[DnD] Crusader (GFF D&D Adventure 2)

Seeing the injuries heaped on the bugbear by its being on fire, Bob then sets it on fire... even more! Somehow, this works.

7 damage to Bugbear; bloodied

Contrary to her assertions, Iggy is in fact too big for Brigid to put over her knee. Still, it's hilarious to watch her try.

Grab attempt fails
Healing Word: Gabriel uses his last surge and gains 9 HP

Maddened with pain, the bugbear charges out of the fire straight toward Gabriel and pays no heed to Brigid's mace. The monster screams in the Paladin's face and slashes open the side of his neck before he can react. At least the heat will cauterize the wound quickly.

3 ongoing fire damage to Bugbear
Brigid's AoO: 9 damage
Bugbear's shortsword: 11 damage to Gabe
save vs fire failed

The duergar pulls a strange canister from his belt and throws it in the direction of the fire. He overshoots by a good ten feet, and it shatters on the floor in front of the stairwell. Vile fumes burst out of the canister, and Brigid and Argumentus turn their faces away. Motsognir, distracted by the immediacy of the flaming what the fuck is that, is not so lucky. He begins coughing violently, and his eyes water up.

6 damage to Motsognir; blind

BLINDED

✦ You grant combat advantage.

✦ You can’t see any target (your targets have total

concealment).

✦ You take a –10 penalty to Perception checks.

✦ You can’t flank an enemy.

until duergar's next turn

Motsognir, Gabriel, Argumentus, Halfling, Bob, Brigid, Bugbear, Duergar

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Motsognir tries to point out a weak spot in the Bugbear's armor, but with his blurry vision he ends up pointing in the direction of a broken bench on the floor. Argumentus does his even best to show the bench what-for, but the bench is stoic and does not even wince under his mighty strike. How brave, this bench! How noble!

Commander's Strike: miss

Arg turns from the bench, shrugging. He can do nothing against such an opponent. Perhaps the bench will show them mercy. As an afterthought, he stoves in the head of some hairy jackass that's invading his personal space. Argumentus doesn't have time for jokers, he's got a bench to outwit.

Reaping Strike: 10 damage to Bugbear

Down to his last reserves of strength, Gabriel aims a mighty finishing blow at the vile bugbear. It seems to fall down and stop breathing before he actually hits it, but this does not dissuade him in the least. He will punish it for the insolent act of having been on fire. Seriously, who does that?

Radiant Smite: 25 damage to Bugbear that only had 1 HP remaining; kill

"Nuts to this", Iggy says. "If I wanted to spend all day trading swings with you I would've stayed home." He sweeps past Brigid, jabbing his sword into the ribs of teary-eyed Motsognir.

6 damage to Motsognir. Bloodied. 3 ongoing poison damage and slowed (save ends both)

Bob, Brigid, Duergar, Motsognir, Gabriel, Argumentus, Halfling

I was speaking idiomatically.

Bob wears his sunglasses at night
so he can
so he can
fail to hit the broad side of a barn

Longbow: miss
I will ride this joke into the ground

Quite unable to get Iggy to pay proper attention to her lecture, Brigid foists the wayward youth off on Argumentus. Perhaps the simpleton can better understand the juvenile mind.

4 damage to Iggy
Argumentus gets +3 to hit for attacks on Iggy

The duergar keeps his distance, firing off a firebolt at Argumentus. The big man is flummoxed. Only moments ago, fire was cooking some manner of delicious beast for him, but now fire has turned against him, flying through the air and making his face all red and hurty. Where did everything go wrong with fire? How can he make things like they were before? It is a heartbreak.

12 damage to Argumentus
Motsognir's vision clears up
Motsognir takes 3 poison damage as his turn begins

Motsognir, Gabriel, Argumentus, Halfling, Bob, Brigid, Duergar

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Clearing his head, Mots turns around and is astonished to find a tiny man poking him in the ribs. He swings his axe around wildly, trying to shoo away the pest. "Get... whoa, that thing is sharp! Careful! Hey! Yow!"

Motsognir's HP +8
Warlord's Favor: miss
Save against poison/slow succeeds

Gabe's mighty axe comes thundering down in a mighty sweep, cleaving Iggy's left arm from his body. The limb goes flying off into the corner and.... clangs? It's only a metal prosthesis!

Iggy smirks, wriggling his real arm out of his tunic.

Bolstering Strike: Critical Hit! but then Iggy uses his Second Chance. Reroll: Miss.
Already used Channel Divinity this encounter, but Soggy's fine anyway

The little man may have a fake arm, but he can't possibly have a fake head. Probably. Argumentus bonks Iggy upside the noggin, but the halfling doesn't go down.

Reaping Strike: 14 damage to Iggy
Fighters have to hit someone to mark them

Desperate to get out of the crowd, Iggy shifts southwest then moves to the corner to threaten a much softer target.

AoO from Mots/Gabe: both miss

Bob, Brigid, Duergar, Motsognir, Gabriel, Argumentus, Halfling

FELIPE NO

Quite unaccustomed to close-quarters harassment, Bob reacts instinctively and gives his assailant a knuckle sandwich. It is delicious.

Iggy punched in the face for 3 damage; bloodied

Brigid pursues her nephew across the room, knowing the matter isn't settled. You let the kid get away with threatening your life just once and before you know it he's got no respect for your authority at all. Gotta nip that in the bud.

6 damage to Iggy

The duergar backs into the next room and fires off another firebolt at Argumentus. Luckily, Arg had stooped over to examine what looked like an intriguing rock and the fireball passes overhead.

It was only a snail, as it turned out.

Motsognir, Gabriel, Argumentus, Halfling, Bob, Brigid, Duergar

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

Motsognir traps Iggy against the south wall, driving the flat of his axeblade into the halfling's skull until the boy is a good inch or two shorter.

Bloody Ending: 26 damage, Iggy killed knocked the fuck out

Gabriel makes one last attempt to frighten the duergar away. The gray dwarf seems prepared to deliver the same sort of cocky retort as before, but then his shoulders sag.

"Aye. Iggy there's got what they paid us, anyway, and I don't expect you'll be letting me take my share out of his pack. There'll be another time to get what's comin' to me. Best of luck with your little prize."

He turns and walks out of a hole in the north wall, and disappears into the night.

Intimidate: Success! (you lucky fuck)

VICTORY: 1000 XP (200 XP each)

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Gabriel gathers up Broden's effects.

+1 Magic Plate Armor

Brigid takes 3/4 of the cash, then sets to a bit of chemistry.

375 GP

Argumentus painstakingly gathers up every other potentially-useful item on the bodies (both unconscious and dead), sorting it into little piles.

Dagger: 1
Short Sword: 2
Hand Crossbow: 1

Leather Armor: 3

Thieves' Tools: 1
Crossbow Bolts: 10

Lv. 3 Vial of Bloodstinger Poison: 1
Lv. 1 Vial of Antivenom: 1

Bounty Notice: 1

Cash: 125 GP remaining



There's nowhere I can't reach.

Loot distributed, potion brewed

Gabriel and Argumentus look over the bounty notice. It's a hastily-drawn affair, and the heavy smudging indicates the ink was still wet when Iggy stuffed it into his pack.

The notice is comprised primarily of a detailed portrait of Lord Broden. Below the image, the notice reads:

"Represents a hindrance to my business interests. Remove him. 1000 GP reward. Half to outfit yourselves, half on completion. Bring me his sword as proof that the job is done. Discretion required."

There's no indication of who wrote up the contract. If justice is to be done before the trail goes cold, it will be necessary to get the answers out of Iggy. The young halfling is just beginning to stir. With a splitting headache and a few dozen bruises, however, he's not going to be inclined toward helpfulness.

SKILL CHALLENGE: Interrogate Iggy. Complexity 1: Requires 4 Successes before 3 Failures.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Dazed as he is, the halfling lad seems to accept Bob's apology. "Aw, don't worry about it. Y'hit like a girl anyway."

Motsognir finds that the leather armors worn by the would-be thieves are all branded with the stylized 'H' mark of Freeport's Halfling Benevolent Association, ostensibly a social club founded to protect Freeport's smallest folk from institutional discrimination. These days, of course, it's an open secret that the HBA is little more than a racially-indifferent crime syndicate that the city guard refuses to acknowledge. It's possible that Iggy, in his naivete, has accidentally bitten off a great deal more than he can chew.

2 more successes needed

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

There's no outward sign that the lad associates with any deities. If Iggy has any sort of religious affiliation, he keeps it to himself. Bob's attempt to get all churchy with the kid goes nowhere.

Brigid tries to reminisce with Iggy about the good ol' days, but he refuses to have any part of it. He seems too embittered by the recent strife that caused his exodus to look back fondly on anything.

Tired of all this jabber-jawing, Argumentus hefts the lad into the air and proceeds to shake the answers out of him directly. This method seems significantly more effective, and Iggy begins babbling uncontrollably — of course, he's spinning too fast for his words to actually be understood.

Iggy knows that if the party were going to kill him, they would have done it already — but the threat of even worse manhandling by Argumentus is enough to break his will. He assents, and the fighter drops him to the floor in a trembling, sweaty heap.

"Alright, alright! What do you want to know?"

4 successes, 2 failures: skill challenge won! 150 XP (30 XP each)

I was speaking idiomatically.

"Shiny man. I like that. He sure as hell was."

He chews his lip, knowing that his story is likely to upset the more devout among those present.

"After you left, he rode out to the cemetery. We shadowed him about a hundred yards back. Most of us stayed out of sight, but Daria — "

(he gestures at the ice block in the middle of the room)

"She stayed close, made sure we didn't lose him. Every time he turned around he saw somebody new, he never got suspicious. There was a zombie infestation; a few of the older mausoleums cracked open in a little earthquake last month, and sure enough a few of the bodies got the urge to go a-wanderin'. He cleaned that up easy enough, though, even without his fancy sword. It was impressive what that fella could do with a mace and his little dragon necklace, I ain't gonna lie."

He heaves a sigh.

"Round about the 10th zombie it seemed like he was gettin' a little tired so we decided to jump him then. I can tell you we underestimated him by a long shot. Daria ordered me to stay back with my crossbow; I was carryin' the money and we were going to split it even once we got the other half of the bounty. No sense riskin' our payday if we don't need to, she said. So me and Karl stayed back, an' ever'body else rushed him.

Eddie was on the ground with his face caved in before he could even lay a finger on Broden. Louis went down with a busted knee, and before he could crawl away the zombies dragged him into this— I don't know what to call it. The earth just cracked open like a busted melon, and this black smoke poured out. There was no fire down there, though. Just darkness goin' on forever.

Broden held up for a while after that, but between the zombies and us he got wore out real quick. Eventually Daria got her shiv into the back of his neck and that was that. At that point there was only two or three of the dead-walkers still movin' around, so we took care of 'em just on general principles. We took his little necklace and his armor — originally we were just gonna fence 'em. The bodies, well. We was already in the graveyard and that gods-damned hole seemed like an invitation. We dropped 'em in and they just disappeared. Not even a thump. I wanted to take Eddie and Louis to their families, but Daria said it was better if they "deserted". Said a thousand coins split better four ways, and who wanted to do all the bereavement paperwork?

The horse we just sent packing.

After that we went back to his house, figured he must have left the sword there. Nothin'. He didn't even have anything worth stealing. We spent about an hour shaking down the neighborhood for information until somebody pointed us to the notice he'd posted, about the wizard's place and all. On the way we ran into another crew on the same contract, and we agreed to let them make their play first. We could always jump them after. After you scattered them to the four winds we agreed to trail you until night, give us time to set up an ambush. Would've worked out perfect except for Aunt Bee bein' such a light sleeper.

I reckon that about catches us up to right now, doesn't it?"

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

"It's... the contracts come from Finn at the HBA. Those of us what do the dirty work never meet the actual clients. They pay Finn, Finn takes a cut, Finn pays us. That way the trail ends at Finn if a fuckup like this happens, and Finn has the goods on every guard and magistrate in town.

I don't know who it is wants Broden dead. Only Finn knows, and he'd sooner feed you all to the sharks than break a confidence. I don't recommend you chase this any further than you have to. Finn runs the entire east side; he'll bury you if you cross him. Just deliver the sword and take the bounty. It's dirty money, but that's the only kind of coin you'll find in Freeport."

Most amazing jew boots

"Could be anybody, Aunt Bee. I can think of a dozen fellas who're going to have an easier time of it with one less Paladin around. You could probably make an educated guess, but then what? Just barge in and rough up a seemingly-legitimate businessman? It's your word against hundreds.

Anyway, now that I've failed to mug an old lady I expect I'll be givin' up the trade. My reputation's never gonna recover. I'm going someplace nobody knows me and pickin' a new name. Start a restaurant, maybe. Best of luck to the lot of you."

He tucks his sword back into his belt and clambers through a blown-out window.

"...and Bee? So long, and thanks for all the fish."

He looks to the sky, picks a star to follow, and wanders off down the road.

...

Without a body on which to perform proper rites, Gabriel does what he can to help Broden's spirit go to its rest. As he turns away to go back indoors, he hears a tiny rustling. He whips around, ready to confront what must surely be another assault — but finds only a tiny green sprout growing out of the freshly-disturbed earth. The little plant continues to grow with unnatural speed as he watches, and a bright red flower blooms. Gabriel is hardly an expert botanist, but any damn fool can recognize a snapdragon. The dwarf smiles, gives the little flower a curt nod, and heads back inside.

Most amazing jew boots

Taking care to avoid the major thoroughfares, the party eventually wends its way back to their rooms at the Diving Fin. Their sleep is uneasy at best, but they awake the next morning perhaps not entirely ready for what seems to be an inevitable business meeting with the shadier citizens of Freeport, but at least relatively fortified.

I emptied all the checkboxes! That's high-quality DMin' right there.

Shin, declare your Daily and Utility spell for the day.

knk, pick a power for your ding-dang chainmail

Jam it back in, in the dark.

The group heads out for their rendezvous at the HBA. Passing through the merchant district, Bob notices Herbert's Miscellany advertising a new shipment of magical greasepaints. Worth looking into later, perhaps, should the expected cash infusion come to pass as hoped.

After a great deal of poking and prodding, Motsognir manages at last to get his armor functioning properly. He considers delaying the trip in order to comb out the confetti, but decides after some thought that it may help him to appear more fearsome.

After a good hour or so of confused wandering and harassed passers-by, the troupe arrives in the East District at what appears to be the headquarters of the HBA. A drow elf stands guard in the shade of the two-story brick edifice, leaning on the double doors and filing his fingernails with a shiv. He looks over at the party as they arrive, and his hand instinctively hovers over the crossbow strapped to his thigh.

"You look a bedraggled lot. If you're 'ere for the charity supper, it's not till dusk."

There's nowhere I can't reach.

"Benevolent you. Oh yeah. That's cute. Never heard that one before, oh no."

He squints at the bounty notice.

"Ohhhh. I see now. You're here to make a... what was it. Tax-deductible donation. To our worthy cause. Ok, you want the donations office, just head on in, go down the east hallway and it's the first door on your right. Now get outta here, I'm tryin' to get a tan."

They meander down the hall as directed, and in the office marked DONATIONS they find a very small man with a very large desk and a very large safe. He examines the notice, and looks the group over.

"You gotta lot of nerve comin' in here, you know that? Karl told us all about you. You're regular celebrities now! You rub out three of the Finn's goons and you just march in here it's nothin'. That takes chutzpah. Or stupidity. We got uses for both of those things, though.

Here's how it works. I ignore the manpower you cost us, pretend you actually killed Broden and give you the money. It's a little favor from us to you. In exchange, we'll ask you for a favor someday. I'm sure you'll do right by us. It would be a shame if anyone were to find out just who turned in the bounty for this particular contract, don't you think? You might become very popular individuals.

Whaddaya say, friends?"

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

The short-even-for-a-halfling fellow behind the desk snaps his fingers, and a heavily-muscled hobgoblin stalks into the room, clutching a hefty sack of coins. The hobgoblin slams the bag onto the table, keeping a firm grip on it so no one can take it away.

"Sword", grunts the muscle.

Getting into the spirit of petty villainy, Bob swipes an inkwell, a handful of blank letterhead (From The Desk of Orm Redleaf, CFO), and a leaden paperweight in the shape of an angry bear. Revenge is his! So avenged, he then casts about for any sign of the arcane mysteries that such an organization must surely be concealing. There is a faint sign of something, but it's emanating from a good 20 feet beneath him. If any sinister magic lies within the building, it's apparently in the basement.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Argumentus and the hobgoblin stare each other down for a long moment. Suddenly, the human's eyes flash bright red and the hobgoblin is startled. Arg grabs the bag of gold and steps back, leaving the sword lying on the desk. Redleaf nods, and the hobgoblin grabs up the sword and carries it off to who knows where.

"Well, there we go. Nice doing business with you. When we need you, we'll send somebody. Please don't kill them! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a charity supper to attend to and my famous meatballs aren't going to cook themselves."

Another goon appears to escort the party from the building, and after some shoving and grumbling they find themselves back on the street: 500 GP richer and one ridiculously powerful sword poorer.

As for Broden, his eventual fate was kept a secret from most. It seemed to the downtrodden residents of Stag End that Broden had just saddled up and abandoned them. The grip of the Syndicate grows a little tighter, the nightmare underneath the city's cemetery continues to fester, and the Temple of Bahamut loses more ground against the dozens of vile cults that swarm the city.

Just another day in Freeport.

Adventure (anticlimactically) complete! Minor quest reward: 500 XP (100 each)
Arg has the bag of 500 GP in-hand, so if he doesn't want to share I can't force him

(Updated) Merchant Inventories

(Updated) Available Adventures

I was speaking idiomatically.

The wizard and the paladin, finding nearly everything too rich for their blood, purchase naught but a few potions. Argumentus, suddenly flush with ill-gotten cash, purchases what he believed to be the most ostentatious weapon available. Sadly, when the clerk claimed the pick to be "dripping with ice" he was being entirely literal. Argumentus spends a great deal of time tossing the weapon from one hand to the other whenever numbness starts to set in. Too cold, too cold.

Looking for space on his belt to keep the frigid weapon, he pulls off his nearly-empty coinpurse and tosses it to Motsognir. The remaining 48 GP is no fortune, but Soggy seems driven nearly to tears of joy.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?