Allence's Last Hope

Game Master sarpadian

Chantif drops his Longspear and draws the Longbow he took from the gnolls. He lines up a shot and releases an arrow at the creature

Longbow, Attack, Deadly Aim: 1d20 + 3 - 1 ⇒ (13) + 3 - 1 = 15
Longbow, damage, Deadly Aim: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

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I don't get to go?

you were last in initiative last round. Your action now is from last round.

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Correct.

Following Chantif's lead, Rhona draws her longbow and lines up a shot of her own at the creature in the trees.

Longbow: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 1 :<

I quickly inventory the spells I have memorized and frown as I realize that none of them will be of much use.

I rummage around and pull out my crossbow, loading a quarrel into it as I try to get a bead on the creature in the trees.

The loud thud of Chantif's arrow striking wood elicits a sound of surprise from the creature as Rhona's arrow glances off its hide. Umash's vial explodes on the far side of the tree. The creature reaches out with its tentacles. Det tries to dodge out of the way, but the creature's left tentacle wraps around his neck. He struggles against the creature's grip for a moment as the creature drags him off the ground, but then his body goes limp.

Det is unconscious, and the creature is using him as a human--I mean half-orc--shield. Party up.
[spoiler=GM Rolls]miss chances: 3d100 ⇒ (6, 86, 12) = 104 miss direction: 1d8 ⇒ 7 L. tentacle: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26 L. tentacle confirm: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13 R. tentacle: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8 damage: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7 Det counter: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11grab: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16 grab: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24 constrict: 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

Det often kept to himself for the last several days. In fact, since Rhona had taken him out drinking back in Alenk Town, he had seemed strangely withdrawn. Maybe that night hadn't been as much fun for him as it had been for her? In the back of her mind, she'd been wondering about that, but her natural stubbornness was not allowing her to see Det's sudden shyness as her fault.

Her missing that last arrow and letting that creature get a tentacle around him and throttle the air from his throat, though? That she could certainly blame herself for.

Cursing as Det's body hangs lifelessly, Rhona raises her longbow and strafes sideways, looking for a better angle and not quite finding one. She nonetheless notches her arrow and lets it fly.

Longbow: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12 Agh! I'm guessing there's probably a negative for this guy using Det as a shield, too, right?
Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 4

Yep. I was going to call it cover (on top of the partial concealment it has for being amongst the leaves.

Sorry I didn't post sooner. Wasn't sure how to react to the situation.

Chantif eyes the creature for a moment, deciding whether to try to shoot past his friend. He nods to himself, mutters a prayer for Det's safety, and lets an arrow fly at the creature.

I'm going to go ahead and move this along. As Drexel already noted, there isn't much for him to do but shoot. I'm guessing, however, that Umash doesn't want to fry Det with a bomb, so I'm going to put her on delay. (If you'd rather ready an action, Umash, you can post with a trigger.)

Drexel aims for the spot in between the creature's beady orange eyes, which are directly over the crown of Det's head, but his bolt flies well wide of the tree. Rhona's arrow strikes the trunk of the tree just below Det's dangling feet. Chantif's arrow on the other hand, skewers the leg by which the creature is holding onto the limb on which it is perched. The creature howls in pain and redoubles its attempt to squeeze the life out of Det. The party hears a sickening sound as the creature crushes Det's windpipe.

Does that mean we're up again?

"DET! Wake up and reclaim your life! DAMNIT!" Chantif angrily draws another arrow and looses it at the creature. His aim is off, though, and the arrow whistles through the branches.

Yes.

I had been waiting on Umash to post since I was last in order, but that is the action I was going to take anyway.

I curse as my bolt flies well wide of the creature and reload, loosing another.

Attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 3

Crit confirm: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Crit damage: 1d8 ⇒ 2

I was going to wait for Drexel's attack to resolve in order, but I don't guess there's any point.

Drexel's bolt skewers the creature. It loses its grip on the branch, and it and Det fall to the ground.

Does the creature appear to be conscious still?

No. It lost its grip because it fell unconscious.

Chantif runs up to Det and tries to stabilize him. Heal, Stabilize vs. DC15: 10 + 5 = 15

"Umash! Do you have any of those potions?"

It's quickly obvious to Chantif that there's no stabilizing to be done. Det's windpipe is crushed.

Det is at -16, which is more than enough for dead-dead.

Chantif stands up, takes Det's hammer, and smashes the creature's head in with it.

Coup de grace: 6d6 + 12 ⇒ (2, 2, 6, 5, 6, 6) + 12 = 39

Chantif drops the hammer and sits at the base of the tree, face in his hands, breathing heavily.

Not again not again not again...

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Umash curses and rams the tip of her sword into the dirt. She drops on her knees next to her fellow half-orc's body. "Whatever that blacksmith had with him better be a godsdamn miracle weapon..."

I stare at the body, thinking back to my own brush with death. "That... that could have been any one of us." I rub my hand on my throat and my face pales. "Does any one know what that tentacled thing was?"

Knowledge Arcana: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Knowledge Planes: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

Rhona is still standing there, staring blankly, an arrow notched and ready to fire, though the beast is already dead.

And so is Detskiye.

As her longbow slowly lowers, she keeps flashing back to that night in Alenk Town, and her stupid dreams of watching Det grow into her new best drinking buddy.

A nice reminder of how lightly she had been taking this.

She sits down and continues to stare off into the distance, wondering how in the hell this happened. She had never considered the possibility that one of them might not even make it into Taloth territory- not even make it to Meston. She had imagined Det fighting back-to-back with her, bludgeoning Orcs and then kicking back for a few pints to celebrate their victory. Now he was dead, throat crushed by some monster that probably had nothing to do with the Taloth or their mission- just some random wandering freak of nature that happened upon their path. This wasn't how Det was supposed to go out.

She pays no mind to Drexel's attempts to identify the creature. It doesn't matter to her. Not now.

Sorry for the delay. Rough weekend, and Rhona took Det's death hard.

non-aquatic with tentacles usually means aberration which would be dungeoneering, but here goes anyway:

Knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
Knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

Umash is correct; it's an aberration.

Shocked by the turn of events, the party mills around in a stupor for a while, collecting their equipment and preparing a pyre for Det's body. None of you are sure exactly what rites are appropriate for a half-orc raised by dwarves, but each of you has an opportunity to say a few words, if you wish.

"You were a stalwart companion. I... I..." Chantif's tanned face reddens. He opens and closes his mouth a few times but can say no more. I'm sorry I failed you.

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"In the short time we had together I feel that we have all gotten to know each other somewhat well. I am glad to have made laugh, and laughed with Det." I finally manage.

Rhona's mood remains as dark as ever as the party pays their last respects to their fallen friend.

She doesn't look up as Chantif and Drexel say their piece. When eyes turn to her in expectation, she folds her arms across her chest and stares a hole into the ground.

Finally, she seems to find a proper response. She takes her drinking flask and approaches the funeral pyre. Raising the flask, she offers quietly: "One last drink, Det." She takes a long swig, wishing she had a proper whiskey to make the moment right. Still, after swallowing it down, she sighs. "We'll do right by you, buddy. We'll get that weapon back and crush the Taloth. We'll complete the mission. I promise."

She pours the remainder of the flask's content onto the pyre, and steps away, her face flushed and her expression as grim as anyone has ever seen it.

Having finished the funeral and associated duties, the party resumes the trek towards Meston. As the sun sinks below the trees off to the party's left, they pause in a small meadow to contemplate their next move.

Your eight hours of overland travel are up. Forced march or camp?

How close are we to Meston at this point?

Det was the one trained in Knowledge (geography), which is why I had been giving that information to him; on that note, somebody is definitely going to want to put a rank in that when you officially level up in Meston. You're from the area, though, so I'll let you make an untrained check in this case.

"Let's press on. If we make a few more miles tonight and all goes well, we should be able to sleep in Meston tomorrow."

Rhona nods, deferring to Chantif's judgment. Without Det around, Chantif is the party's best hope for navigating the wilds. "Sure, I can keep this up," she says glumly. "I'd prefer a real bed tomorrow night."

The party continues for another hour. The trek is up a steep grade, and Drexel is short of breath and about to fall over from exhaustion by the time the party finds a convenient campsite.

Drexel takes 4 nonlethal damage.

I swear, you people and your forced marches will be the death of me.

Half delirious. "Must... rest... so tired." I drag myself to a fallen log and collapse onto it.

"A good night's rest'll do you I fine, Drex."

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Drexel collapses against a log while the rest of the party sets up camp, grabbing a meal out of his pack and eating it there, rather than waiting for the party to finish setting up; he heads to bed as soon as the tent is up. Having finished supper and the various camp chores, there are a couple of hours left before dark, so Umash begins working on a potion.

Umash already declared that she'd make potions whenever she had the chance. Is there anything Rhona or Chantif would like to do before dark?

EDIT: Forgot to roll for the potion.

potion: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

I subtracted the raw materials and added the potion to the spreadsheet. This makes a total of 4 CLW potions.

Nothing in particular.

Thanks for that, GM, I kind of lost track how many potions i had made since leaving the last town up until now.

The night passes uneventfully, and the party sets out early the next morning for the last leg of the journey into Meston. You hear the pitter-patter of a light rain hitting the forest canopy above you as you make your way up the trail, but not much of the rain makes it through the canopy, so you remain fairly dry. All of a sudden, Sal begins barking loudly. None of you notice anything untoward immediately.

Marching order?

Rhona and Chantif, Umash and Drexel?

"Whatizit Sal?"

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And the animals?

I guess one of us should be a rear guard behind the animals. Umash? Rhona? I'll leave it up to them. I can do it if they prefer, but it makes more sense for me to be the navigator.

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Boards went down last night and dragged every post I made in all the games I'm in kicking and screaming down with 'em. D:

"I'll hang back with the animals," Rhona offers, securing her shield to one arm and keeping her eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. "Somebody has to mind our rears, right?" She winks at Chantif and falls back to take her place behind the mules.

Sal begins sniffing around and starts trying to wander off the path and up the slope that is off to the right.

"Sal! Get back here, Sal." If the dog doesn't respond, Chantif moves to go after it. "Damn dog doesn't mind..."

Sal turns around and starts to obey Chantif, but as soon as it moves away you all hear a low moaning sound and then a "MRRROWWWW! as a feline creature explodes out of the bushes that Sal had been nosing around. The creature attacks Sal, grazing him with its teeth. The creature immediately redoubles its attack. It bites down on Sal and then manages to savage him with both its claws. Sal falls unconscious as he bleeds profusely.

Sal is almost dead-dead; almost max damage on the attacks, plus a crit :(. There's a map up on Roll20. The green circles are trees, and the odd dark green shapes represent heavy undergrowth. The black squiggly marks on the road indicate that the road is sloping. The section that most of the party is on is level, but the section that Rhona and the two rearmost mules are on is uphill. The squiggly mark NW of Chantif marks where the slope starts heading down. The ground off to the north and east is a slope up, and the ground off to the south and west is a slope down. The party is up.

"Cougar! It's a young one, but don't let it get a hold on anyone!" Umash steps up drawing her falchion and slashes at the feline.

I will check up on the battle map later because this computer is too slow to handle it and my good computer is currently in a superheated death zone, so if this move is impossible i will just move up as far as possible so i can engage next round.

Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Damage: 2d4 + 3 ⇒ (3, 1) + 3 = 7

Chantif circles around the cougar, drawing his flail as he goes.

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