Motteditor's Reign of Winter PBP (Inactive)

Game Master motteditor

"Ohhhhh, a little while longer yet I would think. The magic will probably last longer than the door! Ha! Oooof, my but you're heavy for such a small looking lad."

Round 14

"Ooo, I forgot about the fire pot, the one Tessarea sold me. Do you have any use for it Hektir? Mal?"

Tsin will move back and produce the alchemist's fire for someone else to wield.

If the last bandit doesn't fall to Quinn's blade, Tsin will remain focused on ending the two-sided assault, and will try and move to secure flank.

Falchion: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 6 + 2 = 12 for 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (4, 2) + 6 = 12 damage

Ugh.

Round 14, Init: 5, AC 18, HP 9/9, Channel 0/5, spells 1st: 0/3

Quinn moves behind the lone remaining bandit, providing flanking for Tsin, and stabs at the man.

Rapier +1, +2: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
Dmg: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

"Mal! Get Tsin's fire! We'll burn this place good. Or use it on the frosty pops that are about to come out."

About time someone started talking sense.

As Mal drags Pems a little farther back, Quinn steps behind the last remaining bandit, distracting him enough for he and Tsin to land fatal blows.

Behind them, the skeletons finally destroy the door, stepping through. Hektir steps up, the cold leeching immediately into his bones, and swings his blade. It catches the skeleton, crystals of frost forming on the blade, and knocks a couple ribs aside, but not enough to destroy it.

Anyone who starts their next turn adjacent to the skeletons (i.e. Hektir) takes 4 hp cold damage.

"I hit it almost as hard as I could and it's still standing!" Hektir notes aloud while examining his scimitar.

"Dang! These things are cold!"

It definitely didn't seem to do as much damage as you thought it should -- probably the lack of flesh makes the blade less effective...

Round 15, Init: 5, AC 18, HP 9/9, Channel 0/5, spells 1st: 0/3

"Stay with Pems, Mal, I got this!" Quinn grabs the flask of fire from Tsin and hurls it at the chilly skeletons. "Take that, you abominations!"

Ranged Touch Flask of Fire +3: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
Dmg: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Round 15

Tsin watches the fire ignite from the shatter, impressed at its effect, more impressed by Tessarea's collection of the same. Well played, Kestrel. Bold should carry the day, and you're full of it.

Hypothetical to play full hand here- 5' step to catch first skelly in flank, hoping other skelly is adjacent and gracious enough to accept Cleave- I bow to adjudication :)

Falchion, Flank?: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 6 + 2 = 16 for 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (2, 2) + 6 = 10 damage
Cleave?: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19 for 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (3, 3) + 6 = 12 damage

Round 15

Hektir feels the burning cold and grits his teeth against it, swinging before he tries to back away.

1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22 to hit;
1d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 damage;

Potential Crit: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16 to hit;
1d6 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5 damage.

Hektir will 5' back.

Still can't take 5-foot steps in the snow...

Quinn throws the flask of oil, hitting one of the skeletons, which bursts into flame. Seemingly preternaturally quickly, it's reduced to ash, the skull falling to the ground with its eyes staring vacantly at you. It almost seems it's laughing at you as its jawbone detaches from the rest of its skull.

Tsin steps forward and hacks into the other one, this time hitting it in the skull, a blow forceful enough that it cracks the white bone and the remains of the skeleton fall to the ground, whatever force was keeping them inanimate seemingly extinguished.

As they were both killed before he acted, Hektir does NOT take any damage.

Hektir takes his scimitar and smashes the skulls, just in case.

"I don't like these things none at all! Going to kill them again and again, just to be sure!"

"Don't stop now, there's still a lady to be saved!" Quinn boldly encourages his companions as he steps to the broken door of the lodge. "Zeno, do you see anyone else outside the building?"

Hektir stops his smashy-smashying of the skulls long enough to yell at Tsin.

"Well, let's get in there. It might be safe now...or at least a warm place to die."

"Warm, yes. Let's get in there." Tsin steps quickly over to Pems' body, picks it up as easily as a chilled side of beef, and proceeds inside, looking for a place to rest the body.

"Keep an eye out, boys. The leader is less those he led, and he'll either have fled, or dug himself in for his final moments."

Quinn steps through the lodge, his rapier extended to stab any lurking foes as he investigates the place.

Perception +12: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29

A bearskin rug dominates the floor of this trophy room, and the heads of several deer have been mounted on the walls. Two doors lead north and one leads south, while two hallways go farther east.

Map

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22 Perception

Hektir walks in the room, alert.

He stops near the bearskin rug, subconsciously spitting on it.

"Let's go."

"Hey, wasn't there another body right here when I grabbed Pems?" Quinn points to a vacant blood stain on the floor. "Let's be careful as we clear this lodge." Quinn continues clearing the lodge with Hektir.

Tsin gives Hektir an annoyed look. "I could have placed the halfling down on that, given him some warmth as we continue to clear the lodge." Tsin manages to find a swath of unspittled bearskin, and sets Pems down to continue exploring the first floor.

She opens doors on the first floor, in sight of the rug.

Tsin listens to Quinn as he comments on the missing body. "One of them manage to crawl away, did he? Can you see where the blood trail might have gone?"

Backing up six seconds...

As Hektir looks at the bearskin rug, he notes a bump under the center of it.

"Hektir, you spitting on the dead again?" Why does he do that? Quinn wonders as he nods his head towards Tsin and gets ready to yank the bearskin rug clear of the lump underneath.

Pulling the rug back reveals a padlock, which appears to be securing a trapdoor.

"Ah ha! I knew it! They've locked the floor for no apparent reason! I say, these ruffians haven't the slightest bit of sense. Shooting at chilly old men, socializing with the undead, locking the floor and hiding their foolishness beneath a grisly grizzly. Ha! A grisly grizzly..." Malavarius trails off into a series of soft chuckles as he aimlessly looks about the room.

"Hektir, you spitting on the dead again?"

Hektir looks at Quinn. "Of course. Some of them deserve it, especially if I just killed them. Not sure why you're asking."

Hektir spits again, trying to get the taste of blood out of his mouth.

"Hmm...a trapdoor."

"Seems rather ironic, doesn't it, Quinn? Draping an unconscious locksmith over a padlock like that. Do we wait for Pemsworth to awaken before messing with that lock, or should I lay into it several times with the steel?" Tsin folds the rug over Pems, leaving room to breathe, but also making him less noticeable.

"I say we leave that trapdoor locked until we're feeling better tomorrow, or at least we clear this place first and then knock on it to see if anyone answers. Now, where did the walking corpse totter off to, and have we cleared these rooms, wasn't some leader type around here?"

"Sound plan. I'll wait here with Mal, and monitor the stairs should anyone from upstairs decide they're ready to meet us. You two should stay together while clearing the rooms on this floor. Hektir, do you agree?"

Hektir agrees by taking action, nodding at Quinn and moving to the door on the bottom left (near the doors we entered).

"Just like old times, eh, Quinn?"

Hektir opens the door, expecting chaos.

Quinn stays right behind Hektir, ready for the worst. "Does seem like old times, and what does that say about us, to be in these situations time after time, it's almost like we're seeking this stuff?"

It means that we need to find different towns, we do.

"I dunno, Quinn."

It means I have rotten luck.

Or maybe Gozreh just blesses me.

I sure am lucky that Hektir is always around to make things right. It must be Cayden's blessing, the more chaotic the times the stouter the companions. I bet Hektir is thinking something similar right now. Quinn relaxes at the reassuring thought.

You open the door expecting the worst, only to find what appears to be a darkened, empty bedroom. Inside is a large bed and wardrobe.

Wardrobe?!? WARDROBE! That clinches it! We're in Narnia! This explains everything... CHOP THAT DAMN WARDROBE INTO KINDLING!

Oh yeah, Pems! You're finally on the 'burn this place down' plan. Oh goodie.

Hektir grunts and opens the wardrobe, shoving his scimitar in as he does so with a battle yell.

"Har!!"

If nothing is there, Hektir will nudge Quinn to the door to the north and west of the bearskin and open that.

What I have in store for you is far more dangerous than the Snow Queen, my little Pems. *Evil Winter Witch cackle*

Hektir's sword clangs off a metal washboard, knocking over a pile of linens. Other than that, though, it appears to be empty.

Opening the door to the northwest, a large fireplace takes up most of the north wall of the room, its radiant heat providing palpable relief from the cold weather outside. A pot of something bubbles merrily away, filling the room with a pleasant aroma.

Cabinets and shelves line the remaining wall space, and four windows look out on the wintry landscape surrounding the lodge.

Map

"What's that? Is that the warm light of a fire I see? Come, Tsin, let's bring Pemsworth and our own chilly bones over there, shall we? I am a very old man after all and there is little sense in not sitting by a warm fire when surrounded by an unnatural winter if a warm fire is to be had. Ah, splendid. What a nice fire! So thoughtful of those brigands to get it started for us, wouldn't you say?"

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

Hektir shoves his scimitar in with a yell. Out falls the body of a dead faun! "Mr. Tumnus, NOOOOOOoooo!"

Hektir looks in the room.

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25 Perception

"Hey you! C'mon out! Don't make me come get you!" Hektir points out the person hiding, before turning his head to yell for backup.

"TSIN! WE GOT ONE!"

"Ha! A smart one, didn't draw a blade against us, good thinking there chap..."

Perception +12: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (14) + 12 = 26

"...um, Lady, good thinking lady, you can well live like your friend Sarla that we saved earlier. Now tell us dear, before the butcher gets here, who else is in this lodge right now and what's under the trapdoor?"

"What's this? There's a trapped door somewhere? Ho ho, these ruffians thought of everything haven't they?" As the half orc is revealed to him, Malavarius looks at her intently for several long moments as he strokes his beard contemplatively. His gaze shifts to Hektir, then back to the half orc, then to Hektir again.

"Hmmm... Hmmmm... You two wouldn't be related by any chance would you?" Despite his inquiry, he remains alert and ready to raise another defensive ward should she seem ready to leap into violoence.

Tsin nods as Mal discusses warmth, and almost drops Pems, her instinct to draw her weapon, and free up her arms. Hearing Quinn announce the individual to be unarmed, she restrains herself, and brings Pems to the hearth, and lays him down there.

"A decent place to defend... after we address this one." Tsin looks over Mal's shoulder as he makes his assessment, and she stifles a laugh when lineages are brought up. Tsin waits for the others to parlay with the half-orc. Meanwhile, she tries to pinpoint the smell in the room.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20

You see a pair of greenish hands stick up from the barrel.

"I don't want no trouble. Take whatever you want and just leave me be, please."

"And what we want is information, so let me ask you again, my frightened friend, who else is in this lodge right now and what's under the trapdoor? And be truthful with those answers, we've no tolerance for even a single lie."

Nice one, Quinn.

Hektir stands down, holding back the words he was about to speak.

Woah...I guess Quinn has this one.

"...And be truthful with those answers, we've no tolerance for even a single lie."

Tsin draws her falchion slowly while Quinn continues his interrogation. No tolerance. None.

"I don't know who's here. There are about a dozen people in the lodge!"

"It's some woman downstairs. She's a hostage of some sort, but I don't know anything else about who or why!"

"Where is the leader of this rabble, the one who surely has the key to that trap door? Is the trap door the only way to the downstairs area? Are there any hidden rooms or secret passages? Quick now, the butcher is here and she'll punish deception." Quinn presses the interrogation, grateful for the threat of Tsin's blade to lubricate the process.

"I don't know where he is. He spends most of his time upstairs, but he's got a room on the first floor! I don't know about any secret rooms or passages!" she says frantically.

Confident in Quinn's ability to continue the inquisition without him, Hektir tries the next door. Door north of the rug.

Hektir opens the door this his sword raised to strike...

"Ha!"