simple ceramic affairs. The playwright seemed to lack for much in the way of ostentation, considering her large and conspicuous home. Cal stuffs the stale bread in his pack and cases the rest of the house.
Proceeding to the dining hall, Cal finds a wine rack — but it's empty, and emptied quite recently judging from the fresh streaks in the thick dust. There's still no sign of anyone eating in this room, but there are footprints in the dust atop the dining table as well as a single chair standing in the middle of the table as though it were a bizarre centerpiece. Next, Cal checks for bedrooms, finding four in the manor. Three of them are spartan affairs, bearing the same untouched look as the rest of the house — save for the beds, all of which appear recently used. Whoever Sophia's actors were, they weren't much for tidying up after themselves. The master bedroom is significantly more interesting: it's scattered with props from Lasilaran's earlier plays. The long black veil from The Silent Stranger, the paladin's armor from Cuthbert's Widow: Cal is hardly a major patron of the theatre, but it's hard to pass up the opportunity for an occasional free show when you can impersonate the stagehands with little more than a thought. Other than the props, the room is dominated by an excessively large bed (unmade, like the others) and a bulky writing desk. Stacks and stacks of scrolls and loose papers are scattered all over the surface of the desk. Putting that aside for a moment, Cal heads downstairs to the basement and promptly discovers where the household's food was stored. Great stacks of rice sacks lay heaped in a corner next a large bucket full of tepid water. A single torch is mounted in a bracket on the wall, burning brightly as though it were just lit. Beneath the torch sits an overstuffed armchair, next to which stands a small occasional table containing a half-finished bowl of rice and a hefty-looking tome left open to a page somewhere near the end. Even from across the room, Cal spots the fine gilt edges and the high-quality binding. It seems like such a nice book. Setting aside the unusually attractive book for a moment, Cal heads back upstairs to report his findings. He's troubled by the ravings of the peasant girl; she seems more than a little unhinged. But then who wouldn't be, in her shoes? Left to her own devices, she would probably starve to death — provided the wine didn't kill her first. Cal wasn't too enthused about the idea of dragging dead weight along when he could use that space in the wagon to store interesting rocks and carcasses, though. The matter would bear some consideration. Meanwhile, across town, Gheth continues to stare at that one house. It really was a nice varnish. He could admire it for hours. |
Glock checks to see if there is some sort of attic the chair on a table was meant to give access to.
People hiding and shit. Maybe took some food up there. Fruit snacks would be good. Haven't had a fruit snack in a little bit. It wasn't long before that intolerable shapething came back, no doubt hiding vast quantities of pencils and other useless junk in it's rectum. When he came waddling back suspiciously, he did mention a book. Glock likes books. Let's go find that book. Go find that book Look at dat book Wonder about dat book DEDUCE about dat book |
As always, Gheth's propensity for remaining low-key had allowed him to take a more leisurely look at their surroundings. But now, to work! Sure, varnish was good and all, but who could be immaculately absorbed in the detailing on that deck when there was do-gooding to do!
Gheth sidelines the girl, hoping to glean more information from her as to where they should be looking. "Excuse me, little gi- mayor. Since that play, have you heard any noises coming from a certain part of town, or seen any odd creatures coming from a specific place? Perhaps a cove or grotto somewhere nearby?" |
This is far too comfortable. Soon enough Gordok falls asleep in the mud. Dexter G strolls back and forth for a while looking pensive but before long he too flops down in the mud to rest. What a great town.
|
Forsooth. Perhaps I misjudged the poet. Despite her excessively large house, everything here simply indicates austerity.
Going by her bedroom, I espied stacks upon stacks of scrolls and paper. Might there not be any usable ritual scrolls among these? Take scrolls and paper. Here's hoping I get a free 50-gp ritual book. Are there drawers in this desk? Her excessively-large bed intrigues me. It must hide something mysterious, to be so excessively large. I investigate the mystery by carefully attacking it excessively. Rip 'er open! Careful Attack on bed with sword. But oh, the basement was where Sophia had kept her food. I am intrigued at the stacks of little white worms, and with great effort and risking my lumbago and a hernia dragged two back to my wagon. Two sacks of rice to wagon, please. Returning to the basement, I espied a handsome everburning torch mounted on the wall. Was it not the holy book that admonishes us to let our light so shine before men, that they may see our good works, and glorify the Traveler who is in the plane above? If so, it would be a sin to let such a bright light remain here. Let's steal that torch. I thought I've found something valuable at last. Alas, I was too late. Already the bullying warforged is all over the beautiful tome, caressing it as he would a lover. But perhaps the manor has a library which holds more of these handcrafted things. Thus doeth I go out in search of it. Go to library and look for shiny things. |
Glock hustles to the dining hall, suspicious of the chair atop the table there. Perhaps it was a clue to a secret passage! But in the end he discovers nothing and very nearly goes ass-over-teakettle trying to get his bulk atop the chair in the first place. It must have been put there for some less obvious reason.
That avenue of inquiry exhausted, Glock heads down to the basement to investigate the suspicious book. Immediately he understands why the changeling had been so taken in by it; it was surely the finest book he had ever seen. The binding is some kind of odd leather, and the symbol he'd seen outside on the curtain is inlaid in gold on the tome's front cover underneath a single word: "Carcosa". The book is massive, easily 500 pages or more: it would take days to read through the entire thing if he had a mind to. Not that he could, since a cursory examination of the first few pages reveals the book to be written entirely in some ancient dialect of Common that he can barely parse. It's all "thees" and "thous" and the occasional "ye" and beyond that he's lost. A few common words pop up in block capitals here and there: CARCOSA, HASTUR, HARBINGER, KING. Flicking through some more pages, Glock finds the book has a few illustrations: pg. 56: a blank, featureless mask like the Comedy and Tragedy masks of classic theatre, but this mask's expression is utterly neutral. pg. 149: A figure in flowing robes reclining on a throne. The robes are so voluminous that not even the hands or face of the robed figure can be seen. pg. 376: a cluster of tall, narrow structures not unlike termite mounds. Tiny humanoid figures are shown flinging themselves from the tops of the structures, while figures standing on the ground are clutching at their ears. pg. 445: The robed figure from page 149 is shown reaching through an archway, where he has grasped the arm of a man wearing one of the masks from page 56. The book seems completely useless, but Glock can't shake the notion that he should do whatever he has to do in order to understand it. He should probably read the whole thing as soon as he possibly can. It's so interesting! Meanwhile, Gheth and Garrmondo see to Maegan, inquiring as to a possible origin point for the strange forces that had wrecked the village. "Noises? Hell, the poor bastards never shut up until you lot showed up. Hissing and screeching and gobbling like a clutch of hens, all damned day. If there was anything else to hear, I wouldn't have been able to make it out over all the racket. As for your coves and grottos, nah. We're 50 miles inland, you silly! You want some water, get it out of the well like everybody else. And by everybody I mean, uh, me." That matter settled, she promptly passes out again. Gordok falls asleep in the mud It would certainly be tragic if he were to choke on the mud. If he were to choke and die. Or if a huge rock were to fall on him from the sky. That would be unfortunate. Cal rifles through Sophia's papers indiscriminately, looking for nothing in particular. So far as he can tell, it's mostly a bunch of rough drafts from various plays. Maybe Sophia held on to them for reference, maybe she was paranoid about her work being stolen from the garbage and plagiarized — maybe she was just a packrat. Other than the reams and reams of abortive dialogue and stage direction, Cal finds one item of potential interest: an official census document for Hallowfeld, dated to two weeks ago. All 63 of Hallowfeld's former inhabitants are listed, and someone has scratched in check marks next to each name. On the bottom of the census tally, someone has added: "Likely not enough. No backing out now. How many eyes? Lamid?" You can't just "take" a disorganized heap of papers. Are you just going to wad them all up? Shrugging, Cal hacks open Sophia's mattress. Valuable chicken feathers are revealed! His investigations stymied again, Cal resorts to his specialty: petty theft. Swiping the everburning torch from its sconce even as Glock attempts to comprehend the book, Cal stuffs it in his pack and stumbles out of the basement in the dark. Finally, Cal wanders into Sophia's private library in search of more such rare and valuable tomes. Alas, nothing immediately catches his eye like the Carcosa tome had. Still, a few of the older-looking books might be worth something to collectors if he can get them back to Freeport in one piece. Ecology Of The Gnoll: A Study In Three Parts, Vol. 2 Whitecleaver's Lexicon of Dwarven Curses The Life Of Bombastus Hamfist, As Told By Himself The Monster At The End Of This Book Poore Xandowel's Almanack That's it in terms of rooms with anything interesting in them, just so as you don't sit here for weeks checking the Solarium and the Veranda and the Clock Tower |
Glock's put up with a lot from this Shapeshitter.
But this is the final straw. Here he was. Spending time with his new best friend, Betsy the book. Things were just about to get nice and intimate when this asshole shows up and jacks the light. Glock stows the book, stands up and goes upstairs. He also finds the chair from the table-chair shenanigans. He takes it. He then finds Cal. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...-Chairshot.jpg |
Gordok awakes with a look of terror. In his dream he had become a pancake and not even a delicious pancake. The bread bunny judges gave him a 2 out of 10. Dexter squeezed by with a 4. In any case this was no time for sleeping in mud puddles. No! He must remove this strange terror from his mind. He must create art! The halfling scrambles inside and begins to knock anything off of the first wall he finds. Soon he had his canvas. Taking three steps back he rushes forth and delivers a nasty brown imprint.
http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/mudman.jpg Yeah, that would do just fine. Nodding approvingly Gordok turns to his companions while trying to maintain his balance and raises an inquisitive finger. "So what's going on?" |
Alas, poor Clock. Perusing the beautifully-illustrated tome hath addled his mind. Hath he forgotten his own torch which is still burning in his pack provideth him with illumination still? I would not be surprised if reading that book was what drove Sophia mad. This warforged needs watching, certainly.
Fortunately he has trained naught in chair proficiency, and thus I nimbly avoideth his improvised attack with my considerable gymnastic skill. It seems that the manor yielded everything that is of interest. Sophia Lasilaran was apparently up to the evil one's bidding. Whatever she was trying to accomplish, she didn't succeed simply because Hallowfield hath not enough residents. I shudder to think what might happen if she does succeed in a much bigger town. Worse, all indications point to Sophia and her three bardic compatriots journeying westward, to the town of Lamid. I tell the cleric my suspicions. Despite Avandra's admonishing for openness to change, surely he would find the villagers' mutations as something execrable. Leaving Maegan to her own devices will certainly result in her starvation. Although the bullying warforged may find it amusing, I think it best if we would take her with us to the nearest town. Though, I am slightly disturbed at having to make room in my rapidly-filling wagon for her. Swipe dem books and take 2 flaskfuls of chicken feathers; stow both in wagon. Also stow mundane torch in wagon. Just so I don't scare her, stow the heart in my pack. Cut a length of rope necessary to restrain Maegan. For her own safety, of course. THIS IS CLEARLY PLATONIC IN NATURE! If she acts up, give her the pipeweed to smoke. To Lamid, we shall go? Things to do while en route, order of priority: (1) forcefeed Maegan with trail ration (2) be on lookout for beehives to harvest beeswax (3) read up on the fascinating Hamfist story |
As ever, Cal crams every single thing that isn't nailed down into his pack. Having established to his satisfaction the the details of the situation, he declares his intend to depart for Lamid. The rest of G-Unit has little choice but to scramble aboard the wagon, lest they be left to trudge for several days back to Freeport on foot. For her part, Maegan passively ignores her own abduction; she neither actively resists nor makes any attempt to cooperate. Cal ties the intoxicated girl to the wagon's frames so she doesn't roll out on the road somewhere, and puts the reins to Denny (who has endured the strangeness of Hallowfeld quite stoically in his own right). While Cal can hardly watch the road and read at the same time, Gordok is more than enthusiastic about the chance to ride the pony (and, consequently, serve as lookout).
Dusk is already falling as they move out, and it will take a good few hours to reach Lamid. Cal ties the magic torch to the wagon canopy with a bit of spare rope, and sets to killing time with a potentially good book. Despite several false alarms, Cal is quite unable to locate any convenient beehives in the encroaching darkness — and after the 3rd such sudden stop to investigate, he is disinclined to cause any further delays let his companions mutiny and seize his wagon from him. Discouraged, he settles down with the book. The Life and Adventures of Bombastus, called Hamfist As told by Himself to the most penitent scribe Samuel Bowman during Shieldmeet of 1237 The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three heaving mounts in linding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome cargoes of their struggling overseers. "Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of hell, barbarian", gasped the first soldier. "Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death, wretch!" returned Bombastus. A sweeping blade of flashing steel riveted from the massive barbarians hide enameled shield as his rippling right arm thrust forth, sending a steel shod blade to the hilt into the soldiers vital organs. The disemboweled mercenary crumpled from his saddle and sank to the clouded sward, sprinkling the parched dust with crimson droplets of escaping life fluid. The enthused barbarian swilveled about, his shock of fiery red hair tossing robustly in the humid air currents as he faced the attack of the defeated soldier's fellow in arms. "Damn you, barbarian" Shrieked the soldier as he observed his comrade in death. It went on like this, with great lengthy digressions on mighty thews and heaving bosoms. It seems old Bombastus was quite the hero, even if he inexplicably spoke only in the third person. It's near midnight when G-Unit's wagon finally trundles into Lamid, only to find the town in total chaos. Men and women run screaming through the streets, attacking each other, destroying property — and occasionally turning their weapons on themselves. A few of them have suffered the same transfiguration as seen in Hallowfeld, but most seem merely to be caught up in a mass hysteria. In addition, several uncontrolled fires can be seen burning away in the town center. As the wagon slowly rolls into the town, Garrmondo spots an all-too-familiar symbol in the corner of his eye. Reaching out to a chanter's board as the wagon passes, he tears off an advertisement flyer. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/flyer.png |
Yon Bombastus Hamfist was quite a fellow, such a dashing raging barbarian. Delicate creature as I am, I shudder to think of the prospect of even wading into melee combat. And here we have a hero who charges everyone and everything he sees. His legendary escapades were certainly a sight to behold, both in the field of battle and in bed. I thereby resolve to organize an orgy the first chance I returneth to Freeport.
Lamid appears to be undergoing the same chaos as Hallowfield, except that many people have not been transfigured. Unwilling to risk Denny, Maegan, or the considerable treasures that I have stored in the wagon to the tender mercies of a hysteric mob, I instruct the clever halfling to make haste to the nearest Watch Post. I wouldst have loved to take potshots at the transfigured civilians to rack up my kills, but thought the better of it. Better they attack each other than us. Still, any aberrant creature that approaches our wagon, with a clear intent to harm, will be getting a dose of Twin Strike in their nether regions. Turning an eye to the noble dragonborn, I smile wanly. "Time to fight again, it looks like. Perhaps thou wouldst equip Kohl's holy stone, as it sparkles even brighter than thy own implement?" |
It was a sure thing that people running in the opposite way couldn't have been affected by this malevolence. Gheth looked around for anyone (preferably with authority) that might be able to direct them to the source of the corruption.
In this temporary lull, Gheth also took the opportunity to retrieve the firebreathing flask from Glock's pack. Given that only one of them had a belt made specifically for potions, Gheth caught Garrmondo's eye and tossed it the fighter's way. "Here you go, chief." Gheth smirked a bit. "Maybe when we get done here we can form a band. Fire and Ice. We'll do ballads about dragon hoards and green fields and dark castles and such. You know, keep it real. What do you say, eh? Glock on vocals, us on electric lute, and shorty on drums." Gheth spared a dubious look at the shifter, who seemed ready to put quills into citizens both afflicted and non. He jerked a thumb in Cal's direction. "I guess we might be able to trust him with a tambourine." Perception check for guardsmen/officials Equip new holy symbol Move flask to Garr |
Tambourine? Really? Well, I never!
"Cleric, I'll have you know I play a mean Triangle! Yet thou wouldst relegate me to a tambourine? And what's an 'electric' lute, prithee?" Aggrieved, I attempt to regale the party with a war song. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: ♫ Along the shore the cloud waves break ♪ ♫ The twin suns sink behind the lake ♪ ♫ Strange is the night where black stars rise ♪ ♫ And strange moons circle through the skies ♪ ♫ Song of my soul, my voice is dead ♪ ♫ Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed ♪ |
"Do that again and I'm burning this cart to the ground"
The robot is deadly serious. |
Despite Cal's awful warbling, a handful of frightened citizens do answer their doors as he and Garrmondo canvass the area for information. Few of them are willing to leave their doors open for more than a few moments, nervously directing the party in the direction of the fires.
"The watch posts are empty. They've got every man can hold a sword out there keeping the lunatics at bay. Well, mostly at bay." Carefully maneuvering the wagon toward the town center, they immediately discover what the old man meant: perhaps two dozen figures are forming a loose cordon around the burning amphitheater, with shattered carts and stacks of lumber filling the gaps. Trapped within is a swirling mob of over 100 deranged townsfolk, sometimes hurling themselves bodily at the cordon, sometimes turning on each other. While the unarmed horde is a relatively minor danger to the guardsmen, it's clear that bad luck has taken its toll here and there: Gheth spots at least three wounded guards leaning against walls. A weary middle-aged man spots the party as they approach, taking a moment to shove a screaming woman back with a pitchfork before coming to address them. "Look, I'll make this quick. I'm not one to judge, but by the look of you lot you're obviously sellswords. I don't know what's come over these people, but I do know they've got the Mayor in there with them. Only Pelor knows how he's survived, but he's in there. You can hear him screaming." Indeed, this close to the mob, one shrill voice rises over the general cacophony: the wavering voice of an old man shrieking at the top of his lungs. "THE HARBINGER HAS BROUGHT US GIFTS! COME AND SEE! SEE THE WISDOM OF CARCOSA! COME AND SEE! COME AND BE CHOSEN!" The guard captain grimaces. "Somebody needs to get him out of there. I can't spare any of mine to go in; I need all of them just to hold the line. If we let these maniacs loose, Lamid'll be naught but ashes by sunrise. Geoff's a wealthy man, I'm sure he'll be glad to reward you for your help — once we've calmed him down." Maegan pokes her head out of the front of the wagon, gazing bemusedly at the chaotic scene with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement. |
"Captain, as counter-intuitive as it may seem, this is perhaps the safest place to leave our young friend. Meet Madame Maegan, the Mayor of Hallowfield.
Which, incidentally, was the first victim of whatever enchantment yon Sophia Lasilaran and her mad allies hath wreaked." Depositing her with the constable, I gave him a friendly warning. "Careful. She's a bit unhinged after seeing every last member of her village killed or transmogrified." I have no connections to Lamid, and am not inclined to risk my hide for it. Tracking down and stopping the mad playwright is more important than saving a town from a hundred crazies. "We are here to apprehend Sophia Lasilaran and her conspirators, and time is of the essence. I'm really sorry for your town, but we have to stop her before she gets to a bigger city." I'm totally bluffing him so he'll offer more tangible rewards. (Greedy, coward, etc.) :) Bluff Check: 8 + 14 = 22. |
Putting 1 and 1 together, Glock senses there could be something amusing afoot if he leaves Betsy for the young'un to read and spread about the relatively sane part of town.
"Now girly, take this book, see. Show it to everyone you can. I will be back for it shortly, ok? It's my precious. So don't do anything to damage it's pretty binding or I'll skin you alive and hang you on meat hooks." "Yes, precious." as he wrings his hand after handing it to Maegan. "DON'T FUCK UP" Climbing out of the cart, he glances toward the noise. All this about a Harbinger. He wonders if there is any ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL going on within. |
Gheth's forced joviality fades as they near the fires and the tumult within. He overhears that the amphitheater seems to be their next prospective lead, and thinks his time may be better spent tending to the guards ringing the mob.
As he does what he can for the wounded, he begins to wonder what will become of the people that have been driven mad by this twisted play. They can't very well simply kill them all, but a cure may be out of the question. Disturbed by this new notion, he returns to the captain. "Are you a religious man, captain?" He shakes his head, cutting himself short. "No, it doesn't really matter. I think you may have to make some hard choices before sunrise, however, and I do not envy you." "This might be of some help. If not to you, then perhaps one of your men." Gheth removes the leather thong holding the Symbol of Mortality from around his neck and places it in the captain's hand. "For now, simply consider it a loan. But based on what we've seen so far, this night will get worse before it gets better. Weather the storm." First aid/fist bump soldiers Give Symbol of Mortality to captain Ready for some FIGHTAN |
Gheth takes a moment to assist the guard's strained medics with their duty. The task ahead demanded that he marshal his resources carefully, but a few quick prayers and a tourniquet here and there surely wouldn't tire him. Murmuring a few words of encouragement, the cleric passes his old pendant to the captain. These men and women needed aid from any god that could grant it, and the gleaming stone he'd found in Hallowfeld was a stark reminder of precisely what was at stake.
Some of the less-battered guards get back to their feet, and the medics (relieved for a blessed moment) whisk the less promising patients away to relative safety. As Gheth nods solemnly to the captain and passes the holy symbol to him, the broken lines of the cordon seem almost to re-solidify — weary warriors shake off their bruises and scrapes, standing straight and linking shields once again. And out of the corner of his eye, Gordok sees what no one else seems to notice: the broken wagons blocking off the alleys and side streets quietly reconfigure themselves, the cracked timbers shaping themselves into proper fences in the blink of an eye. Nobody was getting out of Theater Square without a sledgehammer. Captain Radcliff helps Maegan down from the wagon, sending one of the wounded guards with her to find a bunk in the watch barracks until the overstretched medics have time to deal with her shell-shock. He takes no special notice of the book Glock puts in her hands as she turns to follow the guard. "He stole from the mayor", she mutters under her breath. "But on the other hand he did return our property without being asked. We will pardon him just this once. However, for the loss of our rice..." Radcliff looks on Cal fearfully. "Every... last..." The captain shakes his head forcefully, as if to shake out some ugly idea. "If the King's Players are at fault in this awful business, they must surely still be within the amphitheater. We had the place cordoned off within minutes of the explosion, and I doubt anyone in full costume could slip through the line without notice. Radcliff's brow furrows, lost in thought as he gazes absently toward the amphitheater. "I say explosion, but the fires all came after. All we saw from the outside was this flash of light, and then water started to down the amphitheater steps like a dam had burst. I thought perhaps there was an old reservoir under the place somehow, but... well, no matter. I won't ask for your help with the crowds. If young Maegan is any indication, those who haven't been changed will come back to their senses in due time. As for the rest, well..." The captain clears his throat, and shouts above the din. "WE'LL LET THEM OUT ONE BY ONE. I REPEAT, ONE BY ONE. ON MY SIGNAL." Radcliff turns to the recently-treated guards, many of them still favoring a leg or clutching a shoulder. "There's only one way to do this. One at a time. If it's still a person, we restrain them and haul them to the jail. If it's a... a thing..." Radcliff draws a shortsword from a scabbard on his belt. It looks like it's never been used. "If any of you had family visit the amphitheater tonight, you're now assigned to fire control. Go." A gangly lad in his late teens staggers away toward the nearest well, his eyes firmly locked on the ground. Radcliff turns to look at G-Unit, a hard grimace on his face. "Gods forgive us for what we do tonight, lads. Get in there if you're going, before they come out for an encore." |
Radcliffe taketh not my hint of asking for more concrete promises of reward. Oh well, t'was worth a shot.
"Captain, it seems our purposes converge tonight. Understand that we will need to cull the transformed villagers, with extreme prejudice, to protect ourselves." Radcliffe need not see Framarth's heart which I hath on display; verily didst I stow it in my pack lest he rummages through the wagon and thinks me a macabre serial killer. Not that I am not, of course, having killed Rundarr, 2 spined devils, a duergar recruit, 3 transformed villagers, 1 gibbering mouther, and knocked Erik (later disemboweled by the robot) unconscious. But know all that, Radcliffe needeth not. Take Framarth's heart and put it in pack. "Oh, and captain. Please keep an eye on yon wagon against any looters. Here, it isn't much, but with it may Pelor see thee through the night!" Toss Radcliff the Bloodclaw Short Sword. Unhitching Denny from the wagon, I clambered on him, battle-ready. We are going in through the barricade hole, and I shalt be taking the rear. "Come then, my fellows! The fugitive playwright is near!" Ready Twin Strike against transformed villagers that I see. |
Leaving his wagon behind in the reliable hands of despondent strangers and lunatics, Cal follows the rest of the party through the barricades atop his totally-inconspicuous pony. The guards reform their shield wall behind him, and he realizes something else that may aid Radcliff in his unpleasant duty.
"Catch!" Startled, the captain deftly snatches the sword from the air — gouging his palm on its spiked grip. "God's blood, that hurts. We'll see how he feels about throwing things once his little wagon is—" The crowd closes behind Cal, and the constant noise of the mob is too much to make out the rest of Radcliff's angry oath. Cal gazes over the square, taking in the amassed throng of maddened citizens. Unless G-Unit wanted to cut their way through to the amphitheater gates, they'd have to get through the crowd without attracting undue attention. Cal wasn't personally opposed to taking a few scalps, but the prospect of being in the middle of a swirling melee didn't exactly appeal — especially since he'd just given away his sword. Leaning down in his saddle, he quietly confers with the rest of the party. Skill Challenge: Pass Through The Crowd Undetected. 8 successes within 15 checks to succeed, DC 23. Three checks per PC. One check per skill, per player. (Ex: Cal may use Athletics, and so may Gheth, but Cal may not use it twice.) This is a primarily a physical challenge; each PC may only use one non-physical skill during the challenge. The physical skills are Acrobatics, Athletics, Endurance, Heal, Stealth, and Thievery. |
"Careful, Captain! The sword is sharp!"
Oh well, too late. At least I warned him. I abhor crowds. They rank of sweat, unwashed armpits, and unbrushed teeth. Add in a murderous maddened mob? Recipe for disaster for a cowardly ranged chameleon. THIEVERY! 5+8=13 is probably less than 23. Probably. |
Act natural. Right. Robots can act natural.
Then again, there are tonnes of screaming people being violent. Oh well, when in Rome, do what Romans do. And with that, he punches Cal RIGHT IN THE FACE Athletics Hopefully the punch looked authentic enough. Maybe if he fakes the windup on the combo! Bluff Maybe if he looks all tough and shit people won't want to mess. Come over here fuckers, I ain't done with any of you yet. I can do this all night. Endurance |
Clock's mock punch catches me off-guard. I instinctively put up my hands to shield my delicate jaw and perfectly-proportioned aquiline nose, completely forgetting to let go of the reins.
The sudden jerky movement causes Denny to rear up, front legs flailing and almost leaving a horseshoe imprint on the metal man. Upon which the faithful horse barreling full tilt into the crowd, charging full speed towards the auditorium. ATHLETICS with da horse CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE Let's bust out of that thar mob's melee range cuz there's no way we're succeeding at this challenge. Fighting to regain control of my horse, I realized I needed to distract the crowd somehow, to convince them that I am their general, leading them to glory and honor. Shape-shifting into the best possible approximation of transformed Wallace Kohl, I shout out a modified battle cry that a fellow adventuring warlord used to yell as his Commander's Strike.
Imma sprout a tentacle or three. BLUFFIN': Argh. 2+5+14=21 <<< 23 |
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Gheth readies his shield forward, prepared to barrel through if necessary. He takes a moment first, however, to study the crowd and hopefully spot an opening.
Perception check A few deranged heads turn his way, and he tries to disable them without hurting them. A throat chop here, a solar plexus punch there, and hopefully he can bypass them entirely. Heal check? With a last bit of squirming, Gheth aims for the other side. Athletics check |
What was that? A big scary fighter was pushing through the crowd of my insane troops?
He is very much intimidating! I feign fear to inculcate to the crowd to better give Carrmondo room! Aid Garr succeeds. Garr's intimidate check rises by 2 to 12+7+2=21. |
Gordok just does some random shit.
Endurance, Thievery, Perception. |
Keeping their wits about them, G-Unit cautiously wades through the crowd. Disarming the maniacs when possible and quietly disabling those who got too close, they manage to get through with limited trouble. Still, despite having avoided outright conflict, the press of the crowd and its inherent violence assured no one could get through totally unscathed. Luckily, most of the party endures the flying rocks and random beatings with a stunning display of stoicism. It takes less than a minute to work through the maddened mob, but it feels like hours.
Partial Success: 2 surges lost. 625 XP (125 each). Achievement Unlocked: Method Actor (Glock). 250 XP (50 each). As G-Unit approaches the walls of the amphitheater, the briny smell of seawater rapidly becomes overwhelming. As they descend into the recessed pit that served as a stage, they soon discover why: the entire staging area is flooded. Despite the flood having extinguished all the stage lights, the interior of the amphitheater is perhaps the most well-lit area in all of Lamid. A swirling nimbus of bright light hovers in midair above the flooded stage, bathing the entirety of the theater in a soft yellow haze. As their eyes adjust to the strange light, they begin to take in the grisly details. Dozens of bodies bobbed in the brackish water, all of them seemingly free of the taint of transformation. Only one living person remains in the theater: an old man with a scraggly white beard crouches in a far corner, stripped down to his breeches and babbling to himself. Suddenly, his vacant gaze turns on the party and his mouth turns up in a rictus grin of impossible joy. "The Harbinger departs, but still the pilgrims seek her gifts! Come, friends. There is always room in his kingdom. We have such mysteries to show you!" Strange, misshapen creatures surface from beneath the water, their glowing yellow eyes trained unerringly on the party. Their bodies are like a hideous mockery of the human form: grotesqueries of exposed sinew, naked bones and quivering fat. One of them, large as an ogre, casually plucks an old woman's corpse from the water and tears her head off with its teeth — never once breaking eye contact. Whether these things were the product of Carcosa's transformative corruption or had come from somewhere else entirely was impossible to guess — and they certainly weren't in the mood to explain themselves. The old man makes no move to join in the battle, content to sit by himself and whistle an unrecognizable tune. The smallest of the foul things stares at the party with its beady eyes, its fat lumpen form quivering with hatred. It brandishes a ragged chunk of driftwood, and hurls it at G-Unit. They easily dodge the clumsy missile, only to have it explode in a rippling blast as it splashes into the water beside them. No one is seriously wounded, but Gheth sees... things in the brief moment that he looks into the explosion. Things his faith has not equipped him to contemplate. No one can imagine what Cal's horse may have experienced, but it grows skittish for the first time. 12 damage to Gheth and to Denny, both dazed (save ends). Defenses: Foulspawn Hulk: AC 20, Fort 23, Ref 18, Will 18 Foulspawn Seer: AC 22, Fort 17, Ref 21, Will 19 Foulspawn Manglers: AC 22, Fort 19, Ref 20, Will 19 Conditions: The entire theater is flooded and is difficult terrain. :savepoint: Gordok 24, Manglers 22, Cal 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Hulk 6, Seer 24 Fuck yes you are the worst initiative order ever. |
Denny! Oh my poor beautiful horse! You've been beaten to two-thirds of your life!
By a piece of plywood! Hitting the water! How mortifying to all horsekind. I wrack my brains to the best of my ability, to think of any weaknesses or special attributes and strengths these creatures might possibly have! I also ponder on how dangerous the old fart might be. I have no idea if I need to use Religion, Nature, or Arcana on the foulspawns, so I guess you decide, Pang. Actively perceive threat of old coot. :savepoint: Battle Stats:savepoint: [AC 20 Fort 23 Ref 18 Will 18] Hulk..... : 000 dmg [xxx/???] [AC 22 Fort 17 Ref 21 Will 19] Seer..... : 000 dmg [xxx/???] [AC 22 Fort 19 Ref 20 Will 19] Mangler A : 000 dmg [xxx/???] [AC 22 Fort 19 Ref 20 Will 19] Mangler B : 000 dmg [xxx/???] [AC 22 Fort 19 Ref 20 Will 19] Mangler C : 000 dmg [xxx/???] [AC 22 Fort 17 Ref 21 Will 18] Cal... : 47/49 [AC 23 Fort 22 Ref 17 Will 17] Garr.. : 57/57 [AC 23 Fort 18 Ref 16 Will 21] Gheth. : 44/56 | dazed [AC 22 Fort 15 Ref 18 Will 20] Glock. : 46/50 [AC 19 Fort 17 Ref 16 Will 18] Gordok : 51/54 [AC 14 Fort 15 Ref 13 Will 10] Denny. : 24/36 | dazed [AC ?? Fort ?? Ref ?? Will ??] Geoff. : 00 dmg [xx/??] |
Gordok looks at the amphitheater's balconies. Gordok looks at the wonderfully hideous creatures before him. Gordok looks at the amphitheater's balconies again. That support column looks lonely so Gordy gives it a hug and ascends to the third floor. Yes indeed the view of the monstrosities is even better from above. Feeling ashamed that he has no bouquet to throw down to the odd performers from his perch the halfling improvises a bundle of praise starting with who he believes must be playing the role of some sort of royal vizier.
Climb column at P-47 to M-47 Diabolic Grasp Foulspawn Seer Bravo! The royal vizier moves two steps forward and graciously takes a bow. He must appreciate blown kisses~ Gordok winks in kind. Dexter claps himself repeatedly. 17 damage to Foulspawn Seer, coerced to S-51 |
Cal racks his brains for what he may have heard about such creatures, quickly relaying his recollections to the rest of the group.
Foulspawn are deranged humanoids corrupted by contact with the Far Realm, a maddening and distant plane. Foulspawn come in many shapes and sizes, but they share a universal contempt for natural creatures. Foulspawn gather in roving packs and are drawn to serve powerful aberrant creatures such as aboleths, beholders, and mind flayers. As regards these specific varieties of foulspawn, Cal knows the following specific facts, since he is looking directly at them: Foulspawn Hulk: Large aberrant humanoid. Foulspawn Mangler: Medium aberrant humanoid. Foulspawn Seer: Nothin' (okay, Medium Aberrant Humanoid is heavily implied.) Crazy old Bresnik doesn't appear to pose any real threat on his own; he shouldn't be hard to deal with once his undesirable guests are out of the way. Gordok lunges at one of the amphitheater's support columns, running his hands all over the wet pole. But alas, he cannot grip the shaft. It is far too slippery. Determined to molest something, Gordok attempts to fondle one of the foulspawn with his giant spooky magic hand. But the seer vanishes just as the shadowy claws begin to close around him, instantly reappearing next to the addled Mayor Bresnik. The diabolical claw makes a series of rude, frustrated gestures before dissipating uselessly. Immediate Interrupt: Bend Space The foulspawn nearest to Cal's cherished mount immediately sets to work carving up the defenseless pony. Horsemeat's good eatin'! Bone Dagger: +13 vs AC, 14 damage to Denny (bloodied) Wrote A instead of C on the roll, no deception meant The mangler near Garrmondo darts around him, giving the fighter a wide berth before darting in toward the dazed cleric with his jagged bone knife. Gheth is caught totally unawares, and the foulspawn drives the filthy dagger deep into his ribs. That's gonna leave a scar. Bone Dagger: Critical! 25 damage to Gheth (bloodied) This is the real roll for Mangler A, sorry again The third mangler flicks a pair of daggers across the stage at Cal's battered horse, slicing open the gentle beast's tendons and sending it to the ground. Cal nimbly rolls off the horse as it crumples, inwardly cursing the wasted 75 coins. Thrown Bone Daggers: +13 vs AC, 22 damage to Denny (Unconscious, Dying) Dunno if you want to bother rolling death saves for a $75 horse, your call. :savepoint: Cal 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Hulk 6, Seer 24, Gordok 24, Manglers 22 |
Gheth grunts as the bone knife slips between the chain and padding, shredding his lung. He turns to cough blood, but offers up a grim smile to the griever. He takes this grievous wound in stride because he knows that the mystical power of his totally rockin' eyeball necklace will scare the ever-loving shit out of opportunistic adversaries.
Mangler A takes 2 necrotic. WHAT NOW, SCRUB |
"NO... DENNY!"
You can't die. Not now. Not when we've known each other for almost two months. No... not here.... You ask if I want to keep an animal that costs 1 year's wages alive? Hell yeah! Glaring at the Mangler with utmost malice, I dig into my quiver and draw the longbow strings taut. "You." "Killed." "My." "Horse!!!" My anger explodes like a miniature nova. "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCKER!!!" Mangler C is my Quarry. Two-Fanged Strike on Mangler C. Rolls of 10+ will hit, due to Prime Shot. Use 1x Lightning Arrow. Mangler C takes 1 + 3 + 7 + 7 + 6 = 24 HP damage and is dazed till the end of his next turn. ACTION POINT: Shadow Wasp Strike on Mangler C, with duergar beard arrow. Critical Hit! Maximum damage applied - 27 + 8 (quarry) +1 (crit bonus) = 36. Total damage sustained: 36 + 24 = 60. Withdraw to N-48. As I watch the Mangler expire from his wounds, my anger is abated, but only by a little bit. The now-weaponless Mangler B, and that Seer who's responsible for starting the chain of events leading to Denny's downfall, must pay. If only the seer isn't immune from ranged attacks, with his immediate-interrupt teleportation powers! Best to let the melee defenders handle his ranged arse! :savepoint: Battle Stats :savepoint: [AC 20 Fort 23 Ref 18 Will 18] Hulk..... : 02 dmg [xx/??] [AC 22 Fort 17 Ref 21 Will 19] Seer..... : 02 dmg [xx/??] [AC 22 Fort 19 Ref 20 Will 19] Mangler A : 17 dmg [58/60] [AC 22 Fort 19 Ref 20 Will 19] Mangler B : 02 dmg [60/60] [AC 22 Fort 19 Ref 20 Will 19] Mangler C : 60 dmg [00/60] Kilt daid [AC 22 Fort 17 Ref 21 Will 18] Cal... : 45/49 [AC 23 Fort 22 Ref 17 Will 17] Garr.. : 55/57 [AC 23 Fort 18 Ref 16 Will 21] Gheth. : 41(4)/56 [AC 22 Fort 15 Ref 18 Will 20] Glock. : 44/50 [AC 19 Fort 17 Ref 16 Will 18] Gordok : 18/54 dazed [AC 14 Fort 15 Ref 13 Will 10] Denny. :-15/36 dazed dying[0/3] |
Flute of the Dancing Satyr to shift to P-51.
The muck in which they are sitting is doing nothing for our favourite robot's flute. He whips it out, but the tune it bleats is weak and dull. It isn't until after blowing on it that he finds a rotten finger has floated it's way into it and blocked the sound. Vicious Mockery to Seer. ffffffffff Annoyed at the cleaning job he's going to have to do later, Glock's mind clearly isn't on the ball when he yells out "Nice neckpiece, asshole!" to the one that Gordok has a crush on. He doesn't quite realize the vizier is in fact quite proud of it, and has a small problem understanding sarcasm. Majestic Word on Gheth 16 + 4 + 4 = 24 Health regained. +4 Temp HP. Dunno if I can shift him in this context or not, but if so, he's now at Q-50. At least he can help the lizard a little bit. "Hey bro, these bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks. How you gonna be if you just sit there bleedin' all over the place like a woman?" |
Although he is soothed by the robot's eloquence, Gheth is still reeling somewhat from the deadly strike he had been given only moments before, and he has time for just a sidelong blow against the griever. A steady arm and a serious wish to draw blood is all that's needed to skewer the thing's thigh, however.
Righteous Brand on Griever A with +3 bonus to Garrmondo (13 damage) Save from Dazed |
Cal flies into a rage at the likely death of his horse, peppering the nearest Mangler with a barrage of arrows. Without thinking, he fires a lightning arrow into the beast — and regrets it immediately as the mangler's pincushion corpse collapses into the water. Ripples of electricity dart across the fetid water, giving a nasty shock to everyone in the theater. Bresnick seems to barely notice the uncontrollable twitching in his limbs, muttering something about forgetting his medicine. Denny, already in dire straits, struggles to hold his breath underwater despite being electrocuted — and miraculously succeeds. Maybe he can get out of this alive, if his owner can stop inadvertently wounding him.
Cal vaults the gate surrounding the stage area, hoping the monsters will ignore him if he lurks in the gloom. The rest of G-Unit scarcely makes a dent in the enemy force, though Gheth manages to make a lasting wound on a Mangler after the fighter distracts it. 2 damage to every motherfucker in the room. Cal is actually "under" N-48: treat the gates as partial cover in both directions. The foulspawn hulk glowers around the room, absently chewing with its mouth open. Little bits of brain and skull trickle out of its maw into the water. While the dying horse was a tempting meal, it was no real threat. The little man behind it, humping the wall — he could be dangerous. And perhaps more importantly, he would be easy to squish. The hulk slogs through the water, mauling Gordok with his massive fist. Slam: +11 vs AC. 18 damage to Gordok. The Seer chuckles as his massive companion brutalizes the halfling. Good. This was the king's theater now, the midget has no right to befoul it with his vile wrigglings. That's just out of line. The seer waves a misshapen hand, and a ripple darts across the foul water — splashing up into Gordok's bloodied face. Choking on the filthy muck, Gordok struggles to get his bearings before the creatures give him another beating. The Seer then ducks behind old man Bresnick, figuring the interlopers too soft-hearted to wound a harmless old man to get at him. Warp Orb: +14 vs Reflex. 13 damage to Gordok; bloodied, dazed (save ends). :savepoint: Gordok 24, Manglers 22, Cal 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Hulk 6, Seer 24 |
Standing around without any apparent motive, Gordok decides he's tired of standing next to this horse. It's all smelly now, and it keeps thrashing around and trying not to drown. As an act of mercy, Gordy decides to put the poor doomed beast out of its misery.
Eldritch Blast: Kill That Horse. Sadly, while our hero is sending Brave Horse to his deserved rest, he is distracted. The Hulk takes this opportunity to punch him in the face. Gord's head does a full 360° turn on his neck, and he sprawls into the water in a baffled heap. Attack of Opportunity: Slam — 20 damage. Gordok unconscious and dying/drowning. You see what happens, Larry? This is what happens. With the dazed halfling having been doomed by his own inattentiveness, the Manglers have no obvious targets. One of them hacks away at Garrmondo, the fighter having muttered something insulting about his ancestry — but it's futile. The other darts around behind, drawing more daggers from his belt. He scratches up Glock's finish and generally wounds his pride. Bone Dagger: 4 damage to Glock :savepoint: Cal 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Hulk 6, Seer 24, Gordok 24, Manglers 22 |
"No."
"No!" "No!!!" ""
Clever halfling. How could you? HOW COULD YOU??? Yes, he was helpless. Dying. Drowning. But you robbed me of the opportunity to try to save his life with a potion! I stand, dumbfounded and unmoving, after watching my so-called ally blast my horse open. Delay turn until after Gheth. |
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Egads, a monster!
Poking him with a...stick. Or something. Glock isn't entirely certain where this pointy stick came from. All sorts of shit is present in the jungle juice in which they were now swimming so happily in. All sorts of HORRIBLE shit. His robo-mind is busy conjuring up all sorts of possibilities. Thoroughly disgusted, the robot backs away slowly and starts chugging the vast quantity of alcohol the fighter so kindly gave him. Despite the fact that he's pretty sure this is HIS booze, he'll have to thank the meatsack later nonetheless. Double shift to O-50. Chug Elixir of Dragon's Breath. Finding himself behind a pillar, Glock looks at it a little bit, and tries to determine if it's all rotting, full of holes and is some nasty shit wood, or if it's sturdy enough to support his metal frame should push come to shove. Scope out dat pillar, son. |
Always they gotta pick on the little guy. Gheth sees the huge bone-thug attempting to mash Gordok into a fine paste, and he feels a twinge of schoolboy-era sympathy.
"You leave him alone!" Gheth announces violently. Despite a slight quiver in his lip, he speaks up again. "He can wear shorts in the shower if he wants to!" At this, Gheth gives a good thrust of his spear at the closest thing he can manage to Brock Lorgenson, famed dragonborn track and field star. The restrained tears, as it turns out, make for poor eyesight. Healing Word on Gordok (surge +11-- I always forget about Healer's Lore) |
Denny. D-denny...
Drained of emotion and strength, I halfheartedly send two volleys at the seer who contributed to Denny's death. I missed, but who cares? With Denny's death, everything is meaningless. Twin Strike at Seer, through superior cover. Miss, of course. Move to L-49. Stealth check to hide from everyone. 3 + 1 + 13 = 17 Designate Mangler B as quarry. There ya go, Pang. I pre-rolled the low numbers out for ya! |
Glock examines the pillars that brace the audience boxes above him. Despite the flooding, the timbers look to be in good condition. At least the building wouldn't come crashing down on them, on top of everything else. Small comfort...
Cal contributes to the battle effort by running away and hiding in a dark corner. Despite his extremely excellent hiding skills, everyone but the Hulk still sees him. The Hulk turns to Gheth, glowering. The lizard man had interrupted what had begun to look like a lovely evening of pummeling the small and puny. Why would anyone object to this? This is what the small and puny were for: to make the non-puny feel better about themselves. The Hulk smashes his fist down atop Gheth's head, reducing his height by an inch or two and rendering him significantly more puny. It was important to put people into their proper categories. If you will defend the puny, you will join them in their tiny puniness! Smash: 19 damage to Gheth (bloodied) The Seer issues a rattling sigh. As usual, the Manglers got distracted by the shiniest, noisiest thing they could find. Well, if the fighter wanted all the attention that'd be fine. The Seer sends a roiling sphere of foul water roiling across the room, smashing Garrmondo in the chest. The water itself was harmless, but the force of the blow staggers him and while trying to keep his footing he clumsily bashes his head on the support beam behind him. Warp Orb: 10 damage to Garrmondo (dazed) :savepoint: Gordok 24, Manglers 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Cal 22, Hulk 6, Seer 24 |
Things became blurry again for Gordok. He is too used to this sensation by now that it's almost blissful. The halfling cocks his head to the side. Is that the changething crying far in the distance? What had just happened? Things are certainly still busy around him so why has Cal gone hiding in the shadows to sulk? Oh yeah. Gordok had killed his horse. That big tough trollish fiend who had smashed Gordy down into the water had done far worse to Denny. Poor thing would have drowned with its legs all mangled and such. The halfling had decided it would be best to put the beast out of its misery. Sure, grieve for the horse but not while there is still battle afoot! What madness! Gordok decides its time Cal learn this lesson well.
Fey Switch with Cal Right. Cal can sit there and cry over Denny and die or he can man up and live. |
Sick of listening to Cal's blubbering (the high-pitched whining sound was clearly audible despite Gordy's head being underwater), the halfling decides to really give him something to complain about. In an instant, Gordok makes the soggy gestures that will transpose him with an ally and finds himself halfway up the theater stairs.
With the fighter dazed, the manglers seize their opportunity. Darting in, they tear a bloody gash into Garrmondo's shield arm while he's distracted. The second mangler finds no such purchase, and instead hops over the gate to pursue the bard — if he retreats, he must surely be easier prey. Garrmondo takes a swing as the mangler zips away, but the little bastard is too quick. Bone Dagger: 14 damage to Garrmondo Garrmondo's AoO misses due to Mangler Mobility (+5 AC vs AoOs from movement) :savepoint: Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Cal 22, Hulk 6, Seer 24, Gordok 24, Manglers 22 |
Virtue of Cunning
Garr to P-50 |
My good friend Eshind always say, land sakes Cal. When the world's ganging up on ya, when someone kills yer dog or shoots yer horse, best be keeping yo' frustrations out of youse head with a lidda bit o' fornicatin'!
Suddenly, I am beside Denny's corpse, with a leering troll right next to me. This is it, Cal. Snap out of it. Hugging the nearest pillar as if I were wrapping my hands on Denny's soft silky mane, I start to hump it. The Hulk raises his fist, and I thought he was going to hit me silly. But no, he pat me on the head. That's right, I forgot. I'm currently in the transformed priest form, with tentacles to boot. That explains the mystery! Alas, Eshind's advice didn't work. I stand there, frustrated, unfulfilled, and decidedly still morose. Climb check on dat pillar: DC 15 with Athletics 3 = 12+ to succeed. Move action to climb pillar; attract Opportunity Attack from Hulk first. Slam against Cal, +11 vs AC 22, climbing grants +2 combat advantage but Cal's Defensive Mobility negates this. 11+ to succeed, miss. Move to climb fails. Exchange standard action for move to attempt climb again. Fuck you dice. Changeling Trick vs. Hulk. Oh so NOW I get a crit. Feh. |
What this fuck is this thing, up in his grill?
Glock knows it will try to molest him, but standing near it is just too disheartening. So off he goes. Move to M-48 Mangler B AoOs me. 13 + 12 = 25 > 22. Hit by AoO. 5+3 = 8 damage. It occurs to Glock that this play lacks any sort of musical accompaniment. How sad. How are we supposed to know the hero's feeling kinda in the dumps if there's no mad tunes to back a brother up? Filling in for the complete lack of brass instruments, the robot decides that he could at least be a steel one. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Tune of Ice and Wind Centered on P-50 Garr shifts to N-48 Skex to N-49 Crit on Hulk. 6 + 8 = 14 > 19. Miss on Mangler B. Damage is 17 / 2 = 8 damage to Mangler B. Hulk is hit for 17 + 1 (fuck off) = 18. Mangler slowed until my next turn, Hulk slowed until save. Activate Lucky Charm. 3 doesn't help enough to hit Mangler. Oh well. :( How fortunate. His friends start rockin' out. The dragon breaks it down and jives up front, while the human moonwalks into a further defensive position. The giant starts breakdancing, which doesn't go over too well in the muck, there's no way he'll keep up if he dances like that for too long. The other Mangler just sort of shakes his booty a bit. He doesn't seem so enthused. Maybe he's just partially deaf. Even when Glock's manly necklace starts glowing, making the music all that much more badass, the little black shithead just shrugs. What bad taste he has. Goggle Hulk. Impressed by the moves that giant possesses, Glock takes a moment to scan it. Maybe if he figures out how it's gonna act, he can learn to do that too. |
With a sudden burst of funky fresh wind still ringing in his ears, Gheth takes a moment to catch his breath and call down a ferocious reproach on their attackers.
Bloodied triggers Dragonborn Fury Daunting Light on Hulk Use Stone of Avandra's Power (21 damage to hulk, combat advantage granted to Gordok) Action Point Second Wind |
Alarmed by the ease with which the Hulk had nearly flattened Gordok, G-Unit turns its attention on eliminating it quickly. Of course, with Cal now the likely target of the beast's anger, the situation was rather less desperate. I mean, sure, they'd still kill it, but ehhhhhh. Curious about whether saving Cal's life would keep him up late, Glock takes a quick scan of the monstrosity.
http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/scan_hulk.png A quick prayer from Gheth brings a column of fire down from the sky, but while it wounds the Hulk most grievously, it also makes him quite angry indeed. Hulk bloodied. Finding himself unceremoniously deposited back in the center pit, Cal's first impulse is to flee. He futilely scrabbles at the support beam, no more able to romance the shaft than Gordok had been. In desperation, he attempts to distract the Hulk and buy some time. "Look there! A tasty steak!" While the Hulk does indeed idly glance around for the promised snack, the ruse does nothing to prevent the pounding Cal is about to receive. Having no reason to think the halfling's disappearance was anything more than a petty trick, the Hulk puts his full strength into punishing the puny little bastard. The Hulk was never a great intellect, but he wasn't about to be fooled by a pair of stilts. Oh no indeed! His massive arm sends a vicious right hook plowing into Cal's jaw, sending the ranger reeling. Slam: +19 vs AC, 3d10+9 damage (when bloodied). 23 damage to Cal (bloodied). The Seer could not be more delighted with the progress of events, his hostage having evidently made him entirely immune to retaliation. Feeling puckish, he decides a small illusion might be in order. Before Cal's horrified eyes, Denny's lifeless head seems to pull itself from the water and fix him with an accusatory stare. In a low, hateful voice, the horse intones: "No sir, I didn't like it." Warp Orb: 7 damage to Cal (dazed) Gordok 24, Manglers 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Cal 22, Hulk 6, Seer 24 |
I didn't see the huge fist coming until it was too late. The force of the impact wrenches my jaw out of alignment and sends me barreling backwards. Drunkenly, I staggered first to the left, before rebalancing to the right.
http://www.dethstarz.com/images2/44/glass_joe.jpg Reflexively, my hands grab hold of the nearest anchor - in this case the creature's loincloth. As I fly backwards from his super punch, the fabric rips off from the rampaging Hulk's body. Even if the Seer hadn't reanimated my dear beloved horse, I'd have been dazed regardless, due to awe at the revelation of Red Hulk's sheer masculinity. Yield Ground, to N-47, via O-46. Basically if Pang says I should stop at O-46, then I stop at O-46. HP Counts: Hulk 27, Mangler A 37 max, Mangler B 35 max |
~WAVY DREAM SEQUENCE~
It seems that although Cal had gotten plenty far away from the danger before Gordok made a sudden switch with him it did not change the water situation at all. The halfling could stand up or he could drown. Or! Or. Or. Or. He could swim! In a sudden fury of bubbles Gordok emerges a beautiful iffish! As the iffish slowly moves towards his point of attack he selects a freezing spell of sorts from a mysterious rotating ring. minor: Wild Shape iffish move: crawl to M-45 The iffish knows a coward when it sees one and with a mighty leap that only the mighty dickery of the iffish can achieve it unleashes icy fury. Somewhere in another time salty tears form as a nine-year-old child smashes an oddly jeweled corded contraption against a wall due to similar circumstances. standard: Tundra Wind Cal A frozen missile screams across the water and into the hulk, but it does not have much of an effect on the hulk. The changething is not looking too good after the impact, however the iffish does not seem to care. It's an asshole like that. Action Point: Second Wind Damage: 13 to Cal, 4 to hulk Cal is now located at P-47 |
http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/gordo...lsuffering.png
Gordok had an amusing thought as he glimpses Cal seemingly fleeing once again from his place down in the water. Ah well it is time Gordy took care of business now. The halfling manages to point his wand in the general direction of the hulk and barely misses, but the massive flames still manage to scorch the Hulk. standard: Tyranny of Flame Hulk 16/2 = 8 damage to Hulk The water is becoming a bit of a problem but in troubled times such as these Gordok remembers a beautiful creature he witnessed back in his voyaging days and takes its angelic form. minor: Wild Shape juvenile mola mola move: crawl to N-47 The sunfish gracefully swims toward all the fuss and sirens out its plea for delicious, supple jellyfish. http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/sunfi...songforyou.png Action Point: Roar of Terror O-48,S-52 28 damage to the hulk, dazed (save ends) 8/2 = 4 damage to mangler a, dazed until next turn 8/2 = 4 damage to mangler b, dazed until next turn The hulk collapses into the Gechmirian fetal position which is a recent discovery doctors see from time to time as fishermen come ashore rendered helpless at the sight of dead fish eyes insisting the fish are out to steal their very souls. The manglers are much more fortunate only frozen for what will most likely be but a moment in their tracks. However their towering ally may not make it through this one. Action Point: Second Wind The mola mola blubs a satisfying blub as it sucks in a passing theatre pamphlet. Damage total: Hulk - 36 damage, mangler a - 4 damage, mangler b - 4 damage |
Preoccupied by a strange and beautiful daydream, Gordok absent-mindedly transforms into the most terrifying fish that has ever existed. Despite the absence of any lungs, the finned terror issues the most terrifying and sonorous... bubbling noise.
"Bloop. Bloop bloop." Unbeknownst to the rest of those assembled, the Hulk had one weakness. The sight of the hideous fish stirs up old and unbearable memories in the mind of the giant foulspawn, and with a mighty groan he topples into the water as his mighty heart just plumb gives up on him. Who can even guess at the strange history between this quite harmless fish and this otherwise strong and manly specimen? It remains a mystery forever. Hulk dead! Their massive ally falls dead at the mere sight of a little fish, and the manglers are utterly dumbfounded. They still fling their knives at the cowardly priest, sure, but... it's just not the same. Their hearts aren't in it. Manglers A&B both throw daggers at Cal; both miss. ffffffFFFFTTTT :savepoint: Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Cal 22, Seer 24, Gordok 24, Manglers 22 |
Glock knew he was forgetting something.
There was something that wasn't one of these little bastards, and he was WAYYY back there. Fuck that guy, man. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled out one of the most foul insults the world has ever seen. Shame though. The seer was just barely in earshot, and he heard what could only be described as whispers about....his sister, maybe? Something about a park bench, a badger, and a pineapple. Who knows. Hard to tell. Extreme range Vicious FAILURE on Seer Squinting to see his adversary, all Glock's robo-optics can see is one ugly motherfucker shrugging. The robot spends the next six seconds standing there making a stoic face. |
With the hulk down for the count and the battle turning, Gheth pressed the advantage against the staggered mangler, bringing holy fire down into his midst.
Continuing to take stock of the situation, Gheth sees Cal remains on his feet, but it's clear he's had the ever loving shit beaten out of him . Gheth gives him a nod of encouragement that he hopes is enough. Even as he advances on the mangler, Gheth imagines he hears the Hulk's last breath come out-- barely above a whisper. "Me felt like destroying something beautiful." Move to P-49 Lance of Faith on Mangler B (10 damage, +2 to Garrmondo's hit roll) Bastion of Health on Cal (Surge + 4) |
The combat appears to have swung in our favor, but we're not out of the woods yet. Denny, my dear beloved horse insists on talking to me. Upset, perhaps, at my admiration of the Red Hulk's magnificent masculinity.
"Geh-gehny, no! I swear I gried everygring I coug goo to sage you! Bug no... I gaileg... I...." The dragonborn's curt nod miraculously wrenches my busted jaw back into place. Wow, is this what it's like to be healed during combat? First time for everything, I guess! HP + 15 Preoccupied with the spectre, I am naturally left with little time than to do a single attack. And that is, to ventilate one of the very rude manglers who interrupted the conversation between Denny and I with his clumsily-thrown blade! The manly fighter and the brave dragonborn have the first well and truly cornered, so let's punish the second! "I'm in the middle of a conversation here! Would you please mind your own business?!!" Twin Strike vs. Mangler A. Action Point: Twin Strike again. AC22 - dazed 2 + cover 2 = 22, 11+ with Twin Strike hits. Mangler A receives 2 hits: 9 + 10 + 2 + 2 = 23 HP damage. Activate Poisoned Longbow. Mangler A receives 5 ongoing poison and is weakened (save ends both). Cal saves vs. Dazed (19). HP counts: Mangler A: 9 Mangler B: 7 When my eyes draw back to Denny, he's dead and as silent as he ever was. What just happened? |
With the rest of his cohort either dead or battered beyond recognition, the Seer reluctantly abandons his cover. These idiots had retreated so far beyond the stage that his spells could no longer reach them otherwise. His teleportation would keep him in one piece... for a little while.
Shoving the old man aside, the Seer slogs toward the party. The metal man in the back is shouting... something. It's hard to hear, the acoustics are terrible in here. Some theatre. Regardless, he'd have to retort somehow. "YOUR INSULTS ARE SO POORLY CONVEYED!" And was it not true that Glock had failed many times to successfully insult the Seer? The foulspawn's insightful words cut down to his cold metal heart. He'd have to get some new material once he got back to the city. Take in some shows, steal what he had to steal. Professional courtesy don't get a man paid. Glock ruminates on this problem at length, paying little attention to the mop-up happening around him. Warp Orb: 16 damage to Glock; bloodied and dazed (save ends) :savepoint: Gordok 24, Manglers 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Cal 22, Seer 24 |
His work done, the mola mola rises to the surface. A bubbling froth pours forth and the halfling emerges flicking back his hair.
http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/gordo...fyourworld.png It's not quite as flashy as he imagines it. Gordok disregards these opinions and fires off at a mangler making a scowl of disapproval. Critics. Move: Stand up Minor: Wild Shape backtohalfling shift to O-47 Standard: Eldritch Blast mangler A 10 damage to mangler A |
As the halfling emerges from the water, he swiftly dispatches the hated mangler. Little did he know that Cal's poisoned arrow would have killed the beast before it could act, rendering his attack somewhat unnecessary. Still, it's one more notch that the ranger wouldn't get to put on his bow. Worth it.
The last mangler cautiously steps away from Garrmondo, who still takes a swing. The little bastards were just too nimble! Pulling the last of its bone daggers from its belt, the mangler aims for Glock. The bard is far too distracted by thoughts of his own rhetorical inadequacy to notice the incoming knives until they're protruding from his neck. Entirely too late, he thinks of a cutting insult to direct at the mangler but nothing comes out but gurgling noises. Glock topples into the water, deeply disappointed in himself. Throwin' Bone Daggers: 27 damage to Glock (Dyin') :savepoint: Garrmondo 22, Glock 21 (KO), Gheth 13, Cal 22, Seer 24, Gordok 24, Manglers 22 |
Slowly sinking to the bottom of the deceptively deep lake they're in, Glock ends up coming to a rest on a deep undersea rock.
The water may be messing with his optics a bit, but....nah. Is that crab...singing?
And then...:
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Gheth was concerned for his robot friend, but the gurgles coming to the surface of the water sounded distinctly....jaunty?
Well, as long as he was having fun. Healing Word on Glock (surge +11) Move to R-51 Lance of Faith on Seer (crit! 22 damage) |
One foe remaining. And by all indications, a very slippery one. I line up a clear shot and train my bow on him. If he tries any of this teleportation nonsense, he's going to get hurt.
Hang on, Denny. Just a few seconds and this will be over, and I can give you a proper burial as befits the Amah of Rhee. Move to R-44. Seer is my quarry. Ready an Action: Twin Strike vs. seer. Trigger: seer takes any action (move, teleport, attack) I don't feel like rolling dice. You roll, Pang. |
Even as the wonderful magical crab sang his jaunty tune, Glock felt something tugging him back toward the surface. He didn't want to go back. What was up there, anyway? A bunch of sand. Glock hated sand. It was rough, and irritating, and it got everywhere... not like the ocean. Everything here was soft and smooth...
Glock's head breaks the surface of the water, little sparks flying as the muck drains out of his head. What the fuck was that shit? He'd been spending way too much time with the halfling. Once he got out of this damp shithole it was high time he found himself some less goofy company. Or perhaps some hookers. He could go either way, really. Gheth lunges at the seer, holy fire lancing from the point of his spear — but again the foulspawn just teleports out of the way. It would have hit him dead center, too. Bend Space, teleport to T-50. Damp, horseless, and fed up, Cal waits for the right moment. He nocks two arrows, pulls back the string, and waits. With his adrenaline up, the Seer already has another teleport ready — but he can't dodge everything, not while he's still materializing from the last jaunt. As he distracts the bard with yet another magical vision of undersea life, Cal looses the arrows. For an agonizing moment they seem to pass right through the seer's still-translucent chest — coming to an abrupt stop as the fat bastard fully solidifies. So that was the trick. Cal had been firing at where the foulspawn was, not where he was going to be! Warp Orb: 9 damage to Glock (dazed, save ends) Twin Strike: 14 damage to Seer :savepoint: Gordok 24, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Cal 22, Seer 24 |
After a brief disappearance Glock resurfaces surrounded by his own fluids. Yeah, G-buddy doesn't look very good or all that capable of defending himself. Gordok moves to his side to give him what little cover he can.
Move to N-48 From there he can still reach the seer. Dexter makes several rude gestures in its direction. In full agreement with his little pal Gordy sends out his warlock blessing followed by a bolt of contempt. Warlock Curse seer - 1 damage, seer cursed Eldritch Blast seer - 12 damage, 5 curse damage Total: 18 damage to seer |
Going before Garr
Having to leave his fishy friends behind made Glock a little sad. But he can't be sad. Emotions are for the weak fleshy things. Be strong, robot. Be strong. Warforged Resolve. +6 real HP. +11 Temp HP. All these hits to the head makes Glock's CPU go into quantum overdrive. Suddenly everything moves in slow motion. It's almost like he can predict every move the enemy asshole is going to take. Action Point. Glimpse the Future. Oh go FUCK yourself Then again perhaps not. He's just hallucinating again. |
"What the FU—"
The seer barely has time to react before the massive corpse slams into him, the momentum carrying both foulspawn toward the swirling yellow light hovering near the back of the theatre. Both bodies vanish into the bright vortex, though the seer's horrified screams are still audible for about 5 seconds — whereupon they are punctuated by a distant thud. Bresnick (though now safely out of harm's way) remains completely unresponsive. Evidently paying no attention whatsoever to the battle or its aftermath, he appears to be preoccupied with an odd-looking chunk of set dressing. Denny's corpse releases the contents of its bowels into the water. VICTORY! 1800 XP (360 each) |
Wait, why did the Hulk's body disappear? I needed a new dild—mace
Frustrated as I am by senseless death, I gather up all 18 bone daggers that have evidently strong abilities if I have combat advantage. I use them to hack off and collect all the the fingers of the dead manglers. Denny, my loyal horse! Are you dead? No, you can't be dead. I.... I won't... I can't.... I can't leave you in a place like this. You must be buried with full Amah of Rhee honors. Subtly shifting lower abdominal anatomy to female so as not to herniate myself, I gently caress Denny's head, and start dragging him out the amphitheater. Changeling disguise: Testicles > ovaries; tentacles disappear As soon as Glock starts song of rest, expend 1 healing surge. |
Waiting on the stairs and gathering his thoughts, Glock watches with amusement as Cal drags the horse corpse by.
Suddenly, without warning, he belches a most monstrous belch right as the dead animal passes him by. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Flask of Dragon Breath all over Horse corpse The carcass is immolated almost instantaneously, and turns into a fine black dust, only to get quickly washed away by the waters in which they reside. |
What did you do that for? I wanted to bury him, not cremate him!.
I thought about kicking Clock in the crotch, but thought the better of it. It'd hurt me more than the sexless robot. Muttering the word "asshole" under my breath, I stash the only parts of Denny that weren't incinerated: his waterlogged tail and his jawbone, in my pack. |
The bewildered old man stares at Garrmondo for a long moment, searching the fighter's face for any trace of sarcasm. He looks at the giant yellow portal Garrmondo just hurled two foulspawn into, then looks at Garrmondo again. He frowns.
"Well, now. I can't say as I know where the harbinger and her acolytes have gone, friend! I could not follow her, sad to say. I have responsibilities here, among the flock! But should you wish to catch up to her and learn her wisdom directly, surely it is clear that she could only have left by one exit? The throngs outside the theatre are quite impassible, so it was necessary that they make their exit via this convenient window. I know not where it goes, young man, but surely they could have only gone on to bigger and better venues." |
Get the Flash Player to play this audio file:
Song of Rest Burn singular surge. Clomping over to the old man, the robot silently grabs hold of him and drags him to the portal. "Here, y'know what. I'm gonna be nice. You can see another show." With that, he shoves the man's head into the portal but maintains a solid grip on his legs, trying to hold him onto this side of the rift. After a few seconds, he drags him back out. "So, what did you see?" |
The execrable bard was treating the mayor of Lamid like a piece of garbage. Doesn't he know NPCs are people too? Typical machines, with no moral compasses!
Well, his loss. If Geoff Bresnick recovers from his insanity, the bard will have made a powerful enemy. Not that I cared at the moment. Utterly drained, physically and emotionally, by the day's exertions, I heave myself on the dry stairs. It was time to say goodbye to a dear friend.
Use 1 healing surge, HP + 16 to 47. |
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Bresnick's dazed expression is gone when Glock reels him back in. The sudden shock of being thrust through the portal was evidently enough to clear the fog from his mind.
"Birds, mostly. They were all flying upside-down. And far above me, there was a floating city! People were walking around on it, and none of them fell off! It was very strange. There was a big tower in the middle of the city, and the rest of the place was, I think, balanced on top of it. It was a very tall tower. Even then, the bottom of the tower was pretty far away from me! Some strange people in robes were standing on the bottom of the tower, and they were upside-down too! I wonder if this magical upside-down city is Carcosa? It sounded like a very strange place when they described it in the play. I wonder how they keep all those things from falling down?" Bresnick glowers about the ruined theatre, dismayed. "By Asmodeus' curly beard, what happened here? And where are my pants?" Though the man's story doesn't make a lot of sense, Cal sees nothing in Bresnick's body language to suggest that he's intentionally deceiving them. |
I point wearily to the bloated floating corpses and the mangled manglers, heaved a sigh, and told him:
You killed them all, sir. You said the Harbinger made you do it. But it's okay, my lips are sealed. *wink wink nudge nudge* Radcliff sent us here to investigate and extract you. Shall we get you to safety, sir? |
"Your lips are sealed, my foot. It'll be my word against yours, and I can only imagine how many witnesses saw you storming in here with your weapons out — whereas I'm totally unarmed. Did I strangle all of them, do you think? I'll find my own way out, I wager — you seem about as slimy as a salamander's ass."
Bresnick backs up against the wall, waiting for the party to cease obstructing the exit before he attempts to leave. |
I could have phrased it better. By killing, I meant he killed all the people in the amphitheater indirectly, by summoning the foulspawn as per the Harbinger's wishes. Foulspawn that we've had to kill. He was obviously no hostage, we just saw the Hulk ate one of the women, after all.
Looks like Bresnick was too canny to fall for a little blackmail. Hiding my disappointment, I shrugged. "... Whatever." If old man Geoff is so eager to get out, let him. I move to the side of the stairwell, take an exaggerated bow, and gestured towards the entrance. It would be most amusing to see how an old man in his underwear get past a crazed mob. |
Gheth manages to find time to bandage a few wounds before dimensional travel takes priority.
With the only witness seeming to be a bust at the moment, Gheth is content with Garrmondo's efforts at keeping him from hurting himself. Use 1 surge Stand around and look good |
Garrmondo quickly takes a look outside before letting Bresnick wander into danger.
Though it's only been a few minutes since Radcliff's troops started culling the crowd, he's making good progress: the ratio of mutant crazies relative to regular crazies in the mob seems greatly improved. Moreover, the violence has subsided significantly since Bresnick stopped issuing proclamations from within the theatre. Bresnick gives no outward sign that his madness has vanished, and the crowd largely treats him as one of their own. Garrmondo watches the old man pass through the crowd until he sees him safely reach the barricades on the other side, and returns to his companions. Was it worthwhile to investigate the other end of the portal further? Judging from the mayor's account, they'd best find themselves a tall ladder... |
I tie one end of my 50-foot climbing rope to an arrow shaft, with the other end securely attached to a pillar.
I shoot the portal with one of my disease-causing arrows. If it hits someone, they might lose a healing surge! Mwa ha ha. If we're going mountaineering then I'll need to retrieve my climber's kit. Against all odds, the crazy old man found his way through the crowd unmolested. Surmising that a lack of pants is useful camouflage, I take off my trousers, act insane, and dance my way past the crowd. |
Cal shoots at a portal, and almost immediately after the arrow vanishes into the light a loud squawk is heard. A spray of blood spurts through the portal, along with three unusually large feathers. The rope Cal had tied to his arrow immediately goes taut, and the support pillar on the on the other end begins to creak. Cal's evidently hooked a big one.
Ignoring this unusual turn of events, Cal promptly removes his pants and mingles into the gradually-dispersing crowd. Upon reaching his wagon, he discovers a terrible thing: a nearby tenement house has succumbed to the barely-controlled fires raging in the town, and has collapsed upon his beloved wagon! Acting quickly, the pantsless ranger extinguishes the fire in the wagon before much damage is done, but he still suffers some loss of property from both the fire and the crushing force of the collapsing building. http://www.saxypunch.com/missile/oregonfail.png |
The Universe is conspiring to destroy my property and send me to the poorhouse. But at least I am being repaid for the loss of Denny by a fine white ox
that apparently fell from a burning building. Thank the Traveler for small favors!
Clearing away the debris from my wagon, I briefly survey what other possessions that belonged to the unfortunate building tenants have found their way into my property. I take a moment to enjoy the cool wafting breeze of the night. Pants are overrated. Besides, mine are all soggy. I ignite a torch to dry them more quickly. While warming up my trousers, my mind drifts toward the squawk and gigantic feathers. What kind of beast could have made such a sound and has such accouterments? |
Returning to the front of the gate with the rest of the group, Glock looks around for a barracks or something in which to take a god damn nap.
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Gordok is quite familiar with sleeping outdoors and in cramped spaces amongst giants. He follows Glock while worrying of unknown luxury he might encounter. Beds confuse the halfling.
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With the beams supporting the theater slowly splintering apart, G-Unit retires for a nap. The Lamid city watch seems to have the situation mostly under control, and the potential ongoing threat of the King's Players seems like kind of a distant idea once Gordok starts stifling a yawn or two. Surely it could wait until tomorrow. The group makes their way to the watch barracks, relaying a quick summary of events to Radcliff (and retrieving Cal's sword in the bargain). No more willing to send men through the portal than G-Unit was, Radcliff simply posts a guard or two in the theatre in case anything else passes through it. G-Unit, for their part, take a well-earned sleep.
The harried guardsmen assigned to the theatre do their job with a minimal level of vigilance, assuming the mercenaries must have thrown a rope through the portal for some good reason. The occasional creaking and cracking they hear is blamed on the building slowly drying out and settling back into shape. A long night of violence and horror takes its toll in weariness, and the three guards have more or less dozed off in their chairs when the inevitable happens. Around 2 AM, the support pillar to which Cal tied his arrow finally snaps. A man-sized chunk of timber rips loose from the splintering support beam, hurtling into the open portal. Without the beam to hold up its share of the overlooking balconies, they give way as well — the other beams, damaged from the flooding as well as the earlier fight, are in no shape to carry more than their intended burden. The theatre begins to rapidly collapse on itself like a house of cards, burying the portal under tons of shattered lumber. The three watchmen never return to their barracks. ————— Meanwhile, several hundred feet above the city of Freeport, something even stranger is happening. Several hours before, a massive roc passing overhead had been unlucky enough to pass beneath the other end of the King's Players' portal just as Cal experimentally shot an arrow through it. Unluckier still, the arrow was filthy with disease, and flew right through the poor roc's chest into its heart. The shock was enough to render the huge bird instantly unconscious, dangling a massive dead weight on the end of Cal's rope. Though rocs are mighty beasts by any measure, filth fever quickly takes its toll when so swiftly introduced to the vital organs. The roc was quite dead by the time G-Unit retired to the watch barracks. Hundreds of feet below, the King's Players were putting on their final performance of the evening upon the grandest stage yet: the top of one of the guard towers encircling the Old City. The guards stationed atop the tower itself had been easy enough to dispatch, and the towers took so long to climb that no one on the ground could possibly reach the top in time to interrupt the show. Nearly the entire city could see the performance now, and the same simple cantrips that had made the fall from the portal harmless made sure they could all hear it too. More spells illuminated the tower's top as brightly as the day, and any strange shadows that objects overhead might be casting went unnoticed. By the time the play reached its climactic reveal, the damage was already done. Nearly a tenth of Freeport's citizens had been out on the streets (or had foolishly gone out to satisfy their curiosity), and of those not a one was even slightly recognizable by the night's end. Two thousand in number, the squamous horrors staggered around the dark city wreaking havoc. Still, the Visitor promised by the tome did not appear; did the King require more servants even than this great offering? Sophia and her band were prepared to go still further. "Pack it up", Sophia muttered. "Tomorrow we perform in Waterdeep. High noon, I think." It was then that a wooden beam in Lamid finally snapped under the weight of a massive corpse, sending a dead roc plummeting down from the sky. The King's Players and all their props were swiftly crushed to death under the feathery cadaver, and all five bodies remained up there for weeks before the Watch could spare the manpower to clear them away. As the weight of the roc crushes Sophia to death, her portal sputters out of existence. No, the Watch had far more pressing duties — quelling a massive invasion that called the barbarian hordes of 4 years ago to mind. But these beasts were far more terrible than the savages that roamed the streets in those years, and far too many of them seemed somehow all too familiar. The Sea Lord herself took charge of suppressing the outbreak, and her methods were swift and brutal. Within a month, any apparent trace of what came to be known as the "theatre bug" had been eradicated — along with vast swaths of Freeport's nonhuman populations. Not every member of the Watch was a principled man, and "he was unusually tall" or "she was on fire, sir" was more than enough proof of infection for the exhausted Watch Captains. In the end, eliminating 2000 aberrations cost Freeport nearly 2500 lives — not counting those unfortunates who had been killed by the monsters without being transformed themselves. The morgues were far too busy for proper autopsies. ————— But of course, most of this had yet to happen, and G-Unit knew nothing of any of it. After a fitful sleep they reconvene at the theatre to discuss their next move only to discover it in ruins. With no way of pursuing the King's Players (let alone a copy of their remarkable play), they shrug their collective shoulders and spend a few days helping to repair some of the damage done to Lamid. Despite inadvertently destroying the playhouse, G-Unit were still generally viewed as heroes by the survivors of Lamid; their stories of the 5 monsters inside the theatre had only grown in the telling as they passed from ear to ear and within a week it was widely believed that dozens of foulspawn were buried under the rubble. A small ceremony is held to honor the "Protectors Of The City", and G-Unit is awarded with Lamid's most valuable possession: a legitimate Bag Of Holding. To say the least Cal is enthused about this new opportunity for storage, but Glock gets his hands on the bag before the changeling can commandeer it: he has plans for this thing. TL; DR: BAD END |
Awesome. This bag looks fantastic. Odd shape though. Round, with little circular designs on the outside.
The robot opens the drawstrings and sticks his head in. Inside it....looked different than he imagined. http://colonelskills.belkanairforce..../dbztardis.jpg ----- It isn't long before he gets a very good idea. Glock approaches Gordok and whispers in his ear. The halfling claps enthusiastically and is more than willing to assist. The robot takes a few empty boxes and starts setting up a small podium from which to speak as Gordok rounds up the townspeople. Luckily, being fans of the group, pretty much everyone seems all that more willing to hear these two out. 'CITIZENS OF LAMID. I, GLOCKENSPIEL MCSTEELCHEST, REQUIRE YOUR ASSISTANCE. MY COHORT AND I HAVE DECIDED TO GO ON A MAGICAL ADVENTURE, BUT WE NEED YOUR HELP. WOULD YOU BE SO KIND AS TO GATHER EVERY SINGLE PERSON YOU KNOW AND MEET ME JUST OUTSIDE THE CITY GATES? I PROMISE YOU WILL HAVE A GOOD TIME. MEET ME IN AN HOUR." And with that, the robot let the crowd disperse. ---------- Raiding a lit torch from wherever possible, the dynamic duo prepares for their adventure. Just over 60 minutes pass, and the pair find pretty much the entire population of the city out on the nearby field. "ALRIGHT MEN, HERE IS THE PLAN. ALL OF YOU STAND SINGLE FILE. LOOK AT YOUR NEIGHBOUR AHEAD OF YOU. HE IS YOUR THROWING BUDDY." "ON MY SIGNAL. PREPARE TO GIVE YOUR THROWING BUDDY SOMETHING TO THROW. THE SIGNAL WILL BE A LOUD EXPLOSION." Glock pulls one guy off to the side. "You, you're our front man. On the signal, get ready to throw something towards the sky. Make sure you're at the front of the line." It takes several minutes for the crowd to line up properly. With the approximately 2000 people present, some people need to travel quite a distance. On the walk to the back of the line, Glock picks up Gordok by the face and stuffs him unceremoniously into the bag of holding. When finally arriving at the rear of the line, Glock takes the torch and lights one of his grenades, and then hurls it as far into the air and as far away from the group as as he possibly can. 2000 peasants ready the action "pass the bag forward down the line". One gets ready to throw upward. Putting his leg into the bag, Glock tells the person at the back "hey, look. When I shut this, pick it up and give it to the next guy" And with that, Glock widens the drawstrings and lowers the rest of his body inside, drawing it shut as his hand disappears. Some faint rocket ship music can be heard playing inside. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: Picking up the bag, the last peasant hands it to the one ahead of him. And he hands it forward, and he hands it forward. Each peasant moves bag one square as an immediate reaction. Bag travels 2000 squares over 6 seconds. 10000 feet / 6 seconds = 1666.6 feet per second = 1136 MPH At about two thirds of the way down the line, the bag achieves mach. The robot didn't account for this, but the shockwave traveling behind it annihilates several hundred villagers. Luckily for our intrepid spacemen, the bag is outrunning it. With a thunderous roar, it escapes the last man's hand and travels faster than the speed of sound into the stratosphere. ------ http://www.thegond.com/gff/dnd/bagofholdinglaunch.png ------ As the bag twinkles far above the horizon, finally achieving low earth orbit, the destruction left by the wake of the makeshift rocketship is best left to be cleaned up by local wildlife. Otherwise someone's going to need a hell of lot of shovels. At the very least, Glock hopes his friends make significant haste away from there before too long. |
Without a horse, my wagon is useless. I have neither the funds for it, and even were my companions were to lend them to me, no horse can ever replace Denny.
I spend my free time during the week of rebuilding by dismantling my wagon, and reassembling it into a hand-dragged covered contraption suitably reinforced against fire. It should be good for 250 pounds of weight, at least, and should be easily dragged by even a weakling like myself. With much less room, and without a horse to consume it, I discarded the majority of the dried hay that was padding the wagon. While looking through my inventory, I realized I no longer had any length of rope. Might as well buy some once I get sufficient funds. INVENTORY REALIGNMENT (ready for Copy/Paste into Wiki) Spoiler:
The day we were feted as heroes of Lamid was bittersweet. Gazing upon beloved Denny's jawbone, I can't shake the sense of loss that washed over me. And now, because of his impromptu cremation, I can never see him again. Or can I? Retreating to the outskirts of Lamid, I summon the best memory I have of Denny's unsullied face. If I am able to change shape into a half-human, half bull, surely changing to a horse head should be just as easy for a changeling of my abilities. Henceforth, this form shall be my default form. Human no longer, but a humanoid centaur. And Cal? No, that was then. I am, now and forevermore, Denical ! ___________________________________ Suddenly, I saw the bag of holding I saw Clock and Cordok stepping into whisk into the air. This was followed a few seconds later by a ground-shattering noise that almost deafens me. What the hell?! I shudder to think of the fates of the villagers who assisted them in their latest harebrained scheme. But, as I watch the bag disappear into the horizon, I felt a sense of deep sorrow. I feel lonely. Abandoned. And despite having made peace with Denny's death, melancholic at this latest parting. It's silly, really, I shouldn't feel like this considering the circumstances. I really miss that lucky charm I gave away :( I had the strangest feeling we may have overstayed our welcome to Lamid. I hurriedly search for the human and the dragonborn. Although we failed in our quest, we must still return to Freeport to make apologies to Arzu. |
It would be hard to miss the lawnside celebration going on just outside the town, and so Gheth had seen the streaking trail as his robotic friend took flight in a rocket...bag...thing...and towards that big alehouse in the sky. As he watched the vessel made of a little cloth and a whole lot of go-gettum attitude, Gheth did his best not to get choked up. If you loved something, you had to let it go.
It was probably for the best that Gheth had little grasp of velocity and relative mass, and so he dismissed the cracking whoosh sound as a passing dragon, and sought out the changeling and the fighter. Who knows what their next adventure would hold! |
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