Motteditor's Reign of Winter PBP (Inactive)

Game Master motteditor

Knowledge, Local: 1d20 ⇒ 5

"Quinn, should you ever need spare coin, it looks like you'd do well in shoeing horses." Tsin nods at Hektir as he prances around in the snow.

"Zeno, are you able to detect northern ursines in a frigid tempest?" Tsin keeps her gaze roaming the periphery, looking for signs of large movement.
Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

As the group proceeds, Tsin periodically reminds Hektir not to lead too far.

With nothing more to be done for the dead man, you continue on. A cold wind blows through the forest atop the ridge. Heavy snow burdens the boughs of the evergreen trees, but after several hours you come to a clearing where someone has apparently cleared the snow from a large patch of ground to dig in the pine-needle-carpeted soil.

Hektir stops short, signaling the others to be careful.

"This is where them traps are. Let us look first. Pems, Quinn, see anything?" Hektir says as he snuffs around the area.

1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18 Know (Trapper)
1d20 + 9 ⇒ (5) + 9 = 14 Perception

"What I can't figure out is why Dryden left the traps uncovered in the snow. Most animals are going to sense that..."

Perception (traps): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (1) + 9 = 10

Zeno flits from tree branch to tree branch, keeping a healthy distance from Malavarius and his staff while the wizard fumes and mumbles. After a time, Zeno risks flitting back down and alights on Tsin's shoulder.
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13
"I didn't see any bears, but you should be coming up on a bare spot of grou- oh! Here we are! That was fast."

Malavarius meanwhile strides up to the edge of the swept back snow, looking over the dug-in dirt. "What do you make of this, Hektir? Seems an odd place to be sweeping, don't you think? Odd indeed."

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

how big is the patch of ground that has been cleared? Is there a hole from digging or just disturbed ground? how big is the dig hole or disturbed ground compared to the entire cleared area?

It's about 15 feet by 15 feet, which is more or less the entire clearing, and appears to just be disturbed ground.

However, as you look around, two of the trees suddenly lurch into action, their boughs lashing wildly at Quinn and Hektir! The latter misses, but Quinn gets slammed in the face, a powerful blow that leaves him seeing stars! 10 hp; also need a DC 13 Reflex save or be coated with sticky resin that will give you a -2 on all attack rolls and concentration checks

No map; entire party is up. Consider yourself within five feet of both of them, but set up in such a way that getting into flanking will require two five-foot-steps or expose yourselves to an AoO.

"TREES?!?" Pems shrieks as the plants lurch to life. "WHAT ELSE IS GOING TO TRY TO KILL US?!?" He draws his short sword and slashes at the nearest one!

Attack Vs Potted Plant: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12
Damage vs Potted Plant: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Round 1, Init 19

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27 Know (Nature): wft is attacking us? vulnerabilities?

Hektir at first laughs when the tree smacks Quinn right in his goobittygob, but the smile fades as Hektir sees how much damage was done.

"Ah C'mon! Trees!? YOU TOO!?!" Hektir is shocked because he's always been on pretty good terms with trees in the past (and especially at Piker's Orchard).

Drawing his scimitar (unless my knowledge check reveals a better course of action), Hektir steps 5' and slashes at a tree:

1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12 to hit;
1d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 damage.

"Focus on this one here! This one!" (the same as Pems)

round 1, init 22, hp 6/16, ac 18

reflex save: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

"You piney menace!" Quinn slaps back at the bough that slapped him.

touch of chaos: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22

dang, waste of a nat 20, but the tree now takes the lower of two d20 rolls for every d20 roll until Quinn's next turn.

Any appropriate knowledge checks we can make, Mott? Like treant vs animated object type distinctions?

"Egad! A deciduous ambush! Well, your topiary madness won't stand, no sir! Take that, you overgrown shrub! Piddlespot!" Malavarius steps back slightly, produces a wand from within the folds of one of his sleeves, and directs a corruscating beam of fire to lance out toward one of the offending branch-wielders.

Scorching Ray (ranged touch, target in melee): 1d20 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (15) + 2 - 4 = 13for: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 5, 6, 1) = 17

Knowledge (nature), Mal.

Hektir thinks they're probably frost firs, which he remembers hearing about though has never seen before.

Little known outside the colder climes and higher elevations of the world, the malevolent tree creatures known as frost firs keep to themselves and disdain any who intrude upon their forested realms. Prevailing theories among scholars suggest the species descended from treants long ago, a derivative offshoot with an exclusive affinity for evergreen trees.

Hektir believes they're vulnerable to fire, but immune to cold. They're woody nature means they don't take as much damage from blunt and piercing weapons DR 2/slashing; they also exude a sticky resin that lets it hold on to things more easily i.e. combat maneuvers and hampers foes -2 to attacks and concentration checks if you get any on you.

Round 1, Init 7

Tsin draws back a bit at the sight of the very forest coming alive. "A falchion's as good as an axe, at present. What's one more woody obstacle in our way?" She tries to stay in-line with both saplings, striking first at Hektir's mark.

Falchion: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 for 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (4, 3) + 6 = 13 damage
Cleave?, though unlikely given the initial roll: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 for 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (4, 1) + 6 = 11 damage

Pem's slash just glances off the firs' bark as Quinn touches it and imbues it with chaos.

Hektir also slashes to no effect, but his blade seems to create an opening for Tsin, whose falchion cuts deep into the tree's wooden trunk.

On the other side of the clearing, Mal fires again with the wand, hitting the other tree to disastrous effect! It lets out a horrid screech as the sticky resin catches fire, pops and crackles reverberating throughout the clearing as the thing falls to the ground charred beyond recognition.

The last frost fir lets out a sounds like a growl and moves toward Mal, swinging wildly at the wizard.

"Ho ho! I fixed it! Did you see that, Zeno? Ha hah!" The wizard spins around and retreats from the animate tree a bit before yelling back at it, "Not a fan of fire, are we?! Well, take this you wintery, splintery devil! Piddle... SPOT! Oh, but this is fun!"

Scorching Ray: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20for: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 2, 2, 5) = 15 -4 if it's in melee

Pems moves to step closer to flank with anyone he can!

Attack!: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14 +2 if flanking
Damage!: 1d4 ⇒ 1 plus 1d6 ⇒ 1 if flanking

Round 2, Init 7

Tsin watches Malavarius make quick work of the trees, and approves. It won't do to let that limb swinger strike down the old man.

She tries to keep up with the tree.
Falchion: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9 for 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (4, 3) + 6 = 13 damage

"So trees can be animated as easily as skeletons? Is this the winged demonling's work?" Tsin rubs her dominant arm briskly, working out the pain created from metal striking wood.

Round 2, Init 19

"Yeah, that's right, Mal! Burn it with fire! Good work!"

Hektir 5' steps again and hacks again.

1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 4 + 2 = 25 to hit; (flank)
1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9 damage.

Potential Crit:
1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 4 + 2 = 25 to hit; (flank)
1d6 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4 damage.

About piddlespotting time, Mal! Well done!

Quinn basks in the warmth of the bonfire. "Well done, Mal, well done! The frosty forest fiends will fear you now!"

Hektir's blade finishes off the badly injured tree creature, sending splinters flying, and the glade falls silent again.

Only one charge from the wand was used as Hektir killed it before the second blast.

"What manner of devilry is this, that even the accursed trees come to attack us? Why, my old dad used to say, 'Son, when the trees are against you, it's time to find a pond!' But I can't see how the pond won't come alive and try to eat us as well! What a strange world we've landed in!" Pems wipes off his sword of any leaves or sap and sheathes it, shaking his head as he does.

Hektir swivels his head to look at Pems, a look of anger on his face.

"Exactly, Pems! EXACTLY!" Hektir says as he hacks a few more times at the tree he just fell.

*whack!*
*whack!*

"This is all unnatural, Pems." *whack!* "Something is screwing with the natural order of things...I liked it that way!!" *whack!* *whack!* "It shouldn't be snowing here, Pems...this is piddlespotting Taldor! I like the nice normal warm sun. I want it back! And evil piddlespotting trees should be here. And stupid frozen sprites either! And talking moose! I want them gone and I want to go buy a good wife and settle down in my warm woods!!"

"Someone." *whack!* "Is." *whack!* "F$%$ing." *whack!* "With." *whack!* "Nature." *whack!*

Hektir spits, an angry look in his eyes, his scimitar waving all about.

"And when I found out who...." Hektir lets his threat trail off.

Malavarius stares blankly at Hektir for a few moments, then blinks several times before turning to Zeno, "I say, Zeno, I think this one's lost his mind! Look at him going at that already dead tree with a sword! Ha! Preposterous! Ludicrous! Absolutly ridicu- hold on a moment. Ohhhh hang it all! I'm still mad at you, you perfidious puffin!"
Zeno vanishes up into the boughs of a non-animate tree with a yelp, his tiny black eyes peering out from a gap between several leaves.
"Ah ha! That's right! I've fixed this little wand and I'm not afraid to use it, you cookie stealer!" He waves the wand threateningly at the tree Zeno took refuge in a few times before lowering his hand and resorting to a narrowed gaze paired with a deep frown. A moment later, he shakes his head and chuckles quietly to himself.
"Heh. 'Perfidious puffin.' That's a good one, I'll need to remember that. I say, Hektir! What are you doing there, lad? It's quite dead, don't you know? Stop whacking that log and remind an old man why you're whacking a log. Where are we going anyway? Did any of you young folk think to bring a map?"

Quinn touches his damaged face lightly while muttering a prayer

clw: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
hp: 10/16

"I've a single healing prayer left, should we make camp before we find any giant weasels? I see Hektir is already cutting the firewood."

Eventually, you're forced to make camp for the night, and though you think at one point you hear noises in the darkness, nothing resolves itself, and a cloudy dawn -- snow still falling -- eventually breaks.

Despite what is clearly a great campire/site, I think just rested Quinn. I think we can get in a few more encounters...but if we/Zeno sees whatever we're looking for, we might want to back off and rest before going in.

Hektir finishes taking out his anger on the tree and puts away his scimitar, his breath sending plumes of steam into the cold air.

"It just ain't right and nature don't like it one bit," Hektir iterates. "Now, let's get a move on. Quinn, you okay? You nose is still a bit askew...did you want me to pop it straight again?"

Hektir will lead on...still looking for his new traps that Dryden left for him in the woods.

The words from Hektir startle Quinn back into the moment, "Yea, yea, I'm okay, give me just a minute." Quinn blinks away the dizziness, concerned about a possible concussion from the tree slapping. "We did just rest didn't we, my mistake, carry on."

"Nose askew?" Quinn checks his nose and face, "Maybe it's just the puffy eye and swollen cheek that make it seem that way?" Quinn turns a few angles for the others to judge. "No offense Hektir, but if it needs straightening I'll let Tsin have a go at it. I remember the dislocated finger you tried to 'straighten' for Rupert, even my healing couldn't help that poor fellow."

"The last time I dealt with a handsome man's face, he managed to retain one of his eyes, at least. You may have better luck with smaller hands." Tsin smiles at Pems. "He's used to unbending the bent, I would imagine." Tsin nudges the anthropomorphic parts of the felled fir.

"Are we resting here then? Oh, no, ok. Hektir, lead the way."

"Indeed! I can make certain your nose will never be used to pick a lock again!" Pems says with a twinkle in his eye.

You continue on and as the sun reaches its zenith around noon, you find bloody animal tracks in the snow as you begin to descend from the ridge above.

Knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19

"Ahhh, I think our white weasel has come this way already and it looks like the beast might be injured. Terrible days we're in, if a giant weasel can't even move through an unnatural winter without getting hurt. Terrible days indeed."

Hektir kneels down to look at the tracks.

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18 Know (Nat)

From looking at gait and paw size, how big/long would we think the weasel is?

"Good eye, Mal. Didn't think you knew a weasel from a puffin,'" Hektir confirms.

"Now, what do you think made it bleed, huh? Was it a trap?"

Hektir looks around.

1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17 Perception

You think it's probably about 10 feet long It's a Large creature.

As Hektir looks around, he spots two bear traps set in the snow.

"Bah, everyone knows puffins can't fly, Hektir." The wizard's tone makes it clear that this explanation should completely satisfy the tracker, as if it were the most basic of observations. "Ha! Zeno! Did you hear that? He's probably going to think weasels can fly now! Ha!"

Hektir steps to and fro measuring the gait of the weasel.

"What the Piddlespot?! REALLY! This thing is better than giant. It's hugegiantnormous! Weasels are maybe a foot...at best! This one here..." Hektir paces it out again, "...this one is likely to be BIG. 10 feet at least. BIG!"

Hektir fumes until he spots the bear traps (2gp each, 10lbs. each).

Using a stick/branch, Hektir will snap the traps safely shut, then take 20 (maybe with Tsin's help) to dig them up from the ground and undo the pegging that holds them in place.

"Yeah, these might come in handy. However, only wounded the weasel...that can't be good," Hektir worries as he packs up the traps.

Finally thinking things through, Hektir makes mention of an important point: "*IF* we do see the weasel, don't go all killing on it...it might be able to be talked down. I doubt it knows why it's here, we just might be able to save it."

Hektir spits to punctuate his point.

Seeing the size of the weasel prints and Hektir's talk of it, Pems looks around at the taller, less appetizing people around him and suddenly is very conscious of how small he is. And how much a giant weasel might want a bite. He slowly and carefully slides his sword out and keeps it in hand...

"Are you sure, Hektir? The posthumous words of the previous hunter might have advised you against reasoning with it."

Tsin taps her falchion against Pems' toothpick. "You see. Pems has the right of it."

Hells no, I ain't sure, but I have few (if ever any) chances to use this lvl 1 domain spell so I might as well try. Besides, what's the worst that can happen?

Hektir spits and gives Tsin a glare.

"I'm the best tracker around here, Your Doubtiness..." ...ever since I learned that Dryden was dead... "...and I wouldn't be a good one if I couldn't talk down an angry weasel, no matter how big. We'll see, though, we'll see."

Hektir spits and moves on, his hand going to his scimitar just in case.

"You're absolutely right, Hektir. It can't hurt to try. At the very least, it will be more reasonable than that cookie-stealing menace lurking up in that tree over there."
"I heard that and I AM NOT A MENACE!"
"Tell that to the cookies!" Shaking his head, Malavarius turns back to those nearer to him. "Now then, why have we stopped? Oh! Hektir! You've found some traps! I could use those the next time a basket of cookies comes into my possession, don't you know."

Are any of you up for an animal companion? Because a giant ermine sounds like a sweet one for this AP.

Two or three hours pass as you walk below the ridge, trudging toward the entrance to the Somir Valley.

More than a dozen boulder-sized chunks of ice litter the clearing ahead where a strange hut sits perched on tree trunks atop a raised mound of snow-covered earth.

Map in the morning...

"What in the planes is that thing?" Quinn eyeballs the strange hut and chunks of ice.

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

Pems studies it from afar. Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11

Hektir regards the hut with unease.

"We should just burn it down. Let nature reclaim this space," Hektir spits his disdain.

1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23 Perception

It appears to be a more than a dozen boulder-sized chunks of ice and a strange hut sits perched on tree trunks atop a raised mound of snow-covered earth.

Each of the hut's four legs is a single tree trunk whose gnarled roots resemble the toes of a giant chicken. The hut is constructed of heavy logs with a patchwork roof of shaved bark shingles.

You don't see anything else from where you are.

Pems pauses. Something about this situation seems at once familiar and terribly, terribly frightening. "I... I think I should get a closer look." Sword still in hand, Pems creeps closer to the hut.

As Pems enters the clearing, a shivering young Ulfen girl, blonde hair pulled into pigtails, suddenly appears amid the ice boulders!

Hektir shuts his goobittygob and lets Pems explore stealthily, but does mutter quietly under his breath.

"...<grumble>...burn it down...nothing good inside...<grumble>..."

Pems freezes. "Girl? Girl, are you alright?"

The girl darts out of sight, moving deeper into the field of boulders, clearly distraught and afraid.

"What the devil?! That looked like an Ulfen girl! And that hut... I mean just look at it! It's a chicken-legged hut! Be on your guard, all of you. Those terrible witches from Irrisen are likely about and they're not to be trusted!" Malavarius' words are possessed with an urgency his companions haven't heard before and his tone is colored with a stark lucidity that lends a remarkable amount of certainty to his warning.
"Blast and bebother these miserable witches! What are they doing in Taldor?!"

Hektir does not stop his mistrustful grumbling.

"...<grumble>...burn it down...nothing good inside...ghosts are not to be trusted...<grumble>..."