Archepex loot1: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (5, 4) + 3 = 12 Gravity-Reversing Cloak Clasp. Just give the gear on the inner circle of the clasp a little twist!
Bow enhancement: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (1, 3) + 3 = 7 Scarlet Bowstring of Weightlessness - It looks like a normal reddish bowstring, but with this string strung on your bow, it weighs 0.
Bathilda Loot 1 : 1d8 + 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (4) + (4) + 3 = 11 Fully Functioning Voodoo Doll 0 Weight - just missing a piece of hair from your intended victim
Armor: 1d8 + 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (2) + (5) + 3 = 10 Grasping Chainmail - Like normal chainmail (1 armor, worn, 10 50 coins, 1 weight), but with the Grappler tag. Nobody you tackle and get your arms around in combat is able to escape, due to the slightly-alive nature of the armor, which will attempt to grab on to the target itself.
Dhice loot : 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (1, 5) + 3 = 9+1 from Lyntel: Tenser's Floating Disc, can hold up to 10 weight and will float at 3' off the ground to follow you until commanded to stop.
Wearable magic: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (2, 6) + 3 = 11: Hat of Many Races 0 Weight: Wear it and think of a race, and if it's near to your size, you look like them from the neck up.
Emma Loot: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (6, 6) + 3 = 15 (critical roll) Intimidating Full Plate (3 armor, worn, clumsy, 350 coins, 4 weight) +1 on I AM THE LAW rolls.
I would really like my old sword back: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (1, 4) + 3 = 8 You get your old sword back. The hilt now grows hot in the presence of Skaven.
GrigorLoot 1 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (5, 5) + 3 = 13 Demon-Summoning Box - destroy the box to summon a Pit Lord. If you trick him, or manage to kill the Pit Lord, he must perform a single act for you in order to be released back to Hell.
2d6 + 3 ⇒ (2, 2) + 3 = 7 - Grigor, I'll allow you the Papers of Fake Authority item, but it only has 3 usable charges due to your 7-9 roll.
Lyntel First Loot: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (1, 5) + 3 = 9 A small jewel that used to belong to your mother, about the size of a thumbnail. Successfully performing your Arcane Art on the jewel causes it to expand to the size of a small room with a simple bed and desk/chair inside, and it can be shrunk again at will. You can enter or leave the room inside the jewel at any time, but only those you permit may leave it.
The most elegant armor in sight: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (2, 4) + 3 = 9 Thief's Elusive Leather Armor: 1 armor, worn, 10 80 coins, 1 weight, elusive tag - elusive, like other tags, will affect the fiction when it's appropriate.
Lyntel gets a huge smile on her face when she finds her mother's jewel. Better idea everyone. Stand back.
She attempts to activate the jewel.
The jewel expands a thousand fold and rests near the Queen's throne. Lyntel has Emma help her lift the rat into the jewel.
Once the Queen is inside, the jewel shrinks back to the size of a thumbnail, and Lyntel puts it back into a pocket on her new armor.
Can someone help me carry my mother out of this pit?
She's still suffering from deep stab wounds in her back from Morley's knives, which are bleeding. You would need to stabilize her before you'd feel safe leaving her unattended for any length of time. She's bordering on unconscious, but her eyes are tracking you warily.
While the Queen remains restrained by Emma, Lyntel sings a comforting song while tending to the Queen's back, using strips cut from Morley's old armor.
Then she locks the Queen away.
The fire is now burning up all the flammable objects in the rat's nest across the hall, but the mines are made of stone, so the flames aren't spreading very readily. The hallway leading back to the Queen's Bridge is smoke-filled, but with no flames. Smoke is also beginning to fill the Throne Room and the Barracks that you entered through. There appears to be no other exits to this area other than where you came in.
You prevent the Queen's injuries from growing worse, but it feels wrong to apply any healing at all to your mother's killer. The Art resists you, take +1 Ongoing to use your Arcane Art until you've had Downtime to rest.
You aren't sure which is more terrifying: The dull grey aura leaking from Emma's new armor, or the look of tender relief on her face as she cradles her sword, like a mother finding a lost child. Either way, she snaps out if it after a moment and lifts Lyntels mother up, holding her carefully, like a bird with a broken wing.
Let's move! Ranger, will you lead the way?
Archepex nods and moves out. He makes sure to move fast enough to remain visible, but show enough to not out pace the party. His eyes and ears scan the whole time, wary for surprises. Mule has come around and balances on his perch atop Archepex's shoulder, providing a second (very sharp) sweet of senses.
-what should I be on the lookout for
-what is not as it seems
-what is about to happen
As the party prepares to leave, Lyntel takes a long look at the ring she pulled from Morley's body.
The enhancement kit overwrites the +1 on your longsword, +3 modifiers will come later. You're also able to bring the box of sweets without incident, Emma. As you hold the box closed, it feels like there's something wriggling inside slightly, but if it you open it, they look like chocolate treats.
Lyntel, the ring activates a personal-sized wormhole whenever the wearer Defies Danger to dodge successfully, allowing the wearer to choose in a split second where they want to teleport to, within three options that are provided. However, failing to dodge properly can result in parts of you getting left behind...
It would take days to hunt down every single Skaven hiding in the deeps of these mines, but their leadership has been removed, so the threat in these mines has largely been neutralized. Advising everyone to remain low to the ground, Archepex guides the party past the smoking den of rats to the Queen's magical bridge that crosses the chasm. The traps have been sprung, the rats have been annihilated here. In short order, you make your way up through the mines of Tollerhelm until you're near to the surface.
However, Mule looks wary and the ranger soon sees why. There's been blood spilled at the mine's entrance - not the blood of the Skaven you killed on the way in. As Archepex makes his way to the mine's entrance, he sees bodies scattered about. Bodies of the Mousetrap Company are everywhere. But they were not killed by Skaven....as the shocked ranger examines one of the bodies, he sees an arrow with distinctively marked Mousetrap fletching buried in the mercenary corpse's heart. Be on the lookout for...traitors?
But no...You recall the demons that eluded your grasp at the Skaven concert. They are still unaccounted for. Did they cause all this death? It seems impossible for two demons of that sort to cause this much carnage to your entire remaining company. You can't get a good count of how many there are lying here dead, at first, due to the bodies being dismembered...but there can't be more than a handful of Mercs left besides you guys...
You feel the hairs on your neck stand up. You're being watched.
"Was there another way out? There might be an ambush out there waiting for us."
Take cover. We are being watched... Archepex instructs. Seconds later he's gone, invisibly and quietly sitting the area and making good use of Morley's eye piece to see what may otherwise be unseen.
Bathilda swallows, and stays put.
At Archepex's instruction Lyntel slowly backs back into the tunnel entrance, hugging tight to one of the tunnel walls.
"Archepex? Was that you? I can't..." the voice cuts off, coughing heavily. From under one of the corpses crawls the halfling, Wicks. He makes it just a few feet before collapsing again, blood staining the earth beneath his body. Straining and weak, the halfling looks up and around himself, but seeing no one, lets his head fall back down again. He looks exhausted.
Archepex moves slowly to maintain his invisibility and approaches the halfling. He scans the area in an effort to deduce what happened here.
I'm here, Wicks. Try not to move. he whispers.
Nice roll.
Through Morley's eyepiece, you can see that there are no more bodies giving off heat here; Wicks appears to have been the only survivor. All the corpses in this region are blanketed with a twisting, black aura of lingering magical effect, that appears even in the normal visible spectrum of mortals. You know that the Company would never kill their own, having adventured with them for half a year. Yet the Company Members here have slaughtered each other. You feel that the demons that escaped your wrath at the rock concert must be behind this infighting.
You sense no further ambush, just Wicks. He appears to have kept himself hidden by secreting himself among the bodies of the slain. This area, macabre though it may be, is safe - for now. Nothing untoward will happen.
Certainly not Wicks. The halfling looks like he took quite a beating before he managed to hide away. He looks more dead than alive, and he's barely conscious. If anyone is in control here, it's you.
Archepex detects no further threat, so he stands quickly, dropping his invisibility in the process, and waves the others forward.
It's clear. Looks like the Company got hit by those demons. They must have been nastier than we thought. Someone get a med kit, Wicks is wounded.
Lyntel rushes to the injured halfling and begins tending to his wounds, humming a calming tune as she works.
Unfortunately, it does not appear to have any immediate positive effect.
I am sorry. I am so tired. Can anyone help me?
Bathilda comes trotting up behind Lyntel, her face a mask, but she does help Lyntel care for the Halfling, or rather, keeps her from collapsing. She hums in harmony with the elf, then begins singing the song the tune was from, her voice surprisingly soft and gentle.
As before, Bathilda feels a strange connection with the words and the tune to Lyntel's song.
Humming along with her, and staying in tune despite her lack of musical training, the barbarian comforts Wicks as the magic takes hold. The worst of his wounds close, and the halfling breathes more easily than before, without any of the blood congesting his lungs like before.
Lyntel has Bathilda lay her mother's body out near a copse of trees and performs some additional rites. Anyone watching would see the corpse begin to let off golden wisps of smoke, and the entire body slowly dissolve into nothingness. The process leaves only clothing and a few personal belongings behind. Lyntel quickly buries the clothing and pockets the belongings. She returns to the group, grim faced.
Once the group's conversation reaches a lull, Lyntel speaks up.
Thank you for saving me. My name is Lyntel.
She turns to Archepex. There is nothing left here for me. I would travel with you, if you wouldn't mind. You have seen what I offer.
Archepex's speech falls into a more elven cadence when speaking with his Kin. She may not be of his Blood, but she was close. Her familiarity conjures a rarely seen side of the scout: his strongly elven heritage. His posture straitens and his bearing relaxes even as his cadence shifts. You are welcome, Sister. Your skills will be highly valued. I doubt any person here would bar you.
Bathilda stays close by Lyntel's side as she lays her mother to rest. It's only for a moment, but the bard can see the scars left on the young woman's psyche from growing up among mercenaries and knowing little else but war and fighting.
Before they rejoin the others, she grabs Lyntel's arm by the wrist, not harshly, but firmly, in the grip of someone who's own strength is surprising to even them, sometimes.
"C-can you hear me out," she asks, her eyes still fixed upon the spot where Lyntel's mother had faded away.
"Well met. I am Bathilda. This one," she says, gesturing to the injured halfling, "is Wicks. It's not safe here, and I am worried about the sisters. Let's find them and find some shelter. I doubt the rest of the rats will be happy with what we have done, and we don't know when the patrols will return."
Lyntel does not flinch at Bathilda's grasp, and delicately places her own hand on the warrior's gauntlet. She meets Bath's eyes and manages to smile. Of course warrior. My name is Lyntel by the way. I owe you a thousand thanks. She patiently waits for Bathilda to respond.
We are of like mind, Bathilda. It's safe to camp here, or in the nearby treeline if you'd prefer more cover. If that's what you all settle in to do, we'll have a Make Camp/End of Session/Level Up move fiesta, and then Wicks will have recovered enough to tell you what happened.
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Bathilda gives a humorless snort of laughter. It's clear that whatever else she felt, she did not feel she deserved Lyntel's thanks.
"Lyntel," she says, looking up at the elf, "I'm sorry. I wasn't able to save your mother, and then... well."
Bathilda lets go and returns to looking at the spot where Lyntel's mother had been. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she tried to build up her courage to continue.
"I'm nothing so noble as a warrior or a knight. I'm a mercenary, a dog of war, or if you ask the group of rebels in the foothills in the Kador Mountains, I'm Hell's Wolf B#*!#," she says with a chuckle that again had no humor in it.
"I've spent half my life fighting or learning to fight. I joined the Steel Talons when I was ten, and even before that, I grew up the daughter of mercenaries, of men and women that would fight and die for coin."
The barbarian sighs. "I've lost most of the family I knew growing up. I've lost more friends than I can count and have had to leave more of them behind than I want to remember. It's hard, sometimes, to keep going. Maybe that's why I drink so much and why I seek coin with such a single-mindedness, to fill the hole, to numb the pain."
"I was never that close to my mother, but I remember the day they told me the skaven killed her. I remember it being one of the few times I have ever cried. Lyntel, I... I want you to know that I know, at least a little bit, of what you are going through. I don't want you to have to face that alone."
With that, Bathilda falls silent.
End of session:
Alignment? Yes several times.
Something new? Yes, Skaven working with demons.
Defeat worthy adversary? Yes, Queen at least.
Loot something noteworthy? Yes, jewel of holding.
Resolved bond? Too soon for that.
4xp for a total of 16.
Level 2 with 8 xp remaining.
+1 Cha for 17
New move: Healing Song (+1d8 healing)
Archepex scouts out a decent camp site just inside the treeline and starts to set up camp for everyone. Of all the team, he came out relatively unscathed. He sets up for the most wounded first. Maybe he can convince the Lord of the Sky to let him mend their wounds tomorrow.
Lyntel listens to Bathilda's words, and her grip tightens on the barbarians gauntlet.
She begins by reciting something she read long ago, amid the dusty tomes of an ancient library.
"There's more to us than we can know. Through pain and struggle we can grow."
I think that was Geliforn the Brutal. I think he meant that nothing is set in stone but the past. The future, warrior, is still ours to make. None of us need make it alone.
She laughs quietly. Through my years I have heard many voices. Yours hides greatness you don't yet realize. Tell me, what do you most desire? We will make it come to pass.
Lyntel sits down at the chosen campsite and opens a very tiny book that she pulled from her mother's body. She stares at it for a while, then sighs heavily and steels herself for what is to come. I have put this off for too long.
With a wave of her hand and a few quick words, the book expands in size. She being to read, struggling with the ancient Elven text. Soon she tunes out her surroundings, muttering softly under her breath.
Wicks is gravely injured, but thanks to Lyntel's magic, has stabilized enough to eat and rest. There's no shortage of adventuring supplies and rations that were left behind on the bodies of the slain; each of you can grab as much as you can carry to resupply. The attackers didn't seem to have looted your fellow mercenaries' bodies.
The following morning, after you all have Made Camp (restored XP, rested, spent a ration) Wicks is awake. It's about 9 AM, and you're at your camp inside the treeline. It's a clear morning, no clouds, blue sky overhead, faint breeze. It'd be a nice day, but the stench of the corpses can still be smelled on the wind...The halfling leader of your mercenary company still has dried blood on him, but it doesn't appear to be his. His face is bruised in two places, and the stab wound in his stomach was only healed just yesterday by the bard. He's subdued, unless approached.
What relations have you had with the other PCs?
What relations have you had with the other PCs?
Taking it to the discussion forum.
Bathilda thinks on Lyntel's question. What did she desire most? Fame? Riches? Men? Glory? She did desire these things, but there was... something. It was at the back of her mind, and slowly long repressed memories began to surface. Every time something went awry, when she lost many of her comrades and brothers in arms, when she was rendered weak or helpless, it was always the skaven, always the damned rats, behind it. A slow burning hatred that she hadn't even noticed flared to life. She longed to go back, to slay the skaven that remained, to see their blood flow like rivers, to repay her pain a thousand times over.
"Do you really want to know," Bathilda asks Lyntel after several minutes. Her voice is dark and quiet as she continues, "do you want to know what it is that I desire most? It isn't fame, or riches, or men, or even glory. I desire to spill the blood of every skaven I see. I want to make their nests overflow with rivers of their filthy blood. I want to repay them the pain they have caused me a thousand times over. I want to see their damned witches and demons quivering in terror at my approach. I want to watch the fear in their queens' eyes as I choke the life from them. And when I have driven them to the deepest, darkest pit of hell, so terrified that any thought of the surface makes them cower in terror, then, maybe, my hatred will be slaked."
Bathilda lets out a sigh, there are no skaven here, and she seems to shrink a little as the fire in her eyes dims to dull embers.
"And what of you? What is it you desire?"
Bathilda is awake before the dawn, something about her is different, more confident, and more feral.
"We should check on the sisters," Bathilda says after the others awaken, "I don't like those rat-devils being loose, and we should not repay their kindness with leaving them to fend them off by themselves."
Lyntel subconsciously scratches at her neck where the chain bound her while Bathilda speaks.
Truthfully, I desire a home, a place to belong. I have nothing left here. My mother and I were the last of our clan. She pauses for a long moment, then looks back to Bathilda. We have more in common than you know ... sister. The final word comes out slowly, as if Lyntel is testing it for the first time.
But a family is nothing without safety. And now that the Skaven have turned to demonic magic, none of us will ever be safe. We have a common purpose. I will support your blade when you falter, and I will rally others to your cause. Now, let us return to the fire. I am cold.
"Before we move out," says Emma quickly "Does anyone want to help me carry some of this?" she holds out the 5 sacks, each containing 100 gold and weighing about a stone "They're bloody bulky, and keep getting in the way of my upswing."
Lyntel drops a pack of rations onto the ground and takes a sack from Emma.
Bathilda takes all five sacks, distributing the weight carefully about her person. The others can see that her old mail is bundled between her pack and her bedroll, the new chainmail being worn.
"All in how you arrange things," she says with a smile before leading the others back to the sister's house, her new weapon in the form of a maul with an image of the ace of hearts and the queen of hearts on both sides.
Lyntel approaches Bathilda as they are about to leave and touches her arm. About what we spoke of last night. My mother had a spell that will be of use. I've never tried this before...
With a few softly spoken words Bathilda disappears from view.
You will remain unseen until you first bring vengeance upon our enemies.
It really is a shame no one could see Bathilda's grin. It was simultaneously pretty, and the most frightening expression to come across her face in a long time.
"Sister, we are going to get along well, you and I," her voice comes where she was standing just a minute ago. The smile more than evident in her tone.
Once camp is made, Dhice finds a quiet place not quite out of line of sight, but semi-private. He spends quite a while raising small rocks into the air, then sand, then dust, and finally after an hour or so of intense concentration he cries out triumphantly, "Aha!! I knew it!"
He then marches back into camp with a proud expression on his face. "In the mines, when Archepex and I were falling into the pit, I was reaching out for the earth around me and in the moment of panic I had a flash of clarity that I just now understand. The air surrounding us," he waves his arms expansively, "is just like the earth, only more diffuse. It's still tiny particles that I can feel all around me!"
Seeing more than a little apprehension in his non-magic using friends, his enthusiasm wanes just a little, but he presses on. "I can manipulate the air just like I can the earth, if I but focus properly." To demonstrate, he causes a small whirlwind to form, sending a lone leaf dancing across the clearing. "Fascinating..." he says to himself, as he wanders off again to practice.
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Later on, when Dhice has calmed down a bit from his discovery, he starts to put back a few healthy swallows from a flask of dwarven spirits that he "rescued" from one of his slaughtered Mousetrap friends. Sitting around the camp with his friends he gets himself good and drunk, and as he does so his earnest demeanor darkens significantly.
"Th'whole company ish gone. There are tradishionsh to be observ'd." He locks eyes with everyone in turn as he starts into a kind of memorial service. First, he reaches over and removes a beautiful stone box from his pack. Covered in fine swirling bas-relief imagery, there are no clear depictions of people or things, just impressions. The overall effect is striking but very sombre and stark.
Standing up on wobbly legs, he opens the box and starts to tell tales honoring the memories of the dead. He tells of the Siege of Morek-Dur, where Cintas the Blooded earned his nickname. When he's done, he drops a small iron clip into the box. You recognize it as the Mousetrap insignia that all recruits wear to mark their membership. You realize that his dallying earlier must have been to give him time to scavenge the pins from your dead companions.
He goes on to recount the heroism of Ollanna ruh'Dorrin atop the ramparts of the Grillarsward. Another clip goes into the box. He tells a tale that mentions, by name, every single member that he knows to have fallen on this day. The last tale to be told is that of Morley, the roguish scout who gave his life in the mines today so that those listening around the fire could be here now. "I don't have Morley's pin. Does anyone have something of his to put in the Bier?"
When he is done the box is nearly full of pins, his voice is worn thin and scratchy, but his drunken lisp is gone and he is dead serious.
"I couldn't craft a proper bier for our dead, and there is no company through which to parade it. This box is a small token to our fallen companions. It is the best I, Dhice, son of Bharl Bierman, could do."
With that, he hands the box to Emma. "Emma, in the mines this morning I saw you being tortured and with it I uncovered a memory long buried for me. A memory of other comrades being tortured just as you were, and of the Skaven forcing me to choose who would be... who would be next. He turns to the rest of his fellows in the camp. "I failed you all then, as I could think of nothing but my own pain. For that I apologize." Back to Emma, "It was your touch that brought me back. Your divine favor. I ask that you bless this Bier and the memories of our companions in the light of the same God's Grace that you used to bring my mind back this morning.
Emma takes the box gingerly. "No God brought your mind back." she says quietly, but forcefully. "I have no divine favor. I am a monster as surely as those rats in their hole. I have no blessings to give, only curses." she takes a few paces over to an ancient stump of a tree, worn flat and stone-smooth by exposure to the elements, and places the precious bier down. Stepping back, she shoulders off her pack and draws her sword. Opposite palm outstretched, everyone watching can see rows and rows and rows of shallow scars, thin traceries of silver, quite unlike the knot of tissue across her face. In a fluid, ever-so-practised motion she rotates the entire blade around in a circle, slicing a deep furrow into the bare earth and a desperately close line into her palm. The spray of blood spatters the dry ground, soaking in rapidly. Holding her injured hand in a fist, she kicks the thirsty ground over, and turns away from her companions.
"These are the only seeds we shall sow."