Beware The Snow (aka Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?) (Inactive)

Game Master Twilightrose

Machaera pads quickly over the snow, slipping between the bush on the edge of the path and Hundur and Annalísa. I'm guessing there's room, from the map, but please correct me, otherwise.

She utters a powerful word that rustles like a gust of wind in a forest's branches as she moves, and green leaf-light opens along her blade. Drawing up, she takes her swing almost casually. Attack, cold iron longsword: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21 Damage?: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Checking the crit: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15 If crit. confirms, add. dmg.: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

Yeah there's room, it's just difficult terrain where you are.

Machera cuts down the mouthy bandit with a contemptuous flick of her wrist.

R2
Raider Y, Fizzlewhisk, Annalísa, Raider R, Machaera, Aðvinr, Raider B, Snjórinn

Snjórinn, you'll have to change targets.

Aðvinr hefts a javelin, hurling it at the remaining aggressive bandit.

1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Disregard the man who stepped in to swing at Hundur, he was the one that should have been fleeing. He is now at the edge of the map in an all out run.

Aðvinr's javelin hits the man in his thigh, he screams in pain as he rips the javelin from his leg. He stumbles and then tries to retreat himself.

R2
Raider Y, Fizzlewhisk, Annalísa, Raider R, Machaera, Aðvinr, Raider B, Snjórinn

Snjorrin calmly chases after the injured man.

Greataxe: 1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 1 + 2 = 5, for 1d12 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9 damage.

I love how he "calmly" does everything, lol. That roll won't hit - the dice have been major jerks lately - but remember that you are moving through terrain that costs two squares of movement instead of 1, so you would only be able to move as far as you did if you used a double move and so wouldn't attack anyway. Or, you could have moved to within 5ft of the blue guy instead and acted.

R3
Raider Y, Fizzlewhisk, Annalísa, Raider R, Machaera, Aðvinr, Raider B, Snjórinn

He may be a half-orc, but he has learned to internalise the rage which flows through his veins ;-) In that case, I will just double-move after the back guy, so he provokes if he tries to move away.

The young gnome sighs, mumbles a soft apology to anyone who listens, and steps up as he reloads his crossbow.

Annalísa stepped over the cooling corpse and went after the retreating man. "Tell us where the lady is!" she bellows before swinging her sword to slap the man with the wide side of her sword.
Nonlethal attack with longsword1d20 + 3 - 4 ⇒ (19) + 3 - 4 = 18
Nonlethal damage 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

The man screams in agony as Annalísa's blade slaps against his already injured leg, his leg buckles and he falls on this knees in the snow, "OK, OK, please don't kill me!"

The other raider continues to flee for his life his life. AoO from Snjórinn

R3
Raider Y, Fizzlewhisk, Annalísa, Raider R, Machaera, Aðvinr, Raider B, Snjórinn

Machaera realizes that with that much of a head start, the fleeing raider will likely be able to lose her in the trees even if she is on snowshoes. Thrusting her sword into the banking snow beside her, she quickly strings her smaller bow and sends an arrow after him.
Shortbow: 1d20 + 3 - 1 ⇒ (1) + 3 - 1 = 3 He'll have cover against her, so there's another effective -4 on top of that, unfortunately. Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Arrgh. The dice goddesses mock me this day.

Snjorrin attempts to trip the man as he flees.

AoO: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17 Vs CMD.

The man falls over Snjórinn's foot and is struggling to get back on his feet in the snow, his overwhelming fear making it hard for him to find his footing. Moved him back next to Snjórinn on the map.

R3
Raider Y, Fizzlewhisk, Annalísa, Raider R, Machaera, Aðvinr, Raider B (surrendered), Snjórinn

Snjorrin calmly moves around the man, and prepares to strike once he has a flank.

Greataxe: 1d20 + 1 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 1 + 4 + 2 = 19, for 1d12 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13 damage.

Now we're talking! :-)

Aðvinr strides forward, bringing the source of the man's terror cripplingly close.

Double move

Snjorrin strikes the fleeing man down, painting the snow around him in splashes of red.

The only man remaining alive is cowering before Annalísa, having agreed to talk. We're done with rounds unless someone decides to take make an attack against the man.

Machaera retrieves her scattered weapons with studied unconcern. As she does so, an incongruous memory flits across her thoughts: her untidy childhood room, and her father reminding her to clean up her scattered books and toys. Some things haven't changed that much, I suppose.

Nonetheless, when she joins the others closing around the man Annalísa subdued, and despite her snowshoes, the best word to describe her movement is stalks. The smile she gives the kneeling man doesn't reach her eyes as she says lightly, "Mistress B!tch, Master Half-pint, and ... associates, at your service. Suppose you tell us what you're doing in the forest, beginning with what you were planning for Lady Malassene?"

*Smiles.* Machaera's still willing to bandy words, but she's not about to foist uncomplimentary nicknames on the folks who were spared the first time.

The man sits in the snow, pressing his dirty palms onto the wound on his leg. The cold weather seems to be slowing the flow of blood... you think, it doesn't look like he's lost enough blood to die yet anyway. His hands are trembling, and his eyes are wide and frantic.

"Please... Oh gods, oh gods. Um, we were suppose to watch the roads. Case anyone came lookin' for the lady. The boss was gonna ransom the lady, they're all sayin' she's got to be someone important. Worth a lot of money."

Strange - they didn't trouble with a very thorough search for her jewels, if this is about coin, Machaera thinks. She nods encouragingly, "Your boss wouldn't happen to be -" she quickly thinks over what she's gleaned from talking with Aðvinr and the caravan's survivor, "- a woman with a taste for snow and ice?"

She gestures airily with her free hand. As she continues, she laces her words with casual menace, "I think right now your best bet is to keep talking. How many of you are there? How many watching the roads? Where can we find Lady Malassene - and your leader?"

She is careful not to let the lurch in her stomach show. I don't like this. Whatever this wretched excuse for a thinking being has done, I don't like standing over him with our swords at his throat. It's easy, isn't it? It would be so easy, like an arrow from the trees, from the right moment, like bladed magic... but it wouldn't be... clean. Yuelral, what end to this? What warrior do you want of me?"

The man trembles, still pressing his hands into his leg, "What? No. We work for the priest - Rohkar. I... I... I don't know how many of us there are. I'm sorry, I swear I don't! I know that there's a lot less of us since when we first met those strange fey. They killed a lot of us until Rohkar surrendered to 'em. Please, lady, I'm sorry. Please don't leave me here to die." Tears begin to well up in the man's eyes.

A middleman, Machaera thinks. Or rather, some fool in over his head. That rather opens up the question of the true motivations of the fey, and who might be pulling their strings.

Aloud, she says, "Well, it's a start. What do you think Heldren will want with this one?"

She looks to the others for their opinions and questions that it didn't occur to her to ask. Unless anyone has other ideas, Machaera opts for removing any other weapons the man might have, binding his wound and then his hands, and sending him down the path to Heldren. She figures he won't try any funny business while he's so badly wounded and the woods are so dangerous (and if the cold or wolves get him, no great loss). If he falls in with anyone on the road whom he can convince he isn't a lunatic, and turns over a new leaf, it's his lucky day. Machaera just balks at the thought of killing someone who's surrendered that she doesn't think is plotting to take advantage of her mercy.

"We do not have the time to take him back to the town, or take him with us injured." Aðvinr says solemnly. [b]"Point him to the Heldren an leave his fate to his wits and survival instinct. It is better than his people would offer any of us.

Anymore questions for the captive?

Sorry everyone, I'm a horrible DM, I know. I seem to have gone into total slacker mode now that classes are over and I have a chance to relax.

Nonsense! It's fine! I'm still in the middle of the final push myself; between my own exams and the ones I'm proctoring, I'll only be done on Monday, but the end is in sight.

I have faith in you, Macherea! You can do this!

"Where. Is. The. Lady?" she asks again with a menacing growl noticing that the man didn't actually answer that question.

The man trembles and looks up at the ulfen woman. "They've got her up in the High Sentinel Lodge."

"How many of you are there?" Aðvinr follows up.

"I, I really don't know, sir. I swear. I don't know exact numbers. Less than twenty now, I think?"

"Anything else before we send him on his way?" the shaman asks his companions.

Machaera raises her languid hand, and decides to play it to the hilt. Channeling her childhood impatience with the formal affairs at the Tower of Stars her parents gently dragged her to, she says with exquisite politeness, "Excuse me, but just to be absolutely sure we all know quite where everything's happening, could you remind us again how to get to the Lodge?"

She lets a feigned smile quirk her mouth up again. Well, if thinking I'm mad encourages him to talk... Home, though - to think how much I miss it now, even the ceremony. And it only took me forty years to begin to appreciate it.

It's a good thing Machaera is actually half-mad, and no bard. That way, hamming it up and silly ideas are in character. If you want someone who can put on a convincing show, get an actor, or a diplomat. :)

The man points a bloody, trembling hand back up the path you have been following, "It's up there, just up there. Not far at all."

It's beginning to look like the man may lose consciousness.

"I know where it's at. Someone want to patch him up? I think he's gonna die on us."

It doesn't seem like she really cares one way or the other.

Kneeling in the snow, Aðvinr bandages the man's wounds, applying poultices and herbs that substantially enhance the healing process.

Heal. Treat deadly wound: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Heal 5 hp

"Thank you. Thank you," the man manages to mumble to Aðvinr.

So, sending him on his way?

Once his weapons and armor are removed, sure. If he decides to double-back, I don't want him to be a threat. He can keep his cold-weather gear, though - death by frostbite would not be pleasant.

Speaking of which, what gear *do* they have?

"You're welcome. May your wits aid you on your way and may the long walk back give you time to think about your fate and those of you former companions." the shaman says sternly helping the man up.

Machaera adds her nod as the group sends the man on his way. She hopes it comes across as unnervingly amiable, given the tone of the preceding interrogation, but will settle for mercurial curtness.

Each has: padded armor, buckler, short sword, shortbow
with 20 arrows, 8 gp, 5 sp

The man scrambles to his feet with Aðvinr's help, "Yes, yes. Thank you. Thank you so much."

He warily begins his retreat towards Heldren, looking back over his shoulder as he stumbless in the snow.

After climbing at least a hundred feet into the hills, the snowy trail finally levels off. In a clearing among the trees, a large wooden lodge overlooks a ravine spanned by a long rope bridge. Smoke rises from the lodge’s two snow-covered chimneys, and large woodpile is stacked against the outer wall. A small outbuilding stands east of the lodge, and a stone well nearly blanketed by snow is barely recognizable to the north. Several tracks lead southwest toward a detached stable.

Map

You're not technically on the map yet, but the trail I put you near is the trail you're following.

"It looks as though the lodge is occupied. Keep your eyes open, this is most likely where the Lady is being kept." Aðvinr says moving forward.

Make me a perception roll, please, Aðvinr.

Machaera's fingers curl a bit more tightly around her bow, and her right hand unconsciously reaches back to check that her quiver is in the right place for her to draw arrows most easily. Nodding at Aðvinr's words, she suggests, as she spots the tracks, "Maybe we should circle round, check for other entrances. I would hate to burst in only to have them escape out the back way to who knows where."

Glancing from the other end of the rope bridge to where the lodge blocks the rest of it off from view, Machaera turns to the locals. "Does anyone know where the trail over the ravine might be headed?"

In case it's necessary: Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2 ... Or maybe not, as Machaera is obviously far too jittery this morning.

"Leads to High Ridge, I think. Cliffs and forests. Leads into the rest of the Border Wood," Annalísa says.

She had started to move out after Aðvinr but paused to listen to Machaera.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

Something catches the light down low near the snow, causing Aðvinr to pause and look closer. Another step and he would have walked right into a tripwire.

You got damn lucky on that roll, the DC was 20 :P

"Hold. They have the place trapped. See the tripwire here?" Aðvinr says pointing out the hazard to his companions.

Disable Device DC 20. With Mervyn gone does anyone have the ability to disarm the trap? I don't think Fizzlewhisk does, and he's basically out of the game anyway at this point.

Don't think any of us have that skill.

You can attempt to evade it?

"Everyone step back, I'm going to try something." Aðvinr says gravely.

Hmm. Yes, I think Disable Device is one of the skills that can't be used untrained. Is anything stopping us from just hopping over the wire? It will be a nuisance to remember it's there, of course, but rather than risk setting anything off by messing with it...