[DnD] The Haunting of Hargast (GFF D&D Adventure 3)

1 Die Roll perception

Bob searches for secret doors, yeah

doesn't find jack

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

There being no other ways out of the room that I could find, I went to rejoin the others. I noticed that the pile of belongings was still where I'd left it and was surprised that nobody seemed interested in any of it. I would have thought that the new guy at least might have been interested in the magic armour she'd been wearing and that given the complete lack of any ranged weapons our party had, someone might have taken her crossbow.

I shrugged, assuming that everyone was happy with the gear they already had and picked up the chainmail, stowing it in my pack. I'd never wear it of course but should be able to sell it for some beer money once we got back to town.

The Horde appeared to be engaging in one of their favourite non-battle activities, standing around looking confused. I had searched pretty much everywhere for treasure and secret doors and there seemed only one obvious way forward, the door to the north of the cask room. I checked it for traps and then opened it.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

1 Die Roll perception

Bob peers suspiciously at the door, and finds nothing amiss. He turns the handle and then pushes the door away with the tip of his staff, ever watchful.

The elf creeps into the next room, the newcomers close behind him. Why, this room is lined with trunks and chests of all descriptions! Some of the boxes look battered and filthy, others nearly rotted apart. A uniquely splendid iron chest sits alone against the south wall, bound with heavy chains and padlocks. In the northeast corner stands an armoire.

Bob's sharp elven eyes immediately spot that the flooring along the room's north wall is slightly raised, and an array of little holes in the side of the armoire clues him in to why. Pressure plates!

A door leads out from the northwest corner of the room, slightly ajar. A spattering of fresh-looking blood lies under the doorway.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

The dwarf wandered into the room, stretching slightly as he shook his head. He was glad the cleric's god had taken her body when her spirit went, but still he felt the sting of her loss. He'd gone back to retrieve his throwing hammer and then moved onwards. He bumped past the wizard and the new guy, his hand resting on his axe hilt as he looked around. He didn't have the elves eyes, but he could smell the blood in the room.

"Oh, aye. This is going to end well."

He experimentally toed at one of the boxes on the near wall to open it, keeping his distance in case poison gas exploded out or something.

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

I left the dwarf to check the broken chests and went to look at the big, impressive looking one. Not wanting to get too close, I tried to sense if there was anything magic about it at all.

Leaving the locks to someone who might be better at opening these kind of things, I turned my attention to the obvious trap on the north wall. Standing well clear and waiting until nobody was in the potential line of fire from what might come out of the small holes, I picked up the nearest of the elderly looking chests and tossed it onto a pressure plate.

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

1 Die Roll bob's arcana

Frowning at the blood trail leading out of the room, Gabriel risks kicking open one of the battered chests. The lid flies up without resistance, and it's... it's full of coins!

Copper coins.

Gabriel frowns in the reflexive expression of anyone encountering small change in a professional capacity.

About 3 GP in there... in pennies, ha ha

Bob examines the fancy chest cautiously, examining it for any signs of arcane trickery. Nothing about the chest seems magical, but as Bob approaches he begins to detect a strong odor of copper, or maybe iron. Perhaps it's just the coins the dwarf just kicked all over the floor.

Shrugging, the elf hefts one of the battered trunks (empty, this one), and tosses it onto the obvious trap. The box explodes into splinters, and a dozen razor-sharp darts fly from the holes in the side of the armoire and embed themselves in the northwest door.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Although there was nothing obviously magical about the big chest, the smell was odd. I studied the lock and chains more carefully, weighing up my chances of either picking it or breaking it with the help of the others.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Motsognir strolled into the room and saw all the chests. Good thing these silly people have me along he thought, taking out the group's only Thieve's Kit and handing it to whoever was best at that sort of thing.

FELIPE NO

The chainmail it seemed was a bit too heavy for me so I reluctantly dumped it on the floor, thinking someone else might pick it up and we could share the cash later.

Looking around the group it seemed as though my companions were primarily built for smashing things up rather than intricate lock picking so I took the proffered thieves kit from the dwarf and thanked him with a warm smile. Not only was he clearly the brains of the operation here, he was also resourceful.

I set to work trying to pick the lock.

How ya doing, buddy?

Motsognir stood at her side, giving advice as she worked, like any man would for his woman.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Argumentus joins the dapper duo in the chest room after an unusually long absence. He wipes away what appears to be red jelly from the corner of his mouth...

There's nowhere I can't reach.

The dwarf wandered around, emptying chests and taking anything valuable. Like Zelda in your house looking for rupees.

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

1 Die Roll you treacherous little filcher

Thievery check + Thieves Tools + Aid Other = 15

The locks are not as intimidating as they appeared, and with a little coaching from Soggy the chains are loosed in a matter of minutes. In the meanwhile Argumentus meanders back from what appears to be a suspicious meal, while Garrmondo thoughtfully picks up after the random crap Bob leaves lying on the floor. Gabriel busies himself collecting such loot as is available in the shoddy chests; coppers, coppers, more coppers, the alchemical formula for the creation of alchemist's fire, more coppers — wait a minute, what?

Found copper coins equivalent to 15 GP (that is to say, 1500 of them) and a Formula of Alchemist's Fire

Picking the last of the padlocks, Bob triumphantly flips open the lid of the ornate chest. It's filled to the brim with some kind of translucent red jelly. Little bones float here and there in the viscous goop. A gleaming shortsword is faintly visible on the bottom of the chest.

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

Motsognir closed the fucking chest.

I was speaking idiomatically.

My plucky dwarven friend seemed reluctant to delve into the mysteries of the chest! I reopened it, ruffling his hair in what I hoped was a reassuring fashion.

My limited experience of slime suggested that plunging my hand in would be foolish at best. I was tempted to simply tip the chest up but instead, took a few steps back and used my mage hand spell to retrieve the sword.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Bob's Mage Hand slowly sinks into the blood-red goo, grasping the shortsword and gradually pulling it free. Leaving the blade to dangle in the air for a few moments so the slimy residue can drip away, Bob examines it with skepticism. The very hilt of the sword was covered in dozens of sharp little barbs, needles and spines. Bob's interest in swordsmanship was limited at best but he can't quite see the use in a weapon that stabs you instead of the enemy.

FELIPE NO

I was never much of a swordsman and this particular sword looked pretty unpleasant. I offered it to the new guy who was so kindly holding the chainmail for me, thinking that he might be grateful for some magic gear, even if it was likely to kill him. If he didn't want it I'd add it to my collection of things to flog back in town.

I closed the treasure chest, not wishing to discover by accident exactly what the slime did to people who touched it, and turned my attention to disabling the trap in the far corner, looking to see if the pressure plates could be stepped over or if we'd have to smash the thing up.

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

Bob hands the nasty-looking weapon to the newcomer and takes a close look at the trap, hoping to find a way to bypass it without going to the dangerous work of disassembly. While normally it would be possible to get past this sort of thing easily with a good running jump, things are complicated by the plates running from one corner of the room to the other. Bob was no slouch when it came to agility but a 90 degree turn in midair to get through the doorway was likely outside of his particular capabilities. Either the plates or the armoire would have to be taken out of commission; or both.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Motsognir tells Argumentus to push over the armoire.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

I went and fetched the dwarf's discarded shield, thinking it might be capable of stopping the darts. I held it up against the holes the darts came out of, being careful not to stand in the firing line, and got one of the others to chuck another chest onto the trigger.

If nothing else, we could always just sit here throwing things at the plates until the trap ran out of ammo...

Most amazing jew boots

The dwarf flung one of the discarded chests. As asked by the mage. TOTE THAT BARGE.

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

After a great deal of chest-tossing, the armoire eventually exhausts its supply of darts and the pressure plate produces no result beyond a labored thudding noise. Gabriel's discarded shield is now an absolute pincushion, quite unusable for any further endeavors (save perhaps smelting; the shield's value to an ironmonger has more than tripled).

I was speaking idiomatically.

With the supply of darts exhausted, I tiptoed over to the doorway and peered around it in my best sneaky fashion.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Motsognir saddled his way between his woman and the newcomer, just in case he wasn't totally into Argumentus having his way with him later.

Most amazing jew boots

Bob sidles into the next room, discovering abruptly the source of the blood spattered liberally about the area. A body slumps atop a massive obsidian slab, a ritual dagger left abandoned next to the corpse. The blood in this room is still wet; this man died sometime in the last few hours.

A fine wooden door leads north; a rusty, battered iron door leads to the west.

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