[DnD] All In The Same Boat (GFF D&D Adventure 4)

Slipping past his lady to jam himself between the ice beast and the cliffside, Motsognir sees the chillborn turning to look at the new human hungrily. "Behind you, you moustachioed bastard!" he shouts.

move to R5
Commander's Strike - Delic to Chillborn

I was speaking idiomatically.

1 Die Roll Strike

Satisfied with the result of the previous strike, Delic takes up another stone and hurls it with a strong satisfaction of similar results to follow.

...Just hoping he hits the enemy and not, you know, the other people.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

7 Dice Rolls chillborn slam dmg

No comment, just a slow sad shrug

Delic, Bob, Garrmondo each take 5 damage from the cold aura at the start of their turns. All three are bloodied.

Chillborn Zombie bloodied by Crushing Surge, Garrmondo gains +2 temp. HP

Rock in the face: 5 damage to Rotwing
Rotwing's attack of opportunity: 7 damage to Delic. Don't use ranged attacks at melee distance, kids!


Chillborn Slam: 7 damage to Delic; immobilized w/5 ongoing cold damage (save ends)

Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie

FELIPE NO

(Delic lays on his back, limbs in the air, looking quite like a turtle flipped over onto its shell and unable to do a damn thing about it.)

(Not unlike his last date.)

(Which was five years ago.)

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

2 Dice Rolls *ddddamage

Since Motsognir gets to move before ol' Garrmondo, he's actually going to move to R3, and Garrmondo can go somewhere else, because fuck wasting the flank on a low roll

move to R3

Bloody Ending on Chillborn

14 damage

everybody's got +2 to attack roles against chillborn till my next turn

Jam it back in, in the dark.

1 Die Roll Disco Inferno

My dwarf cunningly stepped in behind the zombie, flanking the beast and hopefully leading us to a swift victory. Sadly however, this left no room for any fireballs, at least not without hitting my companions and losing one buddy per fight was pretty much my limit.

Well, it was these days anyway. As a youth I had hung out with a rather rough bunch of kids. Not through choice of course, it was simply a case of geography. Living as we did on the plantation, the only kids even vaguely my age around were the children of the workers, a mixture for the most part of half-orcs and humans. Oh yes and a single minotaur family. Their son, we called him Steak, I never did find out his real name, was the de facto leader of our group on account of being 15 stone of pure muscle and having sharp horns on his head at the age of eleven. As the only elf of the group, I was subjected to endless friendly ribbing and games like "How long can the elf hold his breath underwater", "Pin the tail to the elf" and everyone's favourite "Elf-hunt" were common. Still, I was one of them and as Steak always told me, "AAAARGHFFRF RRAAARGHFFMMGF MMMRAAFGHFGH MMMOOOOOOOOOOOO!". The combination of a hair lip and a massive brass ring through his nose did make him rather difficult to understand certainly but luckily, one of the scrawniest half-orc kids, one many suggested was in fact a half-goblin, was able to understand Steak perfectly and conveyed his meaning and wishes to the rest of us. Apparently Steak had been saying that should I ever get in trouble then to come to him because if anyone was going to hurt our elf it was going to be him.

One day, I had accompanied my father to visit the nearby village to collect supplies. Father said we'd work quicker if we split up so sent me off to the general store to pick up 25 shovels and a new millstone while he went to source something or other in the tavern. It was several hours later that I, having managed finally to get the millstone onto the cart and spent a good while waiting for my father, was accosted by a gang of youths, local village kids for the most part and all elves. We exchanged pleasantries, me asking how did they do and them asking if I was the "Funny looking queermo from the forest who hangs out with orcs" and questioning my parentage. The first question was perhaps an understandable one but as soon as one of them mentioned my beloved mother, I flew into a fit of rage and launched myself at him, fist flailing, looking to dish out some rough justice to these base-born curs.

My father eventually found me half submerged in the village's communal latrine and took me home and sent me to bed with a good thrashing to think about what I'd done. The next day, after relaying my tale to the group, Steak decided that retribution was in order and a plan was hatched. The half-goblin kid suggested that we arrange to meet these village kids somewhere quiet, away from prying adult eyes and give them a good beating. The decided location for the rumble was Hellspawn Cave, my objections being quickly put down both by sound reasoning from the half-goblin (There wasn't really any dark underworld creatures living there, the adults just called it that to keep kids away because they liked hanging out without kids from time to time, you know, those meetings where they all wear red robes do that funny chanting stuff) and a heavy punch to the temple from Steak.

A messenger was despatched to the village kids and we headed out to the cave to wait for the appointed time, sunset. The group took up positions inside the cave entrance, whilst I waited outside alone, the plan being to ambush the village kids when they arrived. The evening grew colder, unseasonably so as I recall and as the sun set, shadow filled the cave mouth and I felt strangely alone until finally, I saw the gang from the village marching up the path towards me.

I remember little of what happened after that. There were some insults exhanged of course and I remember shouting a rallying cry to the boys I knew were hidden in the cave but after that the evening becomes fuzzy. To this day I have dreams about the wet, ripping noises from behind me, the looks of abject terror on the faces of the village kids, the odd bellow of pain (which I knew couldn't possibly be coming from Steak as it sounded almost like a young minotaur having his limbs ripped off one by one by some demonic monstrosity and I had been assured there were no demons in the cave) and the sight of several bodies, well bits of bodies anyway, strewn around the cave entrance and the path.

I was later told that the fight had got out of hand and a few kids had been badly hurt and that Steak and the goblin kid had both been killed, with all the other kids having to move away, although I could never understand why their families never went with them, especially as they all looked so sad afterwards. Still, I never had any trouble with the village kids again, in fact I never saw any of them again, they must have been avoiding me, like everyone else in the village seemed to after that day. From that day forth though, every time I drank any milk I'd pour some on the kerb for Steak and remember the good old days of the West Plantation Crew.

I sighed at the memory of my childhood chums, wondering if I'd ever see any of them again. Almost as an afterthought I sent another gout of flame towards the flying zombie, hoping to actually hit the fucker this time.

Flameburst at Rotwing

There's nowhere I can't reach.

5 Dice Rolls slam bam thank you damage

The zombie finally begins to falter, and Motsognir sees his chance to deal a telling wound. Shoving Garrmondo aside, he raises his axe with a shout and hacks off the chillborn's left arm. The zombie's attempts to contort his frozen face into a frown but succeeds only in shattering his own jaw.

Start of Delic's turn: 5 ongoing cold damage

Delic stands there with his feet frozen to the ground, mumbling incoherently. Something about dating a turtle. The rest of the Horde tries to ignore him; he's lost quite a bit of blood after all and he's probably just confused.

Garrmondo rushes in with what looks like a sure strike this time. Just as he raises his sword to deal the blow, the dwarf barrels past him. Set completely off balance by the warlord shoving him aside, Garrmondo ends up somewhere he didn't really want to be — and, it goes without saying, doesn't so much as give the zombie a bruise.

Snapping out of a long, seemingly irrelevant reverie, Bob incinerates another passing seabird. Ooh, a petrel! He wasn't contributing to the fight overmuch, but he'd already cooked dinner for the next three nights.

The rotwing makes another attempt at dive-bombing the party, aiming for Garrmondo this time. The zombie barrels into the fighter's shield at about 50 MPH. It's not pretty.

The chillborn zombie staggers away from Soggy, clutching sadly at the stump where his arm used to be. Carelessly meandering by the cliff's edge, he smacks Delic in the face with his remaining arm. Delic, for his part, collapses to the ground and passes out. Somebody probably ought to move him. People roll around sometimes when they're sleeping.

Slam: 8 damage to Delic. Unconscious, Dying, Helpless, all that jazz

Motsognir, Delic (DYING), Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie

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

2 Dice Rolls *damage

The new one was down already. "These prissy types..." the dwarf grumbled to himself, walking over to the winged undead. He leans back and swings at the thing's torso, but only manages a fleshwound.

Inspiring Words to Delic
Move to P5
Bastion of Defense


what the hell kind of damage roll is that :/

13 damage

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

2 Dice Rolls Hit Chillborn

My wandering thoughts were hampering my aim rather so I concentrated really hard, raised my staff slowly, took a deep breath and held it before lashing eldritch fire at the two undead abominations.

Flames and shit at a square just behind the deadites so as to hit both

As yet another gout of flame left my targets completely unscathed, I shook my staff and peered at the end of it, wondering if it needed recalibrating or something and longed for the good old days of fighting goblins that didn't move around much and broke easily.

I was speaking idiomatically.

12 Dice Rolls soggy's AoO vs rotwing

This was taking too long, Soggy groused, and the nancies he had to deal with for backup weren't helping the situation. He smashes his axe into the leathery bat-monster but it barely seems scratched. What were these things made of, metal?

Bastion of Defense: All allies (this doesn't include Soggy) gain +1 to defenses for the encounter and 5 temp. HP

Beginning of Delic's turn: 5 damage from ongoing ice

FUCK! DELIC'S TURN! Watch this space. Sorry, I started the update without realizing they'd healed you.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

2 Dice Rolls Damage?

Delic stands up slowly, muscles sore and contracted from the cold of the ice beast that attacked him mere moments before.

"Sonuva..." he slurs, the word coming out of his mouth like loose marbels or another really bad analogy.

He stops, still hunched over, too warry to move very far when he looks at his feet. "What the fuck are these things at my feet? Some kind of rebus?"

Turning his head like a confused dog, he utters "Ice Lock No Down Sleep Death Blood? Man, I wasn't even drunk and you people had to write all over me?"

Attempting to brandish his sword, he swings widely at the closest creature.

Attack at creature at O3

Most amazing jew boots

5 Dice Rolls *corpsplosion damage

Rising unsteadily to his feet, Delic lashes out at the Chillborn — and his blade actually connects! Perhaps the curse was over!

PS: all the dice for this post are on post #130, if you're wondering
Start of Garrmondo's turn: 5 damage from aura

Garrmondo attempts to capitalize on the zombie's wounds with another attempt to push it over the ledge, but to no avail. As Bob incinerates a particularly unfortunate pair of starlings en route to their nest, the Chillborn dashes back up the trail toward the wagon to avoid getting stabbed from three directions at once. The zombie makes no attempt to cover his flanks, however, and Garrmondo's shortsword cuts a massive gouge into the frozen meat. The Chillborn interrupts its retreat and mauls Motsognir with its remaining arm.

Garrmondo's AoO: 10 damage to Chillborn
Slam: 7 damage to Motsognir; immobilized, cold, etc

The Rotwing zombie moves to launch itself into the air for a third diving attack, but both Garrmondo and Delic slash into its wings as it attempts to take flight. It tumbles back onto the ground, rattled.

Garrmondo's AoO: 8 damage, bloodied
Delic's AoO: 14 damage

Motsognir, Delic, Garrmondo, Bob, Rotwing Zombie, Chllborn Zombie

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

1 Die Roll just die already

Motsognir keeps at it. Unable to move yet again, he sees the zombies' preoccupation and shouts for Delic to take another swing at the rotwing.

Commander's Strike

Jam it back in, in the dark.

2 Dice Rolls Damage

Not knowing where that voice came from, Delic moves next to the rotwing and swings.

Because he does what the voices tell him.

Moves to face rotwing
Swings

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Tired from the climb and the lengthy battle, the fighters make a last ferocious assault before the cold wears them down entirely. Delic chips away viciously at the icy coating just as Garrmondo darts in to jab his shortsword through the thing's torso — in the process puncturing a long-sealed pocket of putrid corpse gases. A faint hissing quickly escalates to a high-pitched whistle, and the pressure of escaping gas blows the chillborn zombie completely to bits. Chunks of frozen zombie go flying in every direction. Garrmondo takes an airborne kidney to the temple, but the brunt of the blast is absorbed by the rotwing, whose head is ripped clean off by the force of a flying clavicle.

It's kind of messy and unorthodox, but a kill is a kill.

VICTORY! 1500 XP (375 XP each)

Whatever trouble may lie at the lighthouse still looms ahead, but more pressing is the question of divvying up the late paladin's possessions. He's fish food, he's not gonna want that shield anymore. On top of that, there might be something worth having in the wagon now that a body can take a look without getting gnawed on.

From around a bend in the trail comes a worrisome combination of gurgling and growling that sounds very much like a large predator in some gastrointestinal distress. What rough meal, its hour come at last, slouches toward the Horde to be vomited up?

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

Motsognir picks up the boots Gabe had acquired from the sailor just before his disappearance and put them on, saw to his wounds, and began picking through the wagon wreckage.

Use one healing surge

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

The zombies defeated, I stopped to catch my breath and warm up my extremities. Seeing the pile of the ugly dwarf's belongings, I bowed my head briefly in recognition of the passing of a truly mighty warrior, before picking up the dog statue and helping myself to some of his trail rations and his rope. I planted the skull on a stick next to the road, with his skull hat laid beside it and scrawled on the cliff face using my chalk "Near here lies a dwarf (About 6 feet out and 600 yards down). Ugly as sin and mad as a box of Basilisks. We are proud to have known him" as an eternal monument to this sadly lost, undead warrior.

Wiping a tear from my eye, I joined the other dwarf, the last of my creations, who was busy rummaging through the cart to help him look for loot.

Healing surge back to full health, search for treasure

Most amazing jew boots

While the rest of the group pick through the other guy's crap, Delic takes his time to take the sea-tree's vine, knotting it down its length and then tying one end around himself and the other to his sword sheath.

This will come handy on a mountain, if theres a problem with falling over cliffs.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

What was left of the Horde rifled through the late paladin's gear, leaving most of it where it lay. Most of it was unsalvageable; what few things didn't have little animal skulls pasted to them were coated in hairs of unknown provenance.

Delic, inscrutable as ever, busies himself by knotting the rope he'd pilfered from the ship and then tying himself to his own scabbard. The scabbard is very important to the gentleman swordsman. Without it, the damage to the blade from rust can be immeasurable; now, no one will take this important accessory from him.

The rest of the group goes to take another look at the wrecked wagon. It stands to reason that they weren't the first group to fall into the zombies' trap and some of the poor idiots en route to the lighthouse must have had some worthwhile loot. Sure enough, a two-handed falchion is wedged under the wagon axle, miraculously unaffected by the weather.



As they consider which of them should take the sword, a hulking grizzly bear staggers into view. Groaning as if in great agony, the poor animal unsteadily meanders within a few yards of the Horde before flopping down onto the trail and letting forth a truly majestic torrent of vomit. An angry animal of some kind, possibly a badger or wolverine, thrashes about in the puddle for a few moments, trying to get back to its feet on the slippery trail. The bear, for its part, merely passes out.

Quite unceremoniously, the badger is then abruptly replaced by an equally ferocious halfling who continues to roil about in the puddle of bile for a few awkward seconds before he realizes he's being watched. Finally managing to right himself, he wipes the effluence from his face and assumes an expression of surprised optimism. These people were extraordinarily unlikely to swallow him whole. Today might turn out all right after all!

FELIPE NO

Finding nothing of immediate use in the wagon, I turned my attention to the small child who had just been vomitted up in front of us, remarking to anyone who was listening how strange it was that everytime we lost a party member, another candidate seemed to appear almost immediately. The last time we let a child tag along it hadn't ended well but with few alternatives on this path, we could use all the help we could get and the bear looked in no state for adventuring.

I waited for the others to finish what they were doing before heading off up the trail. I figured one of the humans would fill in the kid on what was going on, I was never great with kids.

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

And explore he did. The halfling went scuttling about through the crags and eventually stumbled upon a rather boring village. Very much empty. Very much dead. Nothing to steal. Nothing interesting. Boring. It did have a path to follow away from it though and that led to the cliffs. The path led up into the cliffs. Oh yes it did but Gordok thought following this path felt disingenuous to who he was. He could climb this cliff. He would caress and fondle every last stone until he was up to the top. Oh this would be good.

About thirty minutes up he'd stumbled upon something. Friends! Just the cutest icy zombies you ever did seen! And so Gordy played with his new friends exploring the cliff sides and scrambling over top of one another and biting at each other. It was just like home. Soon enough the undead grew wary of the sport and climbed back into their holes. Gordok waved goodbye and continued his ascent.



Gordok knew what sleeping in a cave was like. He was quite adept at it. He certainly knew what it was not. It wasn't this comfortable. It wasn't this warm. Least of all it wasn't this wet. Okay, well sometimes it was, but it certainly wasn't this squishy. Something had gone wrong while he slept. He had dreamt of playing with his earlier companions some more, so it was too cruel to find that as he reached out two of his buddies lay compactly and lifelessly inside this non-cave cavity.

As he shed a single tear for his icy pals Gordok noted something else. Whatever he had woken up in was now moving. Coming to his senses Gordok knew perfectly well what to do and what had happened for this wasn't all that an uncommon event in his life having had happened at least ten times before. He'd almost lost Uncle Fehrlok one drunken night when he wasn't quite right for pulling off this escape, but Gordy was pretty damn sober right now and this time he didn't really believe that whatever had swallowed him whole had any relations to him so he wouldn't have to hold back.

Five minutes later and he was free. Back into the cold world he flopped and rolled. The heaving and sick had made it a bit unpleasant but Gordok had rather enjoyed the warmth. He had no more need for his extra tools anymore as whatever had scarfed him up had promptly keeled over for the night.



Jam it back in, in the dark.

Waiting until his woman was out of earshot, Motsognir pulls the new halfling aside and shows him the ropes in a menacing sotto voce. "Listen you little shit, let's get something straight right off the bat. Lady's mine, alright? So you can cut this 'hello gorgeous' business, or," he points to the bear, "I'll feed you to something less forgiving than old Smokey over there. Capiche?"

Arrogantly picking up the weapon from the wagon wreckage, he saunters off after the elf.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Scooping up the falchion, Soggy irritably resumes tramping uphill after Bob. He shoots the rest of the group a dirty look, and they hurry to catch up.

The trail gets rougher still as it ascends into the rarefied air near the peak, narrowing to little more than a tiny footpath that then vanishes entirely under densely-packed snow.

At long last, the Horde reaches the lighthouse gates. At this distance, the Fang Light is finally visible — reduced to a sputtering ember instead of the massive conflagration it's intended to be, it hovers over the lighthouse tower.

The gate itself is locked. A massive figure, armored in head to toe, stomps up to the other side of the gate and stares intently at the Horde, his red eyes glowing through his helmet.

"Adam" he grumbles, his head turning ever-so-slightly to glance behind him. "Visitors."

He pauses, and then, his voice carrying a faint undertone of disgust, adds:

"They're made out of meat."

"What, again? The entire reason we chose this location for our work was its inhospitability to meat. And yet, for the third time this month, meat!"

Another armored figure, this one somewhat smaller, steps forward and pulls open the gate.

"Good evening, Meat Individuals 43 through 47. As there is no plausible reason you should be in a place with such meat-hostile temperatures, you have obviously arrived via some kind of accident in the pathfinding routines of your meat brains. There was a meat-person dwelling here when we arrived, but due to his hostility we were forced to punch holes in his meat until he stopped moving around. Consequently, we were free to discard all of the various articles he had here to make meat-survivability viable at this altitude. Therefore I advise you for your own safety to reverse course and return immediately to whatever seacraft you may have arrived by. Or, it goes without saying, else."

A third voice, seemingly coming from atop the lighthouse tower, shouts something intelligible, and the green lights shining from within Adam's helmet seem to flicker rapidly.

"Unless", Adam asks with the air of someone having to ask a pointless question for the 43rd time that month, "You know anything about the upkeep and repair of Class-R spelljammers?"

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

"Uhhhhhhh" the dwarf mutters dumbly, thinking back.

Arcana check!

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

We finally made it to the lighthouse after a long slog through the snow. I had amused myself during the climb by rolling small snowballs off the side of the mountain, watching them grow larger and larger as they rolled before smashing apart on the jagged outcrops of rock dotted about the mountainside.

When finally we reached the gates of the lighthouse, we were greated by what looked like a couple of suits of animated armour. What was particularly impressive was that these suits of armour could speak!

I couldn't really understand them of course as they spoke with the same infuriating dialect that everyone else in this part of the world seemed to share but I did catch the odd word or two, in particular spelljammer which sounded like something I might have learned about at university.

I wracked my brains for any hidden memories on the subject whilst wandering over to the nearest suit of armour and giving it a good looking over, trying to see how it worked. Rapping the breastplate with my staff to see if it was hollow, I peered through the eye-slits, hoping to fathom out the internal workings. These really were quite fascinating pieces of either arcana or machinery.

Skill check for spelljammer knowledge, go and investigate the nearest chap more closely

I was speaking idiomatically.