Motteditor's Reign of Winter PBP (Inactive)

Game Master motteditor

Quinn stabs a couple more of the birds, their numbers starting to diminish to manageable numbers, though still more than enough to do serious damage to anyone caught in their wake.

They continue to flap around Hektir and Tsin, claws and wings buffeting them. Hektir swings wildly, while Tsin retches at the creatures all over her. Worse, she feels stabbing pains suddenly radiate up from her hand, her the new ring nearly as painful as the birds' talons and beaks!
1 hp that I forgot about from last round; Tsin's cash may not be as out of whack as you thought...

Mal's blast goes off among the birds a third time, but distracted by pulling out his wand, he just catches a few on the fringes of the swarm, but it's enough to scatter them away from Pems' flaming liquid, which catches only a few. They scatter further, causing Nadya's arrow to go awry and drawing a curse in Skald from the Irriseni woman.

The birds continue their furious assault, dispatching the last of the bats and leaving more wounds on Tsin and Hektir 3 hp, plus DC 14 Fort saves, as before. As before, Tsin's ring reacts to the new scratches by sending stabbing pains up her arm, more wounds opening up on her arm. 1 hp

Round 4, Init 21

Fortitude 1 v DC 14: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14 for once...
Fortitude 2 v DC 14: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (14) + 10 = 24

Tsin's eyes flash to her guide hand, the hand bearing the Ring, newly called into question. A grim look circles then perches on the swordswoman's face. "This ring? I think we may have been too eager to trust in its true nature. I'm being injured by it every chance the birds strike." Tsin winds up for a chance at taking out her frustration on the assault at hand.

MW Falchion: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20 for 2d4 + 6 ⇒ (3, 1) + 6 = 10 damage

"I'm being injured by it every chance the birds strike."

Hektir tries to make sense of what Tsin says over the roar of battle and crow and within his own echoey cauldron helm.

"'You pee in a blizzard? Bite it, however, prance the dirt alike?!?' What does that even mean?"

Hektir battles on despite the rambling of Tsin.

Encouraged by his minimal success, Quinn continues jabbing at the birds.

rapier: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
dmg: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

"No, Hektir, don't try to pee on them, or bite them, especially not in that order, just keep striking at them with your weapon!"

Pems rolls his eyes as Hektir begins spouting loud echoing nonsense, and steps up to stab at the swarm! Attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10 for 1d3 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3 damage!

Malavarius' countenance darkens as the implications of Tsin's words settle on him. Distractedly, he sends his last firework into the crows accompanied by a blast from the wand. He hardly registers any of it though, as he frustratedly tugs on his beard and throws his hands around in animated disagreement.

Snapdragon Fireworks (fire): 1d4 ⇒ 2 + dazzled for 1 minute; Reflex Save DC 18 for 1/2 damage + negates dazzled condition
Scorching Ray: 1d20 + 3 - 4 ⇒ (12) + 3 - 4 = 11for: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 3, 2, 4) = 13

Quinn stabs wildly again as Hektir retches because of the ravens swarming over him, but Tsin slaps down the last of the birds with a swing of her blade, the remnants of the swarm flapping away as they realize they can do nothing else.

Mal's firework explodes among the other swarm, though they easily dodge out of the path of the ray from the wand and Nadya's arrow, before ceasing their descent and starting to fly off to the northwest, in the direction of Whitethrone.

That would have been a 15 to hit for the other swarm since they weren't in melee. That doesn't make a difference, does it?

Malavarius remains wholly caught up in some manner of argument as he paces about tugging at his beard, seemingly unaware that the crows have been driven off.

Not really; a swarm is immune to any spell or effect that targets a specific number of creatures (including single-target spells such as disintegrate). Plus they were flying away anyway, and can likely outpace any efforts to follow/kill them.

Are we out of combat? Am I reading that right?

Yes.

Hektir, sensing that the birds are no longer around him, peeks out from under his cauldron of protection. He looks to and fro, making sure the birds are gone before removing the entirety of the cauldron from his head.

He spits, proudly holding up his magic cauldron of protection.

"This is one nice cauldron, huh?" Hektir says, unheeding his numerous pecks and bloody holes given by the ravens. "Are we ready to move on? Let's keep an eye out for more servants of the witches. They think birds are going to stop us?! I hate me them witches fierce."

Hektir spits again to make his point. He turns to Nadya.

"If you and your kin are alright, let's get moving. Ain't no birds going to stop us."

Btw, Pems (and Mal too). If you want the cauldron, I'm happy to give. I didn't realize you might be summoning. Hektir mostly wants it so he can make FlashStew dinner at some future time, but he might use it for SNA spells as well. Also, the cauldron is gold against eye-pecking swarms. Gold, I tells ya.

Tsin wipes off her falchion, while also trying to gauge the birds' intent. Satisfied that there is no immediate regathering of black feathers, she turns her attention to a more intimate attacker. She twists the ring about her finger, making sure that it moves freely. If it seems fluid enough, she attempts to remove the ring.

"This is very much like the cookie, wouldn't you say? I can't say that I'm too happy to find that this escaped our ability to understand its magics." She looks downward at her hand, avoiding looking at anyone in particular.

The ring does not come off.

"Witchey witchery, they're still hurting us even after we sacked their tower!" Quinn looks to Tsin with concern, "When we get to Whitethrone we'll get three bottle of whisky and pray to Cayden for the removal of the ring." Not that I've ever done that before, but a bottle of whisky will at least make everyone feel better

Tsin considers the ring, and the finger. "This won't do. Mal. You studied this ring." She tries to reset her face, but the grimace comes back. "What can be done about this, aside from removing the finger to which it is attached?" Should be easy enough to do, but I'll need some of Quinn's whiskey to see myself to the other side.

Malavarius looks rather distraught as Tsin draws his attention away from whatever ethereal argument he was participating in, Zeno shaking his head and offering Tsin a helpless shrug from his perch atop the wizard's staff.

"I did study the ring, yes, but it shouldn't be harming you; it should be mending your wounds as you take them! I don't know why it'd be behaving differently." He paces back and forth a bit, grumbling to himself before spinning back around and turning on Zeno.

"Zeno! Do you think it's possible the ring is cursed?"
"Cursed?! How should I know?"
"Precisely! That'd make sense, weaving the magics to look one way but actually work another. How should you know indeed?"
"Well, can you break it?"
"The ring? Heaven's no! Tsin's finger still inside it, you addled albatross!"
"What? No- not the ring! The curse, you wrinkled old goat!"
"What's that? Break the curse? You know quite well I don't have magics of that complexity at my disposal, Zeno."
"So how do you get those kinds of magics then?"
"I suppose I could work it out if we had a copy of it. The right scroll would work. Or perhaps a wand."

Sighing in exasperation, Zeno pecks Malavarius in the head as he flits over to Tsin's shoulder. "You heard all that right? I don't know why he thinks everyone else's ears stop working. Anyway, don't chop your finger off just yet. Let's see if we can find a scroll... unless it's more than you can bear and you don't want to wait?"

"Oh, I agree, Zeno. I'm quite attached to my finger. Parting from it would be a sorrow best left as a last resort. I'll more than likely let you know how much pain this will cause me." Tsin studies the ring a little while longer.

"I was injured by it at the same time the birds struck, so it's possible that the ring serves as accomplice to those who bring us woe. It strikes me as very opportunistic."

Anything else for the moment, or are you moving on?

Moving on. Tsin isn't going to cut off her own finger...yet.

Hektir rubs some snow on his wounds, taking the cool to his wounds. He's ready to move on.

The rest of the day, and the second day pass uneventfully.

However, when you wake the third morning, all your food stores seem to have spoiled! Hektir also notices a small slit in his tent.

"Witchy witchery! Now they've rotted our foodstores!" Quinn glares with disgust at their ruined breakfast. "I fear our approach to Whitethrone will be witchy watched the entire way." Quietly, Quinn fears for the children and their hungry bellies. How long before we can get them a warm meal, how long before the unseen threat creates more of a problem than a hungry belly? Quinn gives Hektir and Pems a meaningful look and nods towards the children as he puts away the spoiled foods.

Hektir has a tent?! I had no idea. I always envisioned him sleeping out by the fire, barechested (and protected by Endure Elements).

Just to be clear, that got to the food that was stored in the Bag o' Holding?

Hektir looks around the tent, mostly checking his own junk (and his junk) to make sure none of that is missing/damaged.

"Hey, what happened to our food? And who cut a hole in my tent that I wasn't even sleeping in because I love sleeping out by the fire barechested?" Hektir flexes and points barechested to things in front of Nadya.

* * *

Hektir takes note of Quinn's looks toward the children and their small starving tummies. He takes two steps toward Flash and gets his cauldron...but then remembers that Pems might not yet be ready to eat Flash and puts the cauldron down. Instead, he grabs his hunter's kit and traps.

"Nadya, before I go hunting...are there any town nearby? Or should I go grab some food?"

Hektir will spend part of the day tracking down food.

1d20 + 12 ⇒ (11) + 12 = 23 Survival

The Cloak continues to provide her warmth. Tsin rustles from sleep sluggishly, when she is usually quick to rise. Those nightscapes... what touches upon my dreaming mind like that? Perhaps the ring is capable of such things, or my mind has taken license to imagine dark things.

She looks to assure herself when report comes regarding the condition of the food stores. "What in the blazes...? Let me guess. We're infested by something fey?" Tsin immediately narrows her gaze, and begins to look around the campsite. Cast Detect Evil

If nothing comes readily, she begins to scour the perimeter. She concentrates as long as is necessary to put her mind at ease that they are currently not in the company of the offender(s).

When it comes to pass, Tsin joins Hektir in gathering food for the rag tag band.

Aid Another, Survival: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16 +2, Hek

Apart from today's meals, aren't you able to prep purify food and drink, Quinn? That'd fix the spoiled food wouldn't it?

"Blast and bebother this miserable trip! Winter in summer, nobles in basements, children in dolls, witches in... well, everything! And now rot in our food too? Bah! This won't do at all."

Malavarius grumps and grouses as he studies his spellbook in the morning, obviously in a contrary mood. Zeno tries to cheer him up before he's batted away by the wizard's staff, which only makes Zeno grumpy to match.

As Zeno retreats to safer perches atop Quinn's shoulder, Malavarius can be heard grumbling to himself, "... probably won't even find food out there, the bare-chested oaf. We're in Irrisen, after all. A barren land of ice and nothing! Harumpf! Confounded witches!"

Pems slowly moves Flash back into his backpack as Hektir starts drooling. He stays close to Nadya and the children, telling them stories of the south to entertain them.

"And then kids, the brave hunter fell into a huge puddle of MUD! Sitting up, he spit and said 'Well, that's the last time I eat HER cooking!'"

Quinn has Purify Food and Drink already, will that work here Mott?

Hmm. Probably wouldn't affect the food in the bag of holding, so I guess ignore all that. :) And I assumed Hektir didn't want to be buried by snow every evening, but I could certainly be wrong. I think I'm just going to move us on, though, since the fey didn't manage to actually get to the food ...

You continue traveling on despite the strangeness that morning, and as the day wears on, you spot a rough wooden cabin standing just inside a small wood. There is no sign of activity around the cabin, but smoke rises from the chimney.

"Probably filled with orges or witches or ogrewitches! Pfah!" It seems Malavarius' sour mood hasn't improved overmuch as the day's progressed.

Tsin starts to examine the harsh snows for any sign of travel to and from the cabin, doing her best to let Hektir take the lead.

Survival: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

She turns her attentions to the cabin itself, seeking any signs of movement through windows, should there be any.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19

Tsin keeps the boys in her peripherals, and pats the air towards Mal in a gentle gesture of 'keep quiet'.

Oblivious to Tsin's gesturing....

"Warm cabins don't seem like the type of lair for wintery witches, they like solid towers of ice. I say we call out a friendly greeting and hope for a bowl of warm stew and a roof over our heads this evening." Quinn stares longingly at the cabin, hoping that maybe a bottle of schnapps is lurking in there as well.

Hektir approaches, remembering all the 'fun' they had with the last abandoned cabin, and draws his scimitar. He looks around for danger/tracks as well.

1d20 + 12 ⇒ (16) + 12 = 28 Perception/Survival

If he sees nothing odd, he looks at Quinn to see what they want to do.

"Is there any reason to stop here at all? We don't need to bother whomever lives here, right?"

As Hektir nears the cabin, a strikingly beautiful, red-haired woman in a hooded coat emerges from the cabin.

"Oh, please, please," she calls, "I need help. My husband's been taken!"

Quinn flashes a grin at his companions that can only mean one thing, he got the drop on Hektir. Striding from their cover he greets the beautiful woman before the tracksmage can show her his manly chest.

"Beautiful lady, such a tragedy that your husband should be lost! Seems to happen a lot around here. We are noble and manly adventures, you'll be safe with us while we look for your husband. Who did you say took him?"

For the love of Flash! Shouldn't you be in class, Quinn?!

Hektir's mouth goes agape as Quinn springs into action before Hektir can even get his pecs greased.

Ah...alright. But dibs on her sister is she has one.

"A horrible moss troll, who lives in a nearby cave!" she responds, flashing a dazzling smile at the cleric.

"If you can rescue him or -- " she chokes up for a moment " -- avenge him if the troll has killed him, I can reward you. I don't have much but you can stay here tonight. My cabin is safe and comfortable. And my husband has a magical trap that I could offer you."

"Ginger witches! That's even worse than ogrewitches!" Malavarius mutters to himself before racking Quinn and Hektir atop their heads with his staff. "Fools! Come to your senses!" He turns his gaze at the pretty redhead and furrows his brow with a frown. "How long ago did this troll steal your husband, girl?"

Pemsworth groans quietly as Quinn decides to emulate Hektir's chest hair style of dating. He begins to look around when she mentions a troll, keeping an eye open for troll sign.

"Just a couple days!" she says. "Please, I beg of you, it may not be too late!"

"Yes, yes! Which way is the cave, girl? Just point in the general direction, I'm sure one of these two shirtless goons can find it easily enough with that." He raps Hektir and Quinn each atop the head again for good measure.

"It's about a half-mile south west," she says, pointing in the direction.

Hektir rubs his noggin, wondering what he did wrong to get whumped by Mal.

"Hey! I was just standing here..."

"Bah! It was a preemptive thumping. Or I was making up for missed thumpings from before. Or I'm an old man and I'm allowed to be grumpy!" Malavarius threatens another rapping of his staff, but instead settles for a hearty 'harumpf'. He turns to the direction the lady pointed, muttering loudly as he starts to head off, "Who lives a half mile from moss trolls anyway? Terrible decision. Absolutely horrendous. They make terrible neighbors! Slack-jawed nincompoops... Zeno! Zeno? Zeno, where are you? Come here and listen to me grumble, won't you? Moss trolls indeed."

"Forward, brave heroes!" Quinn strikes a dramatic pose in the direction the beautiful woman indicated, "We'll avenge your lost husband, my good lady! Hektir, grab that magical trap, let us hunt some troll!" Confidently, Quinn begins the trek to the troll's lair, sure that this evening will be a fine one. "Did you know I once slapped a troll?" Quinn boasts to the pretty lady as their steps turn to the south west.

Sense Motive on Soulless: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

"NOOOOUUU. Are you mad?! Are the deers in rutting season already??" Tsin stares sternly at each ball-laden individual, before turning back to the woman.

"What is your name? Would you mind verifying that your husband is nowhere on the premises at present? Let us see the interior of your cabin, that should be a start."

Tsin starts to look just in front and just in back of the woman, raising her hand to her temple and rubbing, while she lightly mutters. Cast Detect Evil

If nothing untowards presents itself, Tsin turns to the boys. "If I remember correctly, we haven't finished escorting Nadya and her children. Would you be foolish enough to endanger them by questing for trolls on the first words of a beautiful woman?"

It should be noted that Hektir wears wooden armor during the day and sleeps with it off at night. He probably (not really sure) doesn't sleep in a tent when there is a fire built. When on watch, and during the day, his glorious manly chest muscles are likely covered...to the sorrow of Irrisen woman. You think that sound is an avalanche? No, it is the crying of 1000s of Irrisen maidens wailing for more Hektir.

Hektir flinches from Tsin's comments, still wondering what he had done wrong.

I wasn't going to do nothing! And also, the gingerwitch started it!

The woman hesitates a beat, seemingly at surprise, at Tsin's question about seeing the cabin.

"Oh, of course. My name is Sylgja, and yes, you can look in the cabin. He's been taken, I saw the troll and he hasn't come back!"

You believe she's being sincere.

She quickly shows you around the cabin, which seems spacious and well built and maintained, a fire roaring in the stove for warmth.

As Tsin emerges and the others prepare to depart, Nadya hesitates. "I think we shall wait here. I do not wish to expose my sons to a troll, of course."

"You think there is actually a troll?" Malavarius seems genuinely surprised at this possibility. He tugs on his beard thoughtfully for a moment before a grumpy frown finds its way back to his face, "Well if there is a troll, we can burn it just like the last one."

What's the worst that can happen? We leave Nadya and her children with an obvious witch, take the time to follow her distraction, and when we return, slaughter her outright when we find the corpses. Unless she leaves no trace of her victims. We'll be able to travel more quickly without the little ones. Pems, at least, can keep up.

Tsin turns her gaze from Sylgja, to Mal. "Hektir and Quinn, I can understand." She approaches the old man and lowers her voice. "What can we gain here but risk and delay? Our destination is Whitethrone, is it not?"

Does Quinn's keen senses perceive Tsin's acidic comments...

perception: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (12) + 12 = 24

"Risk and delay!" Quinn hisses at Tsin, "Tis nobility and bon...honor that drives our actions! The woman and children can stay at the cabin in warmth and safety, you included Tsin, us manly men will track this troll and bring justice to this forlorn tundra!" Quinn winks at pretty lady with reassurance. "Hektir, Pems, let us manly men show the Irrisenian expanse what power the southern lands can bring!"