Motteditor's Reign of Winter PBP (Inactive)

Game Master motteditor

Zephtyr makes himself comfortable for the night in the shelter that Mal provides.

"Say Quinn. I think...I think I could try to bring Pems back. He'll be different...but he might be just fine too. But it is risky...he might come back *really* different," Hektir (shifting back to his manly form) explains. He looks at the rabbit (aka dinner), then at Pems' body.

"You think I should do it? I'll bring him back different but okay?" Hektir looks at Quinn, then Mal and Tsin to see if they have opinions.

It's a quiet day and night after the horrors of the previous day, and in the morning, Hektir casts his spell.

A nimbus of light surrounds the halfling's body, almost too bright to look at it. When it fades, it seems for a moment the spell hasn't worked. But after a moment, Pems -- unchanged! -- blinks his eyes, taking a deep, gasping breath.

He's alive!

Obviously you can update your spells for the day if you want. Please make sure they're marked on your sheets. Remember you haven't really examined the village yet. And there may be more mines out there (some of them you did discover may have gotten forgotten in efforts to not TPK all your asses).

Because it's reincarnation, do I come back as a different halfling? Like all the sudden I'm blonde?

"I was running through a field and there were so many explosions. WHat happened?" Pems blinks his eyes, which seem to be different colors now.

1d2 ⇒ 2

Dice say yes.

* * *Before/During* * *

Taking Quinn's silence as assent, Hektir begins preparations so that he's ready to perform the ritual the next morning. By that he means he's getting plastered and having a proper wake for the halfling because this is the last time they will ever know Pems in this form ever again.

He rips open a pair of moonshines and hands one off to Quinn, the other he takes a long draw from. He looks around and offers a toast to his fallen comrade.

"I for one," Hektir takes a sip of 'shine, "Will always appreciate the way he never cared how foolish he looked in battle. Here's to the little guy always givin' his best." Hektir drinks again. And again. And looks around to see if anyone else has words of remembrance.

* * *The Morning* * *

Hektir vomits and vomits again, pushing aside the two empty jars of moonshine to make room for his sick. Creating Water, he tries to clean himself up a bit before communing with nature for the exact things to do to restore Pems to a new form.

Hektir only sticks himself one more while praying, but then returns to begin drinking and actually trying to help Pems.

"C'mon...we need to anoint his lil body in this..." Hektir hands Tsin the jar of 'shine. "C'mon, get him good and anointed."

Skyclad, Hektir begins the guttural yowls and chest beatings that begin the 10 minute ceremony. The chest beatings are a poor replacement for not having good drums to bang, but Hektir does his best to make do.

With his manly bits dangling, Hektir moans and wails, chanting and re-anointing Pems from head to foot with 'shine. He follows with more chanting, more chest beating, and some very manly pelvic thrusts. And he pauses yet again to let the sick loose from his stomach.

The ending is a ululating crescendo of manly power being called from nature and into Pems, followed my more manly thrusts. Finally, Hektir puts his lips onto Pems' and blows life back into the...

"Halfling? He's still a halfling?" Hektir looks up and down Pems, really confused. "Did I do it right? Quinn? Did you count 10 or 11 thrusts!? I'm pretty sure I did quatrain of thrusts followed by a alcaic yewl and an anapestic gyration? Right? Was anyone watching?"

"C'mon...we need to anoint his lil body in this... C'mon, get him good and anointed."

With Hektir's insistence, Tsin starts to come back to her senses a little, taking the 'shine, and soaking a cloth with it. Cloth in hand, she wipes the halfling's face clean(er), brow, then cheek, cheek, then neck. She wipes his hands, as she slowly realizes that Hektir has removed all the halfling's clothes. Like a newly-slain pig, she rubs the body with more 'shine, as if readying Pems for a brine soak. She steps back, and keeps her eyes on the body of her companion, which is an inadvertent blessing, as her gaze never once sets eyes on the tracksmage during his gyrations.

"Why do I smell like alcohol?" Pems asks as he looks down at his new svelte halfling body. "And why do I feel a need to say "WOOOO" alot?"

Quinn just keeps drinking in an attempt to overwhelm the sobering thought that if he ever falls in battle Hektir will do the same over him. "Ten, eleven, yewls, gyrations, I'm not sure it matters, they come back as something different every time anyways." When Pems stirs from the table and starts asking questions Quinn helps him to his feet and restores his energy with a blessing from Cayden.

cast Restoration to remove one negative level. Can only do that once a week per the spell.

Pems feels much better as he totters on new feet. "Am I taller? I feel taller."

Hektir looks at Pems very disappointingly.

"How are you still a piddlespotting halfling? I thought for sure...for sure...that I'd get you to a more functional, higher form...like a man, for instance, or a gnome, or something," Hektir grunts still skyclad and reeking of his own sick and exertions.

Hektir runs his hands through his hair.

"Well, I feel like I let you down. If you want...if you want, now just hear me out...if you want, we'll kill you again and try this whole thing again on the morrow. Might get you into a better form if you'd like." Hektir tries to be helpful.

"Well, Hektir, I guess when you hit the perfect height and stature, you might as well just stay there. Why mess with perfect?" He holds out his fingers and examines them. "These are new fingers. They've never made rude gestures before." He proceeds to make all the rude gestures he can. "And now they have! Brilliant!"

Hektir laughs, pleased that all the halfling's tiny appendages work correctly.

"Well, alright..if you want to stay that way you can," Hektir replies with a spit. "You just let me know if and when you want to move up in the world." Hektir smiles as Pems seems to be mostly back to normal.

"I guess I done okay then. I thought I had done something wrong...but yeah...okay...nature works in mysterious ways," Hektir itches his body and then sniffs under this arm. He looks around.

"Hey Mal, this place got a bath? I think I might need one. And some wine? Is there wine around here?"

Tsin comes around slowly, as Pems is revived in a way she doesn't fully understand. Nor does she care to understand. For the Curse of the Black Rider, it feels fated. Hektir did nothing himself. The Curse pulled the halfling back from death, it only used the tracksmage like a sock puppet. Had she died, she would have been brought back just the same.

She sits quietly, and debates whether she would desire such a thing, to allow her essence to be dragged back into her body, to continue onwards with this damned quest. She wonders if she would be allowed to resist the pull of the Curse, for how deep the Curse may have Itself embedded.

For the swordswoman, the resurrection of the halfling is not joyous. It is dispiriting. She looks on Pems and his rude gestures, hears Hektir blithely offer to slay and restore, and she finds nothing humorous in any of it. If she needs to reach Baba Yaga through her son, so be it. There is a hostile world here, and she will have to contend with it a second time. She will not run blindly at it. That is what Hektir is for. She waits, until the others are able to return to the slaughtering floor that is the battlefield outside.

This is like the Doctor regenerating back into himself almost. lol

"We've got beds, stools, and desk, Hektir, my lad. Naught else. Are you sure that spell you worked on Pemsworth didn't change you as well? Asking for a bath?"

The old wizard chuckles as he offers Pemsworth his clothes back. "Looks like these might be a little short and a little loose on you now, Master Pemsworth. Better than running around a strange planet with exploding runes upon the ground naked as a newborn kitten though."

---

As the wizard sits at the desk and pours over his spellbook while the others make their own preparations for the day, he looks up briefly, "Oh! I say, I can weave an illusion over us to make us look like those strange people with their masks and staves if we like."

I can cast veil if we'd like.

Let me know what preparations you guys are taking when you're ready to leave the hut (as opposed to the Hut).

Hektir takes a bath (creating his own water) on Mal's desk, as offered. He cleans out all his bits, trying to get the taste and feel of yesterday's asskicking out of his system. He doesn't seem to mind the water that he splashes here and there to get clean...it's important to him.

When clean and dry, he will dress in his armors, finally eat something (he'd been queasy for some reason all morning) and be ready to go.

"A veil, you'd say, Mal?" Hektir asks unsure. "I still think they'd recognize us even if we're all wearing veils, Mal. I'm pretty sure they'll see thought them...most veils are sort of see though, after all. We're going to need a better disguise than that to pull it off."

Once it is explained to him, Hektir likes the Veil idea.

Shooting an angry, bushy-eyebrowed glare at Hektir, Malavarius barely restrains himself from turning the noisome, inconsiderate, desk-bather into a statue. Sighing to Zeno, "What would you think of a new stone perch, Zeno? You love a good statue, don't you?"
"If you're talking about Hektir, he wouldn't make a good statue. There's hardly anything there to perch on."
The pair chuckle for a moment before shaking their heads in echoed disgust at the same time.

Turning to Pemsworth, the old wizard inquires softly, "Now then, Pemsworth, besides greasy and sticky from alcohol, how do you feel? Well enough to pick up our search for this Rasputin fellow?"

Pems smiles, showing brand new white teeth. "I feel pretty good for being dead and then not. I think I'm ready to pay the explosion people back now!"

In the morning Quinn starts his daily prayers, only to be interrupted by dirty water splashing on him from Hektir's 'bath'. "Eww, now I need a bath as well." Relocating to the other side of the hut, the cleric continues his prayers for blessings that seem appropriate to this strange land.

will update daily spells this evening

So veil, Mal? Need some pushing here.

Hektir finishes his bath, suits up, magics up, and is ready to continue.

Slightly different spell list today.

As Hektir bristles by the door, eager to proceed, Malavarius pats a wrinkled hand in the air. "Now, now, Hektir. Slow down for half a moment, won't you? I don't know about you, but I can assure you neither Pemsworth nor myself are particularly eager to step on those horrible runes littered about the field out there. I don't believe I have the means to find them apart from stepping on them, but what about the lot of you? Any ideas as to how we might keep our feet from getting us blown back to Golarion?" He reaches up to adjust his winter hat, then recalls with a frown its incineration the day before. "Hmpf. Here I am a wizard without a hat and no means to safely navigate detonating dirt!" He glances to Zeno, perched atop the wizard's staff, and he shakes his head. "These are dark days, Zeno. Dark days."

Anyone have group-wide overland flight? Will Hektir's echolocation work for mine-spotting? Is everyone else happy with the option of Malavarius veiling the group? If so, I'll wait until we've scoured the village. Maybe we can find a corpse or two to help give the wrinkled old goat a better idea of what images to spin.

Hektir snorts, waiting.

"Maybe I can sniff out them boomies," Hektir offers with a spit. "I got me a good nose. They might smell." Scent, Motte?

"Also, we may be fine if we stay off the main road, stick to the trees. We can probably notice them better there."

Veil is cool with me. I want to prepare some spells slightly differently. Will try to have that done by end of today!

Perception is enough to find them, as if you remember, Quinn found some before all the exploding and gunfire started (and you actually were getting automatic checks as you moved through, which I rolled for you). If you want to just say you move carefully (i.e. one move action to move, one to search), that's enough, since Quinn's Perception is so high he really can just take 10.

Prepared spells slightly modified.

"Oh! I say, I can weave an illusion over us to make us look like those strange people with their masks and staves if we like."

"If it helps us avoid them, I'll not argue, Mal." Tsin adjusts her cloak, and waits for Quinn and Hektir to take the lead. She remains wary of the world, so allows those who need time to prepare to have it.

"You can see the ground glyphs if you take a moment to look for them", Quinn suggests, "I can take the lead and everyone can step in my same footsteps in the snow." When the party is ready, Quinn leads the way from the hut into the bright and chilly tundra.

Heading back to the burned-out village? Somewhere else?

Burned out village

Malavarius points Quinn toward the remains of the nearby village. "Let's give that place a once over, shall we? Might be some answers or clues as to the nature of this loud, explosion-riddled world there and if those strange men left their dead behind I can get a better look before conjuring up our disguises."

Hektir spits and nods, ready to follow Mal and trusting the man to keep them concealed and different. As he walks along, he realizes that he likes his manly human form (with generous dangly bits) but really misses the flying for its utility and function.

He sighs.

"You're going to make it like we fit in, right, Mal?"

"Sounds good. I want a better look at those explosive tubes that were shooting us. They seem... interesting."

"It will look that way at least, Hektir. We won't be able to speak their language or anything like that, but I did prepare a pair of spells that will let me understand any languages we come across for two hours at a time. We'll be able to at least get an idea of what's going on before our cover's blown."

Moving carefully toward the village, you realize a large plume of greasy black smoke still rises into the air from its center.

Getting closer, you see it's a large pile of corpses, but even more disturbingly, a slim man with an unkempt beard and a long black cassock gazes stoically through the flames of the burning bodies, his blue eyes piercing the haze like chips of chiseled ice.

"You have come for my mother," he announces in halting Taldane, his accent like none you've ever heard before (though with some strange similarities to that of the Brevoy region). “But it is too late. Her Thrice-Tenth Kingdom will soon be mine. Look -— even her little hut grows saddened at her loss.”

The figure points toward the hill where the Dancing Hut now paces back and forth.

"You must be Raspy Putin. Your brother said you're a jerk. What's up with your eyes? Did you stare into the sun as a small child? And seriously? You want Baba Yaga's power? Have you ever been in that stupid Hut? It's like a termite mound full of nasty and vile and disgusting and evil. I mean, from the outside, sure it's cute, but inside? It's like sleeping inside a dead cow. Blech." Pems announces, feeling like his new Pems body is a lot more talkative than his last Pems body.

Tsin hears Pems rip into a Hektir-like rant, so fears what the tracksmage might have done to the little man through his resurrecting magics.

"Yes, Rasputin. We've come looking for your mother. We do not seek to support her claim to this Thrice-Tenth Kingdom, only petition her to help end the winter siege in our homeland. Surely you're not opposed to that? Unless you're f@#%ing your sister? What was her name again? Elvanna?"

Pems spits.

Hektir spits, itches his manbits.

"We want out of this as much more than you can believe, but your folk and your kind have stolen my summer. And that's a problem. We're done with this cold crap winter s+~*. So...if you'll just help us end winter, we'll be on our way." Hektir smiles all nice-like.

1d20 - 1 ⇒ (10) - 1 = 9 Diplomacy

Quinn looks around at his companions as the horror seeps into his brain. He never realized it until now, even after all these years of traveling together, Pems was the only other sane person among them. Was. Pems' spit hits the snow near Hektir as he scratches and spits, Tsin barks about incest, and Mal tries to make a new hat from a discarded boot. Then he catches Zeno's eye and the calmness spreads through him again. "You and me buddy, we'll keep this on the right track."

With a cheerful smile Quinn steps forward. "Say there, old chap, pardon my friends, they've lost their manners along with our summer. What they meant to say was that you should have a drink with us and share stories of the fantastic hut and it's creator." Quinn offers his wineskin with the words.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10

Rasputin doesn't bother to respond to your various gibes, merely turning his inscrutable gaze on each of you as you speak, letting the silence extend comfortable.

He does respond to Hektir, briefly: "But the cold, it suits me so."

He shakes his head.

"You were most foolish to come," he adds. "You will die here, no better than these poor peasants.”

He gestures toward the pile of smoking corpses, and then casts a spell as the dead bodies seem to animate, melting together in a grotesque symphony of charred flesh and blackened bone. A moment later, the image of the man disappears.

Everyone must make a DC 23 Will save or not be able to take an action that would cause you to end up in a different location; you can still cast spells/fight/etc. Party is up (Rasputin went and the other creature's turn is pulling itself together, though it's not considered flat-footed). Combat map is 10-ft. squares; there's also a lot more space on it if you want to go beyond it (see the overall map) but I tried to cut it down to the main area to make it easier to use.

Round 1, Init 21

Hektir oaths as the man disappears. "Come back here and fight you cold stone bastard. I'll be shoving your eyes up your arse in a moment!"

He quick shapes into the mighty bag of hot air that is Zephtyr! Hero to all! He soars up 20' and 15' back (away from the thing).

1d20 + 15 ⇒ (17) + 15 = 32 Will Save

Hektir begins a full round cast. SNA VII.

Spellcraft DC 20: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22

Will save DC 23: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (4) + 18 = 22

"He forbid us from moving, that unhanded trickster!" Fearing another dangerous foe in this strange land, Quinn calls upon Cayden to give the party an advantage.

cast blessing of fervor on the party

Round 1, Init 6

Spellcraft v DC 20: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Knowledge(Arcana) v DC 19: 1d20 + 7 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 7 + 3 = 22

Will Save DC 23: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (4) + 13 = 17
Improved Iron Will: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (5) + 13 = 18

Tsin finds herself unable to brace her mind against Rasputin's force, while her eyes light upon the corpse orgy amassing in front of them all.

She does speak up, at least. "The thing's called a 'corpse orgy'. And I cannot move."

Blessing for +2 Attack, AC, Reflex

Readied Attack, Strike Back, Power Attack: 1d20 + 20 - 3 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 20 - 3 + 2 = 28 for 2d4 + 13 + 6 + 1d6 ⇒ (4, 1) + 13 + 6 + (1) = 25 damage, including fire

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (16) + 20 = 36
Knowledge Arcana: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (15) + 18 = 33

Will: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (13) + 11 = 24

"Well isn't that a barrel of fun crossed with a horror story?" Pems sighs and casts black tentacles to catch the corpse orgy but miss his friends!

CMB: 1d20 + 12 + 1 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 12 + 1 + 4 = 19 for 1d6 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10 damage!

Spellcraft (DC 20): 1d20 + 24 ⇒ (9) + 24 = 33
Knowledge (arcana, DC 19): 1d20 + 23 ⇒ (19) + 23 = 42
Will Save (DC 23): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (20) + 11 = 31

Seeing Pemsworth try to slow the horrid thing's approach, Malavarius hurries forward to Tsin's side and weaves a quick protection over her. He calls out to the others, "Be careful if it gets close! These monsters can shatter glass and bone with their screams!" The old mage then pats Tsin's arm, "And don't you fret, my dear. Once that horror clears Pemsworth's spell, I'll get you near enough to put that blade of yours to use."

Then, as an after thought, he turns back to Pemsworth, "Hit it with ice, Pemsworth! Those things don't like the cold!"

Move up to Tsin (directly north of her) and cast stoneskin

As Tsin finds herself unable to move, her male companions perhaps redeem themselves in her eyes, acting quickly to bring magic to their aid, protections of various sorts that they hope will give them the edge in the coming battle.

Black tentacles surge up from the frozen ground, grasping at the mass of bodies with rime-covered suckers. The heat from the burned corpses seems to repel it, though, and it's unable to get purchase.

Seeming almost ignoring the tentacles, the mass of bodies rolls forward in a revolting motion, and then they seem to open their mouths in unison and let out a piercing shriek that threatens to rend your souls even as it reverberates in your ears. 39 hp sonic damage to everyone but Hektir, DC 22 Fort for half

10d6 ⇒ (6, 4, 3, 6, 1, 2, 6, 5, 1, 5) = 39

Round 2, Init 6

Fortitude Save v DC 22: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (13) + 17 = 30

Tsin stiffens with Mal's imbuing, though she still digs her back heel in, given to nothing else, but to wait. "Stand behind me, Mal. It might just get close enough to do my running for me."

BoF- +2s

+1 Flaming Burst Falchion, Readied Attack, Strike Back, Power Attack: 1d20 + 20 + 2 - 3 ⇒ (15) + 20 + 2 - 3 = 34 for 2d4 + 13 + 6 + 1d6 ⇒ (3, 3) + 13 + 6 + (6) = 31 damage, including fire

Confirm Critical?: 1d20 + 20 + 2 - 3 ⇒ (15) + 20 + 2 - 3 = 34 for 2d4 + 13 + 6 + 1d10 ⇒ (4, 4) + 13 + 6 + (8) = 35 damage, including fire

Fort: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

HP 39/78

Pems lets out a groan as ears that have never heard anything like this begin to bleed!

"Cold?!? Something is FINALLY not impervious to cold?!?" Pems lets out a whoop, then gives it an EVIL EYE (-4 to Saves, Will DC 22) before casting CONE OF COLD (Reflex DC 22 for half). COLD!: 12d6 ⇒ (6, 6, 3, 5, 1, 2, 5, 1, 5, 1, 6, 6) = 47

Fort Save (DC 22): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

Malavarius' staff flares as the horrid creature shrieks, absorbing a great deal of the energy focused upon the aging wizard. "Good heavens, that's worse than I imagined!"

Grimacing, he turns his attention to Tsin, identifying the magics holding her in place, and focuses his efforts to ripping them apart.

Break Enchantment (vs CL + 11): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (14) + 14 = 28

Those are two standard actions, Pems (unless the cone is quickened?).

Mal's spell seems to have no effect.

Jinkies! That Rasputin is no joke! 18+ level caster? Golly!