Alvaster closes the door on the smartly dressed young Elf and retreats to his kitchen nook/washroom/conservatory to fill a pitcher with rainwater. He gulps it down drunkenly before retreating to his hammock in the loft where he collapses bodily into an inebbriated slumber.
Zzzzz...
(it works!)
Forrest staggers back to his room at the 'crab with much on his mind.
His eyes encrusted with sleep, such as a sea chest rusted shut from millenia of neglect, Alvaster awoke to the unmistakable clamour of vigorous carpentry going on in the town outside. Groaning, he tried to curl into a foetal position but his convulsions merely set his hammock swaying, no help to his already nauseous condition.
With great effort, he swung out of bed and onto his feet, he had neglected to undress last night and though his clothes felt damp with foul smelling sweat, his mouth felt drier than a Mummy's loincloth.
He lurched downstairs, which, conveniently was rather dimly lit in comparison to his loft, where the summers radiance streamed gloriously through fixed window slats.
Noticing the empty bottle and glasses on the rickety sidetable, he recalled his visitor from last night, the young Elf fellow, Forrest, his obvious hunger for adventure could spell great misfortune, as is often the folly of foolhardy novices. Ponderously Alvaster scratched at his phantom nose.
Searching around his ill-kept common room, he located his brass commode and began to fill it with great audible relief but found his bliss interrupted mid-stream by a sharp rapping on the door.
"Norkrung! Hands off cock and feet in socks!" Snickered an all too familiar voice.
Wheres Al's nose at? Is he all hole right now, how did he present himself last night? When does he see fit to equip his button nose of +1 daintiness? Has he still got any attribute damage from his disfigurement?
Regarding Alvaster's nose... this is his third day wearing the prozzy's prosthesis so you should make a secret Fortitude save, DC 13...
Maintaining the prosthetic - while the spell is in effect, after each period of rest, GM rolls a Fortitude Save for the subject - DC = 10 + [the number of days the spell has been in effect]. On failure, subject experiences a haywire effect in 1d8 hours’ time. If the subject rolls a natural 1 on this Fortitude Save then they have also contracted the disease Zombie Rot with first damage applying 24 hours later.
NOSE
Mitigates penalty to Charisma based skills from loss of nose by ½. Can completely mitigate if the unnatural hue and seam of the nose are masked with make-up (Disguise check).
Does not restore impairment to sense of smell or taste.
HAYWIRE EFFECTS
Roll 1d4
1: Subject experiences intense pain around the graft for 1d4 rounds. They take 1d6 nonlethal damage each round and suffer -2 to attack rolls, skill and ability checks.
2: Nose drops off the face and cannot be replaced.
3: Nose whistles uncontrollably for 1d20 minutes (potentially disrupting stealth). Adds +2 to DC of Concentration checks.
4: Nose rotates to a sideways or upside-down position and remains so until detached (should incur penalty to Charisma-based skills).
Alvaster Fort save is +5 by the way.
Oh so who's voice is it?
Alvaster has the option of taking his nose off (though he won't be able to put it back on again afterwards)
Pinching lightly at his cute little nose, Alvaster senses nothing untoward about his arcane appendage.
"Excellent, the necromantic prosthesis hoodoo seems to be working well." He thinks to himself and he cautiously approaches the door to his gaff.
Peeking around the sackcloth curtain he espies in the muddy alley, munching on a small apple, the unmistakable rugged form of Kreed's right hand bully, Boss Teedum.
Pinching lightly at his cute little nose, Alvaster senses nothing untoward about his arcane appendage.
"Excellent, the necromantic prosthesis hoodoo seems to be working well." He thinks to himself and he cautiously approaches the door to his gaff.
Peeking around the sackcloth curtain he espies in the muddy alley, munching on a small apple, the unmistakable rugged form of Kreed's right hand bully, Boss Teedum.
"Velsharoon's britches!" cusses the engineer-priest.
His hand flies back to his nose, he has an urgent sense to detach it, drop it down the drain. But it is his only, and who knows when he shall have another?Thinking quickly, he grabs up the rag he had been using to cover his open sinuses and ties it about his head. There will be a bump, he knows. But perhaps Teedum will not notice.
"A moment, sir!"
Alvaster scurries to the door, pauses, coughs, and stoops, adopting the manner of a wretch.
He cracks the door, with one foot braced to resist should Teedum try to force entry.
"Boss Teedum!" he says in obsequious tones, "Good to see that you survived the attack on our town unscathed."
"Ah Norkrung, hasnt it been awhile!" Crows Teedum as he throws the apple core aside. "All the brooding you've been doing I'd expect you've quite the clutch of eggs back there in your shi.thole of a shed ha!"
He spits a green gob onto the lower step of the steamworks before continuing.
" Anyways, the Boss has a bone to pick with you up at HQ so grab your purse and lets get going."
The pool of magic grease appeared to have soiled the finerys of the Rouge Ladies' parlour, but the green ooze shimmered and smoked, and left no trace as it soon dissapated.
Coco then wasted no time bounding in to the room and adressing the cowering wretch within. "Get out from behind the desk you little creep!" There was a small struggle then out she marched with a short gnome with greasy black hair and dark sunglasses, who whimpered piteously as Coco bent his right arm around his back and pulled hard his left ear.
She threw him to the floor in the main lounge and he slipped and fell into the gore and wreckage of his late comrades' corpses.
"What the fuk do you think you're doing coming here with those thugs eh? You fuk king look at me boy or I'll tear out your fuk ken heart!" Growled the wild, bloodsoaked Hobbit.
Clambering about to get to his feet amongst the blood, the gnome looked to Coco with a panicked countenance.
Coco rolls for Intimidate!
Blood had gushed like red fountains from Coco's injurys during the fray and thus she seemed less like a beautiful courtesan and more like a vision of crimson horror. Indeed this bordello seemed now to look like a busy abbatoir what with all the gore jetted up the walls and limbs scattered about like discarded rubbish.
Sanchez crept up to Coco and crouched right down to gently touch her on the shoulders. "Girl, we gotta clean you up you is looking nasty. Come I'll run a bath for you and get we'll get your leathers all cleaned up. You done real good tonight honey, come on."
Coco seemed to relax but still stresses "We gotta clean up this place and be cool ok? We'll chuck these turkeys out into the river and they'll be nothing but eelshi.t. "
Whatta yous guys wanna do?
Clambering about to get to his feet amongst the blood, the gnome looked to Coco with a panicked countenance.
Coco rolls for Intimidate! 1d20+6
Forrest waits expectantly to hear the gnomish drug dealers response. He has many questions he would like to ask him. Is there a connection between the riverside cockerels and the magistrate? Where is the rust coming from?
Just in case Coco's threat does not work, he prepares his best "Good Cop" routine, smiling apologetically at the terrified gnome.
Leon quivered and shook as he looked about in fright at the assorted strangers around him, but always his gaze would return to Coco.
"Speak up dammit!" Barked the bloody she-devil.
"Look, this is a misunderstanding right?" Stammered Li'l Leon "The Cockerals heard that Kabram got done in and so we rushed over to help with the new administration of this Knockshop. We was just wanting to make sure you lovelys werent left unprotected right?"
Everybody see's right through his shi.tty bluff
"Oh what a samaritan! Desna's tit.s man, what do you take us for? You fukken idiots thought to take over our place eh? And presumed with Kabram out of the way you could just stroll right in and claim as much pussy as you wanted eh?" Coco stalked through the bloody mess like a panther stalking its prey and with lightning speed grabbed the gnome by his crotch. "I think you'll find we're far from vulnerable here thank you..." she gave a vicious twist of her hand and Leon yelped like a kicked cur. "And this is one bitc.h you'll find very hard to break...you dig?"
She dropped the gnome and grabbed a bottle half full of booze off the bar. "Cmon Sanchez, lets see about that bath." To the rest of those sitting tired and sore around the lounge she mumbled "Wont be a smidge, I'll be back soon to figure out our next move. Everythings gonna be ok."
Coco wearily climbed the staircase one step at a time followed by the ever cooing Sanchez.
A moment later and Coco pushed her little head out from between the balistrade of the second floor. Her bloodied disembodied face reminded Alvaster of the Ganjees that had attacked him in the ancient magnet trap he had encountered and he felt a cold bead of sweat run down his spine.
"Fellas, ALvaster and Forrest. Thanks so much for your help, please dont go anywhere till im outta the tub. We are all indebted to you." With a subtle smile she then retired into one of the rooms upstairs.
Forrest moves close to Alvaster and whispers in his ear
"I've seen this fellow before. He moves in more elevated circles than you might think. I have good evidence to believe the magistrate is hooked on Rust, a stupefying narcotic, and that this chap is his dealer. If we can get our hooks into this fellow we could gain some influence over the magistrate, eh? At the very least we could learn more about the underworld of this wee burg."
Forest turns to look over his shoulder at the quivering gnome and smiles reassuringly at him.
"I could need some help with this... interview. I trust you are familiar with the "good cop, bad cop" routine?"
Coco reemerged from the upstairs room and descended the staircase looking once again clean & demure. Her torn, bloodsoaked gown now replaced with her characteristic purple studded leather armour. Her gashed head & long bleached braids now bound up in a fetching black turban.
She leapt onto a stool at the bar and bartender Bryan quickly and with great flourish poured her a drink of hooch, at which she sipped all the while maintaining her steady gaze on the quivering gnome.
Smokey and Bryan by this time had stripped down the corpses of the thugs and were heaving their remains down the rubbish hatch into the Cunny river which flowed outside. Forrest thought to hear a great deal of splashing outside but didnt think much of it at the time as he stood smirking deviously in front of Leon.
As they searched and stripped the corpses of the late Riverside Cockerals, the Gals of the Cathouse had piled any valuable salvage on the loungroom table.
Cockeral Booty:
20 geeps
30 silver bits
90 coppers
2 battleax's
1 shortsword
1 chainshirt (a bit ruined from Coco's impaling)
2 dirks
2 wineskins (in total about half a 'skins worth of rotgut within)
3 doses of rust (apparently a relaxing hallucinagenic dust)
4 pots of Wombats endurance (Like Pepsi to Bears Endurances Coke)
Around Ogdens neck is a small silver locket, inside is a tiny portrait of a smiling elderly Orc woman with kind eyes. Etched in cursive is the word "Grammy"
By the end of his breakfast, Alvaster's plate was probably the cleanest it had ever been and he sat back feeling most fufilled.
Teedum had made his excuses and left soon after delivering the details of Creed's job offer, and though Alvaster felt a cold anxiety of spending any time in the wilderness with the thug that mutilated his face, he felt assured that if anything were to go awry, it would be this time Teedum who was outnumbered.
Deflecting a enquiry from Yeurg about Almas's kumara industry, Ace instead piped up an enquiry to the group...
"Looks like we're gonna get a look at the countryside, and a bit of the local flavour up at the camps eh? I gotta go fetch a new charcoal and some other bits. Anybody need to go to the shoppe? Probably wouldnt be a bad idea to grab a bottle of hooch too wouldn't ya say, for the ride?" Chuckled the smiling little gnome.
To th' Goosey Gander, at once!
Is there anyone of interest in the tavern?
You see Parval sitting by himself nursing a tankard, he keeps muttering and looking out the window at some invisible bogey.
And theres some kinda knucklebones game going on in the corner, involving several cackling old cobbers.
Mungo is resting his torso on a small red pillow and is engrossed in Yeurg's stirring gaellic rendition of the ulster cycle.
Other than yourselves, in daylight the pub just seems to attract drunks and cripples.
Other than yourselves, in daylight the pub just seems to attract drunks and cripples.
To the shop then!
The greycloaks finish loading up Teedum's wagon just as the first rays of the sun begin peeking over distant crags on the horizon.
You's look round and see a few drunks staggering back to their hovels, otherwise none of the village have stirred except Savram Vade and Mikra Cutts, who sit watching you from a horse trough across the square.
"Alright Ladies, Are we ready to roll?" Announces Boss Teedum suddenly,
and from out of the serene morning stillness, a muddied gallop announces two more greycloak'd outriders, riding up to the cart to salute Teedum with their lances.
After securing a multitude of panniers and saddle bags to Bernstein's back, Forrest feeds his trusty pony a wrinkled apple and nimbly climbs into the saddle.
"Ace me old cock, there's space up here for you or I spose you can ride in the wagon?"
Bernstein farts nonchalantly as if to punctuate the question
Alvaster has never ridden a horse in his life.
He momentarily fingers the sleeve of his Robe of Bones but figures that riding a warhorse skeleton bareback would be a rough way to pick the skill. And perhaps an unnecessary extravagance besides.
He hauls arse up into the wagon.
Chaos reigned in every direction within the Wisky Crick Lumber Camp.
A carelessly lobbed bottle of 100% proof moonshine had set the mess hall ablaze, and from inside frustrated cries could be heard as Ace and Whinnie struggled to conjure some form of safety.
Although the conflagration burnt brightly and the wooden walls crackled loudly as they were consumed, above all was a cacophany of creaking boughs, whipping vines, snapping branches and shrieking kumaras.
From the roof of the toolshed Ranger Idris looked about in horror, everywhere lurched unearthly abominations neither plant nor man, but some bastardization of both. The "mandrakes" (as they seemed to compare to plantmen of childrens fables) staggered toward any figure and seemed intent on dragging them alive off into the forest, where no doubt some atrocity awaited them.
That bastard Teedum was fiercly pummeling the plant-things as they shambled through the south gate but he seemed from his sweaty pink face to be tiring.
The strange new adventurers who so conveniently showed up were holding up well, the dandy Elf peppering each foe with countless arrows, the dervish was flinging lightning bolts and leaping about like an hyperactive quickling.
Alvaster seemed like some automaton, a fierce grin drew up to reveal his clenched teeth as he intently saw to his magical machinations and telekinetic spear chucking.
Darting his eyes around, Idris looked up to the treetops, where the fierce red eye of the lupis constellation could be seen quite clearly, and although the noise would seem like he was amongst a fierce tempest buffeting the trees, the night was still and the wind calm.
But Idris was not piquing his interest in astronomy, nay, he was scanning for the beast whose leathery wings could be heard snapping when it approached the camp, for a minute or so after he had tagged it so palpably it could be heard to shriek in its grotesque fashion, not unlike a large cat mixed with the wails of a demented crone.
Any moment he expected it back to lob further globes of its mysterious vegetating tincture, or worse.
The mood in the camp is as sour and flat as its notorious moonshine.
The surviving jacks huddle in small groups, exhausted, watching for the dawn. Embers of latent terror smoulder in their hearts, like the ashen timbers of the mess hall, their fear glows dully for want of fuel, but threatens yet to flare back into terrible energy.
Alvaster lies curled up on his bedroll, still in his scale mail, trying to steal a moment's rest. But his lurching, racing thoughts give him no quarter.
Ding! Alvaster is now Level 5!
He reflects on his struggles with the maddening Deep Gnome text that he has been struggling to comprehend, The Tome of the Vigilant Engine. His conversations with that pedantic kumara farmer at the Rueful Crabb may have given him some insight...
Alvaster got 1 rank in Linguistics! He can now fumble his way through an airport novel in Gnomish!
His eyes are closed but all he’s doing is looking at his eyelids. He shifts onto his other side – but is no more comfortable. His restless mind turns to the siege engine he recently built for the defence of the Falcon’s Crest – and the cunning trap within.
Alvaster got 1 rank in Knowledge: Engineering!
Alvaster got 1 rank in Craft Contraption!
His thoughts become increasingly turbulent and bizarre as he teeters on the threshold of sleep. But that chasm does not welcome him. His body feels like a cold rock, someone else’s thing. His eyes snap open and he sees, many yards away, the remains of the slain manticore, dimly lit by embers,. Above the corpse wafts the uncertain image of a skull, suspended in the air. It rotates and meets his gaze. There is a crown upon its boney brow.
”I SEE YOU, WAYWARD PRIEST.”
Alvaster feels a crawling wave sweep across him from scalp to toes, as if his skin is plucking itself away from the flesh beneath. He cannot move. The voice seems somehow to arrive from both the skull, and some point deep and distant in the earth below.
The spectral skull tilts and hovers forward, unbearably close to Alvaster’s frozen face.
”HAVE YOU LEARNED YET, WANDERER? YOU ARE ONE WHO WOULD WALK PAST A FEAST TO SNATCH A NUT FROM A TREE. WHO TRADES THE GOLDEN CHALICE FOR A CLAY BOWL TO BEG FROM. DO YOU SEE IT?”
”I WATCH YOU STRIVE USELESSLY FOR THE GIFT. A FLY IN A CUP. ALWAYS TAKING THE HARDEST WAY. YOU SEE THE WORSHIP AS A MOTION. AS LINES AND CURVES AND FORCE AND FUNNELS. USELESS. YOU HAVE NOT THE TALENT FOR THAT PATH. YOUR EFFORTS AMUSED ME FOR A TIME BUT I TIRE OF YOU. YOU ARE LOOKING FOR SOME SWITCH, SOME LEVER TO CRANK THE GATES OF LIFE AND DEATH BUT YOUR EYES SHOULD BE ON ME, YOUR GOD.”
Alvaster’s bones creak as he strains to move and he sips frantically at the air. His skin runs slick with sweat.
”ONLY OPEN THY HEART TO ME, WAYWARD PRIEST. THE GIFT IS MINE TO BESTOW, AND THROUGH ME SHALL YOU HAVE IT, AND NO WAY OTHER. LAY DOWN YOUR SHIELD, PRIEST, SET ASIDE THE BLUDGEON OF YOUR MIND. GIVE YOURSELF TO ME, REACH FORTH WITH AN OPEN HEART AND YOU WILL SEE WHAT CAN BE GRASPED!”
”HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! HA HA HA HA HA!” laughs the spooky old skull.
Alvaster suddenly jerks awake with a startled mew. His heart is pounding and his eyes cast wildly about. The sky has lightened somewhat above, dawn will be soon. There is no ghostly skull to be seen.
Alvaster got level 3 spells! He can casts Animate Dead!
The force of his energy channel increased! He can channel 3d6 negative energy!
He got the Feat Undead Master! He can control a lot of undead! (+4 to caster level for the purposes of calculating max HD animated by spells or mastered with the Control Undead feat).[/b]
Alvaster got 1 rank in Spellcraft!
He rubs at his thinning hair, knits his brow and rises ungainly to his feet. He walks over to a huddled group of three jacks.
”Can you fetch me a length of canvas, friends. We must keep the crows from the corpse of the beast. I will have a use for it, come nightfall.”
”Can you fetch me a length of canvas, friends. We must keep the crows from the corpse of the beast. I will have a use for it, come nightfall.”
Forrest stretches out on his bedroll, trying to ignore the dull throb in his shoulder. His eyes droop and his head nods but, every time he closes his eyes the same scene plays out again and again
The manticore rears on its hind legs, towering over the helpless girl-child cowering at it's feet. Only I can save this poor innocent from being torn to shreds. I quickly ready an arrow, pull it back to my ear, praying to my god to guide my hand. I draw a bead on the vile aberration's eye and let the arrow fly.. and... and.. I miss... I fail totally.. the manticore's jaws snap and everything goes red...
Forrest jerks back into wakefulness
This will not happen again. I have been lazy, lifting tankards when I should have been practicing...
Forrest promises himself he will practice and do his exercises - he gets +1 DEX!
He looks up at the toolshed Imagine me, needing help to get up on something as pathetic as that! There was a time I could get halfway across Maginmar without leaving the rooftops. Better try harder next time..
Forrest recalls his days as an amateur parkour enthusiast - he puts 3 skill points into acrobatics
While I'm at it I should probably try to be a little more subtle, the full frontal assault didn't agree with me. Better to stick 'em from a distance, eh?
Forrest puts 3 points into Stealth
Odd that no-one knows anything about that witch. I'll have to ask some questions...
Forrest puts 1 point into knowledge:local, bluff and diplomacy!
He flicks idly through his spell book "Hmmm, the old abracadabra wasn't much use in that battle. If I'm going to be holding back I'd better find a way of staying in contact with the others..
Forrest learns a new level 0 spell - Message - allowing him to communicate with his companions anywhere on the battlefield!
How did that invisibility spell go? Dammit, I was never strong enough to make it last more than a few seconds! Oh well, being invisible for even a little while's got to come in handy..
Forrest gains a level 1 spell - Vanish - Allowing him to become invisible for 1 round per level!
Forrest finally falls into a deep slumber and dreams of totally not getting wasted by traps
Forrest gains Trap Sense +1 - giving him +1 reflex saving throw and AC against traps!
Magnun stared into the seemingly impenetrable forest, and wondered at the fate of those who had been taken by the mandrakes, glad that it was not him. He could not stop thinking about what had befallen them; this was a new thing, and there was something morbidly fascinating in the trasformation of people into plants. It was strong magic, surely. In the midst of this, he recollected lessons he had learnt long ago, while he had gathered his own powers; it was knowledge that until now had not taken hold.(1)
As he crossed the camp towards the fires, gathering his shortsword, he considered its practicality. He had taken a hammering in that fight, and the shortsword had been all but useless. Still; that which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger,(2) and along the way had been valuable lessons.
Magnun stood in the shadows, carefully out of the way, watching the others clear up some of the mess while took some beef jerky from his pack and chewed on it, contemplating what he had learnt.
What had been most useful were those surges of lightning. At a critical moment, while grappling the Mandrake, Magnun had discovered something; he could make great surges of electricity out of arcane power.(3) Even more useful, it seemed, he had discovered a new way to unleash his arcane power, now as Arrows of Force or Lighning that would unerringly strike their mark.(4) Exposure to the electricity of his own electric rays had, perhaps, inured him to the dangers of electricity(5) and using and developing these spells had taught him much about how spells worked.(6)
No. More useful than the shortsword had been simply knowing what was going on.(7) That had allowed him to dodge the falling goop, whose impact would have been terrible. Just simply being agile enough to avoid danger was obviously useful, and jumping out that window had been pretty awesome, if somewhat useless.(8)
In the end, however, perhaps what Magnun most valued was the story that he would tell of the day's events, and he set about practising this to himself. No; this wa a glorious day, and he would enjoy spreading the news of what had happened.(9)
Before going to bed, he joined the crowd and congratulated them on their achievements in the fight.
Seeing the upset Teedum, he went to console him, trying to show something very like empathy, before turning in and planning how he would tell the tale to transform this into something truly heroic.
1. Magnun has gained a rank of Knowledge: Arcana. He would have preferred a rank of Knowledge: Planes, but there is no way he can justify gaining that knowledge. He will take up research, if he can, to acquire Knowledge: Planes.
2. Magnun rolled a 6 on his d6 for hit-points, giving him 8 extra hp in total.
3. Magnun's new bloodline spell is Shocking Grasp--3d6 touch attack.
4. His new spell is Magic Missile. His Bloodline arcana means he can convert these to electricity damage, although I am not sure of the point. There's not much that is resistant to force damage, and I don't suppose Electric Magic Missiles will by-pass a Shield spell (or such-like).
5. As a Bloodline Power, Magnus has Electricity Resistance 10.
6. Magnun has gained a rank of Spellcraft
7. Magnun has gained rank of Perception.
8. Magnun has gained a point of DEX.
9. Magnun has gained a rank of Performance: Oratory.
"Wait just a moment chaps, hold for just one minute longer!" chirruped Ace as he fevereshly tried to scribble down the last fragment of detail on his charcoal study of the Womanticore in death.
"I dont much care to be lingering near this monster, n'even in death!" Quaked the crooked toothed 'Jack holding one side of the canvas sheet up to reveal the bloodied remains of the beast.
"Im in agreement with ye Jack! This fings probably got some witchery about it! Look at them cornrows, thems unnatural in a mannycorn!" said the greasier looking 'Jack holding the other end of the canvas sheet.
"Thats all the 'elp yous getting peck! Imma off to see if them stills aint emptied yet !" And with a frightened yelp the first 'Jack threw the sheet down over the monsters bulbous great head and leaped away as if it would jump back to life at any moment. The other 'Jack ran after him leaving Ace a moment to finish his sketch.
He held it up in the firelight and admired his latest work. "Nice," came a voice from behind and he turned to see young Kimi Eaveswalker leaning against a log by the fire. She had adopted an air of nonchalance as if she fancied herself a seasoned adventurer and she even twirled in her fingers the arrow that had impaled the Womanticores horrid black eye like a great overripe plum. "But know that my Pop and me will give you alot more trophy's like this to fill your artbook, just you wait! Im gonna take the head of that big smelly Mantikahn and hang it over my bunk, just you see if'n I dont!" Kimi seemed very animated for this so late an hour.
A voice in the darkness responded to her bravado "First light you'll be on the cart and heading back to Woodenhead and your Mother." Idris stalked along atop the toolshed, his feet making the barest of sounds on the corrugated iron roof. "This is no game, child, the Vale holds many dangers that would try the spirit of even the most experienced of adventurers. Its no place for a foolhardy girl who fancy's herself the next Tainui Kid."
At once Kimi was on her feet and brandishing the arrowed eyeball in her Fathers direction. "I'll not go Im coming with you!" she squeaked in protest. "How am I sposed to learn the ways of the ranger if you refuse to teach me! Do you want me to run off into the forest and tangle with Kobolds without a skerrick of experience! Why dont you..."
"Both of you shut the fugg up! SHUT the FUGG up! Im fugging sick of your incessant bleating!"
Teedum had snuck up from the shadows quite stealthily for such generally loud and boisterous blowhard thought Ace as he hid behind Kimi.
"You sort this bitsh out mate she's your fugging responsibility"
the Boss jabbed his fat finger at Idris viciously like it were a cutthroats dirk.
After a moment of awkward silence, bar the crackling of the fires, Teedum spun on his heel and stalked off to berate some jacks who were hopelessly failing at the simple task of salting the vege patch, much to the vocal chagrin of Whinnie.
Most of the other remaining jacks, 8 in total out of the original 16, were huddled in terror around the firepit, awaiting desperately the dawn like the rascal who takes too much acid and cowers in bed agonizing for an iota of sanity.
But there was a few 'Jacks who were either by bravery or greed, returned periodically from the stills outside the fence with armloads of bottles, each filled with the seemingly harmless clear but notably potent moonshine.
"It would seem like the snake who swallows his tail, that these scoundrels empty the bottles as fast as they can be filled!" Chuckled Ace to himself, as sure enough, the fireside 'jacks tried to deaden their nerves by guzzling the sharp smelling concoction.
Suddenly, as he slipped his artbook back into its leather carry case, a hullaballoo came to Aces attention and he looked up to see a 'Jack limping hurriedly up the path from the direction of the stills. He waved above his head the fine darkwood handled axe of Nigels, the Big Feller as it was called. The 'Jack was excitedly hollering for Teedum who seemed to materialize in front of him and snatch the weapon out of his hands.
"Give me that you shrieking pissant." He studied the axe for a moment then, grabbing the jack by the neck he drew him close and spitting into his eye demanded to know the nature of its discovery.
"Down by the middle still boss, by the shallow bend on the bank of the river boss, honest boss I aint lying to yer!"
Teedum released the 'Jack who immediatly ran off to join his comrades at the fire. But Boss Neville stood silently looking at the axe in his hands for several long minutes, his puffy bruised face revealing no glimmer of obvious emotion.
Any chance we can procure some of this moonshine? Seems like it makes tolerably good molotovs...
Any chance we can procure some of this moonshine? Seems like it makes tolerably good molotovs...
"Aye, I could part with a few bottles..." Grunted a grizzly looking 'Jack as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his swandri. "Snot cheap mind, this stuff'll be the last wisky crick 'shine we see for a bit, judging by the nature which them vegies bashed up the camp, and there being such monsters about, everyones a bit spooked see." He wiped his nose again, this time Alvaster noticed he left a huge gob of bloodied snot on his cuff. "No doubt Kreed will have some mugginses back here before too long to bust their humps, but not me, I've had it! Anyways, for you, Nosey, I can do 2 bottles for 20 jeeps, as I said, this stuffs now a rare commodity innit!" Chuckled the unpleasant little man.
Magnun has gained a point of DEX
Magnun looks around at the carnage, and contemplates the whiskey on offer. He thinks better of it, and has a few swigs of wine from a bottle. If either of his companions are nearby, he offers them some as well.
Might be worth getting weapon finesse at next level - mind you this page seems to indicate that baddies' touch AC gets worse as they increase in level (?)
Any chance we can procure some of this moonshine? Seems like it makes tolerably good molotovs..."Aye, I could part with a few bottles..." Grunted a grizzly looking 'Jack as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his swandri. "Snot cheap mind, this stuff'll be the last wisky crick 'shine we see for a bit, judging by the nature which them vegies bashed up the camp, and there being such monsters about, everyones a bit spooked see." He wiped his nose again, this time Alvaster noticed he left a huge gob of bloodied snot on his cuff. "No doubt Kreed will have some mugginses back here before too long to bust their humps, but not me, I've had it! Anyways, for you, Nosey, I can do 2 bottles for 20 jeeps, as I said, this stuffs now a rare commodity innit!" Chuckled the unpleasant little man.
Appraise check on that...? Alvaster's Appraise is 5. If it's comparable effectiveness to say Alchemist's Fire, that's an okay price...
Magnun, Alvaster and Forrest recieve 225 xp!
In the flickering firelight, Teedum and Shide drag the corpses of the mandrakes away from the camp.
As Kimi watches intently, Forrest and Magnun make sure to rifle the bodies for any more of the alien trinkets such as those they found at the Wisky Creek Raid.
Sure enough Magnun holds up a curious Bronze Armlet in the semblance of a fanciful sea serpent. Since he detects no magic in the strange item he tosses it to Forrest who is also dumbfounded as to its origin.
The Archaeologist then continues his efficent removal of 2 Gum Organs from the hewn corpses before continuing to search for gold teeth or other items of value.
He lifts a strange mossy flap from what one would imagine to be the face of one of the mandrakes, and suddenly starts as one bloodied green eye swivels about to focus on him in its death throes.
A strange split appears beneath the baleful eye and from deep within the creatures tuberous corpse comes a few barely audible but agonized words.
Kimi scrambles over to Forrest's side and stares googley eyed at the abomination before them... "Whoa! It can speak! Whats it saying?"
Linguistics roll...
"Strange, its kind of a mix of Sylvan and Elvish, a dialect with which Im utterly unfamiliar," Mused the Elf "It would appear to be pleading. To be precise, it's just saying 'please' over and over again"
"Strange, its kind of a mix of Sylvan and Elvish, a dialect with which Im utterly unfamiliar," Mused the Elf "It would appear to be pleading. To be precise, it's just saying 'please' over and over again"
" I'm beginning to suspect these poor wretches are woodcutters that have somehow been transmogrified into plant-men. Perhaps this fellow wants to be put out of his misery..."
Forrest looks sadly down at the twitching body. He draws his short sword solemnly. He bends down and whispers in Sylvan
"I swear we will do everything in our power to punish the foul perpetrators of this vile abomination. You will be avenged! For now though, all I can offer is release from your torment"
He repeats this in Elvish and awaits a response...
The strange creature's mouth hisses as brown blood bubbles out with its death rattle. Feebly it raises a tendril and attempts to wrap it around the concerned Elf's neck, though without the strength to cause any harm it almost seems a affectionate gesture.
Forrest is unsure as to wether anything he's said has gotten through to the pathetic thing lying in tatters before him...
Forrest is unsure as to whether anything he's said has gotten through to the pathetic thing lying in tatters before him...
Forrest mutters a prayer to his god, raises his sword and stick the creature in the approximate location of it's heart.
Wiping the sticky sap from his blade he considers the now still ruin before him.
"Friend Alvaster, you have some knowledge of physiology and such. What do you make of these fellows? Could they be woodcutters, cursed somehow into vegetable form?"
Morris woke in the damp dimness under a prickly brambleberry shrub, he could hear the babbling of a nearby stream and further off, unfamiliar voices.
He took a moment to try and decipher his current predicament, last he recalled was that he'd been out watering his kumara pit, when he could of sworn they all leapt from the soil to torment him with howls and protests.
Was it a dream? He remembers trying to climb a strange vine whilst it seemed also determined to climb him,
"Impossible!" He whispered to himself, and ungracefully struggled to his knees to take note of his surrounds.
It would seem he must have strayed somehow far into the forest, sure farther than he'd ever wandered while hunting for truffles with his hog.
It all looked very unfamiliar, as did the group of fellows standing about just yonder on the riverbank. They seemed to be investigating the wreckage of some large briar or birds nest of some sort.
Within the birds nest one chap with a rag about his face pulled aside some lengths of wicker to reveal two more fellows obviously in great distress, they were tied together top and tail fashion, and each poor devil with some strange reed emerging from their breasts. Much blood was now flowing from these strange wounds on their chests and they writhed weakly in obvious agony.
He gasped at the strange alien cruelty and without thinking stood up to get a better perspective. It was at that moment he noticed a finely dressed Elf standing mere metres away, atop a log that spanned the small river, the Elf had an arrow notched to his shortbow and stood unmoving with eyes locked on Morris's, obviously anticipating any sudden movement...
"I SURRENDER!" Pathetically Morris threw both hands in the air and burst into piteous tears
"As I feared!" mutters Alvaster as he examines the wreckage of wicker and horribly re-purposed men. "But they are not merely captives, somehow also the engine of this construct..."
He addresses the team in a loud voice.
"I trust all of you appreciate the ethical distinctions between the re-animation of dead flesh and this... whatever this is. THIS inflicts suffering on the living. THIS is an outrage."
He is tempted to expound further but no-one appears to be listening at the moment.
So he bends over one of the bound, tormented men and examines him more closely.
Heal checks at +8 to diagnose the state of these guys, what has been done to them and how to undo it...
Based on this he may bark out instructions to the others to tend to the men who were presumably stuck in the other Wicker Mantis
Alvaster will use Heal checks at +10 (expending uses of his Healer's Kit) to stabilise them or expend a charge from the wand CLW if it seems they will not survive by any other means.
So he bends over one of the bound, tormented men and examines him more closely.
Heal checks at +8 to diagnose the state of these guys, what has been done to them and how to undo it...
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10Based on this he may bark out instructions to the others to tend to the men who were presumably stuck in the other Wicker Mantis
Alvaster will use Heal checks at +10 (expending uses of his Healer's Kit) to stabilise them or expend a charge from the wand CLW if it seems they will not survive by any other means.
As Alvaster examines the unusual reed protruding from the man's chest, Boss Teedum gasps behind him.
"Moonstits! That's Donovan from the Redstump crew, what the fug have they done to him!" He squats down beside Alvaster and with unexpected tenderness cradles the poor captives head. "Donovan mate, what the fugs going on mate, who done this to you?"
No shred of sanity seemed present in the bulging eyes of the tortured 'Jack, he feebly writhed about and whimpers emanated from behind the stitches that sealed his mouth shut.
Uncomfortable with Teedum leering so close, Alvaster stood to get a better look at the other fellow bound in flax rope before he choked on the pissy reek of the Boss's rank aftershave.
Both men were weak and had their mouths stitched shut, but Alvaster put aside his anxiety on working with actual living people and set his mind to the immediate task of saving their lives.
He knelt down and attempted to remove the reed from the man's chest by gently pulling on it, which resulted in a sudden spasm of agony that threw both men into a violent seizure. Blood gushed from the the reeds in rich red gouts that soaked the riverbank around them.
"Fuggen hell Norkrung!" Protested Teedum "You know what your fuggen doing?"
Cold sweat flowed down his back beneath the clerics cumbersome scale armour, and he once again inspected the bodies. It seemed the reed was driven right through both men, and acted like some kind of conduit in which the dreadful Wicker Mantis drew its energy. Sure enough in the wreckage he could immediatley notice corresponding reeds that ran the length of its fibrous limbs.
Alvaster reached down and severed the reed that connected the men at their backs and from it a fresh fountain of gore pulsed up onto his trembling hands.
Returning to the stricken fellow before him, he once again looked to the hellish pipe that impaled his breast. He took a thick wad of bandages from his kit in one hand and in the other carefully drew the reed out. A quick jet of blood sprayed ALvaster's clothes, but paying no heed he pressed the bandages against the wound in an effort to stem the escape of lifeblood. In an instant the bandages blossomed red and Alvaster looked up to see the mans eyes lock onto his with a fleeting clarity. There was an audible sigh from between his stitched lips and his eyes rolled back in his head as his life escaped his mutilated body.
"Mate, MATE!" Teedum's sudden outburst could only signify that Donovan had come to the same fate "Oh gods, who would do this, oh fugg" And in frustration he began grinding his teeth quite loudly.
Suddenly Shide piped up, "Quick, theres a couple of poor buggers over here too!" he was standing over the mess that was the other Wicker Mantis.
Alvaster's hands tremble involuntarily and he mops his brow, unwittingly smearing blood all over it.
He hurries over to other other pair, pronouncing his conjectures aloud.
"These men are become the heart of the beast... and those damnable pipes twist through the whole construct, a network of many metres, half or more of their blood must be flowing through the external system at any given moment! If I truncate the reed - effectively they're losing all that blood nearly in an instant... but how to reverse the process?"
Alvaster's approach with the second pair will be as follows:
* First zap each of them with 1 charge from Wand CLW.
* See if this improves them at all, e.g. makes them more lucid, or less immediately "dying".
* Attempt to verify by observation whether blood is flowing through a networks that joins both men, as he surmises is the case.
* Detect Magic w/Spellcraft check to analyse the (assumed) enchantment component of this grotesque surgery
I have an idea involving clamping the reed where it passes between the two men but would like to know the results of the above before proceeding.
Various rolls:
Wand CLW 1:
Wand CLW 2:
Heal check (for medical observations):
Spellcraft check:
And why not a --
Knowledge Engineering:
-- too. I think this rig is basically what Dave Hall learned how to do in his Master's year.
Deep blue leaves shivered like a school of tropical fish as the wind blew through the Puriris giant boughs. Magnun Argos, the young sorcerous rogue, stood amongst the branches, eatng the succulent pink berries that grew up there in small bunches.
There were clouds in the east, over the far mountain range on the horizon, but other than that it looked to be a day of fine weather.
Below him in the strange clearing Boss Teedum stood behind a squealing tapir grasping it by the front legs, his grotesque strawberry like face split with a grin while young Kimi capered infront of the beast with youthful excitement.
The aloof ranger Idris had dissapeared into the supplejack momentarily, of to scout the surrounds no doubt but convienently as his daughter was distracted by Teedums brash return.
Forrest stood making minute adjustments to his fighting girdle and arranging the creases in his collar.
Another scene Magnun thought most intriguing was that of Alvaster sitting astride a log frowning down at the haggard looking peasant woman, who lay supine before him.
Magnun reached up above him and with little effort procured from a pink cluster another delicious berry.
Forrest approaches Alvaster and the two converse quietly for a couple of minutes.
Alvaster stands, claps Forrest on the shoulder briefly and ambles over to a point in the clearing where he can address everyone.
"Boss Teedum! Master Argos! Bowman Forrest! Ranger --"
An annoyed look as he realises Idris has wandered off.
"-- Ranger Kimi!"
"The woman is much recovered, but it will be another day before I can heal her well enough to travel. With your grace, friends, I suggest we bide another day here. My feeling is, we now draw near to the source of the evil we've been tracking. Everything we've seen so far suggests we might be wandering into the dragon's jaws. We can't just blunder ahead, we need to plan our way with care. Mayhaps the crafty ones among us - Idris, Magnin, maybe you too, Neville, Forrest - those who can slip through the woods unseen, should scout the trail a few hours ahead this day. Anything we can learn about our enemy before we face them head-to-head could be the difference between life and death."
"What say you, friends?"