[DnD] Secret Cow Level (GFF D&D Adventure 6)

Garrmondo chuckles in satisfaction as the duergar mage is smashed into a fine paste between the wall and his shield. Back in the abandoned crypt, Gheth takes a moment to provide first aid to the battered halfling. After a moment or two the little fellow's eyes flutter open, and the cleric helps him get to his feet. He's in no shape for another fight, but at at least they won't have to carry him.

VICTORY!
2300 XP + 200 XP (minor quest) = 500 XP each
Level Up!

Cal sees an opportunity for further experimental surgery, but before he can even reach the devil corpses to retrieve their spines they begin to dissolve into a foul sludge. It hardly seems fair, depriving him of a trophy like that.

Glock takes stock of the situation, making a quick body count and issuing a low whistle. Still, it'd been worth it in the end. He could only imagine how grateful some of these poor entrapped ladies might be. So very, very grateful.

The prisoners were an odd bunch; in the northwest pit was the normal assortment of peasants — 5 humans, a halfling woman, and an androgynous person of indeterminate gender... probably a changeling, judging by the black unpupiled eyes. A red-bearded dwarf sulked near the center of the pit, steadfastly ignoring all the recent mayhem. Something about the fellow seemed awfully familiar to Glock, but he couldn't place it.

The southeast pit, however, looked to contain no peasants at all. The five humans there were all clad in various forms of leather armor or mage robes, and in several cases seemed to still have weapons strapped to their backs. Most of it looked like pretty rudimentary gear, and the group hardly seemed like it would be a threat to the duergar, but leaving them armed was still pretty dumb in principle. The conversation among the group in the south pit was a sharp contrast to the excited chatter of the peasants: they were talking quietly amongst themselves in low tones, evidently trying to resolve some sort of disagreement. A bony little goblin, spectacularly ugly even by goblin standards, attempts to stealthily spy on the discussion; whenever he gets close enough to hear anything the redhead smacks him away with the back of her hand, and he retreats back to the corner for a few moments before trying again.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

1 Die Roll Let's Skill Check

Victory! Finally, after hours of fighting... wait, it took only half a minute, but it certainly felt like hours... we won!

Healing Surge to full.

I eagerly saunter to the Spined Devil corpses to collect their excellent poisoning and slowing spines, but they dissolved into mush just as I reached the bodies. Curses! A pox on the World for denying me my well-earned body parts!

Nevertheless, I have my list, which I shall complete before taking a rest:

[ ] One Framarth heart
[ ] Two gnoll claw fighter claws, for use as personal light daggers
[ ] A pair of generative glands from Gnasc
[ ] A gnoll fur cloak (as kindly suggested here)

First things first, we no longer need chains on the door, they're a give-away to Murkelmor that something is up. I stealthily backtrack all the way back to the corridor, and remove them. I also examine the room containing Gorg's holding pen to pocket any items of interest. I am specifically looking for writing materials, and anything out of the ordinary, before hoofing it back.

Stealth Check: 16 + 12 = 28
Silently remove chains, and search Gorg's room, specifically looking for writing materials and implements

________

I return bearing the chains, which I deposit at Cordok's feet. I go to the Dragonborn beside him, and give him my crossbow and bolts, plus the mundane warhammer, to ingratiate myself to him. Now he has a ranged option superior to simply throwing oversized chains around.

Drop chains, and give crossbow + 10 bolts, and warhammer to Gheth.

I need to do my dissections in peace, so I convince him to "check up on the welfare of the captives" in the room up yonder. I virtually push the giant lizard into the slave pit room, upon which I drag Framarth's mangled corpse back into the crypt, and line up all ten bodies on the ground. I carefully segregate any usable items that we can pass on to the peasants (such as warhammers and armor), so they can defend themselves. Then I start carving the bodies for biological loot to fit into my flask. I am quite confident the clever halfling will not mind all this gore.

Surgery is hard work, so I take out three servings of rations and eat while cutting. I'm not at all being delicate with cutting, so it shouldn't take too long. Since properly skinning a gnoll may take a while, I hastily try to remove as much meat from the hide as possible. We'll worry about doing it right later.

Eat three trail rations. Cal gains 2 pounds of weight.

How ya doing, buddy?

Glock sticks his head over the north pit.

"Hey dudes, what's up?"

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

1 Die Roll insight

Gheth takes time out to tend to the fallen, making sure that the halfling is in stable condition before they move anywhere. Out of earshot of the other adventurers, Gheth mutters to himself as he works.

"Let's see...the ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, then shin bone's connected to the leg bone. What's next? Shit. I know it's gotta be important."

After some trial and error, Gheth steps back from his work with a self-satisfied grin on his face. All things considered, it was a fine reconstructive surgery he had just done on a cold dungeon floor. Besides, it was probably only his imagination that the halfling seemed...shorter...than before.

Sawbonesin' done, Gheth looks to his own health with a bit of poultice for the poison, and allows himself to be prodded into the other room to check up on the people next door. He takes a particular interest in the southern pit full of armed(?) slaves. He notes their situation and their weapons, letting them see him looking purposefully at the motley group. He raises what passes for an eyebrow among his kind at them.

"So...come here often?"

Surge to full
testing the waters here, so
Insight check on first response I get
oh yeah, and retrieve morningstar when I have a chance, too

Most amazing jew boots

Cal creeps all the way back to the corridor connecting Gorg's pen and the slave pits, quietly removing all the chains. Surely, the sight of a dozen butchered corpses would never clue Murkelmor in that intruders were afoot. It would take chains to do that. Their secrecy was assured. That done, he returns to the pits and takes an inventory of the spoils of battle. It was probably best to let the rest of the party handle dealing with the prisoners. Cal knew his demeanor could be a little... offputting.

The spoils were rich; both Gnasc and Framarth had been dumb enough to die with valuables on them.

Loots!
7 warhammers
6 sets chainmail
1 set hide armor
3 sets leather armor
1 key
1 Potion Bandolier

(containing 1 Potion Of Lifeshield)

1 Evil Eye Fetish

1 Master's Wand of Hellish Rebuke

Glock peers down into the peasant pit, offering them a cautious greeting. Now that he's looking directly down into the pit, he can see why they made no attempt to escape during the fracas: every one of them is shackled to the floor. The group immediately explodes into a chorus of whining and pleading, but the dwarf finally breaks his stony silence.

"ENOUGH! By Moradin's beard, you put a few good stone walls around these people and they just panic.

Look here, automaton. Those are my hammers on the floor over there. It's undignified enough to be penned down here with these mewling pups, but I expected even the greys to have some basic respect for craftsmanship. Instead all my work is put in the hands of those... well, you saw how well their recruits handle themselves in a fight. Pathetic.

That's what I get for trying to make a respectable living instead of gallivanting around picking fights like that damnfool cousin of mine, I suppose.

If you're any of you good with a lockpick I'm sure these fools'll be all too grateful to you. Failing that, give me back one of my hammers. There's not a chain in the Realms that'll keep a Sledgehammer from his work."

Gheth cautiously approaches the armed prisoners in the south pit, curious about their unusual state. The goblin is entirely too enthusiastic about explaining matters to him.

"Hi hi! Me Gru. Me best and strongest of Bloodreavers! Me capture these stupids and take to Krand, and he say 'Gru, you stupid, why you not disarm!' and Gru say to him is no need to do so because they cooperate immediately! And this is a true fact that Gru is telling you: they ask Gru to take them to Krand! and Gru says okay because it is Gru's job to take people to Krand. Krand make sad face at Gru and tell Gru to take prisoners to the spinybeards and give them a letter and I did! And I said to prisoners: would you like to visit the spinybeards! And they are very pleased and say yes! And strongest spinybeard read the letter and laughed at Gru and then Gru locked down here with his own prisoners! Which is good. Gru keeps eye on them. They are very tricky prisoners for sure, spinybeards would never keep them under control without Gru help them. Gru is smartest, he take five prisoner without even fight them! Furry mean man hit Gru in face, but this only jealousy. Gru knows. Gru feel pity for his inferiors."

The other five prisoners in the pit wince at Gru's telling, but after some corraboration the general story seems to be accurate. The five of them took up a bounty notice to rescue 12 prisoners captured from the nearby village of Riverdown, and in their enthusiasm rapidly found themselves likewise imprisoned. Gru "captured" them in the Seven-Pillared Hall, and they found the little goblin so laughable that they didn't stop to consider the significantly more dangerous situations he might be leading them into. The duergar troops so completely outclassed them that they were just tossed into the pit and ignored, the responsibility for guarding them left entirely to the devils. Their cheap weapons were no threat, and even the party's neophyte mage was coincidentally a specialist in fire spells (which the devils and duergar alike found slightly ticklish at worst).

The fellow in the monk's hood asks for help, more than a little shamefaced.

"Wilkes here can free us, now that picking the locks won't start the goblin screeching and earning us all a face full of quills. The real issue is money. We spent most of our collective savings on our gear and our wagon to get out here — this was supposed to be our first big job. Well, you see how that worked out. I guess we'll still be small-time for a while. We found some treasure here and there, but we can't sell it 'til we get home... and we can't get home until we sell it. I don't want to be presumptuous, but you fellows look like you're doing all right for yourselves... maybe there's something here you could take off our hands so we can get ourselves some horses and a hot meal."

He unwraps a small bundle from within his pack. Within are a strange spiked gauntlet, a corked bottle full of a viscous red fluid, and an angular jet-black rod. Gheth rubs his eyes: the bottle almost seems to be slowly refilling with its contents as he watches.

"We've done our research; these things are worth a pretty penny. I'll sell them to you for 50% of market value, and no less. I mean you no disrespect, but we'll just as soon hang on to these if we can't get some decent compensation."

The redhead in the cloak (Wilkes, evidently) pulls a folding lockpick from behind her ear and sets to work. Instantly, Gru shrieks in dismay.

"NOOOOOOO! MY PRISONERS! SOMEONE STOP—"

Gru looks around the room in dismay.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

There's suddenly a loud hammering sound on the opposite side of the south wall, and an imperious shout carries all the way to the far end of the room where Glock stands.

"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THAT SIMPERING LITTLE MONSTER UP! YOU'VE GOT FIVE MINUTES TO FINISH UP YOUR BUSINESS WITH THE HOUNDS, FRAMARTH, OR I'M CARVING YOU UP AND SELLING YOUR BRAINS TO THE ILLITHIDS AS A DELICACY."

I was speaking idiomatically.

I noticed an interesting collection of magical items on the corpses, but I paid them no heed. That grotesque eye on a necklace will go very poorly with my fashion sense - perhaps the lizard can use it though, since there's nothing around his neck that might conflict with this little accessory. *SHUDDER*

As for Gnasc's magic wand... well, I'm a martial man and know nothing about magic. Perhaps the clever halfling is intelligent enough to understand its ramifications. He might even get a kick out of starting fires.

A belt of potions... intriguing, intriguing, but judging the rate which that brawny human drank through his potions, it's probably best reserved for him.

It seems I must have made a mistake somewhere. I was certain Framarth was wielding a pact hammer. I must have put it along with the other warhammers. Or was I just imagining things? Curious.

In any case, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I hear a piercing scream of "NOOOOO" emanate from the slave pit room. Sounds like someone's getting on with the captives. Why that horny warforged. How dare he molest the prisoners? Without me, I mean. I want in on that action!

I turned to the apparently daydreaming halfling and loaded him with everything that I've found. "Here, Cordok. I managed to salvage these from the bodies. Be a dear and take these to the others. And arm the prisoners. We may yet need their help in our escape!"

I returned to my half-skinned gnoll and resolve to finish skinning it in a few minutes. No time for finesse, Cal. Just whack out any large segment of flesh that's sticking to the hide.

Wow, all this blood pouring out is making me thirsty. I take a long swig out of one of my waterskins, completely draining it. Refreshing!

Completely empty 1x waterskin.

Most amazing jew boots

2 Dice Rolls STabbin

Glock is fond of men named after tools. You don't even have to talk to them to know what sort of shit they're into.

"Ok boss, you hold that thought a second?"

Walking over to the south pit and obviously winking at the armed fellows, Glock looks at the little Goblin.

"Fuck, will you just SHUT UP? Don't you recognize a friend of Krand's when you see him? Look here. If you just be quiet, we'll get you out of here and everything will be ok. We'll even give you credit for the capture."

Bluff on dat Goblin
4+14 = 18

Grabbing the key, Glock descends and unties to Goblin.

"Come here a moment, will you? I have plans to discuss. Away from these...erm...prisoners."

Glock takes the Goblin back into the crypt, near the...wait what the fuck was going on here. God damn it, Cal.

"Uhh, yeah. Krand's into this shit man. Didn't he tell you? All sorts of stuff."

"Anyway, this is what I wanted to discuss with you. Do you see these markings on the wall, here?" Glock points to the back wall of the crypt, on which nothing at all is written.

When the Goblin proceeds to turn his back to him, Glock decapitates the little bastard. No more noise out of this asshole.

Warsong Strike on dat Goblin
12+11 = 23

"FUCK these things are loud and annoying. If I didn't know better I'd have thought Cal got a new shape."

Walking back to the south pit, Glock mentions that they can start undoing their locks, and he'll be there in a moment.

As quick as a whistle, Glock proceeds to unlock all the slave shackles, and lets the second party know that he wants some of that stuff. Namingly the flask and the punching glove.

When all is said and done, he glances to both groups.

"Alright. Group meeting. Through the hall there you will find an idiot. And a horrible gutwrenching stench. And on top of that you'll also probably smell gnoll guts. Ignore the urge to vomit and turn to the right. Down there is a giant statue. You wait over there for a minute, yeah? You adventure dudes? Yeah, I'll pick up some of that stuff off you when we get there, a'ight?"

He pulls Wilkes to the side. "Hey baby, you look....talented. Almost like you've got a little warforged in you."

"What's that? You don't?"

"...do you want to?"

FELIPE NO

1 Die Roll diplomacy

As Gheth takes stock of their new haul, he offers up the key that was found in the valuables, which will hopefully speed up the process of unlocking the prisoners considerably.

He also grabs the necklace. Maybe it would creep somebody out. You never knew.

As Gheth begins hurriedly unlocking the lost adventurers, he looks at the elixir the Monk had offered up, and knows a good deal when he sees one. Nevertheless, he's never been a man to encourage opportunists.

"We're about to keep this very large man busy while you get away. If he kills us before you make it, I can guarantee you'll be back here in no time flat. That said, we might be needing those items before the day is done.

--Capisce?"

Help unlock prisoners starting with adventurers
Diplomacy check
Oh my god, I'm diplomating with marbles in my mouth apparently

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

6 Dice Rolls acer assist

GLIB LIMERICK SUPER POWERS ACTIVATE
Takin' dat 13, 'yo

Glock takes the small crew of adventures off to the side of the room, out of earshot of the slaves.

"Guys, I have an idea."

"Do you want to punish the guys who put you in here? I know I do. They killed my friend."

"I know how best to do this. If you guys create a distraction, we'll ambush and flank them from behind. Sound good to you?"

"Thing is, as the distraction, you'll be doing the running, not the fighting."

"If we're going to be taking the brunt of the attack, maybe we should have the gear. I'll uhhh...give it back to you as soon as we're done. We can wheel and deal at that point."

"Thoughts on this?"

Cal and Gordy murmur in agreement, but Garrmondo is busy scratching his ass and Gheth just throws up on the floor.

Bluff the group.
13 + 14 = 27 + Cal's assist + Gord's assist = 31

"If you agree, let's go over the plan, ok?"

Jam it back in, in the dark.

I finished my rudimentary skinning of a brand new gnoll fur cloak just in time. My colleagues have just herded a dozen new faces into the chapel. I thought I recognize the changeling slave. He vaguely reminds me of Nit, one of the toughies who used to ambush drunk beauties under a bridge, in my salad days. Can't be him though. Last I saw him, he was well-fed and in the hale of health. This individual before me is practically skin and bones, with a few ugly scars to boot. And, is that a missing finger?

Stashing the hide into my pack, I hear Clock launch into yet another of his smarmy speeches. This must be important for him, to recite a short rhyme just before he speaks.

Well, fellow liars must stick together, so I saunter over and nod my head assiduously during his entire speech, indicating that we are the most trustworthy of allies and that the brave though foolhardy adventurers have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Aid Glock in bluffing. My assist roll is in his post.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

1 Die Roll bluff me, will you?

Glock attempts to persuade the neophyte adventurers, rubbing the hand-shaped dent Wilkes had left in his face. How was he supposed to know she was sensitive about her mechanical hand? It was a lucky thing he'd ferried them away from the pits first, or the sound of steel slapping steel would have brought Murkelmor rushing in for sure.

The monk (evidently the leader of this little operation) confers with his allies for a moment before returning to Glock with an answer.

"Well, I... all right. We'll help you with this if we can, we owe you that much for the rescue. We'll hold onto our finds, I think; your dragon friend already threatened us once and I'm not sure your benevolence will overpower his greed. Other than that, I suppose we can help you. Not much choice, I suppose. We'll never ferry all these villagers out of here before the trouble starts, and then their blood would be on my conscience. What do you have in mind?

Monk makes an Insight check vs Glock, fails miserably

The peasants mill aimlessly around the chapel, clearly anxious to leave but fearful to flee alone let Murkelmor happen upon them in the process.

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

1 Die Roll insight

Gheth considers his warforged friend's proposal. But something seems...off. He's not entirely sure the bard has their best interests at heart.

"Look, we've still got time. Let's just go now, and we'll deal with Murkelmor if he figures it out before we're gone."

Gheth begins to herd the peasants with them towards the exit. As he passes the monk, he gives him a hard stare, and comments under his breath,

"You might not want to stick around too long. Get moving now, and Murkelmor won't know which way either of us exited."


Insight check vs Glock's bluff barely passes 19+13 = 32
Start moving towards eastern southern exit I guess

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

"Well, I have a use for a couple of those things. Since we're buddy buddy, how about we mutually assist each other? I'll give you your asking price for the flask."

Buy the Flask

"Anyway, here's the plan. You guys go back into the slave pits, and take up strategic positions around the room, ready to range attack the south door."

"In exactly 6 minutes from when I say 'Mark', you make a shitload of noise, drawing Murklemor from his chambers into the slave room. We will jump him from behind."

"After he's dealt with, we can help you to safety. Until that point, the slaves can make for the FRONT exit. Go down the bridge there, kids."

Noticing that the fighter had grabbed the head, and everyone else had grabbed their loot, G-unit coalesced near the south door.

"Ready...'MARK'"

And with that, G-unit hurried as fast as it could to the troll pen room, where it started moving at a normal pace to avoid making noise.

Undoing the back door of the troll pen, the group of adventurers let themselves out and closed the door behind them.

With luck, they should make it out right as they hear hootin' and hollerin' starting from the slave pits.

"Charge me money after I save your ass, will you? Assholes. Get what you deserve."

I was speaking idiomatically.

Gordy wasn't really sure what was going on probably due to repeatedly blacking in and out of consciousness but if there was scheming being done it seemed like it was failing halfway. He was all for pranks but usually he did it to get something out of it. Loot was good. Food even better. There would be time for that later. Or now. This boom stick of his enemy would suit nicely. Order up a healthy helping of Master's Wand of Hellish Rebuke for Gordok please. Yum. Yum.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

2 Dice Rolls In case I succeed, what i get?

It looks like we're booking it out of here. I grab the length of chain from the floor, and for fun hurriedly try to pick the dwarf's pocket before I leave. I then rejoined my comrades, who were intent on exiting through the Troll Pen room.

Aaand, keeping up with Cal's inability to roll Thievery right... Thievery Check: 7 + 4= 11.

Just as we exit the chapel, I catch a last glance of the Nit look-alike (but seriously, he's a changeling, we all look alike). I mouth the words "RUN SOUTH", hoping that his innate sense of self-preservation will kick in.

Good luck, my peasant friend. You'll need it. As for me, he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day!

FELIPE NO

3 Dice Rolls wander more

And so it was that the G-Unit bravely fled the scene lest they encounter actual danger, leaving peasants and novices to fend for themselves. But all was not cohesive amongst the fellows, for the bold cleric of Avandra did see through his compatriot's cunning scheme, and did seek to undermine it.

But the clever warforged had been far too persuasive indeed, and the monk was already distrustful of McGarnigal; having been coldly threatened for the possession of his treasures only moments before.

For his part the changeling takes a moment to rob a man whose livelihood and possessions had been stripped from him already, retrieving only a sachet of pipeweed for his troubles.

But the peasants (as they generally are) were cowardly, and fled at the first inclination from Gheth that they should do so. And in the end both our heroes and the peasants they had freed had escaped the Hold long before Murkelmor chose to actually investigate.

And so it was Griffin Company who stood alone against the fearful might of Murkelmor, awaiting at any moment the assistance they had been promised. And who may say what happened there, in the dark moments after the G-Unit made their dramatic exit?

It was luck alone that returned our heroes unscathed to the Seven-Pillared Hall after fleeing the Horned Hold with no particular destination in mind, and not long after they trudged into the settlement they were made to discover what it was that had become of their temporary allies.

The five sit around a battered table in the corner of Rothar's Taproom, taking an account of their paltry profits on the siege and discussing matters of practical morality. The stone minotaur's head sits in the middle of the table, Garrmondo having grown more than a little tired of the weight. It was hardly a significant risk that anyone would snatch it away, although the chance of having to repay Rothar for his slowly-buckling table grows by the minute. Gheth has nearly managed to convey to the bard the long-term theological consequences of wanton murder when a halfling in colorful minstrel's garb bursts through the tavern doors.

"Everyone, come and see! Those newcomers from Riverdown have slaughtered the master of the Horned Hold! They've got the rotten bastard's corpse on display, I'd never believe it if not for my own eyes."

And indeed, our heroes did venture out into the town center to see Griffin Company proudly displaying the evidence of their glorious victory. Yet strangely neither the victors nor Murkelmor himself seem to be much wounded, though the hulking duergar lord is assuredly quite dead indeed. It is passing strange. Could it be that...

No, no. Murkelmor was surely a terrifying foe, and his lack of evident wounds can only be attributed to his devilish nature.

At any rate, all the glory is theirs. There is much talk of converting the fortress into a stronghold to oppose the gnolls, and the debate goes on for a long while before the G-Unit apathetically returns to their drinks. Let the weaklings have their fame and their fortress. G-Unit has what it came for: a big rock shaped like a cow's head. That's what this business was really about.

Over the next few days as the group rests and recuperates, they encounter more than a few of the Riverdown peasants lingering around before returning to their homes on the surface. They try to ignore the snickering.

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

1 Die Roll Is that really a dead duergar?

My gnoll fur cloak has dried enough for me to skin it properly, which I do with gusto. I was feeling mighty pleased until I heard the news about Murkelmor's miraculous death.

No fame and glory for me? Pfft, who cares about fame? Who cares about glory? And why do my companions insist on calling themselves the G-Unit when all our names start with C?

I'm not one to dwell on what might have been. Why, face the future boldly, young changeling! Seize the day, let your thoughts be unclouded with the past!

Damn. All that fame and glory should've been mine.

There are two things a man can do to drown his sorrows. Eat, or go shopping. I do both, taking the clever halfling to help me with, uh... his sticky fingers.

Eat three trail rations.
Go shopping, oh mighty changeling!

Passing by Murkelmor's corpse still on display, I give it a long searching look. For some reason, I feel the urge to poke it with a kruthik's tooth.

Insight Check: 2 + 6 = 8

Apparently it really is, although I've never actually seen him while alive. Oh well.

I pay a visit at the following locations to look for things to buy:
2. Custom House
3. Deepgem Company
4. Wainwright
15. Gendar's Curios
16. Provisioner

The Grimmerzhul Trading Post raises red flags in my head, so I don't chance going in.

Cal's Shopping List
1. 16x straps or glue or paste or 16 very small clamps
2. Ammunition
3. Thieve's Tools
4. Horsies or other mounts
5. Poisons and toxins

Jam it back in, in the dark.

2 Dice Rolls The most convincing of posters

Oh well, no point dillydallying.

After they've had a day or two to rest and recuperate to full, Glock instructs the G-unit to make for the surface, head in tow.

He did not envy the clean up job these folks had to perform to get the fortress into any sense of presentable. By now the smell of roasted torso must have permeated the whole place, and the pile of garbage and squishy parts at the base of one of the bridges had to be truly offensive.

Ha, suckers.

Before Glock leaves, though, he feels he must make the record straight.

Streetwise to determine the best place to put the poster.
17

Starting a most nasty rumour, Glock produced a drawing of Wilkes and hung it in the most prominent area of town, and appended to it this text.

"PUBLIC HEALTH WARNING:

AN INDIVIDUAL MASQUERADING AS A RED HEADED FEMALE BY THE NAME OF WILKES POSES AN EXTREME PUBLIC SAFETY ISSUE.

BY STANDING WITHIN 30 YARDS OF THE INDIVIDUAL, ONE HAS A NEAR 100 PERCENT CHANCE OF CONTRACTING THE CLAP.

IF YOU FEAR YOU HAVE CONTRACTED ANY COMMUNICABLE DISEASE FROM THIS 'WOMAN' OR ANY OTHER MEMBER OF GRIFFIN COMPANY WHO HAS THEIR BEEF CURTAINS HANGING OUT, PLEASE SPEAK TO THE MAYOR"

And with that, G-unit departs the dirty underground, attempting to make it's way back to the surface and eventually to Freeport.

Most amazing jew boots

Having seen its demonstrations earlier, Cal's thieving and lock-picking skills do not impress Gordok in the slightest.

Gordy decides to go help cause mischief with Glock instead.



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

The warforged is anxious to get back to the surface and collect his reward, but Cal dawdles about for a while, browsing the paltry few retail establishments in the Hall. While the Grimmerzhul Trading Post is shuttered up and seemingly abandoned, there are other places to shop — places that'll do much better business now that customers don't need to worry about being abducted amidst the aisles.

The ranger stops by the custom house, but finds nothing to buy; evidently it's just a building dedicated to tax collection and the processing of imports and exports. Still, Cal takes his time getting an eyefull of the place until the ogre security escorts him out.

Next Cal stops by the Deepgem Company, until to encounter a familiar face. The recently-rescued Uriel Sledgehammer is still putting his shop back together after the duergar slavers made such a wreck of it, but he does have a few valuables on offer that the raiders overlooked. The dwarf makes no attempt to hide his bemusement on seeing the ranger again.

"No basic gear left, sad to say. All I've got is the expensive stuff I kept under the floorboards. But I'm sure you've got the coin, eh hero?"

The dwarf hastily scrawls up a rough inventory, passing it over the counter.

Bersk the Wainwright is too busy settling up with a group of traveling gnomish accordion players to pay Cal much attention. He gestures irritably at the simple price board: 20 GP for a wagon, 75 GP for a mule; rentals available.

Gandar's Curios is a charming little antique shop, and the drow proprietor (the scatterbrained Gendar Drizolg) is all too happy to answer any questions about his merchandise. Only a handful of the quirky items on display pique Cal's interest.

Dreskin the Provisioner's wheedling manner amuses Cal, but he discovers nothing particularly remarkable in the fat human's storefront. Attempts to convince Dreskin to sell his domesticated dire boar are met with flat refusal.

(Dreskin essentially has the first table on PHB pg. 222 available, I'm not typing it all out)

Not quite ready to commit to any purchases, Cal returns to the inn to mull on matters and inform the rest of G-Unit on what goods are available.

How ya doing, buddy?

About the only magic thing I could afford was a curious floating gem which I'm supposed to put on my head. Which is pretty strange if you ask me. Having no gold for the shiny magic objects I coveted, I brought my custom to the affable Dreskin. I bought 2 empty flasks, and filled one with oil. I also buy a set of thieves' tools, and five feet of silken rope. The last should serve me well in affixing the kruthik teeth to sixteen of my arrow shafts.

Having nothing else to report, I return to my fellows at the Halfmoon Inn. The warforged seemed anxious to leave, no doubt fearful of the backlash his character assassination on the newly-minted heroes would have. Well, if they're ready to go, then so am I.

Spend 21 gp 1 sp 6 cp, encumbrance + 4.5 lbs.
- Thieves' Tools = 20 gp, 1 lb.
- Flask x2 = 6 cp, 2 lb.
- 1 pint oil = 1 sp, 1 lb.
- Rope, silk (want just 5 feet) - 1 gp, 0.5 lb.

On the trip back, I resolve to hack the arrowhead off sixteen of my straightest shafts, and affix the kruthik teeth using the silk rope. I will also take the opportunity to braid fifteen arrows with the poisonous duergar beard quills, one tip per hair.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Certainly not his finest hour, Gheth decided. But he was used to open attempts at humiliation. Ever since that group of dragonborn kids had insulted Gheth over his buck fangs.

"Beaver boy! Beaver boy! Gheth has beaver teeth!"

Of course, he would remind them each time that he was 6 feet tall and cold-blooded, and could thus never be a mammalian dam-builder, but this seemed only to encourage them.

Well, there was nothing for it. At the least they had done some good before things took a turn for the retreaty.

Nurse a beer
Ready to go back overworld

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Seems like everyone save the clever halfling is ready to leave. I can't resist doing one last piece of mischief before leaving Thunderspire. Just to be safe, I resolve to do this corpse-defiling deed immediately before we depart for the surface.

Ready action. Twin Strike at Murkelmor's corpse, just as we're exiting the Seven-Pillared Hall

On the way back to Freeport, I scratch my head wondering why on Earth the human was carrying a gigantic stone statue head. Blimey, there's nothing valuable in that hunk of rock as far as I can tell. Is it for a masquerade party? I love masquerade parties. I'll boost the authenticity by going as a minotaur!

Well, so long as we're not in mortal peril, I may as well take the time to polish my bloodclaw short sword into a fine shine. I plan to use all the charm at my disposal to bluff Freeport vendors to let me trade this sword in at full value. Surely a little polish goes a long way if I wish to misrepresent Carr's former sword as "brand new never used".

Say farewell to first-person narrative, and shapeshift to Minotaur

Cal's Shopping List
1. 16x straps or glue or paste or 16 very small clamps
2. Ammunition
3. Thieve's Tools
4. Horsies or other mounts
5. Poisons and toxins

FELIPE NO

Determined to get one last parting shot in, Cal fires off a volley at Murkelmor's suspiciously-intact cadaver. Sadly, the resident mage of Griffin Company has evidently left a shield spell on the corpse. Cal's arrows bounce harmlessly to the ground as he sighs and tromps into Thunderspire's cavernous corridors with the rest of the party.

After many hours of wandering, G-Unit at long last finds their way back to the surface. A breakfast of cold rations is disappointing after the fine cheeses of the Horned Hold and the spicy (if crude) fare at Rothar's. It's mid-afternoon when the party trudges back into Freeport with a souvenir that's rapidly becoming heavier and heavier as it pulls on Garrmondo's strained shoulders.

Valthrun is a bit easier to track down this time. In their absence the Temple of Ioun has installed a small gong, and Garrmondo is all too happy to smash his new acquisition into it repeatedly until Valthrun staggers out from the library.

"Yes, yes, what can I — goodness, you're back! Well, some of you. I take it that Thunderspire was significantly more lethal than I anticipated. My condolences to the both of you for the loss of your three companions.

But this! My goodness, how lucky you were to discover such a valuable piece of antiquity just laying around. But perhaps even more importantly, you've returned with a live specimen! Scholars have speculated for decades on how the minotaurs lurking in the Thunderspire ruins might have physiologically diverged from those living on the surface.

Would you come with me, er—"

Not having thought his ruse all the way through, Cal thinks quickly and devises the most minotauran name he can imagine.

"Moo", Cal mutters.

"Very well, Sir Moo. Come right this way, we just have to administer a few... tests."

And so it was that many unpleasant sounds were heard, and half an hour later a significantly paler Cal came staggering out into the temple foyer.

"Great discoveries have been made here today", Valthrun announces. "All due to you and your brave sacrifices. I thank you, and science itself thanks you. Why, our new knowledge of minotauran intestinal anatomy alone is more than worth the reward I originally promised you. Stay right here a moment, I'll try to talk the temple elders into issuing me a loan so that I can reward you properly."

Soon Valthrun returns to the foyer one last time, disappointment etched in his features.

"Sadly, the elders were not as impressed as I. Science is always a struggle against the hidebound prejudices of the old guard. However, I was able to find and cancel some symposiums which have now become entirely outdated in their findings, and I gladly award the gold which would have paid for those events to you. Oh, and those rituals! I nearly forgot. Farewell, Sir Moo, and thank you for your cooperation!"

Well, at least somebody appreciates them.

Adventure Complete!
Major Quest completed: 1250 XP (250 each)
1500 GP (300 each)
Ritual Book of Sending
Ritual Book of Summon Winds
Ritual Book of Eavesdropper's Foil

Flush with fresh cash, G-Unit spends the afternoon browsing the newest wares in the Merchant District. Most of the goods were still quite a bit too pricey to be practical, but with a little bargaining and some intra-party loans they might come away with something interesting.

While there's no real rush to get back out and risk their necks, it's only a few days before G-Unit realizes that Cal probably needs to be kept busy lest he violate one too many laws and basic customs of decency. On one balmy afternoon he saunters in and, almost casually, brushes off the disembodied hand of some poor unfortunate from where it had clung to his arm. Not wishing to become viewed as accomplices, the rest of G-Unit refrains from inquiring what exactly Cal was doing to get spattered in blood and limbs.

Gordok, curious as ever, creeps up to the battered hand and pokes it with a stick. It was a pretty nice hand as that sort of thing went; well-manicured, no callouses. Gordok liked to imagine it belonged to a mighty wizard. Or had belonged to, anyway. He picks it up, thinking to stick it in his pack in case he happened to discover its owner. If he'd lost his hand, Gordok reasoned, he'd definitely want it back.

As Gordok gingerly picks up the hand by the chunk of exposed bone sticking out of the end, the hand suddenly begins to wiggle. The fingers cycle through an array of rude gestures before settling at last on an enthusiastic thumbs up. Gordok smiles and returns the thumbs-up with one of his own before gently placing the hand in his pack. Maybe he didn't want to return the hand to its owner after all.

The next day Gheth spots the halfling wandering around with what looks like a zombie hand on his shoulder, and resolves to get the group back out of town before anything weirder could happen. The notice board outside their inn held several tantalizing possibilities.

Pearl shipments from Shoalbury have ground to a halt, and it's killing business. Somebody's got to kick those yokels into gear. Come see

Dirwin Arnig at the Gemcutter's Guild for details.

*

I own some property in the village of Verdinica, and I haven't seen rent from my tenants in months. I'm far too busy to ride out to the

ass-end of nowhere, so if you've got plenty of free time on your hands then Omar at the Fang & Claw has a way for you to waste it.

*

Sophia Lasilaran is the finest playwright of our age, and I have heard that her newest work will soon see its first performance. Fetch

me a copy of the play so I needn't travel out to Hallowfeld to enjoy it. Stop by the Kafe Ilkin for all the details.

*

The paladin Shaunra Stillhand has ceased making her weekly reports. Someone must go to aid her with her troubles, or at the least

recover her body for a proper interment. Make yourself known at the temple of Ilmater if you would help.

*

My grandfather left me a map which looks to lead to an old abandoned dwarven stronghold. I have reason to suspect particular riches can

be had there, and I'll gladly split the take with you 60/40. You can find me at the Shipping News, and please: don't try to just kill me

and take the map. I'm not dumb enough to keep it in my pocket.

*

Gharash Vren and his band of brigands are STILL terrorizing the trade roads! Do you people just not interested in money, or are you just

that cowardly? Bring his head to a Watch precinct house for a reward of 850 2000 3500 gold!

*

The Stormcrow Fellowship stole more bounties from under my nose than I can bear to remember. Rumor has it that the bastards finally got

what was coming to them, but I want to be sure. Stop by the Warg Company's Freeport outpost, and I'll tell you where to look.

*

I need a crew of brave & trustworthy fellows to retrieve some personal items from a derelict ship. 500 gold up front, another 500 when

the job is done — plus any additional salvage found aboard. Seek the home of Aubreck Drallion in the Merchant District.

*

A few teenagers went out to the old Hommlet moathouse on a dare and never came back. It's probably just the frogs again, but the place

has enough of a reputation that I want to be sure. The town militia is useless, so I've got 400 gold for anyone who gets out there and

cleans house — even if it is just a bunch of oversized frogs. Stop by the Dead Pelican and ask for Sumone.

*

The church of Erathis seeks mercenaries of discretion for the retrieval of a significant artifact. Up to 10,000 gold available as a reward. Inquire at the temple.

10,000 in cash was a lot to offer for a simple mercenary job, and it was awfully tempting. Still, Gheth knew that rewards of that caliber weren't generally offered unless your contact didn't expect you to come back looking for it — usually because you were too dead to go anywhere looking for anything. But work is work, and he commits the details of the jobs on offer to his memory before heading back to the inn and attempting to coax the group into a consensus.

As always, 5-point distribution, the adventure seed with the most points after voting wins.

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

5 Dice Rolls Arcana. Watch this suck.

Looking over the iffy books he got as a reward, Glock picks up the one that the halfling already has and the one that lets him annoy people. He offers the book of not having other people listen to you to the halfling, if he wants it, since the little one is the only other ritualist in the group.

Scribe Ritual of Sending and Summon Winds, and Eavesdroppers, if Gordy doesn't want it.
Which apparently he doesn't

[01/27/2010 - 23:38:03] acerbanditgff: yeah so you can take the ritual books and if anyone gives you a raised eyebrow you can say i said it was cool

Before regrouping, Glock takes the time to go to the mall. Delicious mall. You have so many silly things I don't want.

Like a true man, Glock makes a beeline for the only shit that's of any real use. METAL CANS.

Buy 6 small metal can/jar/whatnots.
And 2 small vials that will fit in them.

Going from place to place, it's obvious that perhaps he should buy some reagents. Noticing the pretty lady behind the counter, he raised one eyebrow and hit her up.

"Hey baby, call me Mr. Flintstone, because I can make your bed rock."

Glib Limerick
GOD DAMN IT
No idea if I can bluff for components in this fashion but let's go for it.
14 + 3 = 17.
120 GP of Ritual Components.
Mortar and Pestle get, gotta be in the components there somewhere.
Also, a handful of flasks and chemistry implements


In his wandering, Glock spies a shield in one of the stores.

Turning on his best shit eating grin, he walks up to the owner and lays on the charm.

"Hello Jack. Long time no see. How's it going? I know it's been a while since I've been around, but I was wondering if I could get my old customer discount on this shield over here" he says, pointing at the thing.

Try to talk down price of light shield of protection using Bluff. Get price before committing.
14 + 9 = 23.

Finishing up all his shopping, he wanders back to the inn to begin his little experiment.

Before getting there though, he bumps into one very weird looking changething. Seems he now had some sort of glowing...wait. Glock knew what this was. A dragon mark? Why the fuck would this just randomly show up on THIS asshole of all things? How strange. He might be able to take advantage of this, though.

"Hey, you, erm...Gal, right? Turn this into a robot part for me, will you?"

Cal can use Enchant Magic Item for free to turn my armour into an attached component. This reduces it's weight by 1/4th. Let him do this to the Skald's Chainmail and then take it back and attach it.

When he was putting the armour back on, the clink of the chains and noise made by the bolting into his chest reminded him that he still had this little elvish ring.

Maybe someone intelligent here would know about it. But who to ask?

Streetwise. Look for intelligent people who might know something about this ring. Hit up that scholar we just dealt with if it comes to it.
10 + 1 = 11. FOR FUCKS SAKE.
Get info on ring if suitable person is found.

-------------

Glancing at the job board on his way back, he notices someone asking about a play. Oh, the theater, Glock's not-so-secret desire. Yes. We must take part in this.

All 5 points to Sophia Lasilaran

-------------

After all is said and done, Glock retires to the inn with the rest of his compatriots. Retiring to his room a little early, he gets to work with the tools he had.

Glock proceeds to grind down some of the charcoal and sulphur in his possession into a fine powder as he mixes it with the nitrate. He keeps half the sulphur in his possession for a later purpose.

Making a standard blasting pack mixture, a 3-1-1 mix of nitrate to other components, he produces 12 ounces of blasting powder, enough for six 2-ounce grenades.

Using the sheet as a wick for the metal canisters, as he pokes a small hole in them, he fills the jars with the gunpowder.

With the two small vials, he empties the venom glands into them, and then puts the vials inside two of the grenades, so in the end he has four conventional explosives and two poison ones.

Create 6 grenades. 4 regular, 2 poison.

Using his new chemistry set, Glock prepares the remaining sulphur. Using a wet creation process, burns it and oxidizes it, and finally hydrates it, into a small amount of sulfuric acid of a medium strength.

Arcana because SCIENCE.
12 + 18 = 30. Figures.

Jam it back in, in the dark.