Motteditor's Reign of Winter PBP (Inactive)

Game Master motteditor

Zephtyr sails to the right, looking again.

1d20 + 33 ⇒ (16) + 33 = 49 Perception

Tsin allows her human sight a little exercise, looking into the passages, waiting for the air elemental its time to reconnoiter, expecting Hektir to return casually, only after he's laid eyes on the 'guardian' promised by Baba Yaga. She's hopeful, that he doesn't return and inform them that they have stairs to ascend or descend. She turns to her more substantial companions.

"So, what kind of guardian sits in wait for us? We've done 'skeletal queen', 'divs', and 'treant', oh, and 'golem'. Baba Yaga is certainly talented to bring all these forms to stand in our way. 'Demon', perhaps? 'Aberration' stolen from some dark corner of our world?" The swordswoman is much, much less hopeful, for their next task to destroy.

"Or perhaps the guardian will sense that we have her Death, and let us pass..." Tsin lets the last words fade from her mouth, as she finds nothing but wisp in the unlikely sentiment.

Back until Thursday, when I leave for PaizoCon.

As Hektir turns to the right, he sees a wooden mask carved from tree bark hangs suspended from a rocky outcrop where the tunnel makes a sharp turn. Dry and cracked from age, with dried strands of moss dangling from the top like stringy hair, the mask displays a crude and somehow sinister woman’s visage.

The mask appears to be completely mundane and nonmagical.

Hektir turns around the corner, and realizes a large cavern suddenly opens beneath the cliff. The ceiling is lost in darkness, though the tips of stalactites can be seen descending from the gloom, several of them ending in jagged stumps and displaying large gouges from great teeth or claws. Stalagmites once lined the floor, but most have likewise been sheared off and reduced to little more than rubble. A dark pool lies at the rear of the cavern, and a small stream runs across the floor from the pool to empty into a deep sinkhole near the south wall. White shards of broken bones litter the cave floor among the rubble and debris.

The likely source of the bones is immediately apparent: A large dragon with broad, ragged wings sits deep in the cave. Its serpentine body ends in three long, flailing necks with hissing, triangular heads.

They turn toward the entrance, rearing back as they inhale deeply! Before Hektir can react, one of the heads lurch forward and breathes out a line of freezing liquid! 51 cold damage, Reflex DC 27 for half; Also must make a DC 27 Fortitude save or be encased in ice. You can attempts to break free as a full-round action by making a Strength check or Escape Artist check.

1d20 + 30 ⇒ (18) + 30 = 48
Hektir: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Antagonist: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (19) + 10 = 29
16d6 ⇒ (1, 2, 3, 2, 6, 4, 1, 1, 5, 4, 4, 1, 3, 6, 2, 6) = 51

Hektir is up.

Malavarius tuts and smooths his beard at Tsin’s question. ”Oh come now, it won’t be that simple. Nothing ever is when the Old Crone is behind it. I was rather expecting a proper dragon, don’t you know. They’re in all the old stories, after all, and the last we dealt with was back in Irrisen in that blasted clock tower. I don’t count that gorynych we slew that was playing at the part of being brother to Baba Yaga’s grand daughter though. Thrice blasted monsters, those gorynych. Simple enough for Hektir to manage all on his own, no doubt, and not true dragons.”

Round 1

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22 Reflex
1d20 + 14 ⇒ (9) + 14 = 23 Fort + 4 via inexplicable luck = 27 to pass

Zephtyr takes the blast to the face, nearly becoming encased in ice but finding some way to struggle free.

He quickly withdraws from the fight, scooting back 140' to report back to the party, quick casting Resist Energy, Cold.

The dragon heads roar as Hektir retreats down the tunnel, which proves to be too small for it to follow him. Back out of combat

”Hmmm? What are you jabbering on about, Hektir?” Malavarius’ eyes then widen and he tugs on his beard, ”A three-headed dragon?! That lazy old witch is double-dipping, that sounds like another gorynych! Well, alright then. Icy breath, you say? Well, we’ve got an answer for that right here!”

The old mage produces the wand he most recently got from the resourceful Zilvazaraat, and wards the group from the dragon’s icy breath as well as a number of other magics.

I’ll spend 4 charges from the wand of protection from energy, communal; everyone gets Acid/Cold/Electricity/Fire immunity (max for each of 120) for 30 minutes.

Motte, what knowledge check to ID the beast? Will be getting some healing while we discuss our battle plans.

Knowledge, arcana (DC 27): 1d20 + 26 ⇒ (15) + 26 = 41

Malavarius waves a dismissive hand at Hektir, ”Bah, there’s no need to be rude, you bloated gas bag.” He then frowns as he strokes his beard contemplatively, ”Hmmm. Maybe not a gorynych then. Could be a khala or perhaps a zmey. If it is a zmey, it’s likely the last of its kind.” He shrugs, looking to the group as a whole. ”In either case, we should be warded well enough save for that entombment bit. Pemsworth, lad, if you care to weaken its defenses against magic like you’re able, I can try to turn it to stone like we attempted against that towering deep one yesterday.”

Pems nods. "I can do that! I better fly..." Pems casts fly on himself.

"Why do they always have to be evil?" Quinn whines, "Imagine how great of a tavern that thing could run, beer always cold, really can split it's attention among multiple customers, be it's own bouncer, really is a shame it has to be like this." Quinn keeps a watch while Mal provides resistance and Hektir heals. "It might be able to get out of the cave through another passage. If it tries to sneak around on us maybe we can run through and avoid it completely."

Perception: 1d20 + 31 ⇒ (11) + 31 = 42

It's immune to cold, disease, paralysis and sleep, and resistant to acid and electricity. Hektir will be very happy to hear, however, that they're vulnerable to fire.

"Meatsack?! I beg your pardon! Why I never-" Malavarius huffs a few times, mumbling and tripping over his words before at last blurting, "Blast it, I should have left you cursed in that retriever's den! Of all the ungrateful, miserable, belligerent-"

Zeno flits over to Quinn and, from his shoulder, shrugs at the priest. "I'd have gone with 'flightless fop' over 'meatsack', personally. But... do you know what they're arguing about? Or why?" He then looks to Tsin and Pemsworth, "How about either of you? I think we're about to fight a khala, and your point about a wasted opportunity was spot on Quinn, but maybe we shouldn't do that if our tracksmage and my wizard are fit to deliberately catch one another in the crossfire?"

"Oh come now, it won’t be that simple. Nothing ever is when the Old Crone is behind it."

Tsin grunts her assent, allowing herself to drift into the described thoughts of dragons in clock towers, in some distant land which becomes harder to remember with every passing day. Heldren does indeed sound like a quaint village often found in the olde stories...

"How about either of you? I think we're about to fight a khala, and your point about a wasted opportunity was spot on Quinn, but maybe we shouldn't do that if our tracksmage and my wizard are fit to deliberately catch one another in the crossfire?"

"We're never lucky enough to duck Baba Yaga's obstacles, so I say we enjoy our protections while they last, and try our hand at slaying a, what did you call it? A kala? Yes, this dragon thing will likely just resurrect to an eternal hell of guardianship once we're past it. If it's too big to chase Hektir, perhaps it's too big to dive into the small pool that just calls out to us to dive into it."

"Maybe we just make a run at the pool. It will only require each and every one of us to avoid being encased in ice before getting to it. I'm more confident for some of us, less for others." As before, her words hollow out at the sound of non-confrontation.

The swordswoman pulls up some protective magics of her own in the preparations. Protection from Evil, Expeditious Retreat, and Divine Favor, respectively and in that order.

"Let's get on with it." When the group is ready to proceed, Tsin waits for them to hit the bend in the tunnel to place a hand on Quinn's crossbow, a fiery symbol etching itself into its side. Flames of the Faithful- extra 1d6 of Fire Damage per successful hit, for 5 rounds.

"I'm immune to cold. I mean, I could distract the thing, and as long as I could avoid the bites, I should be unharmed. And the rest of you can get to the pool. And if I don't follow, well... " Pems trails off.

Zephtyr readies his Fire Seeds, and prepares for battle with some healing.

1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4 CLW wand
1d8 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5 CLW wand
1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7 CLW wand
1d8 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8 CLW wand

1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6 CLW wand
1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7 CLW wand
1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6 CLW wand
1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7 CLW wand

He nods to indicate he is ready.

You approach the cave again, squeezing through the tunnel, only to find the dragon apparently waiting for you! As Hektir emerges, it again breathes a stream of freezing liquid toward him, threatening to freeze him and Tsin solid! 72 hp cold damage to both, Reflex DC 27 for half; both also need to make a DC 27 Fort save or be encased in ice (DC 25 Str check or a DC 26 Escape Artist check to break free as a full-round action.

Brrr: 16d6 ⇒ (4, 2, 6, 6, 3, 3, 5, 6, 3, 6, 2, 6, 4, 5, 5, 6) = 72
1d4 ⇒ 1

Party is up; note that everyone but Hektir (who is Small) must squeeze to navigate these narrow passages -- Each move into or through a narrow space counts as if it were 2 squares, and while squeezed in a narrow space, you take a –4 penalty on attack rolls and a –4 penalty to AC.

Oh, that was fast, I guess we’re charging in. Zephtyr was going to ask about sending in some animal meatshields first and cast Freedom of Movement because he knows the danger of the ice. Do we have time to pre-buff?

Sure. I figured I'd get us back on the move (you did nod to indicate you were ready) and no one had mentioned any other pre-buffs.

Before the party rushes into the dragon's maw, Quinn provides them with a blessing of fervor.

only pre-buff will be Blessing of Fervor on the party

Pems grits his teeth and remembers when he could fit through just about anything. He flies through the crevice and into the room, using the Blessing of Fervor to move to the middle of the room on the left side. "Hey! Ugly! Over here!" He yells at the dragon, waving his arms to get its attention. He then EVIL EYES Will DC 22 to hex its Saves, -4 for 1 round/7 rounds.

Sure. I figured I'd get us back on the move (you did nod to indicate you were ready) and no one had mentioned any other pre-buffs.

Yeah, but was expect someone else to do something before facing the big dragon o’doom. But my bad. Freedom of Movement to start, along with his Resist Cold and other usual buffs, and Fire Seeds.

1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 8 + 2 = 17 Reflex (BoF)
1d20 + 16 ⇒ (2) + 16 = 18 Fort vs. Freeze, but FoM

We’re all up, right? Good guys and Mal to go?

That's correct. Also, nice rolls...

It's been a bit, so it seems prudent to remind everyone they're immune to acid, cold, electricity, and fire damage up to 120 points of each!

Malavarius wiggles his way through the tight passage, "Blasted tunnel! Let an old man through for heaven's sake!" Popping free at last behind the others, he scrambles to his feet, takes up his staff, then slams in down as he regards the dragon.

CL Check vs SR: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (13) + 22 = 35
Fort save (DC 24) or turn to stone please!

Round 1, Init 22

Blessing of Fervor for the +2s

Reflex Save v DC 27: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 8 + 2 = 22
Fortitude Save v DC 27: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (3) + 19 = 22

Tsin is immediately wrapped in ice, and just as quickly begins her effort to free herself. Eventually.

Strength Check v DC 25: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

Round 1

Zephtyr takes some pain and cold from the breath, but his magics allow him to move unscathed. He moves into the room and quick morphs into a larger version of Apetir. Now large, he uses his long hairy arms to drop the Fire Seeds at the dragon thing. Moving 10’ away and against the left wall.

”Burn.”

Looks like 171 damage, 85 halved. BoF to AC.

Quinn dumps a flaming cocktail on the dragon. "You should have been a tavern owner!"

Flame Strike: 15d6 ⇒ (3, 4, 1, 5, 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 3, 5, 1, 4, 5, 2) = 47 damage, DC 21 Reflex for half

Tsin finds herself trapped and begins trying to free herself as her male companions move through the tunnel thanks to the benefit of Quinn's magic.

Fiery blasts rock it and its heads struggle to track the incoming attacks until Mal's spell finally hits it -- and freezes it as solid as Tsin, though this time as stone!

As you recover yourself from the battle that was far less deadly than you expected, you hear Baba Yaga's voice in your heads once again.

"Good! Now stab the athame containing my death into it!"

Strength Check v DC 25: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Strength Check v DC 25: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15
Strength Check v DC 25: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

The second attempt proves as successful as her first, though as she watches Mal's magics connect, and turn the creature into stone, she eases up with a gentler try, before the ice snaps from a last push, and she stands where she is.

"Yes, please, do as Baba Yaga bids, and stab the stone with the dagger." For her utter lack of contribution to the creature's demise, she doesn't bother doing it herself, simply waits for one of the others to aim the athame.

Apetir, who certainly doesn't have any athames on him, waits to see who can do what to the stoned dragon.

Nice spell, Mal. Apetir hoots and grunts and scratches his ass, clearly thinking something.

Malavarius smoothes his beard with one hand as he leans on his staff with the other, nodding approvingly at the cavern's new decoration. "Yes, well, that went about as well as we could've hoped." As Tsin bursts from the icy block, the old wizard steps up to the khala and regards it for a few long moments. He nods, "You were a prisoner as much as anything else, I wager. Perhaps even more so given the size of that blasted tunnel we had to squirm through. A shame it came to this." He tuts and shakes his head in pity, then pulls the athame from one of his baggy sleeves and pokes it into the dragon statue's chest.

Tsin watches with a mixture of black amusement and interest in the juxtaposition of the gangly wizard slaying the stony dragon with what amounts to a kitchen utensil.

As Malavarius speaks sympathetic words, Tsin doesn't poo poo them, only waits for what happens next in the trapped witch's wishes to be freed.

The blade seems to slide into the stone as if it were as soft as flesh, but when Mal pulls the blade out, it's now solid gold instead of the former cold iron!

"You have done well, my Riders," Baba Yaga's voice rings again in your head. "You have recovered my death, and so you shall recover from death as well the next time she reaches for you." The next time you take enough hit point damage to otherwise kill you, each of you may benefit from a breath of life spell (CL 20th).

As Tsin expected, you're again advised that the way back to Grandmother’s Cauldron is through the pool in the rear of the cavern. Submerging yourself in the dark, cold, and filthy water, you re-emerge to find yourself back in the cavern where you entered the water after defeating the drakes.

Making your way back to the sacred pool and tree, you are telepathically instructed to slide the golden athame in the matryoshka doll and soak it in the pool. The athame sinks easily into the doll, which splits open once again, this time along the crack made by the athame, revealing yet another smaller doll inside, just as impervious as the previous ones. Vigliv appears once again from the bole of the tree as you open the doll again, and speaks once more:

“The death of Baba Yaga is no small thing, and you have succeeded in finding it where none have before. Now that you have secured her death, however, you must also locate and obtain her life. Although Baba Yaga hid her mortality away so death could not find her, to be more than a walking corpse, she must still have life. To this end, she ensured that a wellspring of life would flow in an ever-renewing fountain for her purposes. Guarding and protecting this source of life she tasked to her daughters, the Queens of Irrisen. After one hundred years of rule, these queens rejoin Baba Yaga and take up the responsibility of ensuring that her wellspring of life never runs dry. Now you must face the queens of old to reclaim Baba Yaga’s life and escape with your own as well.”

Vigliv again retreats back into her tree, but you hear what must be Baba Yaga's voice emerge from the doll for the first time, though she sounds
like a petulant child.

"It’s mine and I want it! Get it back from them—they can’t have it! I’ll tell you if you’re getting close. Go now!”

You feel her urging you to go down the southwest passageway.

Quinn stares at the doll for a moment, then bursts out, "That's Baba Yaga! That whining child put us on this quest!" Reverently he pulls forth a bottle of 'shine. "I understand the need for this even more deeply now." After swigging a hefty share he passes the bottle to Hektir.

Pems rolls his eyes at the petulant child's voice. "Is a side effect of immortality that you exist in a state of perpetual juvenalia? Because it seems a pretty rotten thing to me." He shakes his head. "Now we face a bunch of old queens? Great...."

"That's Baba Yaga! That whining child put us on this quest!" Reverently he pulls forth a bottle of 'shine. "I understand the need for this even more deeply now." After swigging a hefty share he passes the bottle to Hektir.

Hektir, in human form to watch the dunking and dolling activities, takes the bottle from Quinn. He helps himself to a long long drag, trying to drown out the witch's voice.

"Sheesh, what a whiner. I just want this curse off me and my summer back," Hektir agrees, still angry about all the witchy business. He takes another swig of 'shine and passes the jug back to Quinn.

He looks around.

"So...we rest up and then go beat up some witches on the morrow? I don't suppose its possible to just telejump or sneak into the spring? That would make things so much easier, you know? While I don't mind killing a bunch of crabby old crones, I don't see much sport in it."

"It’s mine and I want it! Get it back from them—they can’t have it! I’ll tell you if you’re getting close. Go now!”

Tsin takes a deep breath, as the witch-in-the-doll stabs out her selfish words, poking them verbally as a nana with a bony finger would. This is almost done. Remember that, above all else. When this is over, you can rest deeply.

"I am ready to depart when you all are. I imagine that a pack of banished queens will be little effort in a battle of swords, so we'll want to be as ready to deal with more magic casters." For what likely irritation it will be, Tsin still calls out.

"How many queens did you consign to this watchdog role, Baba Yaga? What about them would you share with us, so we may better prepare to reclaim your Life? It would be a shame to come this far, and fail you now, in totally avoidable ignorance."

"She’s going to have it guarded. No one’s supposed to get to the source of my life. She wants it all for herself. But it’s mine! She can’t have it!" the doll responds to Tsin's question, though it refuses to divulge anything further.

Eventually you decide to take your rest before heading toward the canyon. A series of "warmer" and "colder" complaints guide you toward your destination. Following the old witch’s hints, you eventually find a path that makes its way up the north face of one of the grotto’s side canyons in a series of switchbacks before reaching a ledge 500 feet above the canyon floor.

"A history of Irrisen's frostiest despots between us and the Old Crone's life?" Malavarius shakes his head mournfully as Baba Yaga's pettier voice leads them onward. "Good grief, this will be dreadful." As the group begins to approach the end of the switchback climb, the old mage begins to weave a number of protections over the group.

All of us benefit from protection from spells (+8 resistance bonus to saves), Tsin gets her daily mind blank, Malavarius and Tsin and Pemsworth get protection from evil, and Malavarius gets shield and spell turning.

We also have the wand of communal protection from energy with 45 charges still on it if we want to burn another 5 to cover all the energy types.

Hektir rolls his eyes only a bit, then a bit again, as the childcrone guides them to the next location. "Is there any way to just end her and end our curse? I'm not drunk enough to handle this with good humor." Hektir offers a spit to punctuate his point.

Ayep, might as well blow the wand too...but also, don't we want to rest first?

Hektir looks at the long walk up and wonders if the party would prefer to fly up.

"You guys wanna walk or fly?" If we're not resting, Hektir will cast Mass Fly on everyone for 150 minutes of flight.

Eventually you decide to take your rest before heading toward the canyon.

I took that to mean that we’re already rested.

Yes, I fast-forwarded past the resting, even though you barely used any spells. Lazy, 15-minute adventuring day PCs.

I'm advocating for a 13 1/2 minute adventuring day myself. Murder-hobos of the world, UNITE!

"Definitely ought to expect cold damage from a bunch of old witches. And I don't know... knitting? Baking? Cheek pinching? Hey Mister Malavarius, what do old women like?"

The old mage barks, ”I can answer that as readily as you can say what thrice-dead formerly halfling women like.”

"She’s going to have it guarded. No one’s supposed to get to the source of my Life. She wants it all for herself. But it’s mine! She can’t have it!"

Tsin realizes that several choice words have found their way to the front of her mind. None of them refined, or perfumed, or edges smoothed to address the old witch, in response to her inability to generate any working knowledge to up the odds of their success. I can't tell if she's withholding information out of avarice, or malice towards us. Her voice grows stronger with every shedding of a doll, and she chooses to repeat inanities.

She takes a good look upwards, and cares little for walking.

"You guys wanna walk or fly?"

"Yes, let's take to the air. We don't need rocks lobbed down on us, or being shoved off the ascending path."

"Malavarius, your protections are always welcomed." Tsin spends a moment to ready herself to receive the magics, as she tries to understand the Spell Resistance that now shrouds her constantly. "More than your protections, of course. It was a pleasant triumph to turn the ice dragon to stone. Let's hope you've got more of that up your sleeve."

Tsin takes her place near Hektir to receive the gift of flight, and immediately takes off to gain the height of the ledge.

Sorry, resting happened so quickly that I missed it. Another night of trying to drink all of Mal’s liquor, sticking his junk in the bread pudding, and passing out under the table, I suppose.

After casting his usual protections (including one fire seeds), Apetir casts Mass Fly and touches everyone. He nods along with Tsin, equally eager to end this.

He points up, quickly itches his balls, then takes to the air. He keeps his eye a open for trouble.

1d20 + 33 ⇒ (13) + 33 = 46 Perception

"There are a great many tricks up these sleeves, my dear, but I'm afraid that none of them are likely to prove as decisive against an entire gaggle of Irrisen's former queens. This will be utterly dreadful, I've no doubt."

"What? I thought perhaps this time we'd have to demonstrate our superior etiquette at a ceremonial tea, against ancient, demented regals. Dreadful, no doubt." Tsin forces a smile. "Perhaps it will be an easier task to slay these queens if we think of them as little more than shriveled husks to be cut down. I imagine them to be much like that undead thing we encountered in the fortress. What was her name again? Bremagyr. Yes. We simply need to permanently destroy a coven of Bremagyrs."