***This thread was originally started in the Gamer Connection thread, but resumes here.***
Darkness falls amid the meager campfires, campfires that use very precious timber. The logging camp of Feathered Falls feels the presence of darkness like another visitor and witness to its miserable state. For three weeks, no successful ventures have brought forth more than a few cords of Urld wood, a rich black bark sought by sages and alchemists. Newly hired hands have vanished like the loggers whom they replaced. A few stronger or stubborn men have returned to camp- lacking their axes, any wood, and perhaps their minds. While the small camp can provide for its workforce indefinitely, the spirit of its people might dwindle faster than any sundry supplies.
Heavy rains pour down your necks. This close to the timberline, the cold water aches the your muscles and chills bone. However, the logging foreman asked that people gather near his tent for some news. August Steadfellow, a fellow logger, returned this morning and straightway visited his foreman. His story seemed too impossible to tell second-hand, so “Cat-Face,” your de facto leader, asked August to tell it to you himself.
“They walked,” starts August, a young lad of no more than eighteen years, and assumes that his captive audience knows who ‘they’ are. Your question is quickly answered: “Bones picked themselves up out of the ground and walked! There were too many of them. Aarrrgh! They probably followed me here. We’re doomed. We’ll never leave this camp alive, and we’ll be like th…them.” The young man appears visibly shaken, and his stammering stems more from fear than any cooler temperatures. As his speaks, he withdraws into himself, shielding his eyes with his elbows as if horrifically reliving the experience. Even the fires around the camp seem affected by his speech- the smoke swirls around August in weird patterns and seems to make odd shapes. August finally collapses to the ground, and Cat-Face places a blanket around the man.
“Well, that settles it. Camp Feathered Falls closes tomorrow. Everyone will go home. We can’t get the wood we need to fund this mission, so we have to return to wherever we call home,” says Cat-Face. The rugged and short foreman appears un-shaken by the story, but rather matter-of-fact in his business bravado.
You are left standing in the growing darkness, being cold, wet, and possibly unemployed.
What does anyone want to do?
Vandis listens to the story grimly and in silence. Once Cat-Face has made his speech, he comes over to the foreman and says in his deep manner, "You know me, I am Vandis, known to some as the Huntsman. I have that name for a reason. I would find where these things were seen, if you or August are able to point the way. I'm no stranger to a fight, you might say, and it rankles to flee. Are there others who might aid me in this?"
"They are UNSEEN," cries the boy, falling to his knees. "I see through them..."
Players, please roll for perception, where I will ask you to add your Mind + Hunter careers and anything equally relevant to the out-of-doors (half-Barbarian careers, round up), including better senses, etc. against difficulty 11.
For example: Mind 1 + Hunter 2 + Barbarian 1 (1/2 is still 1, rounded-up) = 4. Target number = 11. 11 - 4 = 7. Roll 7 or better on two d6.
I MADE THE ROLL!
I FAILED THE ROLL, OR DID SOMETHING VERY BAD (CALAMITOUS FAILURE):
"Ach, to be whipped like a cur by the elements themselves!"
"Ach, to be whipped like a cur by the elements themselves!"
"Tis better they died in the way of work than suffered by starvation," says Cat-Face. "At least they were entitled to a proper burial 'neath ground, rather than as scrap for wolves. You can pay your respects to the master; they are buried just a few short steps near here..."
Cat-Face will take Vandis (and any others so inclined) to the gravesites of other fallen loggers.
Nax is extremely interested in the Gravesites, and asks Cat-face questions about how the loggers died.
Vandis assents and grimly follows Cat-Face.
Anxallos follows Cat-face, looking around for any sign of the reported creatures.
Hmm, what books do you have?
I have the most recent ($10) pdf from the author, and a support Beastiary from the author from the Yahoo! groups for BoL.
Along the way to the gavesites, Cat-Face retells the sad story of the Dawncrest family. These poor workers were among the first loggers to report to the site, but even untrained eyes revealed the Dawncrests knew nothing of logging. Their father was strong, and a good healer when times needed him. The oldest boy worked hard, and often talked or yelled at his father...something of a rebel. The mother tended to take care of the children- her own young ones and the childrenof other loggers. She sang odd tunes on her weird instrument, and sang of the desert winds and emptiness, but they kids seemed to care about her kindness and music than lyrics.
The strange series of accidents happened in one day. The father felled a fine Urld tree near here, but the blasted thing fell down on him. Pinned, he cried for help. His sone appeared, and drawing his axe, struck his father and severed his daddy's arm- thereby freeing him from the tree's weight. A gifted healer himself, the father died from bloodloss on the way back to camp. The scent of blood on the frsty ground attracted some wild wolves, who beset the boy. He carried his father as best he could, but irony saw fit for the boy to lose his hand, too: a wolf gobbled the thing.
Upon hearing what had happened, the mother fell dead where she sat- craziest thing to have happened in this camp. Her oldest son, now bandaged and orphaned, stole away with his brothers and sisters into the night. While nobody knows what exactly happened, the camp largely believes the eldest son killed his siblings by drowning them- they were found dead and all had their hands cut off to mirror their father and brother. The boy was later found hanging from a tree- the result of a sad suicide, no doubt.
The camp buried the family near their old tentsite...
Anxallos Spoiler:
Note: This note also applies to anyone who made their perception roll...
Nax continues on, oblivious to the creeping horror.
"Hmm...which hand was cut off, the left one or the right one."
Cat-Face looks at you, surprised. "You know, they ALL lost their right hand. Huh. Never thought about how creepy THAT similarity was in light of the whole eerie and sad tale."
***
I elected to roll something for Vandis. He notices that the frosty ground covering is disturbed, and shares this fact with the group. "'Tis not much, but what manner of creature doth move is like a squirrel or rabbit, but more ungainly. Watch-out, men, methink I not want MY strong hand lost on this job!"
Anxallos draws his scimitar, and hisses a warning to Nax, Vandis and Cat-face. Once he has their attention, he points out where the hand is moving. "It seems to want us. I think we should follow it."
"Looks like it is the right hand to follow, heh."
Nax says offhandedly, still musing on the whole situation. Right hands, undead, hmmm... He looks, for the first time since his party members have noticed, rather confused.
"Ach, I like it not."
A large, hairy hand erupts from the chilly ground. Its elongated and muddied digits grasp firmly around the heel- then climb upward to the leg- of Anxallos Tsengut!
The target number is 9, plus the Defense of 1 increases the difficulty to 10. The hand-creature has Agility 3 (it’s combat trait used here). Therefore, the Storyteller needs to roll 10-3=7 or better using two d6 to hit!
I roll: 8!
To inflict damage, the creature rolls 1d3+2. I roll. 2 rounded down, is 1. Plus 2, is 3. Subtract Anxallos Tsengut’s armor, so he suffers two points of damage from this hideous attack!
At this time, you ALL see four more smaller hands crawl up from the group. One leaps at Cat-Face and covers his mouth! (Remember, he was much smaller in stature…)
Great job! One of the Bloodless Hands is wounded, slicing off a digit. The vile demoic thing can now only count to "four" without additional aid. It will still press forward with an attack, you suspect...
The general area is something similar to what most people might imagine as the great north-west mountains. Snow, trees, and some rock outcroppings, but beyond the small campfires of this makes-shift base of operations, the general scene is quite natural and vacant. I am quite alright should you wish to add a rampaging squirrel or something...this is okay, but just know that this region is designed as empty.
"I wax wrathful, devils!"
Alright, let's charge it as a spell of the first magnitude. I'll grant you line of sight (-1) and if you are willing to do something like shadow puppets (obvious gestures), I'll deduct another point. Heck, depending on how much role-playing you want to do, I'll let you shave your body hair since you are dealing with the unclean bloodless, for an additional -1. Target Difficulty was 10. For each Requirement, for a minimum of 2, subtract this from your Arcane Power. This spell will deal 1d6 damage to the four clawing hands.
Sadly, it appears Cat-Face has succumbed to the vicious machinations of the bloodless hands having stangled him. He falls to the ground, looking keenly at each of you, and while a pale face, Cat-Face utters, "Why...?"
A new hand emerges from the earth, not four feet from where Cat-Face fell. The hand scurries to the corner of a nearby bush, and returns gripping and scurrying with a rusty knife.
Vandis growls, "Not so fast, fiend." and stamps hard with his well-worn boots on the hand to stop it.
"What manner of wizardry is this?" he murmurs.
Vandis growls, "Not so fast, fiend." and stamps hard with his well-worn boots on the hand to stop it.
"What manner of wizardry is this?" he murmurs.
Great! 13 certainly hits, and roll for damage with your foot: d6+strength seems good (-3 from your roll). The creature only has 3 lifeblood, btw...
"Well struck, Vandis". Anxallos twist round, looking for the hand that attacked him. He swings his scimitar awkwardly at it, missing badly.
(Attack roll was a 3. That misses)
"Well struck, Vandis". Anxallos twist round, looking for the hand that attacked him. He swings his scimitar awkwardly at it, missing badly.
(Attack roll was a 3. That misses)
Some of the hands (are there MORE?!?) scurry away, or at least the underbrush and leaves nearby rattle and rustle with movement. The remaining two "brave" hands scuttle towards the reluctant Anaxallos. Due to their awkward pace and forecasted movement, everyone will get a free attack against these unthinking foes.
Horror Hands
Strength 0
Agility 3
Mind 0
Combat Abilities
Attack with claw +2; 1d3 damage
Defence: 4
Protection: 0
Lifeforce: 3
Some of the other loogers have arrived, armed with shovels and other mundane items. In a moment, one of the loggers will attend to Cat-Face, unless one of the party members goes to Cat-Face first.
The winter wind is especially cold, but not that you mind, Vandis.