Motteditor's Reign of Winter PBP (Inactive)

Game Master motteditor

Tsin takes Erdija up on her offer, sizing up how much the centaur drinks and establishes a mental ratio on body mass. Better part of valor and all...

"Heldren? My, it blurs in the mists of memory, with all the witch-hunting that's taken place recently. I was a butcher's assistant, under the guiding eye of Perkin Tarimm. Our days were full enough of processing the meats, and I even learned a little of medicine for animals. Several of the local farmers were loath to nurse a work animal back to health, preferring to hand it off to Perkin with very little awareness of the drop in market value. And the meat, oh dear. An animal put out to pasture is a much finer cut if it's not working off its fat." Tsin takes another sip of vod-ka.

"You almost have me nostalgic for animal slaughter, Erdija. How bizarre is that? At any rate, I'm sure the boys here have more to add, as they are much more social than I."

Hektir takes a swill of the swill, offering Erdija some of his moonhooch in return. Only 4 jugs left! Oh noes!

Hektir gasps awkwardly as he drinks the vod-ka, fisting his chest in an effort to avoid coughing and to work it down.

"Powerful good."

He listens to Tsin describe animal slaughter and wonder if the hoofed woman feels any special connection to her cloven brethren or if they are just seen as 'food' (correctly, in Hektir's mind).

OK, going to move things along...

The evening passes convivially, with Erdija matching Quinn and the rest drink for drink and laughing as you share your tales. Eventually, though, you head for your beds and sleep comes quickly after the hard day of travel.

Quinn and Mal are standing guard for the final shift, as the sky begins to turn from black to gray, when they suddenly hear three creatures approaching quickly.

Looking up, they can make out three burly, primitive-looking creatures with an ape-like upper body, demonic horns, cloven hooves, and skin the color of a snow-buried corpse rushing toward you!

1d3 ⇒ 3
Malavarius: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17
Quinn: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (15) + 14 = 29
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

No map for this one; they're about 60 feet away.

Forgot to note, everyone but Quinn and Erdija are up in Round 1, though all but Mal and Quinn are asleep.

The vodka sinks her deep into dream state. Visions of half-animals dance through her lucid gaze. Pemsrabbit streaks by, complaining about being late for an appointment. Malstork swoops down from above, producing a long stick, and tapping it against a chalkboard, explaining how babies are brought to expectant parents in swaddles and beaks. Quinntaur trots in circles a potato field, stopping every once and awhile to drink from a crystal clear pond that can only be vod-ka. Tsin looks about, expecting to see Hektir in some strange animal twisted form, but seems to overlook his presence. That's odd... The lucidity heightens, and she understands... Ah... that's not Quinntaur... that's Quinntir...

Round 1, Init 17

Hektir wakes at the shouts (preumably) from the on-watch crew. Rising to his feet (move), Hektir casts Resinous Skin, readying for battle.

Knowledge (planes): 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (8) + 16 = 24 Special defenses? Attacks? Weaknesses?

"What the devil is making all that racket?!" Malavarius rises and peers toward the direction of the coming sound. With a start, he thumps his staff atop the noggin of the nearest sleeping ally* and blurts, "Not a devil at all! Demons! What the blazes are demons doing here?! Up! Up you fools! Wipe the drool from your senseless faces and get up, blast it all!" As the others start to rouse themselves, Malavarius settles a protective ward over Hektir and points expectantly at the oncoming demons.

mage armor for Hektir

Round 1, Init 23

Tsin wipes her eyes clear, rustling herself up to her feet as the cock crows. She peers ahead, investigating the new creature.

Knowledge(Planes), Monster Lore: 1d20 + 9 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 9 + 3 = 27 DR? SR?

She draws her blade, and readies a swing on the first creature to try and strike at her crew. She turns her thoughts to Winter, almost wishing one of them tries to lay a paw on her.

+1 Falchion: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (7) + 11 = 18 for 2d4 + 7 ⇒ (2, 1) + 7 = 10 damage

Pems shuffles in his sleep, making soft noises. "No, mother, no, no, not in the cellar, that's where the monster sleeps."

Perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (2) + 14 = 16

Mal shouts warning and casts his spell on Hektir, who struggles to his feet and casts a spell of his own as he sees the demons approaching.

Pems struggles to wake, as Tsin stands, like Mal, recognizing their foes.
no special defenses, Mal, but their bite causes 1d4 bleed damage, they have a cold breath weapon they can use every 6-24 seconds, will mutilate you if they can (1 pt. Cha damage if both slams hit), and have a powerful charge; Tsin, they have 5/cold iron or good and SR 16

Seeing their prey rise to their feet, the demons roar in anger and rush forward. The first two slam into Mal 25 hp total, one of them ignoring the cut caused by Tsin's sword, while a third levels a punishing blow at Quinn 14 hp.

Round 2, Init 23

Tsin shakes her head at the demons for attacking Malavarius. They would weed out the sick and infirm so easily? She tries to step between Mal and demons, hoping to discourage them away with the sight of their own blood. She whispers in low drone to Pharasma, bringing her weapon to keener cut against demonkind. She keeps her distance relative to the two demons, in order to strike through against the pair.

+1 Falchion, Bane 1/5: 1d20 + 11 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 11 + 2 = 26 for 2d4 + 7 + 2d6 ⇒ (2, 1) + 7 + (6, 1) = 17 damage

Cleave Attack: 1d20 + 11 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 11 + 2 = 16 for 2d4 + 7 + 2d6 ⇒ (2, 3) + 7 + (5, 2) = 19 damage

"Gah, but they're rank..."

Round 2

"Mal!" Hektir yells before rounding on the foes, giving them manly stinkeye. "You guys like charging things? Well SO DO I?!"

Hektir steps back (20'...unless he's in combat) and yells at the sky and snow, channeling his rage into something to fight with.

His changes into a creature that has a shaggy pelt of long, brown fur and a row of immense horns on its snout and brow.

Snorting, he prepares to charge next turn.

Round 1

The vodka still addling his brain, Quinn holds one finger forward and squints as the objects approach, trying his best to eliminate the double vision. "Two, no, four, wait, six, no, not six, only two, no, three!" Even as he sums the complex total, the creatures cover the entire distance before him and strike. Much too late, "Oowww! Beasties are upon us!" Entirely upset at having his relaxing camp put into turmoil, the cleric calls upon Cayden to drape a holy advantage on the party. "Now, Lord, with the inhibition of inebriation!"

cast Blessing of Fervor

can I add 'shift back 5 feet and draw a weapon' prior to blessing of fervor?

Oooooo, Blessing of Fervor... Tsin would apply the +2 to attack rolls, and +2 to AC/Reflex for her Round 2.

Malavarius staggers back behind Hektir and the others with a pained cry. Grimmacing, he glances up at the furious demons and glowers angrily, his eyebrows collapsing together as his brow wrinkles.

He intones a quick spell, drawing upon Quinn's magics to enhance his own. As he finishes, a gaping pit opens beneath the feet of of the demons*.

Reflex Save (DC 18) or fall 30 feet into extradimensional pit (3d6 damage)
Blessing of Fervor: extend spell

*Not entirely sure on positioning here, but if I can get two demons without causing one of my allies to plummet into the pit, that'd be super nice!

Also, everyone watch your step! If you end your turn adjacent to the pit, you have to make a reflex save to not fall in as well!

Perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (10) + 14 = 24 "Murble gurgle stop! Your tongue is fuzzy..." Pems mumbles in his sleep.

Pems, you can wake up, if you want...

Quinn steps back and pulls his weapon as he casts a spell on his companions, bring down Cayden's blessing.

Mal follows up with a spell of his own, a pit opening up beneath two of the demons as the wizard backs away, though one of the andrazkus leaps to the side to avoid falling.

Tsin slashes out at the creature as it leaps, though the other drops away before she can bring her blade to bear against it as well. The blade sizzles as it cuts across the demon's skill and it yells in fury.

Hektir and Erdija both move away, the former changing shape and the latter launching an arrow into one of the demons. It seems to barely notice the small nick and turns on Tsin, one of its meaty paws crashing into her chest. 5 hp

The other, seeing the space between it and the group exhales a cone of cold, the chill catching Pems, Quinn and Mal in its path. 11 points cold damage; DC 17 Reflex for half

A moment later, the last demon emerge from the pit, having scrambled up the sides with no seeming problem. More terrifying, it now appears to be twice as big!

Reflex! It's a lonely child, waiting in the dark...: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

Pems sits up in time to duck under his blanket as the cold hits. Fortunately his innate witchiness protects him! "What in the name of?!?" He splutters as the demons growl. "Go to sleep, dammit!" He curses the nearest one, using his slumber hex! Will Save DC 17 or asleep for 6 rounds!

Reflex: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19 Success! 11 damage is reduced to 5, Resist Cold 5 reduces it to 0. Yay!

As his own magics and protections absorb all the creature's icy breath, Malavarius calls up his familiar protective bubble as he tries to figure out how best to stymie these blasted demons.

+2 deflection bonus to AC for any allies within 10ft of Malavarius

Round 2

Reflex save: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19

The icy cold breath freezes the cleric, his slight protection against the element no match for the demon's chill. Shifting back again, Quinn clutches his mug and launches a stream of liquid light sloshing over the demon, "Take that, foul thing!"

touch attack: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 8 + 2 = 23

if hits, Spear of Purity vs. demon SR: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16

if beats SR, damage: 7d6 ⇒ (1, 5, 2, 1, 3, 4, 6) = 22 plus Blinded 1 round, DC 15 Will save for half damage and no blindness

Round 3

RhinoTir, taking AC bump from BoF, moves to round to where he will avoid the pit before he charges.

Stamping his mighty hooves in cloven fervor, RhinoTir trumpets before charging mightily at the wounded badguy, A1.

1d20 + 12 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 12 + 2 = 34 to hit;
2d8 + 13 ⇒ (7, 7) + 13 = 27 damage.

Pot Crit:
1d20 + 12 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 12 + 2 = 34 to hit;
2d8 + 13 ⇒ (7, 6) + 13 = 26 damage.

"BBBRRRRRRRPPPPPP!!!!"

Moving farther away from the creature, Quinn's frosty liquid hits it right in the face, causing it to cry out in pain. Seconds later, it falls asleep as Pems' hex hits it.

Mal brings his ward over the group as Tsin carves into her foe, provoking a bestial growl. It's cut short, though, as Hektir charges back into the fray, slamming into the demon, which disappears into the aether with a pop.

The newly emerged, larger demons responds by edging forward and ripping into the wooly rhino. The wounds its fangs leave immediately start dripping crimson blood. 22 hp total, plus 4 cold damage, plus 1d4 bleed (if you can remmeber to track that, I'd appreciate it!)

Erdija's arrow slams into the demon, who roars in frustration.

If Hektir's close enough to benefit from my ward, those last two attacks miss!

Seeing the larger demon roaring and making quite a show of being nasty and frightful, Malavarius casts another spell, this time over the rhino-that-once-was-a-man. As the magics settle over him, Hektir's stony rhinoceros hide because genuinely rock-like as it becomes even more resilient.

Stoneskin for Hektir! DR 10/adamantine until 70 damage is absorbed/prevented

Round 4

With Resinous Skin (DR5/Piercing), I'm taking slightly less damage, and will track it.

RhinoTir takes the extra attack from BoF.

Thrashing his mighty horn at the demons, using his bulk to add weight and thrust to its piercings.

1d20 + 12 ⇒ (7) + 12 = 19 to hit;
2d8 + 13 ⇒ (6, 8) + 13 = 27 damage.

BoFervor:
1d20 + 12 ⇒ (5) + 12 = 17 to hit;
2d8 + 13 ⇒ (4, 8) + 13 = 25 damage.

Round 3

As the demon before him burbles in slumber, Quinn calls for healing to bolster the party.

channel heal, selective: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 1, 6, 5) = 15

Pems nods and stumbles to his feet, stretching and yawning. Turning toward the next demon-ape, he hexes it with slumber as well! Will DC 17 or sleep for 6 rounds!

Round 4, Init 23

Tsin tethers herself to Mal, keeping between the old man and the demonbeasts. Should a second demon fall to Pems's hexes, she concentrates on the awake foe first.

Should it be the big boy, possibly with reach, Tsin casts Litany of Sloth to sidle up to it...

+1 Falchion, Bane 3/5, Power Attack: 1d20 + 11 - 2 ⇒ (1) + 11 - 2 = 10 for 2d4 + 7 + 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (3, 1) + 7 + (6, 5) + 6 = 28 damage

Fervor Attack: 1d20 + 11 - 2 ⇒ (6) + 11 - 2 = 15 for 2d4 + 7 + 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (2, 2) + 7 + (2, 5) + 6 = 24 damage

I blame Hektir for sucking Dicebot dry of the excellent rolls...

Pems' magic doesn't seem as effective on the final demon, but as Mal and Quinn's spells go off, Hektir and Tsin's blows do the trick and it quickly falls beneath their blows.

The final demon is dispatched in similar haste, leaving you alone in your campsite as Erdija trots back, looking aruond for any other danger.

1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18

RhinoTir pounds up and down the ravine looking for things to charge or scents in the air...he chooses not to charge things that are currently annoying him, like rocks and hills because he can.

Eventually, after pounding around for a while (and well in sight of Erdija's own trottings...no need to deny her RhinoTir's masculine (if hooved) features), RhinoTir will return to being Hektir.

He quietly hopes for more foes to appear...so he has another chance to turn into RhinoTir for Erdija's benefit.

Ayep...she makes me horny.

Grooooooan, Hektir, groan.

"Well done, Erdija, well done. Your bow work is formidable, and quite welcome as companion to our travel." Tsin keeps her eyes in the direction of the demon assault.

Quinn imbues rocks with holy light and casts them around the perimeter of camp, peering into the gloom where they land.

perception, low light: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (17) + 14 = 31

Wait- what? Where'd my post go? Awwww man!

Malavarius, suddenly and inexplicably wondering if the past was a concrete, unalterable objective reality or a malleable thing prone to the fickle whims of unseen goblins, sighs as he settles down gingerly atop a rock in the cave. Rousing Zeno, he shakes his head at the sleepy thrush, "What are demons doing here in Iobaria, Zeno? Hmm? As if bothersome giants and their big icy rocks wasn't enough trouble, we've got roaming demons to contend with too. These are dark days, Zeno. Dark days."

30/40 hp

"My thanks, Tsin," Erdija says proudly, her eyes following Hektir.

She draws close to the swordswoman and whispers something as the tracksmage takes out his fury on the rocks and hills.

Quinn sees nothing else of note, the demons seemingly being alone in the night.

Tsin wrinkles her nose, raising her voice to draw the boys in. "Erdija, have you seen demons like these before? Are they common to your lands? Should we expect more of their kind?" Thinking on the demons brings a light shudder, which reminds Tsin to think again on Summer, and avoid an unpleasant accident should her robe injure another.

"Iobaria is certainly home to its share of dangers, but these aren't like any I've seen. I don't think they're natural, especially considering how they disappeared when slain."

Hektir returns to camp and to bed, ready to put the fight behind him.

"Wake me up if more show up," Hektir asks as he gets back into bed.

Tsin works the scenario over in her head, then turns to Malavarius. "What can you make of unnatural demons in these parts, Mal? Another portal? Hellish instead of snowy?"

Malavarius shakes his head, "No, if those demons had passed through a portal their bodies would still lie before us. I'm afraid those brutes were summoned here and, likely, sicced upon us like a pack of dogs by whomever cast the spell." He shakes his head morosely and mutters about missing quiet cottages in sunny Taldor.

The rest of the evening passes quickly and you continue to make your way north, the trip happily being much less eventful.

Finally you arrive at your destination. Wispy clouds race across the gleaming blue sky overhead, but the floor of the crevasse lies in shadow, the sunlight blotted out by the massive cliffs on either side. Gray grasses and scraggly trees poke through drifts of ice and snow, weaving their way through black boulders that lie at the base of the towering cliffs. Crudely carved into the face of these cliffs, several miles apart, stand three impossible sculptures that each rise over half a mile in height. Each carving depicts a naked humanoid woman holding forth a warning hand. The first resembles a young maiden with flowing hair, the second depicts a pregnant matron, and the third a stooped and withered crone.

Image (ignore the dwarf and woman with the massive sword; they're not there.

"Quite tasteful. The long hair really keeps it artful." Tsin's eyes come to rest on the central figure, wondering what lies behind pregnant stone.

"What, we're to climb them?" Tsin looks at Malavarius, and shakes her head ruefully. "Mal, can you summon a mountain goat, in case it gets steep up there?"

She considers the statues, then the sky. Should the moon reflect any of the sun's light, she speaks out loud again.

"'Seek now the sisters three who are one: Mother, Maiden, Crone.' Well, we can consider that done."

"'Look for the Mother when the moon is full!' So, Full Moon, Full Belly. How poetic."

"'You will find the Crone only when the moon wanes.' With the moon's shriveling, so the woman."

"'The Maiden... may only be caught with the waxing moon.'" Tsin doesn't speak, figuring either Quinn or Hektir will take advantage of the numerous double entendres sure to be relevant.

Hektir stops to admire the women, deciding which of the three he might want to be with. His head goes to and fro, to and fro, then just bobs between the mother and maiden, neither gaining final purchase in his mind.

Hektir spits.

"Now where do we go? Is there a door? A path? Up? Down?" Hektir ask Erdija?

1d20 + 16 ⇒ (8) + 16 = 24 Perception
1d20 + 15 ⇒ (10) + 15 = 25 Survival

"Legend says you can enter from the head, though I don't know if that's true. I think the answer's up, but I don't think there's a path..."

Meh. I should have been more clear that I was looking for paths and the like.

Hektir searches a bit for paths or ways into the 3 structures, casting about for things of interest.

* * *

Hektir spits and looks at the party, man to centaur, man, woman, halfling, and curmudgeon.

"If you want, I'll scout around the tops for the entrance. By the mind, make watch for the swoop-de-doos...that means there is trouble," Hektir spits.

Before Hektir changes to the magnificent Hawktir, he looks at Mal and awaits the mage-ic protection that Mal can give.

Hektir becomes Hawktir and will do a few circles of all the 3 statues while looking for a way in and also looking for threats and a way up.

Before he flies up, he gives a hawkish wink to Erdija.

1d20 + 16 ⇒ (8) + 16 = 24 Perception
1d20 + 15 ⇒ (8) + 15 = 23 Survival

You fly up, Hawktir, and find vertiginous cliffs surround the mesa top on all sides, though a rock wall backing the top of the figure’s head rises above the plateau, creating some cover from the cold winds blowing across the mesa. From every direction the view is dizzying, offering a clear panorama of miles and miles of Iobarian wilderness.

Above the Maiden figure, a small copse of bare, weathered trees stands in the shelter of the rock wall, their knotted roots clinging desperately to the cold, hard stone. Dozens of bones litter the ground before the grove, some so ancient that the trees’ roots appear to grow right through them. Behind the trees, a shadowy arched opening in the wall leads deep inside the rock.

The gutted carcass of a centaur hangs from one of the trees.

"A mountain goat? Good heavens, no. Never learned that one. Just a horse, I'm afraid." Malavarius then casts his spell upon the man-turned-hawk, adding a satisfied nod as the tiny feathered skull cap sits snugly just on the crown of the bird's head. As Hektir starts to take flight, the old wizard wags his finger, "Now be careful, you feathered fluff-head, remember there was talk of will-o-wisps in the area. Go on now, off you go. Up, up and away- there's a lad. Mind your wings!"

As Hektir flaps off to take a higher look, Malavarius turns his gaze to the three giant statues and shakes his head ruefully. "Blasted Baba Yaga."

Pems starts when he sees the carcass, nervously drawing his dagger and keeping it at hand. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that we're not welcome here. As my old dad used to say 'When they hang a dead man out for you, son, they're not saying stay a while.'"

Pems, that carcass was above; only Hawktir saw it.

Pems has exceptionally good eyesight; he can see plot points from miles away. It comes from eating special carrots +5.