[DnD] Magnum Innominandum (GFF D&D Adventure 7)

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.



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?"

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

1 Die Roll Acrobatics~~~~

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

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

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.



I was speaking idiomatically.

1 Die Roll Streetwise - where am Watch?

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?"

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

1 Die Roll perceptan thangs

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

How ya doing, buddy?

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 ♪

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

"Do that again and I'm burning this cart to the ground"

The robot is deadly serious.

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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.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

1 Die Roll We got no time for this really

"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.

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

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.

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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

I was speaking idiomatically.

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."

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

4 Dice Rolls Damage 2

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.

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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.

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

1 Die Roll I steal your stuff!

"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.

It occurs to me that the fewer weapons the mob around us have, the better. Thus with the best possible sleight of hand doeth I go around collecting everyone's improvised weapons and stashing them in Denny's saddlebags, where they can't harm us.

THIEVERY! 5+8=13 is probably less than 23. Probably.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

3 Dice Rolls How you gonna act

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

There's nowhere I can't reach.

2 Dice Rolls BLUFFIN'

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.

YouTube Video

CARCOSA-SA-SA-SA-SA-SA-SA-SA-SA-SA-SA!

Imma sprout a tentacle or three.
BLUFFIN': Argh. 2+5+14=21 <<< 23


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

3 Dice Rolls athletics

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

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

1 Die Roll Aid on Intimidate

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.

I was speaking idiomatically.

3 Dice Rolls Prc

Gordok just does some random shit.

Endurance, Thievery, Perception.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

15 Dice Rolls *Distortion Blast damage

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.

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.

How ya doing, buddy?

4 Dice Rolls What I notice about Dwarf

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.

Battle Stats
[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/??]

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2 Dice Rolls *damage

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

Jam it back in, in the dark.

9 Dice Rolls *2 bonuses! Bonii? Bones?

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.

Cal 22, Garrmondo 22, Glock 21, Gheth 13, Hulk 6, Seer 24, Gordok 24, Manglers 22

Most amazing jew boots

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

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