[DnD] Welcome to the Dungeon of Doom!

Motsognir stumbles along behind Gabe to the little armory, looking to waste some gold.

"WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO BUY?" he asks, loudly.

I was speaking idiomatically.

The proprietor stares at Motsognir tiredly.

"What do we have? Well, we've got clubs, daggers, javelins, maces, sickles, and spears. We've got greatclubs, morningstars, quarterstaves, and scythes. We've got battleaxes, flails, handaxes, longswords, scimitars, short swords, throwing hammers, warhammers and war picks, heavy war picks, light war picks. Bastard swords. Katars. Rapiers. We've got this spiked chain, here. Longbows, shortbows, greatbows, crossbows, hand crossbows, repeating crossbows, superior crossbows, slings and shuriken. Plenty of ammo, too. Got a brand new khopesh in just yesterday. Broadswords, war axes, and a kukri or two. Leather armor, hide armor, chain armor, scale armor and plate. Light shields, heavy shields, gauntlets, bracers and helms."

He takes a deep breath and leans over the counter conspiratorially.

"Got some magical crap too, but we keep that in the back for obvious reasons. That stuff comes and goes, but here's what we got right now."

He slides a battered ledger across the counter, open to a list of his current inventory.



What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Despite a near universal inability to speak common tongue, it seemed as though the local shop keepers had prepared useful price lists in a sensible language. Through the medium of pointing and sign language I indicated my desire to upgrade my shortbow to a longbow and handed over the correct money. I would normally have haggled but doing so in a foreign language was tiresome at the best of times. I then nipped back to an apothecary we had passed in search of some reagents and a healing potion. I was still keeping my eyes open for a fancy dress shop too.

FELIPE NO

"Your basic Plate armor, what kind of defense are we looking at there?" Motsognir asked, thinking himself a great negotiator.

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

I trade my sickle up for a scythe, and a nice crossbow and 40x bolts for my sling and remaining stones.

The city lady seems to be as dumb as a brick, but back home I spent a heap'a time taking care of them idiot children, so I made rudimentary hand gestures to show that I too wanted to shop for some reagents. I also aim to make it to Melora's today, with a detour to get an adequate offering.

What offering would be appropriate for a back-woods doctor to give to the Goddess of the sea, I bet you're askin'?



Jam it back in, in the dark.

The dwarf looked over the armour, scratching his chin as he looked at a particular piece.

"All right, mate. I'm liking the look of that there veteran's plate. In my recent travels, I came across this fine piece of dwarven mail." He shifts off the shiny, unbloodied (thank you for the pool, Kord) armour. "I'm thinking these look around equal value. You agree?"

If he does, he looks to trade himself in for some veterans plate armour. "Also, you wouldn't know where a man could find himself an everburning torch, would you?" Short of a glowing, magical holy symbol of Kord, this would suffice for spreading the light of the war god on their next campaign.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

"Talky moo moo want fight?" Argumentus beams at the opportunity. "Okeyleydoke!"

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

As the shopkeep shook his head, the dwarf shrugged.

All right, the regular plate then. I know a little false-god worshiping heathen would enjoy this chain mail anyway.

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

The shopkeeper was polite enough not to laugh at me when he showed me the scythe. It's.. well, the scythes back home are short enough to use, that's all I say.

I change my order to a mace instead, and also sold my chainmail since I'm getting a better set from the skull-dwarf that worships firewood. It's right nice of him, for a man damned to Hell an' all.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Motsognir did not like this shop. They did not cater to his whims. He walked around, looking for something... cheaper.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Agreeing to single combat with a cow-man nearly twice his size, Argumentus follows the Minotaur to the city arena. A brief discussion with a guard (and a small bribe) gains them access, and the referee lays down the rules.

"We don't fight to the death here. Somebody hits the dirt, the fight's over. Since this one's off the books, there's no pot to split so I'm going to grant the winner the right to one piece of the loser's gear. Alright, each of you back up ten paces... aaaaand fight!"

The ref then retreats to the relative safety of the stands.

The minotaur takes the initiative, charging with his head down and sending Argumentus sprawling into the dusty ground. The fight is over before it even begins. Smirking, the minotaur plucks the crown from the fighter's head and plods out of the arena.

---------

Bob + Longbow - 30G

Gabe + Platemail - 50G - Dwarven Chain

Brigid + Mace + Dwarven Chain + Hand Crossbow + Bolts - Chainmail - 24G

Having completed their business at Otto's, the troupe went in search of additional purchase opportunities, locating a wizard's emporium, an alchemist's and clerical shop, and a general store/pawnshop.





FELIPE NO

I did a quick round of the quaint boutiques in the mercantile district. The prices were, for the most part prohibitively high and I wished that some of the grubby shopkeepers spoke anything approaching an understandable tongue that I might try to haggle them down a bit but my attempts at communication were met with little but blank stares and slack jaws.

Still, I found a rather delightful hat. It was royal blue and pointed, as a good wizards hat should be. I had 202 gold in my pocket and the hat would have set me back 150 but I traded in the wand I had found in the dungeon for 70 gold, mitigating the damage to my pocket somewhat. With the 122 gold I had left I purchased a terribly interesting looking book entitled "Delvers Fire". I had no idea what it was but it had fire in the title. I then bought a spare water skin and one set of reagents for my foreign language ritual.

I offered my shortbow to anyone who wanted it, thinking to give it to a beggar if nobody did.

Shopping always made me sleepy so I looked around for somewhere to take a nap and have some food.

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

Motsognir wasn't terribly impressed with this town. He bought a new flask to replace his exploded one, and picked up a grappling hook and another 50 feet of rope, hoping his secret acrobatic studies might pay off in the future.

How ya doing, buddy?

Argumentus skulks out of the arena, thankful for the learning experience.

He makes his way to the weapons store, sells the mace and trades his light shield in for a heavy shield. Through sniffles Argumentus asks if they still have any plate armor.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Feeling it's better safe than sorry, I pick up an additional waterskin, two flasks, six rations and enough reagents to brew a potion.

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

The dwarf shrugged into his hefty plate, his back straightening and his smile broadening slightly. Many people would slip into the heavy armour and wilt, but a Paladin of Kord brightened at the weight pressing down across his shoulders. The steady clank of metal as he stepped resounded deliciously to him, putting him alongside the warriors who had lived and died for the deity from time immemorial. Strapping Thomas onto his back, the skull-stick worn like the Samurai standard, and Murray the hat quickly altered so the jaw hinged open around his head's armour. Most prominent, however, was the raised fist of Kord, the chain wrapped around his forearm, the icon dangling from his right wrist.

Feeling properly displayed, he untucked his braided beard from the armour so it could hang free as he strode into Vinely's Ecumenical. He slipped 50 gold on the table and hefted the healing potion in his hand. He had faith in his god's power to find him battle, but he was also a practical man as well as a zealot, and the longer he could stand in battle, the longer he could bring glory to his righteous cause.

His transactions complete here, he slipped the vial onto his belt and continued down the street, whistling quietly to himself. Some Dwarf standard, the lyrics had long been forgotten, but the tune had never left their collective memory. Get the Flash Player to play this audio file: .

He stopped short before the window of Herbert's Miscellany. Inside he saw, glowing faintly with the light of a fallen star, precisely what he'd wanted all this time. Stepping across the threshold, he approached the shopkeep and motioned over his shoulder with a movement of his head that caused Murray's jaw to bounce comically around Gabriel's face at the everlasting torch and the rations. 51 gold later, the dwarf tucked the light into his pack and moved to go about his business. He was half out the door when he noticed Herbert's small bin marked 'curiosities'.

A tear nearly slid down his cheek as he reached in and withdrew the biscuit. Stonemeal. It couldn't be. A dwarven delicacy his grandmother used to make. Most palettes couldn't tolerate the fierce flavours, but to Gabriel, to any dwarf, this was escargot. Or maybe duck liver pate. The point is, he was buying it. He was buying it right now. He barely let the shopkeep tell him the price before he wrapped it, with reverence, and slid it into his pack.

Nearly bumping into Brigid--in her new chainmail--on his way out, he indicated with a nod of his head the inn he'd seen on the way in. After their recent trials, all he wanted was a hot bowl of stew, an exceptionally tall mug of dark ale, and a bed that was more than a bedroll on a stone floor.

The bearded-wonder slipped into the inn, sliding his money for a few days of room and board across the counter to the inn keep. The man had helpfully scrawled his name on his shirt.

Hello My Name Is:
Jymmee

Very helpful. The dwarf inquired about dinner and then made for the steps. Reaching his assigned room he pulled Thomas from his backpack, looking around for a moment before he caught Jymmee coming up the steps.

"Oi there, Innkeep. You wouldn't have a place I could keep this for the night, would you mate?"

The Innkeep stared at him for a long few seconds before he replied, "let me ask you a question. When you came rolling in here, did you notice a sign out in front of my Inn that said Dead Skull-Stick Storage?"

The dwarf sighed and began to answer. "Jymmee, you know I ain't seen no... "

"Did you notice a sign out in front of my Inn that said Dead skull-stick Storage?"

There was a pause before the dwarf said "no. I didn't."

"You know WHY you didn't see that sign?" Persisted the innkeeper.

"Why?"

"'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing dead skull-sticks ain't my fucking business, that's why!"

The dwarf glared for a moment and grumbled "could have just said no" before he picked up Thomas and retired to his room until the dinner hour came around.

Purchase Healing Potion 50gp
Everlasting torch of light to bring light into the dark places of the earth 50gp
2 trail rations 1 gp
Stonethingy biscuit 30gp
Two nights in an inn with food and water and no dragons 1 gp.

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

I saw the ugly dwarf, now dressed in more armour than a regiment of elven spearmasters would deign to carry between them heading to the local inn. I still had a couple of gold pieces left so I followed him, not wishing to let the Horde go too far on their own, knowing the potential catastrophy such a course of action could bring.

As an afterthought, I also bought a day's worth of trail rations, just in case we didn't find anything else large and edible on our travels.

Securing a room for the night, I settled down to read my new book.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Bob picks up a random ritual book, less concerned with its magic contents than with the pretty pretty fire pictured on the cover. Overjoyed to be rid of the nearly-useless ritual book at last, the shopkeep bundles in the necessary components for the ritual at no additional charge. Trading in his valuable magic wand, the elf then uses the rest of his funds to purchase a jaunty hat and promptly retires to a nearby inn for the evening. Life is good.

Motsognir seems disinclined to catch Insane Shopping Fever, buying a bunch of practical goods like a boring ol' fuddy-duddy. The Gods Of Incredible Savings look upon him, and are displeased.

Argumentus (one savage beating wiser and one crown poorer) wanders at last to the shops. Otto gladly accepts the trade-in of the mace and light shield for a heavier one. but flatly denies having any more plate armor in stock. Argumentus points out a brand-new set of plate hanging on a stand, but Otto insists that this is only a display model.

Brigid buys a bunch of empty flasks. The narrator finds this too baffling to comment upon. Having completed this mysterious purchase, she goes at last to commune with Melora at her temple. While her offering of moonshine does not appear to be rewarded by any immediate blessing, it certainly appears to earn the gratitude of Mother Lorelei, the temple's high priestess. After a cup or three in Melora's name, Brigid talks her way into a significant discount for her possible future reliance on the temple's clerical services.

Gabriel snags an inedible biscuit and has a surreal conversation with an innkeep that reminds him of a sign he saw only the day before. What a strange coincidence.

The group retires to the inn for a day or two of rest. Bob takes the opportunity to study his new book and copy the ritual therein into his spellbook. The Star's Force Copy Protection Enchantment kicks into effect immediately thereafter, and the manual crumbles to dust. At least the ritual itself was preserved.

After some downtime the group's purses are not getting any heavier and they are no closer to their vengeance. Without adequate funding and supplies they have no hope of success in confronting the Duke who tossed them into the pit; they'd just be imprisoned again, probably someplace even worse. Having been declared legally dead, they no longer even have homes to return to. Until the time for revenge is nigh, a mercenary life seems to be their only option.

Conveniently, the inn faces onto a broad market square and the neighborhood notice board is only a few broad strides away from the inn's swinging doors. Quite a few notices have been posted seeking assistance compatible with the group's... violent predilections. They debate amongst themselves which opportunity to pursue:







What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Having copied and learned the ritual (And yet still having not a clue what it actually did) I went and found the Horde looking at the help wanted section of the inn's noticeboard. I reasoned that without supplies and funding, we would be unlikely to satisfactorily avenge ourselves of our previous captors and a bit of mercenary work was always fun.

Looking at the board, my eyes were drawn to two notices in particular. The very first one was from a wizard who was having problems with squatters. This appealed to me as it would inevitably take almost no time at all and rewards from wizards were the kind of thing I was after. There was always the chance of finding some small, easily pocketable items lying around his house he wouldn't miss too.

The other notice I was interested in seemed to be of a similar vein, retrieving a magic sword from a dead wizard's house. This seemed the ideal choice to me as the chances were the wizard had died from natural causes, allowing us free run of his house and possesions and gaining the favour of someone calling themselves a Lord for very little effort. The more I thought about it the better it seemed, as with the wizard dead, the house would be looking for a new owner anyway and I was in no mind to live out my days in an inn.

I feared that these tasks would not slake my companions' lust for blood sufficiently but it was easy money either way.

FELIPE NO

Originally Posted by Shin

(And yet still having not a clue what it actually did)

Bob was not sure of the ritual's function, but context implied that, surely, it would cause a fire to erupt somewhere. Perhaps a magical fire of some kind, which is difficult to extinguish.

If only there were some body of data which Bob could consult regarding his own capabilities. Oh! What folly this notion is.

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

I studied the notes I had made in my spellbook and personal log more closely and discovered that I had happened upon a most useful ritual that would create a functioning and undistinguishable campfire with the greatest of ease. How I wished I could have commanded such powers back when I was traversing the icy wastes of Hothonia or exploring the mythical underwater city of Newes Orleandoth, a city as famous for the unusual syncopated and atonal music produced by it's one tme dwellers as it was for the idiocy of the city's founding fathers in building it slightly below sea level in an area prone to tropical storms and flooding. I smirked inwardly, thinking what a bargain I had clearly won from the ignorant shopkeeper.

Truly, another step on my life's quest to become an all powerful elamentalist had been taken this day.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

It was good to get a proper rest after all that adventurin'. Though I've spent four childbearin' years sleepin' on a stone floor what because Ezekiel lost his job at the wagon-manufacturin' company, I won't deny it's good for the old joints to spend a night or two on feather and straw.

I've learned much about my companions over the rest. You wouldn't guess it, but the skull-dwarf don't eat meat. Fancy that! I don't know how he keeps fit without any proper vittles, but I'll have't pick up some beans or somethin' when we visit a greengrocer. And the city-lady, bless her heart, can't even read the things she writes down. She is the most dire case of mongoloid I've ever seen. I'll have to fix an elixir of mint, whorehound, crushed gnat and buzzard blood before she forgets who we are and starts attacking us. Even still, I don't think she'll ever be normal.

I also finally had dwarven ale. This vaunted concoction may soothe some sore throats back home, but it ain't gonna fuel any shindigs! All the same it's all I have on hand, so I buy enough to fill my flasks so that I have a suitable sacrifice for Melora for my next visit (and an extra for my rheumatiz).

Reading the board, I see some good jobs. I aim to be puttin' the body of Kai Rifter to rest proper, and to expunge the evil from the cemetery what be haunted. If the idiot city-lady wants to clear out some squatters from some homes, I reckon that'll be fast work and we can do that on the way.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

The child seemed keen to pay a trip to the graveyard, or at least that's what I guessed from her wild gesticulating. Despite my new found aim in life to master the powers of fire and ice, I still had a fondness for necromancy and had yet to find a satisfactory explanation for the mysterious powers that had brought most of my companions back from teh grave in the first place. Maybe the answers I was looking for could be found in the home of the restless dead?

And anyway, zombies and skeletons burned easily which would give me some good burning practice and we could always stop off at one of the wizard's houses on the way, kill two griffons with one ballista as it were.

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

The dwarf was drawn towards the defense of Bordrin. It was the closest to true war listed, and Kord would surely heap strength and favour upon him when he brought glory to his god in battle.

However, Kord had no love for those that disturbed the rest of the honoured dead. A warrior should stay in the ground once he has fought his last, and Kord had no love for those that escaped the natural cycle of battle and death. However, he had no want for land. Land was for those looking to find their feet on solid ground, and his metal-shod soles screamed out for the uneven ground of the mercenary lifestyle.

"I say we retrieve the sword. If anyone would know what lousy dead-man-walking threw us in that pit, it would be a Lord. Or he would be able to point us in the right direction, at the very least."

He grinned and hefted his axe slightly.

"Though I've no problem if we separate some heads from some zombies en route."

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

Argumentus catches up with the party, with a long strand of snot descending from his left nostril but miraculously hovering above the ground.

His bovine beating would not deter him from seeking even bigger creatures to beat up, and with a damp finger he pointed to the red dragon notice.

I was speaking idiomatically.