Campaign: Without Their Rangers (Inactive)

Game Master Connor McGinnis

Hello! I have never been in a play-by-Post game before, yet would want to try running or playing one. I am totally open to ideas. If you think you can run one fairly well, I can totally hand it over to you. I'm on here at least once a day, and the only time I would not be able to play is when I am camping.

Please post if you are interested in either running or playing one, along with any ideas you might have. Thanks!

Scratch the above post. I put it in the wrong area and can't erase it.
When we actually start gameplay, we'll use this thread.

"Something's afoul hereabouts what with all these mysterious deaths."
Something needs to be done here, but I'm not wanting to draw their ire on just myself, perhaps the sentiment is shared?
@DM: consider this either a practice post or use it to help set the scene

The Hidden Face of Slaughter! Murder Lurks In The Shadows! Nature's Debts - Now Paid In BLOOD!

Theriandas is thrilled with the news When he eventually gets to hear it - apologies if I'm jumping the gun at all.

At last - a story, and what a story it is! And if your correspondent happens to help solve the mystery too, well...

After defending the seaside village of Selsey from a Goblin raid, in which you all met, you are now in Lachtopher Inn, conversing over mugs of ale. It is a surprisingly large 3-story building. The owner and bartender, Lachtopher himself, is behind the front counter. He is an older man, a retired knight with a receeding white hairline and milky brown eyes.

A tall, pale and frighteningly skinny elder talks quietly with a smaller man dressed in black. They are in the back left corner, entirely unnoticed unless you make a perception check (DC 15)

Various other characters, shady, happy, and openly drunk, fill the ground floor.

The room is 12 squares long by 10 wide. Where are you at? (ex: A1, B12, G7) What do you do or say?

Sturk secretes himself near anyone that behaved nicely to him during our last battle. Of course having Sturk nearby is mildly unpleasant with the smells and the loud gulping and chewing with his mouth open. He eats a bit like he hasn't had a good meal in a while.

"It's nice in here eh? No real trash on the floors and I ain't seen any rats yet."
"Those Gobbos wernt much worse than street kids. Only they seemed to REALLY enjoy the fire bit. Sorta like one-armed Jimmy tho I guess. That kid should have lost that second arm with all the fires he started. He was the one started that fire outside-a Langstroms couple years ago now. You remember? Caught half that tenement on fire too."

He glurps his ale and belches, You all were pretty astounding out there today tho... Never had anyone watch my back before."

He glances over at the back corner (perception roll 16) and points with a gesture of his chin and tusks.. "What's with boney and blacky back there?"

"Festric, Did you say something about mysterious deaths? people die around here all the time. Grond's Gears man, Mammy Liccus died last night of the consumption. What's so mysterious about these?"

It seems he might be talking to hide his nervousness about having folks to talk to really...

Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

Theriandas takes a corner seat, looking around him and scribbling. He occasionally absent-mindedly dips his quill in his ale rather than the inkwell sat next to it on the table. Obscene chitters from a host of wide, fanged maws filled the night air, piercing through the crackle of flames and the screams and cries of the terrified citizenry. "They just keep coming!" roared the desperate captain of the guard...

"One-armed firebugs?" The elf's ears prick up. "Wow! This place is GREAT! Hey, what was the captain of the guard's name, and Sturk, can you do that war-cry of yours again, just so I can get it down properly?" He looks a little concerned. "That was you, wasn't it?"

He glances over at the pair in the corner, scrutinising them as carefully as politeness will allow. That tall one - he'll do for Gulgumanbur the Torturer in the Tragical Saga of the 14 Varisian Virgins. Gods, I hope he doesn't notice me looking, though...

Perception 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Festric sitting towards the centre of the inn (D6) is observing the general mood of the crowd and responds to Sturk.
"Sturk, with you around... deaths aren't mysterious", says Festric. Gods, I hope this ugly mug doesn't take that the wrong way. "but seriously, while I was outside Wrigg's Boats & Tackle..." Festric's voice lowers, "I heard folk talkin' and they were speakin' plainly about a number of townsfolk that passed on, and by their tones it didn't sound like consumption. They were scared."

Festric downs his ale and says in a loud voice, "Another ale, kind barkeep. I've not drunk enough to drown the smell of my compatriot and while you're at it, get another for him too", nodding at Sturk.

He then whispers to Sturk, "indeed, boney could use a sandwich."

When the ales arrive, Festric asks the person who brought them surrepticiously "Do you know who the pair in the corner are? My friend here likes his meat a little on the agèd, boney side." pausing just a moment to leave doubt in his/her mind
Bluff 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
Gods with that roll, the servant probably thinks Sturk really is a cannibal

then continuing "just kidding...but seriously who are they?" as he passes the servant 2 gp "keep the change."
Diplomacy 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

Gods, a nice bit of music would liven this place up

Daven enters the bar, the smells of stale ale, piss and vomit filling his nostrils. On his way to the bar he notices a pair of men hunched over a corner table, talking in hushed tones.

Perception - I can't make the dice formatting work. I roll a 19.

"Nice place you've got here Lactopher," Daven says as the barkeep looks him over while whiping out a tankard with a grimy bit of cloth. "Five more tankards of ale if you'd be so kind, sir. I'm sure killing all those filthy bastards in Selmy has given my comrades a thirst...I know I've one."

Daven strides across the room to join Sturk at a table within earshot, but not conspicuously near the two men, still deep in conversation. Daven adds his just-paid-for ale to the growing number at the table.

"My, but we're quickly fond of each other aren't we?" he says, motioning to all the ale the group had purchased for each other. "Or perhaps just fond of drink!" He claps the brutish half orc on the back, causing him to nearly choke on a chicken bone he'd been noisily sucking at. Daven, then lowers his voice so only those at the table can hear.

"What do you reckon those two back there are on about, lads?"

Pondering the conversation in the corner, Sturk starts ad libbing lines for the pair,
"I think the conversation is going something like this 'Damn you're small blacky' 'shut up stickpole' then Sticky says 'I am Death's servant on earth, I am a reaper!"
Sturk turns his head from one to the other as their lips move and mumbles his version of the rest of their conversation into his mug chuckling to himself.

Theriandas puts down his pen, takes out his harp and starts improvising an accompaniment to Sturk's recitation. Don't suppose you see many harps in this place. Still, first time for everything..."

Seeing interest in his impromptu puppet show, Sturk puts up both hands and uses them like puppets and the conversation starts to get a lot weirder.

'Sitting there looking small and black won't save you varlet'
'Oh please Mr. reaper, I have a wife and 13 children. Don't take me'
'but it's your time and you did that thing with the woman. you know? That thing?'
'wah wah wah but I don't want to die'
'Tough monkeys'
Sturk is kinda getting into it and it doesn't seem that his lines are in any way matching the lip movements of the original players now... with Theriandas' accompanyment, He may actually be drowning out the conversation you all are trying to eavesdrop on and he may have attracted attention from other patrons.

'sing me a song and dance like a nymph and I might let you go' says the hand that is assigned to sticky.
'Like a nymph? Have you seen how small and black I am? You've lost your gourd Reaper'
'Perhaps little man but the request stands'

'sing me a song and dance like a nymph and I might let you go' says the hand that is assigned to sticky.

'Like a nymph? Have you seen how small and black I am? You've lost your gourd Reaper'
'Perhaps little man but the request stands

Theriandas is enjoying himself, and starts singing in a quavery falsetto, while picking out a sprightly dance tune on his harp:

"Oh, people often ask me
Why a nymph might be called stick-ee
If you did what I did with satyrs (and glue)
Then, by sweet Cal-i-stria you'd be sticky too!"

LOL @ Sturk+Theriandas
Can't stop him when he's on a roll...

At Daven, "Thanks for the drink. Enjoy the show", gesturing at Sturk.

Not having been able to afford even a single mug of ale in his life, and still quite young, the multiple mugs of booze have fully dulled Sturk's inhibitions. Any likely looking lass is in for a rude, smelly, small, half-orc putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Yer pretty..."
"Didja know I just helped these guys over there... gestures grandly at the newly minted heroes who have contributed to his inebriation, "Save a whole town? Selsey owes us. You wanna do your part in giving thanks?"

Daven, smirking at his comrade's drunken antics, nods his head in recognition of Festric's thanks. "It's the least I can do to thank you for saving my skin back there. Those damned knee-biters might have scratched my armor if it werent for your spells."

"How do you do that anyway?"

"Cast spells? For me, it's in my blood. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great...Is that nine "greats"?... grandfather taught me. He told my parents that I had the gift," responding to Daven's question, his voice elevated a touch from the amount of ale in his system.

" You knew your ninegreat grandfather? How in the nine hells old is that guy? He must look like Sticky over there..."

waves in that general direction, wobbles a couple steps. Sits down heavily in a chair "By the fake gods I'm tired. And dizzy.

Heavy head whomps table but doesn't quite catch. Sturk slumps heavily to the floor.
ZZZZZZZZzzzzz

Both men in the corner fail to notice Sturk's puppet show (Thanks to two horrible dice rolls). Their business seems to be over though, and the smaller man gets up to leave, gathering his cloak around him and setting a few gold pieces on the table. "Sticky" takes them and they disappear under the table.

The servant lingers long enough to whisper in Festric's ear. "The tall, thin one is an information broker. No one knows his name around these parts, though. He mostly keeps to himself. I don't know who the shorter one is. Probably another one of his associates.", he says.

Not that it matters right now, but only one of you said where they where at. So I positioned the rest of you near him, all around one table. Theriandas: C5, Festric: D6, Daven: B6, Sturk: C7

"Knew him? I still know him. He's still alive. I don't rightly know how old he is, but he said he was born during the Second Tordren War and that was around what three or four hund..." Festric downs his ale and regards the slumped half-orc snoring loudly on the floor.

A song in Elvish escapes Festric's lips.
Perform 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
A reasonable rendition it is too.
"Kellahath in nalla matt o lass.."

I've had enough ale..
ho.. what happened to blacky?

Festric looks to the door just in time to see it close.

The door opens almost as soon as it closes and Darien enters. Moving quickly across the floor to stand by the table, he claps his hands together, "Sorry I'm late, I was helping a few of the locals who thought they heard a goblin hiding in the stables. Took thirty minutes to figure out it was just a cat stuck under a bucket. Thirsty work all the same though, so who's buying?"

Darien glances down at Sturk, then back at the rest of the group. With raised eyebrows, "And is he okay?"

@all: apologies for being late to the party!
@DM: Darien will stand at C6 if it's available

Daven, chaste as ever, has yet to finish his first beer. With a grimace he swallows another sip of the swill Lactopher has been passing off as ale and watches the exchange between 'Sticky' and 'Blacky' with muted interest. All thought of the pair leave his mind as Darien, enters and pulls up a chair. Daven stands, grips the Cleric's hand firmly with one of his own and with the other slides over a warm tankard of ale.

"Good of you to join us Cleric! Here, help me get this smelly oaf back in his seat...Someone hand me a rag to wipe this drool off his chin, while we're at it" he says with a grin. The half orc's ragdoll body threatens to tip back out of his chair, but in the end, face-down, arms sprawled across the table, he stays put, snoring softly and muttering to himself.

Scanning the group and seeing his new friends in varying states of inebriation, Daven considers his options and then fills Darien in on all the sultry details of their post-battle soiree thus far.

Theriandas gazes at the door as the small man leaves, frowning.

"A mystery wrapped in an enigma. Is he worth following?"

He considers for a moment, then shakes his head, wincing slightly as he does so.

"Bad idea. Lactopher's ale might be foul, but it's definitely got a kick to it..."

He smiles at Festric's song, taking up the tune where the sorcerer left off and adding an intricate accompaniment of his own. Perform 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

"huh? Whazzat? Tinkerbell fairies singing? Snort hands wave, wipes face. Settles in a little more comfortably and back out again...

Darien would be standing on top of the table then. He can take B7, next to Daven, and one up from Sturk.

Theriandas's entertainment livens up the inn and a few tables of drunkards and half sober men join in singing.

"Sticky" gets up to leave now.

"Perhaps someone should offer ol' long, tall and handsome there a drink before he leaves." Daven suggests, placing two silver pieces on the table and gesturing at 'Sticky' as he shuffles toward them. "It may be there's somethin we could learn from him"

Diplomacy (1d20+7 => (8)+7=15)
We'll see how receptive you guys are with that roll. Perhaps Lactopher's fine spirits will help me in this endeavor!

"Zanybudy asking Sticky 'bout those sterious defs?" grxxrxx. snore...

Nimbly avoiding the table, Darien settles into his assigned position.
Thanks for the clarification, B7 it is!

Watching with slight concern as Sturk falls out of his chair, Darien looks up and notices the man for the first time as Daven places the silver on the table.

Darien raises his hand in greeting as the man gets closer. "I beg your pardon, sir, might my friends and I have a word with you? I'll offer you a drink for a few minutes of your time?"

Diplomacy 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

Sticky likely knows who we are from our exploits with the goblins.
Raising Sturk's unfinished ale in sticky's direction, "Yes, do join some local heroes in revelry."

Festric pauses, then continues

"To be honest, we are in need of employment, we certainly can't rest on our laurels, nor will those laurels feed us for long and a gent such as yourself might know where we could find some means?"

"And we're good at solving problems!", adds Theriandas, smiling at the man

Aid another action to help Daven and Darien 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

We're going to need a little more forward momentum Connor. We've partially completed one conversation over 2 days...

"Sticky" walks up cautiously. He seats himself at D7, next to Festric and one down from Sturk.

"Certainly", he says, a slow smile slipping across his pale face. "I recognized you a while ago. You fought those goblins just outside the village. As you may already have guessed, I am an informant to many. My name is Albatros Finch. I have a package that needs delivering. There is a man known as Grima Ardent. He lives somewhere in the woods Southeast of the town, just along the shoreline. If you are looking for work, that is where it can be found. He employs many different kinds of folk. Do you accept?"

He holds the package, a small one in the shape of a box, out to Festric.

Sorry if you're not happy with the rate things are going, but I wanted to build the campaign up and flesh out a few characters before we started getting anywhere for real. Besides, we had to wait for Haldhin to finish his Cleric. I can only really check this thing once or twice a day.
Just a heads up: Play-by-posts normally take this long, if not longer. You can't all sit around a table, figuring things out in just a matter of minuites.

Darien considers Mr. Finch's words while examining the package he hands to Festric. "Thank you for the offer, it is appreciated. You ask us to deliver a package, but don't tell us what's inside. That's acceptable, it's not my business. But I am curious if it could be dangerous to us while it's in our possession. Will you give us your word that whatever is in the box isn't a danger to those of us who will deliver it to Mr. Ardent?"

And just because it's who Darien is... Sense Motive 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13 about the package

"I make no promises, therefore I cannot garuntee your safety. Yet you ask for a job, and here it is! Take it, or leave it! I haven't got all night!", Finch urges you.

As far as you can tell, he seems sincere about the who and where package is going to.

Daven gets a 'funny' feeling about the package and Finch's proposal. He uses his ability to detect evil to see if anything with their new guest is amiss.

"Quite so, quite so", says Theriandas soothingly to Albatros. "Without being indelicate, might one enquire what the payment for carrying out this, er, mysterious task might be?"

Love these names! :)

"I am not rich.", he replies flatly, "The package is important though. How does twenty-five gold pieces each sound? And that is stretching the limit."

The man does not detect as evil, though it should be obvious right now, he is not good.

I will slow my roll :)

"Somebody say woods?" Sturk burbles as he lifts his bleary-eyed head. "S'tommorrow ok? This table has become my friend and you people are super spinny right now"
He pats the table lovingly and lays his head back down.

"The sooner you deliver the package, the better, friend.", says Finch

"Will you excuse us for one moment? Theriandas will attempt to lead his friends away from Finch's table for a moment so they can come to a decision in private.

To the discussion, "25 pieces to deliver a box. Sounds good to me. Even if there might be a spot of trouble, we can handle it. Let's do it."

Looks like I'm going to have to take either a Fatigued or a Sickened Condition penalty then? At least for the next couple of hours. Sturk MAY learn about over drinking after this but he's only 16.

"Waitaminute... you DID say woods. Sturk looks confused and a little nervous, "That's like... out of town. Are we sure about this?"
He holds his head in his hands for a minute and then shakes his head in realization...

"Waitanotherminute... did he say 25 GOLD? Each?" His eyes grow wide and he seems to be counting on his fingers. "We can totally do this! Count me in!"

Darien seems surprised by the man's response, "Sir, I meant no disrespect, I was only asking if the contents were dangerous. I was only curious if certain precautions should be taken... for example, should the box be kept away from heat, or cold, or should we ensure the contents remain upright? As you say, a job is a job, and I shall assume you have provided all the necessary information we need."

Darien follows Theriandas away (with the others, presumably). He nods as the others speak, obviously considering their words. A smile appears as Sturk begins speaking, finally laughing along with the half-orc's enthusiasm. Darien adds"I agree, friend Sturk, count me in as well."

Darien looks to the others, "The money seems a tidy sum for such a simple request, but I believe we should accept. Perhaps we should plan to leave at first light? I would prefer to avoid wandering around unfamiliar woods during the dead of night."

It looks like everyone agrees. First light should shine in roughly 1-2 hours, enough time for you all to gather your equipment and prepare for the trek through the forest.

"The man said 'The sooner the better' friend. Let's not keep him waiting..."

There is every indication that Sturk may not have ever seen 25 gold in one place, at one time, in his life.

The party arrives just outside the forest borders, package in hand. The thin trees are so tall and twisted, they nearly block out whatever light the sun can give at this point. The nastiest things they saw where the cobwebs: dark, dense things with threads extraordinarily thick. They where obviously not made by normal spiders. Often they stretched across the manmade dirt path, hampering the heroes progress. Even the dumbest man could tell something was wrong. This place felt...evil...

"Fanged Fiends in the Forest of Terrors! No Way Out of the PoisonWeb Prison! Eight Legs - No Mercy!" I wonder how creepy-crawly horror stories sell? Might be best to stick with the lantern-jawed heroes (like our paladin here) and busty maidens... H'mm...

Concentrating on the matter in hand, Theriandas speaks

"I think", he muses, "We should demand danger money from Finch when we get back. Looks like we'll have to earn our 25 gold..."

Ad you head deeper into the forest, a pursuer stalks you carefully.
Everyone make a perception checks (DC 16)
Daven also must make a Reflex save (DC 17)

"Heya pointy, whatcha writin'? 25 GOLD the man said. Each. What more do we need?"
Sturk does have his axe out and seems to use it as a shield between himself and anything that seems out of the ordinary. which to him is EVERYthing.
"It sure is big out here"

perception roll 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

Perception roll 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

Darien has readied his shield, but he has not drawn a weapon.