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

What Has Gone Before

Spoiler:

Adventure 1: The Dungeon Of Doom

In which the newly-formed Horde is cast into a subterranean prison, and fights their way to freedom through a host of vicious goblins, selfish kobolds, suspicious dwarves, and a dragon entrapped by its own machinations. After overcoming many hurdles (and losing Fescue, the party rogue, to an accursed jewel), the Horde blasts a hole through the dungeon walls and escapes to freedom — dragging along with them an old halfling woman who really only seemed to want to take a nap.

Adventure 2: Crusader

In which the Horde, having formed a small mercenary company for lack of any better prospects, takes on the responsibility of retrieving a magical sword for an unfortunate paladin. To their dismay the Horde discovers that the sword (the eponymous Crusader) is not only hidden in the abandoned home of a most paranoid mage but is greatly sought after by agents of evil who wish to keep it from the paladin's hands. In the end their client is dead, and the blade is sold to a halfling crimelord in exchange for a future favor — a favor that (of this writing) has not yet been called on.

Adventure 3: The Haunting Of Hargast

A desperate plea for help from a distant village leads the Horde to the tiny farming community of Hargast, where a terrible curse has taken root: Hargast's dead are rising from their graves. Worse yet, they always come out at night and the Horde is unlucky enough to have arrived at dusk. After a grim battle to defend the local tavern until dawn, the Horde descends into the ancient catacombs beneath the village to discover the restless spirits of more than a few dead adventurers not unlike themselves. Even as they close in on the source of the disturbances, a terrible miscalculation on the part of the party's warlord leads to an onslaught of venomous spiders and the tragic death of Brigid Conmara, cleric of Melora. Only by making a grim pact with a demon do the rest escape with their lives. In the end the terrors seem to stem from a supposed "vampire lord" who is nothing more than an unusually persuasive gnome. The fortuitous arrival of a human mercenary following up on the same lead helped to shore up the flagging morale of the Horde, but even so the battle against the gnome and his servants was only barely survived. Harrowed by the experience, the party's burly fighter (Argumentus) retires in Hargast to live the rest of his life as a peaceful farmer.

Adventure 4: All In The Same Boat

Seeking fresh air and freedom after second excursion underground, the Horde signs up for simple guard work aboard a merchant ship — and an enthusiastic nobleman with a flair for the dramatic invites himself along with them. Alas, not only is the craft beset by pirates but by a terrible storm that dashes the craft into the rocks and beaches it on a barren island. The lighthouse meant to help guide ships through the vicious local reefs has gone dark, and the Horde is asked to investigate while the ship's regular crew works to repair the damage. As they climb the dizzying heights to reach the lighthouse, the Horde's dwarven paladin succumbs to the common dwarven curse of agoraphobia. Driven mad by the great heights and the open sea, Gabriel Sledgehammer casts aside his worldly goods and flings himself into the icy waters below. Soon after, the ragged band encounters a sickly bear. Though they prepare to fight the beast, it merely vomits on them — expelling a small, confused halfling druid in the form of a badger. He promptly invites himself to join their company. It is discovered that the lighthouse's magical fire is doused by the intense power needs of a damaged magical spacecraft — one which the Horde is able to help repair. After a brief joyride, the spacemen deposit the Horde back on the ship in which they'd arrived just in time to finish their originally intended deliveries.

Adventure 5: Delicious and Moist

Tired of even the simplest jobs ending in some bizarre twist, the Horde takes the simplest assignment they can find: retrieve a cake from a thieving orc. Despite the orc having fled into the Freeport sewers, the inexplicably heavy pastry is retrieved quickly and without complication despite the group's great paranoia.

Adventure 6: Secret Cow Level

A sage requests that the Horde descend into an ancient labyrinth beneath a mountain to recover artifacts from a long-ago minotaur civilization. Things quickly take a turn for the bizarre as both the party's warlord and the elven mage disappear without a trace in a single night. Still, a bustling settlement thrives in the corridors beneath the mountain, and a mechanical bard and his long-suffering cleric friend are invited into the fold for a share of the rewards. After some missteps, the newly formed "G-Unit" frees a clutch of slaves almost entirely by accident before smashing the nearest ancient artifact and fleeing back to the surface — discovering along the way that their noble companion was nothing more than a terribly confused shapeshifter the entire time. A shapeshifter with... unpleasant hobbies.

But stranger still is Lost Carcosa.

And so it was that, reveling in their new wealth from the profitable (if embarrassing) Thunderspire job, the G-Unit went in search of the Kafe Ilkin: the only coffeehouse in the city. It's easily distinguished from the clutch of taverns and whorehouses that surround it; patrons wander out chatting excitedly instead of staggering around and scratching themselves.

The proprietor of the Kafe, a young fire genasi woman called Arzu, greets the G-Unit excitedly. No one else had come to inquire about the play since it had slipped her mind to offer any form of reward and she'd been far too busy to get a corrected message put up on the chanter's board. She explains her situation in bits and pieces, shouting over the din of customers while darting in and out of the back room. Glock peers through the doors as she passes back and forth, catching a tantalizing glimpse of the vast and complicated device that pressed the imported coffee beans and steamed them into the bitter black beverage. Something about the huge device seemed hauntingly familiar, as though it had been once been meant to build something far less innocuous than hot drinks.

"Ah, thank Pelor you've come!", the genasi shouts excitedly, shaking Glock's hand before shrugging apologetically to the others. She was sure they'd understand; most folks would prefer to skip the handshake if they avoided severe burns in the bargain. While Arzu could control her elemental heritage, keeping her hands piping-hot during business hours saved quite a bit in firewood for heating the coffee.

"So it's like this. My father built this place with his own hands before I was born, and I waitressed for him as soon as I could carry a tray. It was rough after Mom passed away but we survived — Freeport's never been a big city for drinking anything other than rum, but the handful of upper-crust types tipped well enough to pay the bills.

A few weeks ago somebody finally took care of whatever in the hells was fouling up the Fang lighthouse, and a dozen backed-up shipments poured into port all at once. We went from having almost no beans in stock to having more than we could store. Dad and I talked it over and we decided to serve the coffee at double strength to get rid of the overstock without just throwing it out. We underestimated to some degree the effects of concentrated coffee on some of the smaller-statured races, I think."

Her eyes roll up toward the ceiling, where a sweaty, twitching gnome clings desperately to a rafter — and then she carefully climbs atop a barstool to take his empty cup away and hand him a fresh one.

"We also underestimated the value of such a powerful stimulant to the criminal classes, who derive great value from staying up when sensible people have gone to bed. Once all the hoods were drinking it, the watch decided they needed to be drinking it too, and before we could even talk about hiring more help we had more business than we could handle.

Dad's an old man, and unfortunately the strain of the past few weeks have taken their toll on him. He's been too weary to rise from bed. I'm running the place in all but name, and I think it won't be long before I hang up a shingle for the Kafe Arzu.

Dad lived in Hallowfeld before pulling up roots and coming to Freeport, and it was a bitter blow to him when the playwright Sophia Lasilaran made the same move in reverse. He's always admired her work, but he's spent his life working too hard to give up an evening for leisure. He's seen all her plays in the theatre of his mind, refusing tickets to the performances and just reading the written plays over and over. But now—"

Arzu smiles self-consciously.

"I'm babbling, aren't I. I probably shouldn't sample so much of my own brew. Here's the thing. Lasilaran has announced the premier engagement of her newest play — a work she calls The King In Yellow. It will take months, if not longer, for written copies to filter their way out of Hallowfeld... and my father almost certainly doesn't have that long to wait. I certainly can't leave the kafe long enough to fetch it myself... the addicts will rob the place blind once they catch on that nobody's watching them.

It shouldn't be a hard job. Just get a copy of the play's script any way you can. If you can get Lasilaran's autograph on it that would be wonderful, but I won't hold my breath for that. I've heard she lives in a big mansion overlooking the rest of the village. I can't offer you much in the way of a reward, but once Kafe Arzu does see its grand re-opening maybe we can talk about cutting you in for a share of the profits — and all the free drinks you want."

It sounds like easy work, and the vague promise of future profit is more than enough reward for a simple fetch job. After asking around for directions to Hallowfeld (Arzu can barely remember the place, having left as a child), G-Unit is on their way.

—————

When the party arrives at the empty-looking village that a sign on the town outskirts assures them is Hallowfeld, they're a little confused: a makeshift wooden stage has been assembled in the town square and a handful of props are still scattered atop it. It seems they've already missed the premier performance of the play, but why haven't the locals disassembled the set? In fact, where are all the locals? It's nearly high noon when G-Unit rolls into town aboard their one-pony wagon, and it seems that everyone else is still laying in bed. It's a tiny little town by any measure; 3 or 4 storefronts and perhaps three dozen residences all told. On a hill just south of the village proper, a tall manor house looks down upon the party — casting a long black shadow in the noonday sun.

It's Gordok who first notices signs that there may have been some kind of accident; several of the buildings nearest the square bear faint scorch marks, as though they'd weathered a small explosion. Worse, the rough-cobbled road leading through the center of town is splattered here and there with dried bloodstains.

Cal, one-time woodsman that he is, immediately takes an interest in the dozens of faint foot tracks in the muddy ground on either side of the cobblestone road. Some of them strike him as out-of-place, and he can't quite determine their species of origin. Cal was the last person to make negative assumptions about someone based on the shape of their feet, but you don't usually see anything but humans in middle-of-nowhere burgs like this. Still, maybe the play had attracted some strange patrons. Four sets of tracks, all clearly human, diverge from the muddle and lead directly out of town.

A strange symbol has been painted in bright yellow across the purple curtain that hangs behind the stage as a backdrop. It strikes Gheth as almost religious in nature; since the drawing doesn't seem to represent any physical object he can recognize, perhaps it's some kind of icon. But it's not the symbol of any god he's ever heard of, and he finds that he feels more and more uneasy the longer he studies it. Glancing around at his companions, he notices that they, too, are studiously looking at absolutely anything other than the yellow paint. Garrmondo in particular has found his bootlaces absolutely fascinating.

For Garrmondo's part, he is actually less worried about the painted curtain than he is about the sounds he hears coming from the butcher shop to his left. Judging from the hissing, the sloshing, and the noisy labored breathing, a half-dozen fat bastards are coming his way with a bucket full of wet snakes. Even as he reports these sounds to the group, Glock begins to hear similar noises coming from the general store on the opposite side of the road.



Jam it back in, in the dark.

3 Dice Rolls Stealth check to hide

There could only be one explanation for the mysterious yellow mark.



Moo cowers in fear behind the warforged, intently studying the environs for signs of any enemy activity.Clearly spooked, Moo hastily mounts Denny, and opens up his ears to pick up any aural cues of enemy activity. In fact, the ranger is suddenly stricken by his once-dormant deep-seated arachnophobia, no doubt re-triggered by the spidery mark!

Fear washes over the minotaur and he instinctively commands the horse to move back - away from the noises.

Attempt to hide behind Glock. 7 + 13 = 20.
Ride on dat horse and move back. Keep 16 squares away from the town square and buildings.
Can we has map?
Ready Twin Strike against any creature that's clearly hostile.
Nature Check: Rack brains for monster trivia. Fat overweight snake men. Anything comes to mind? 6 + 10 = 16.
Perception Check 15 + 10 = 25: Are snake-like hissing approaching from directions other than the left and the right? How far away is the source, judging by the sound and the volume? How many distinct hissing/shuffling sounds can Cal hear, in addition to the half-dozen heard by Garrmondo?

Most amazing jew boots

1 Die Roll rollin' and patrollin'

Glancing at the yellow symbol, Glock thinks it might be some sort of rune or magic something something. He scans his databases for something of interest.

Arcana on interesting signage.
31

But snakes! Why did it have to be snakes?

Glock shoves the coward to the ground. "Hide behind me again and you're a dead man."

Looking out towards the noise, the robot starts hissing back.

"Sssssss~"

"Sssss?"

"Ssss-sss!"

Most amazing jew boots

8 Dice Rolls readied twinstrike

Cal quickly vaults back atop his mount and retreats back to the village outskirts. He has no idea what could be approaching or whether or not it represents a threat; he just knows he is absolutely terrified of everything.

Glock studies the weird symbol on the curtain, but can't make any sense of it. To the contrary, it almost seems to make less and less sense the longer he stares. There's no wind and the curtain itself is absolutely motionless, but the yellow symbol almost seems to be undulating... turning... its horrid appendages reaching out from the curtain and seeking to grasp him in their slimy—

Glock breaks from this reverie with a start, banging the heel of his hand against his temples to knock the glitches out of his visual apparatus. It's just paint. That's all it is. Still, Glock finds himself strangely reluctant to look directly at the yellow paint again.

Utterly unconcerned with the signs of slimy doom scattered about the village square, Gordok whiles away a few minutes with his wonderful new hand. The noisy locals didn't seem to be in any hurry to come greet them. They kept coming closer but nobody had come out to say hi. Maybe they had broken legs! Just a whole bunch of broken-legged guys. A really short guy with a stick had rolled into town and he just went crazy, that was the trouble here. It explained the blood AND the weird footprints! People with broken legs walked funny, after all. Gordy had the mystery all figured out. Little Dexter kept skittering around in a panic, but what did he know? He didn't even have a brain, technically.

Garrmondo and Gheth stand by stoically, for they are men of action.

After many long moments, the residents of Hallowfeld at long last stagger out of their homes to meet the new arrivals. A dozen horrid things pour out of the surrounding homes and storefronts, their individual human features mostly obscured by clusters of writhing feelers and scattered clumps of iridescent scales. Only the occasional shredded tunic provides any indication that these things were ever really human to begin with, and their bodies dangle limply in midair — suspended by thick, rubbery tentacles erupting from their backs. There's no sign that the villagers are aware of their horrid transformation, or for that matter aware of anything: they stare dully ahead as their tentacles drive them forward, less looking at the G-Unit then past them. A horrid susurrus pours from their slack jaws; the raspy, desperate wheeze of a drowning man.

Among these pitiable forms one stands alone. A man in priest's robes stands nearly unchanged among the hideous horde, with only his translucent skin and his long, sinuous arms to mark him as the horror that he is. He smiles, and as he speaks his jaw slowly unhinges from his skull and transforms into a long, pale needle like that of a mosquito — or a stirge. These were the last words he would ever speak.

"Tell me, have you seen the Yellow Sign?"

His neck bloats as strange new organs erupt inside him, and a broken chain bearing Avandra's symbol falls forgotten into the mud. The amassed abominations issue a horrible groan, and the G-Unit prepares to defend itself. Expecting trouble, Cal looses his readied arrow at the nearest creature — but his shot goes wild, lodging between the planks of a humble woodshed.

Defenses:
Transformed Villagers AC 18 Fort 14 Ref 17 Will 15
Transformed Priest AC 22 Fort 20 Ref 21 Will 20

Cal 22, Gheth 21, Priest 20, Glock 20, Villagers 16, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7

Pang this picture is huge and we look like specks! THANKS ZERG.

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

6 Dice Rolls Damage from TS#2

Relieved that they aren't facing any martians with tripods today, Moo's heart returns from his throat to his chest cavity, and starts beating more normally.

It's time for battle, and Moo gets into combat-ready mood by humming a heroic song in his head.
Get the Flash Player to play this audio file:
Drawing a bead on the nearest monsters, Moo lets loose his patented Twin Strike barrageTM.

The nearest villagers at I-2, I4, and G3 evaporate as each arrow finds its mark.

Buoyed by his success, the changeling nudges his precious mount forward, but only by a little bit.

As confirmed by Pangalin, transformed villagers are minions.
AC18 vs. 11 to hit = 7+ attack rolls to hit.
Villager at I-2 takes 3 damage, Villager at I4 takes 12 damage, Villager at G3 takes 4 damage.
Move to center of P4-Q5

I was speaking idiomatically.

4 Dice Rolls damage -1

Shambling horrors! Tainted personifications of warped thinking and warped being. These creatures caused one's sight to scrabble for familiar purchase. Dark writhing limbs splayed in impossible positions, blind milky misshapen eyes staring without sight...it was enough to loosen the hinges on one's mind.

Gheth heard the rattling gasp of the priest, saw the symbol of Avandra fall to the mud, and steeled his jaw for what was to come. This place had been ravaged, body and soul, but he'd be damned if he'd permit himself the same.

Gheth approached a small group of the creatures, and with a frozen bellow, put voice to his rage...and his fear.
"BACK WITH YOU, ABOMINATIONS!"

Move to -B-1
Dragon's Breath so as to hit all three northern minions
Crit on -C-3; miss -E-2; hit -C-1 (3 damage)


What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

3 Dice Rolls reel 'em in

Within seconds nearly half of the former villagers had been sent to their rest, and G-Unit breathed a little easier. Glock turns to the corrupted priest to make a cutting remark when one of the cleric's long, sinuous arms lashes out and wraps around his neck. The priest drags him closer, piercing Glock's neck with his obscene proboscis and draining nutrient fluid from his circulatory tubes. Evidently these guys aren't picky eaters.

Tentacle: Reach 2, +13 vs AC, 2d6+5 damage; 9 damage to Glock, grabbed and immobilized
Inexorable Drag: +12 vs Fortitude, targets grabbed creatures; Glock slid to -A4

Start of Glock's turn: Vitality Leech effects grabbed creatures; Glock takes 10 necrotic damage, Priest gains 10 temporary HP

Glock 20, Villagers 16, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Priest 20

FELIPE NO

3 Dice Rolls Escapin'

"Dude, what the fuck? If you wanted Glock juice you could have just asked. I'm always down for making more of that."

Asshole may have him by the throat but tha...*BAM*

ROBO HEADBUTT.

Warsong Strike on priest, let's just run with the flavour text alright
14+11 = 25 > 22. Hit.
6+5 = 11 damage.

Glock's forceful impact of his forehead upon soft flesh brings squishy bits and mucus all over his frontal bits. That's no good. It doesn't help him when he tries to wiggle his delicious booty free either. Alas.

Escape!
Fail.

Shaking his head a bit makes the goggles slide down amongst the flesh gunk, though. Oh yes. GOGGLE TIME GO.

Gogglin' dat priest

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

10 Dice Rolls villager4 attack

The warforged slams his forehead into the shifting face of the priest, but it does nothing to loosen his rubbery grip. Although Glock had taken the time during during their stay in Freeport to adjust the settings on his goggles to something more practical, they still refused to respond promptly. At first the view through the goggles shifted wildly, flickering through dozens of different scan modes — and when the viewfinder finally settled on "Humanoid" it started throwing out calibration errors. What the hell was wrong with these things, you'd think the designers had never heard of an... um.



The priest issues a low, wet gurgle from deep in his throat, and the rest of the villagers abruptly turn and beeline directly for the entangled warforged. Dinner is served, it seems. Garrmondo tries to stop them as they go rushing past, but their undulating forms make it hard to judge where to aim his blade.

Within an instant, Glock is completely surrounded by the shapeless horrors. Try as he might, their sheer numbers make it impossible to stop them from pummeling him with their flailing limbs. Metal joints or no, the bard isn't really designed to stand up to this kind of punishment and he struggles to stay on his feet.

Villager 5 Claw: +14 vs AC; 7 damage to Glock (bloodied)
Villager 9 Claw: 7 damage to Glock
Villager 6 Claw: 7 damage to Glock
Villager 4 Claw: 7 damage to Glock

Gordok prepares to spring into action to save his metal buddy when he spots something else entering the fray. Crawling (although the things did not walk so much as pour over the ground like an animate fluid) out of the houses on either side of the stage were horrible bundles of undifferentiated flesh, roiling bundles of gore studded with eyes and teeth. Gordok could hear the things babbling away in some incomprehensible tongue. Even the earth itself seemed to recoil from the touch of the abominations; little clods of dirt and rock shifted around in their wake, making everything around them into a tiny earthquake.

Special considerations:
Gibbering Mouthers have All-Around Vision: they cannot be flanked
Gibbering Mouthers have a 3-square Warped Ground aura; squares within the aura are Difficult Terrain.
Mouther Defenses: AC 20, Fort 21, Ref 14, Will 17

Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Priest 20, Gibbering Mouthers 20, Glock 20, Villagers 16

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Surrounded by assclowns, Glock fears a beating. HOW UNFORTUNATE.

Although he's being throttled a bit, he can st...*BAM*

ROBO DODGE

Immediate Interrupt: Skald's Armour.
Villager 9's claw bounces off and impacts the face of one of the other villagers attacking. 6, I guess. Why not.

Damage saved from Villager 9. Villager 6 disintegrated before he can do damage.

14 HP saved!

Bullet time does have it's uses.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

10 Dice Rolls priest say wall taste like yum

Gordok walks up to the group after seeing Glock quickly dodge a punch.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You move like they do. I've never seen anyone move that fast."

Still showing some signs of wear, the robot frowned. "Not fast enough." Glancing around, he adds "Can you help me?"

"Not yet."

The hand on Gordy's shoulder approaches his face and curls all fingers except his thumb and pinky.

"Dexter G, I need a magic program for a V-212 wind spell. Hurry."

Not a moment later, Gordok smirked. "Let's go."


Move to B2
I know tundrawind-fu entire 3x3 square group

Tundra Wind deals 11 damage to the priest and four villagers and misses Glock and 2 villagers. The priest is pushed 3 spaces and knocked prone freeing Glock from the priest's grasp.

Villagers at A4, A3, -A3, -B3 turn into dust and muck.

Priest is pushed north into villager at -B5 killing that minion. Then the priest is shoved east into the building at -B6 for 5 damage. Bouncing off the building he reaches his destination at -C5 knocked prone.

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

3 Dice Rolls Crit bonus

The clever halfling rides to the hapless bard's rescue, as his magnificent wind blasts away all but one of the minions. But lo and behold. Is that a squirming set of protoplasmic eyes and teeth that now grace the battlefield? This is surely a sign from the gods. A sign admonishing the ranger on the perils of looting biological material from corpses of slain enemies! How did they know that he was trying to create his own Übermensch, his modern Prometheus, with the body parts?? Well, perhaps the dozens of specimen flasks he brought along was a dead give-away.

Whatever. The ranger, ever irreverent, ignores the omen and starts dreaming up ways to harvest the abominations for useful body parts.

It's a shame the fighter was too busy making jokes to concentrate on the task at hand! Moo lets himself a small chuckle as he prepares another barrage. A poorly-stifled giggle sends the first shot flying into the sky; the ranger recovers in time to let off a subsequent shot. The second arrow swiftly changes the first one's direction, repositioning it to slam deeply inside the hapless Wallace. Now that has got to hurt.

Two-Fanged Strike against Priest: First attack fails miserably. Second attack is a crit.
Priest takes max damage for 1d10 + 7 (17 HP) and 5 poison damage, for a total of 22.
1 temp HP gained (lulz) due to Glock's Warsong Strike.
Hooray! My first critical!

Enemy Stats
Priest [AC 22 Fort 20 Ref 21 Will 20] - 39 dmg [19/58] (bloodied at 29) - currently prone: +2 to melee rolls, -2 to ranged rolls
Mouther A [AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] - 0 dmg [xx/xx]
Mouther B [AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] - 0 dmg [xx/xx]
Minion [AC 18 Fort 14 Ref 17 Will 15] x1

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

2 Dice Rolls *damage

This ramshackle congregation was rapidly dwindling. Stepping carefully to avoid the shaky ground surrounding the piles of creeping flesh, Gheth steps in to give the former priest his last benediction.

Move to -C4
Healing Strike on Priest with bonus to Glock (20 damage)
Hasta la priesta, baby

I was speaking idiomatically.

7 Dice Rolls Garr took AoO from villager 5

The priest gurgles noisily, strange ichors pooling around the gaping wound left by Gheth's spear. The former holy man reaches out with a ropey arm toward the symbol dangling from the dragonborn's neck, then slumps into eternal silence. Even as the priest's breathing draws to a ragged close, his flesh begins to melt away like a candle tossed carelessly into a campfire. Within seconds there's nothing left of Wallace Kohl but the tattered shreds of his tunic and a greasy stain on the dirt; not even bones remain. A quick glance around confirms the same fate has overtaken the fallen villagers. So much for a proper burial.

The gibbering monstrosities begin to lurch toward G-Unit, the earth boiling in their wake. One of them lunges at Gordok, seeing the little warlock as an easy target, but the halfling nimbly dodges the horrible psuedopods that come lashing out at him. He'd never had anyone try to throw their mouth at him before, if you don't count the incident with old Widow Greybucket. It took the hobgoblin shamans three weeks to dislodge the wooden dentures from their... unfortunate target. He still had the scars.

Bite: +13 vs AC, Miss.
Mouther A grants combat advantage for a round due to "running".

The second flesh-heap issues a terrible wail, ululating with its dozens of toothy mouths. Both Gheth and Garrmondo were close enough for the horrible noise to overwhelm their senses, but the cleric swiftly throws his hands over his ears. The fighter is not so quick, and the noise starts to reverberate inside his head until he can scarcely concentrate. The sheer vibration of the sound seems to tear the last of the standing villagers apart, and it collapses into a slimy puddle like the rest of them. As soon as the wail returns to its ordinary background babbling, Gheth turns to see the mouther hurtling at him with its many awful maws poised for a bite. His shield holds back the bulk of the monster, but several pseudopods whip past his defenses, ripping little chunks out of his vulnerable head and neck. Worse, the freakish thing's saliva burned away at the open wounds.

Gibbering: +10 vs Will, Garr is dazed for 1 round
Bite: 10 damage to Gheth, ongoing 10 acid damage (save ends)

Glock 20, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Gibbering Mouthers 20,

Again, apologies for the insane tininess of the details

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

2 Dice Rolls its hurt, and is crying inside

It sure didn't take long for the squishies to fall. As it should be.

Look at all those mouthes, Glock thought. Man, if he knew a woman like that, well...

Snapping out of his little fantasy and wiping the grin off his face, He loo...*BAM*

ROBO INSULT

Move to D5.
Vicious Mockery at Mouther A
9 Damage.
-2 to-hit penalty.

FELIPE NO

3 Dice Rolls curse damage

Gordok is no stranger to being eaten but frankly this thing is a bit much and too close for comfort. Dexter G does not find a disembodied pile of body parts very distressing and cooly passes Gordy the items he needs. With his trusty rod of reaving in hand the halfling deals out a curse and winks at Garrmondo.

"Garr, give this thing something to chew on."

Suddenly Gordok with Dexter G in tow and Garrmondo are momentarily whisked away. When they reemerge Gordy now has the range he seeks and Garr is next to an easy target ready for smashing. Dexter G exchanges the rod of reaving for the wand of hellish rebuke. Oh mouther, your hunger has led to great misfortune. Dark energy lights up beginning this monstrosity's doom.

FREE ACTION: Dexter G gives Gordok Rod of Reaving
MINOR ACTION: Warlock's Curse on Mouther A. Mouther A takes 1 HP damage
MOVE ACTION: Feyswitch with Garr
FREE ACTION: Dexter G swaps Rod of Reaving for Wand of Hellish Rebuke
STANDARD ACTION: Eldritch Blast Mouther A.

Mouther A takes 13 damage from Eldritch Blast and 2 curse damage. 15 damage total.

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

4 Dice Rolls Awesome, let's hit you again

And just like the evaporating spined devils, the villagers collapse into a muck. This is very unfair, Moo thinks. Why can't he have nice biological things? Framarth's heart is aching for new companions! Technically, Gnasc's gonads do too, but they've already been turned into magic consumables, so...

Unable to clearly see the enemy from his vantage point (as the wooden wagon is blocking his view), Moo nudges Denny to the northwest, stopping far short of the monster of course. It wouldn't do well for the changeling to lose his faithful and loyal steed on the first outing. Curiously, the steed is even more squishy than he is. Plus, horses aren't cheap, costing a staggering 9 months of a common laborer's wages.

Fishing out a Kruthik Tooth arrow, Moo takes aim at the closest thing that he can see, marking him as his quarry. Maybe this will dissuade the overgrown amoeba thing from eating poor dazed Carr!

Move horse 9 squares to I-5 / J-4 block. I am located at, and am shooting from I-4.
Mouther A is my quarry.
Twin Strike with Kruthik Tooth Arrows on Mouther A. Need AC20 - combat advantage (2) - 11 = 7 to hit. Second arrow misses.
Mouther A takes 14 HP damage (6 + 6 + 2).


Jam it back in, in the dark.

3 Dice Rolls save vs acid

Sensing that the first fleshopoid seemed to be taken well in hand, Gheth focused on the one that had tried to relieve him of his life juices. After all, like his professor had always said--

Quote:

"Life juices are crucial for living! They keep life going to all your parts! Of course, these are scientific terms I'm using, but I'm sure you all get the general impression I'm trying to make. Don't lose your, or anyone else's, life juices!"

Move to -C2
Daunting Light on Mouther B with CA to Garr (20 damage)
Divine Fortune for save roll
Saved vs. acid


There's nowhere I can't reach.

17 Dice Rolls feast b damage

The shapeshifter looses his modified arrow, wondering what vile biological toxins may be imbued within a kruthik's bite. As it turns out they're pretty good toxins, if not especially fast-acting.

Mouther A bloodied by Cal's Kruthik Arrow, exposed to Filth Fever. If it contracts the disease it may lose a healing surge!

The nearest sludgelump to the wagon issues its terrible howl again. Gheth is too busy dealing with its companion to cover his ears in time, and Glock (truly a sensitive musician at heart) finds the dissonant noise too appalling to ignore.

Gibbering: Gheth and Glock dazed for a round

As the party reels back from the noisy horror, it lashes out with its pseudopods in all directions before reeling them back in — with chunks of bloody flesh in tow.

Gibbering Feast: Close Burst 5, +13 vs AC, 8 damage to Gheth and Garr, 10 ongoing acid damage (save ends)

The second mouther emits a similar screech (dazing Gordok in the process), and lumbers closer to the wagon.

Gibbering: Gord & Gheth dazed for a round

With Gordok too dizzy to stop the creature as it flows right past him, the mouther settles into a position closer to its companion — and closer to the center of G-Unit's party formation.

Gibbering Feast:11 damage to Gordok and Glock (Glock bloodied), and ongoing 10 acid damage (save ends). Garrmondo recovers from being Dazed.

Start of Glock's turn: 10 acid damage.

Glock 20, Gordok 9, Garrmondo 7, Cal 22, Gheth 21, Gibbering Mouthers 20

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

1 Die Roll save 1

Virtue of Cunning
Garr to A2

Glock shakes his robo-head. Wait a minute, what the fuck is go...*BAM*

ROBO RESOLVE

Warforged Resolve
6 Real HP.
11 Temp HP.
Acid gone.

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

3 Dice Rolls save?

(I am going to assume Acer's silence means he's onboard)
(Acer, Garr, and Cal delay until after my turn)

The chunks taken out of his shoulder had the secondary effect of waking Gheth the hell up as he snarled in pain. Nothing like a gouge through one's shoulder meat to put a shine on the rest of the day.

Gheth reacted, firing off another holy bolt at one of the weakening creatures, and hoping his legs would be able to keep him upright for the duration.

Lance of Faith on Mouther A with bonus to Garrmondo (6 damage)

I was speaking idiomatically.

5 Dice Rolls save against acid damage

"IT BURNS! IT BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURNS!"

Oh my! Hmmm... well this isn't too bad. Gordok desperately needs a bath anyway. Writhing in agony as the acid tears away layers of collected filth and grime Gordok crooks his hand and concentrates on the terrible glob of itsmommadon'tevenlovethisface. He would make it feel bad. Gordy does not enjoy forced bathing. He has the right to his dirty. Unfortunately the acid doesn't seem to care and continues removing his caked buildup.

Gordok's turn is after Gheth and Garrmondo.

Diabolic Grasp Mouther B

Mouther B is pushed into Mouther A and bounces back into square -A2.

Total Damage: Mouther B (33 damage), Mouther A (2)

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

2 Dice Rolls Mommy, it hurts

The changeling marvels at the unusually quick reaction of the clever halfling. Usually, Cordy takes longer to plan his seriously-damaging attacks, but this one was accomplished in record time.

Enough marveling, and back to business. The bullying warforged has mandated the gibbering twit's execution, and the ranger is only happy to oblige. Drawing a bead on his quarry, Moo lets loose an impossibly quick attack as fast as a shadow wasp.


Bullseye!

It's super effective!

Moo only hopes that a few mouths and teeth, or perhaps even some vocal cords, can be salvaged from the monster's corpse, when all is said and done.

Shadow Wasp Strike on Mouther A. It takes max damage of 27+8+6 = 41, of which 6 is poison.
Designate Mouther B as quarry. It's got 21 HP left, I don't think I need to do this, but with Garr's dice, who knows?

Battle Stats
[AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] Mouther A : 87 dmg [xx/56~76] kilt daid
[AC 20 Fort 21 Ref 14 Will 17] Mouther B : 55 dmg [xx/56~76] max 21 HP left
[AC 22 Fort 17 Ref 21 Will 18] Cal: 49(1)/49
[AC 23 Fort 22 Ref 17 Will 17] Garr: 39/57 | ongoing 10 acid
[AC 23 Fort 18 Ref 16 Will 21] Gheth: 19/56 | dazed / ongoing 10 acid
[AC 22 Fort 15 Ref 18 Will 20] Glock: 14(11)/50 | dazed
[AC 19 Fort 17 Ref 16 Will 18] Gordok: 34/54 | dazed / ongoing 10 acid


FELIPE NO

7 Dice Rolls howlin' vs gord

The mouther flops around uselessly like a fuckin' idiot. THE END.

Fuckin' things never come through in the clinch

Gheth and Glock dazed again

Glock 20, Gheth 19, Garrmondo 7, Gordok 6, Cal 5, Gibbering Mouthers 20

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

2 Dice Rolls but hoes and damage

A mysterious noise started playing out of Glock's headspeakers.

YouTube Video

"Oh yeah baby, you and me. Mmhmm. Ohhhh yeahhhhh".

*wink*

Vicious ::Furious Porno Noises::
15 + 8 > 17. Hit. 6 + 5 = 11 damage.

Jam it back in, in the dark.