Among the Cities

Game Master Mataspore

Escort your trade caravan between the Cities.


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This is The GM one

A Trade Caravan, outside the Cities.


Male Human Junior Sysadmin/1

Doing a test


This is The GM one

The clanking man made of chrome and gold did not appear to have the ability to speak - it simply handed your designated caravan head a letter before immediately turning to indicate to its followers to begin loading your caravan with...well...you don't know. Everything is contained within a series of several dozen large black metal chests. They look heavy, but the small army of machines gives no indication of any strain as they quickly and efficiently begin to get everything on board the metal crane lift that would soon get them up the nearly 100 foot ascent to rest aboard your transports back.

You stand on the edge of a massive crater, site of what used to be the City of Stars, long since destroyed in a cataclysmic asteroid strike and now the property of the far newer City of Gold. A (rumored) vast underground mining complex, constantly expanding and digging yet more secrets from the curiously bountiful compressed earth and rock beneath the impact spot. Of course all you can see of it is the massive entrance. A stylized structure of an angry golden tigers head, its cavernous mouth forming the stair to lead down into the darkness. Twin plumes of vicious looking purple smoke snaking upwards from its nostrils. Even the hulking goliaths of your caravan seem tiny in comparison - and the pinprick figures of your crew atop them give credence to how extreme that is. As if in response to your gaze the lead beast raises its long neck and gives a haunting bellow of a cry, its mechanical foreleg scratching at the ground in anticipation of moving onward. The faulty hydraulics leaking a small shower of glowing green liquid onto the bleached white sand far below. It hisses.


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Salt Test


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

BZZT Test


Male Dwarf Thunder Rider

The Leader of the Caravan eyes the small rectangle of paper as if it were about to bite off his hand before shrugging and tucking it deep within one of his many pockets without bothering to open it. He turns to his two bodyguards...

I'll check the details later, for now Bessie's aching to get moving away from this cursed place...and so am I. Snake Brat? Salty? Check there's nothing else to come up then get yerselves onto Bessie quick-sharpish. Gnome? It's Bettie's crews turn for a tune tonight, but we've got travel before that, hang around Snake Brat if yer like for now, just don't ferget yer duties when we halt for the night.

Markus walks over to the feet of Bessie (the lead Diplotitanicus) and with the air of one long practiced at this places his foot into one of many swinging lines of cable, each with a small loop at the end. A sharp tug and the cable pulls taught, whisking the stout Dwarf far up above to the drivers cabin at a frankly unnerving speed.

BZZT:
You hear the ascent cable click shut just before the door to the cabin swings open and Markus strides up Bessies neck, scorning the multitude of safety lines you yourself are secured with. He's moving with purpose - but doesn't look angry.

5th pumps leaking that blasted liquid again. You got any ideas maintenance? I'm bloody forever grateful that those nomads were able to save Bessie's leg but they could've had the grace to give us a thrice damned instruction manual! Doesn't seem to bother my girls much...but the outriders find it freaky and I don't want to alienate them.

He sighs in brief contemplation then pulls out a series of alien-looking tools, selects one, clasps it between his teeth and swings out over the edge of Bessie's neck. Moving like a bizarrely squat spider across the mishmash of rungs and cables, frequently pausing to inspect or tighten. In your short time as an engineer/animal handler you've seen this mini-ritual many times and know that he'll soon be back in the drivers cabin to get the great beast he calls Bessie moving once again. Horrifying memories of the mini earthquakes caused by each step shaking you off of the edge and the vertigo of harshly swinging on a single safety line over the sheer drop for hours on end before Markus called a halt and pulled you back up to congratulate you on not passing out come rushing back. You've got a great deal more securing you now - but nonetheless it would be good to be inside soon.


This is The GM one

On the ground the Legbreakers are beginning to stir, a quartet of ankylosaur-like creatures hosting a bevy of ranged weapons upon their armoured backs and swinging a heavy club of a tail augmented with vicious looking metal spikes are crewed by a family of savage lizardfolk that Markus rescued from a terrible disease.

And there's only one thing besides Markus' direct command that would get them moving...the outriders must be coming back.

There's an odd trilling sound from behind a sand dune, followed swiftly by the pounding of multiple running feet.

A grinning lizardfolk crests the small hill, his deinonychus mount heading towards you at full tilt, seemingly caught up in the simple joy of speed. The rest of his party swiftly follows as 7 more mounted figures join him.

Groaning in displeasure at the presence of the predators the Legbreakers move swiftly (for them) to hook their mounts to some of the cables, the bindings that secure the harness and weapons now acting to lift the animals onto Sweetie - the third great beast in the line who hosts the massive stables for the huge number of support animals.

The Outriders meanwhile seem content to run between the legs of the titans in ever increasingly complex games of tag - all that is but for the leader, who tugs the reins at the last second to bring his beast skidding to a halt in front of you. Despite the nature of the sand not a single grain is kicked up on to you.


Male Lizardfolk Cavalier 9

The fanged grin never leaving his face the leader of the Outriders nonetheless speaks clearly. If with chopped sentences at a thoroughly hectic pace.

HO! New bossguards? Heard Bess call, Boss already top? Good. Time short. Saw it, miles back behind, coming fast. Stormfront. Half hour, maybe less. Get everything secured and moving. Let Boss know. Soon. We be fine on ground, ride the elements. Everything else? Tie it down. Tell boss lightning was purple, he know what to do.

Having made his quickfire report he just as swiftly turns his mount and darts off to join his tribe, wooping in exultation as he leads them off once again.

If the Diplotitanicus are at all bothered by the tiny running predators amongst their feet they give no sign of it.


Male Teifling lvl2 Anti-Paladin AC:14 HP:22/22

Backstory:

Ouroboros Blackblood was born Jeremiah Brightwood, to a loving family and raised in the healing light of Sarenrae. Neither parent knew that somewhere in their family they had been touched by a fiend, and accepted the smatter of emerald green facial scales and yellow eyes as random abnormalities. However, his reptilian appearance was not the only gift the Rakshasa had given him, and this became apparent as he grew. No amount prayer or love, seemed to rid Jeremiah of his destructive tendencies or supply him with empathy or a conscience. It was when his mother found the neighbours dissected cat carefully laid out in the child's room that his parents realised this was beyond their ability to handle. With a heavy heart they sent him to the enclave with hope that they could fix the boy. It is true, Jeremiah did find religion whilst he learned from the Paladins and Clerics, but it was not flame of Sarenrae that he worshipped, but the pointless violence of Zyphus. Upon completing his Paladin training, he shed the name of his birth and entered the world Ouroboros Blackblood, an Anti-Paladin and devout follower of Zyphus.


Male Teifling lvl2 Anti-Paladin AC:14 HP:22/22

...And then He chuckled to himself, He fell backwards into the fire.

He began to laugh, a deep hissing noise that forced its way through clenched teeth, cheeks ached as the muscle pulled on his emerald scales. He wasn't sure what amused him more, the memory, or the horrified faces of the lizardfolk he had distracted with his tales. In the middle of all the hub bub of the busy crater, Ouroboros Blackblood was quite the figure, seated on a crate, his scythe resting across his knees as he sharpened the blade. His hand didn't miss a single beat in the rhythm as he told his tale, the sound a weird kind of harmony for his words.

A shout from Markus Flintspark broke his spell, and the lizardfolk scarpered off to finish their chores. He was already regretting his decision to come on this journey. He had thought the chance to travel with the caravan would create some opportunities for some strait up violence as well as bring in some much needed gold coin. But he hated working hard, or at all really, and it seemed this Flintspark was the sort of fellow who expected everyone to pitch in.

Perhaps he could "accidentally" fall from his seat... He mused.

With a sigh he levered himself up and brushed himself down, stowing his flint inside his cloak. His travelling gear was already on board one of the great beasts, and he didn't much care for the other cargo. He gave Flintspark an exaggerated smile and thumbs up, and hauled himself up the swinging cable.


male Gnome Bard lvl2 AC:15 HP:24

backstory:

Gerome was a simple Gnome. He grew up on his parents farm and always expected to follow in their footsteps. He always had one eye on the horizon however, and he loved to dance and sing. The night after he turned of age, he packed up his trombone and hopped onto one of the family goats, and off he went. He never looked back. He travelled from town to village, hoping one day to play for great noblemen in the City of Jewels. Instead he made his coin in dirty taverns and street corners.

He had made it as far as The Mining Village of Slag, just South of Gold City and had just finished playing in a typical dark dank tavern when he had made the acquaintance of Ouroboros Blackblood.

It had been a bad gig, someone in a dark hooded cloak had been heckling him loudly from the back of the room, and so the energy was low and the tips didn't flow like they usually did. He stepped into the rain with a heavy heart and a light coin purse, eyes searching for his beloved goat, Tyrone. Panic! He was gone! He was sure he had tied him up just outside. A hand clamped down on his shoulder making him jump from his skin. He whirled around and looked up into a pair of yellow eyes with narrow slit pupils and eyelids that blinked horizontally. The rest of the face was shrouded in darkness, a black cloak wrapped around a tall slender figure, and those eyes.

You're not very good. The eyes said with a hiss.
This wasn't fair. Gerome had thought, he was as good as the next fellow.
You sing about mens great deeds, but the words are hollow. You have never met a great man. The hood came down, revealing a human face with reptilian scales. A Teifling, perhaps a Beastblood. He wasn't sure.
I am Ouroboros Blackblood and I am a great man. Where I go adventure follows, and you can be the one to sing of my great deeds.

He had paused as Gerome hesitated, frozen with terror. Blackblood had the air of a great man, but also, a terrible one. A forked tongue flicked out of his human mouth.
If you don't, you may never see your goat friend again. The last words came out like a song. The figure had turned on his heal and glid away, not even waiting to see if Gerome followed. He had followed. The next day they had joined the caravan.


male Gnome Bard lvl2 AC:15 HP:24

Gerome was living his best life right now, and his worst.

On one hand, he had always longed to travel, and working on the caravan was the best thing that he had ever done. Ouroboros had taken him to audition for Markus, the day after they had met, and the old dwarf had loved his songs. Every night he got to sing and dance and play his tunes to an audience that loved him, and every day they were somewhere new.

On the other hand, Tyrone, his best friend and life long companion, was being held hostage somewhere. He was fairly sure Ouroboros had killed people, and honestly he was fairly sure he would kill him too, once he was bored of tormenting him. Until then, he would play his game and hope to see his friend alive again one day.

Sat on top of a great beast, looking out to the horizons he sighed. He would take the good with the bad he supposed.


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Salt listened, somewhat listlessly, to Ouroboros’ story, leaning in the cool shade cast by Bessie. They had come far together, she and this snake man, both outcasts, both spurned by their families and homes. She also knew he had much better stories of breaking idiots in fun ways. Like the time they’d strung up all the novices to the great clappers so when the bells rang they went splat. Of course, they had to leave after that one... The memory curled a half-smile across her pale lips.

A shout from Markus broke her reverie. Salt nodded, tilting her wide-brimmed hat. She knew the boss would see it. The Outriders were coming, that meant we’d be heading off soon.

Ready to go, Robbit? Get topside...

Sparkfinder’s words played heavy. Storms were never a great thing. Markus needed to know. She’d been on this drive a few weeks, tagged along after proving she could shoot straight, quickly insinuating herself into Markus’ guard.

Lift cable. The rush of adrenaline, step off the dust onto the platform and into the pilot cab.

Boss. Her voice was curt and professional. We may have a problem. Purple lightning about thirty minutes out. SparkFinder wasn't happy. What needs doing?


Male Dwarf Thunder Rider

Purple? The stout dwarf raises an entire eyebrow in surprise (this constitutes the highest level of distress you have ever seen cross his face) and immediately makes his way over to a red metal box on the wall. Pulling a key out of his magnificent beard to open it and yanking harshly down on the big lever contained therein.

There is a *shunk* sound, followed by the *whooosh* of a firework taking off. Soon after an explosion rings out above the cabin and a flash of red briefly illuminates the sky. You can hear the distant cries of alarm from Bessie's crew and others, together with the snap and rattle of pulleys and chains. Markus strides back out the lead door, gesturing for you to follow him. Talking as he goes.

If we've got ourselves a Thief-Storm then Bessie won't be listening to any prods on the scales from ere' soon. I'll bet that suicidal lizard decided to tank it on the damned ground huh? Wonder how much he'll wind up costing me this time... Salt? clip yer'self to a safety line and get up on the head with me. The girls are gonna want to stampede - but if we can keep Bessie under control they'll follow her lead. Ouroboros? Get the feeling ye'll like this - climb up on top a the carapace and start killing everything that ain't a member of the crew. It's a bit of a mind-screw but someones gotta do it. Enjoy. The carapace refers to the top of the structure atop Bessie's back, literally the highest point available.

Salt and BZZT:
Markus evidently scorns his own advice about the safety line, simply marching right along the back of Bessie's neck to get to the disturbingly distant destination of her massive head. Pausing along the way to tell BZZT to join you.

Ever seen a Stealing-Storm before? Doubt it, they usually don't come this far west, damned climates getting worse every day. The girls are too big to really be affected - the noise and lights'll just spook em. And Daphne's crew should be able to scare off any gheists that get ideas about the young'uns.

Halfway to the head Markus stops cold and stares at some imperceptible flaw in the neck rigging. Shortly thereafter he simply launches himself off into space, snagging the cables at the last possible second and swinging just out of sight. You can hear the sound of someone tinkering with metal - the only way you'll see what is going on is if you join him over the edge.

The lightning itself ain't the worry. Sure it'll hurt if ya get hit by it - but the main problem's what it brings with it. Don't rightly know what they are - wispy little things that look like screaming skulls and spines made out'a sparks n clouds. The nearer the ground you are the bigger and meaner they get - up here we shouldn't see anything much bigger than me arm. SparkFinder's gonna be hunting house-sized beasts down below, hopefully he'll bring a couple down without losses, the teeth sell fer a pretty pinch a' gold.

The flaw apparently fixed to his satisfaction Markus pulls himself back up with minimal effort.

Beasty boys being sent up there as our lightning rod. No offence Salty - but yer probably a little too dry fer their tastes. Hopefully he'll get his fill o' murder for the day in the clouds and stop scaring the crew quite so much. Would be great if he's enough of a psycho to draw in the whole cloud - but even a little'll help take the edge off of the crew.

He strides off towards the head again. Bessie is clearly becoming agitated. Your footing vibrates - hard - as she gives another cry, this one almost deafeningly loud.

Salt reflex: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17
BZZT Reflex: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Salt and BZZT both manage to keep their feet through the sudden rumble of displeasure, their action netting an approving smirk from Markus, who simply jerks his head to hurry up and marches onwards.

SparkFinder wasn't wrong about the approaching storm, atop Bessie's head gives a near unparalleled view of your surroundings - the distant flashes of lightning seeming to indeed have a vivid purple hue, and the entire thing is approaching at a worrying rate.

Markus has sat down on the very edge of Bessie's snout, using what looks like two extendable gigantic shepherds crooks padded with leather that he pulled out of the netting a while back to hook into both of her cavernous nostrils. There is nothing for your safety line to hook onto within 50 feet of Markus. And still he waves you onward to join him. A slightly maniacal grin beginning to show on his face.

Come on then! Everyone's gotta ride the thunder eventually! Think of it this way. Do yer job, Bessie stays calm, everyone lives, eventually we all get rich. Don't do yer job, Bessie bucks or rolls, everybody dies!

Salt! Yer job's simple - shoot anything that gets within 30 feet a me. BZZT! Even simpler - stab anything that gets within 5. We've got maybe another 15 minutes to prepare, so find yer feet, dump the vertigo and get yerself a comfortable spot.

Oh right - and now the smile just looks plain old sadistic - Don't fall!!

You have 15 minutes to prepare. A DC 15 knowledge arcana or history check will give significantly more info on how a Thief-Storm works than Markus did.

Ouroboros can climb on top of the carapace whenever he wants using an ascension cable in the hall behind the drivers cabin - it will take literally a few seconds, so he has time to prepare. If he even wants to go up there in the first place - whose to say what his little squire shall be doing as well?


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

BZZT mumbles something offensive-sounding in Undercommon before lifting his goggled head to meet Markus and Salt.

Nothing get's through. Anything that does will be dead, it just won't know it yet.

He pulls a whetstone from one of the many pouches about his waist, and casually starts sharpening two long (for a Svirfneblin) straight daggers.

Better get your sights aligned, Salt. Don't want any stray pebbles hitting me while I'm doing all the hard work!


Male Teifling lvl2 Anti-Paladin AC:14 HP:22/22

Blackblood had been on the move up the cable already when the Outriders arrived. The wind took away their words, but Flintspark's voice could be heard clearly above the hub bub. He sped up his climb, reaching the platform quickly. He found the ascension cable and whoosh, up he went, rolling over the edge on top of the carapace in one swift motion. He was not surprised to find the Gnome already up there, that boy always had one eye on the horizon and a wistful expression on his face. Honestly, his sweet innocence and wonderlust was what had drawn Ouroboros to Gerome in the first place.

Look alive He called out to the small being, who jumped at the noise. We have a... Thief-Storm on the way. He said this with confidence but had no idea what a Thief-Storm was.


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

If you can reach to hit them, old man.

Salt winks (somewhat menacingly) at BZZT and draws an old but ornate pistol. Well-worn brass and steel, with a carved oak handle. Taking more care than Salt's general demeanour would suggest her capable of, the gun is gently polished and checked, then loaded.

Bring them on. I haven't had a chance to properly kill anything for far too long...

Both Salt and BZZT take their time to ready weapons and double check security lines, both will ready actions to attack the first hostile thing in range


male Gnome Bard lvl2 AC:15 HP:24

Gerome jumps to his feet, pulling out his Rapier and explains to Blackblood all he knows on Theif-Storm.

Knowledge Arcana: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Gerome readies an attack


Male Teifling lvl2 Anti-Paladin AC:14 HP:22/22

Blackblood readies an attack with his Scythe


This is The GM one

The bloody thing stole my post!! I rolled an 18 for Gerome's knowledge history check thanks to bardic knowledge and the site ate my post!! Alright fine - let's try this again...Gerome scored a 20 overall.

Gerome and Ouroboros:
A Thief-Storm is exactly what it sounds like - a storm that steals things. Or rather...a storm that tries to steal everything.

To do this the storm tends to spawn massive amounts of strange creatures that float downward in a never ending wave - becoming bigger and more powerful the closer they get to the ground. Anything these weird amalgamations of body parts manage to swallow is 'stolen' by the storm and near-immediately whisked away to what is theorised to be somewhere on either the astral plane or the elemental plane of air. Or both if you subscribe to the wilder theories.

But these creatures can only really start forming at a maximum height of around 400 feet. Roughly how tall Bessie is. Any higher than that - like atop the massive structure on her back a further 100+ feet in the air - there won't be any creatures. Instead you'll be confronting the main body of the storm itself - insofar as it has such a thing anyway. And up here the storm can't grab at anything physical. No, up here a Thief-Storm is after something far more ephemeral - and potentially far more powerful. Because high above the earth a Thief-Storm might at last be able to satisfy the gaping hunger leading it to fill the outer-planes with so much mostly worthless crap.

At the edge of the sky - a Thief-Storm steals emotion. The stronger the better. To do this it creates a waking dream - or more accurately a waking nightmare, primed to trigger the strongest and most flavorful of emotions for the storm to feast upon. Anger, hatred and fear.

Yet there is opportunity here as well. Deny the Thief-Storm a meal via force of will and it may very well retreat, even going along with the dream will lead to a noticeable lessening of the creatures down below as attention swings to you.

OR...you could try to kill it.

The stories on how to do this are vague at best - but all speak of diving into the dream in full. Letting loose with every fiber of ones soul. And fighting until there is nothing left to fight. In any more detail the reports vary wildly - yet they come together on the last point. And it's a damned tempting one.

Vanquish the Thief. And claim the Prize.

An angelic light illuminates the top of the structure, the violently purple clouds of the Thief-Storm clearing to blue skies. Descending from on high an angel of insert whichever good deity pisses Ouroboros off the most here offers you salvation.

Since Ouroboros and Gerome do know this is a dream they get a +5 bonus on a will save to disbelieve it - however even attempting to do this will negate both the possibility of a prize and the chance to kill a storm. Your choice.

Oh - and yes, Smite Good will most certainly work against that angel. Dream or no dream.

Salt and BZZT:
As the storm-clouds cover overhead Bessie again rumbles in fear, clearly attempting to turn her head to look back - only prevented from doing so by the straining of a mad-dwarf sat betwixt her nostrils. Instead she sets off. The familiar thunderous echoes of her steps no longer anything new to you.

A strange red glow forms atop the main carapace - where Ouroboros was sent to - and hundreds of motes of light seem to form in the air just above your heads. Drifting downwards they swiftly grow and unfurl into the monsters Markus warned you both about - a screaming skull and spinal cord with lightning and fog in place of muscle and blood.

A thunderclap rattles the air as purple lightning strikes periously close to Bessie. The titan moans in fear and jerks violently to the right.

Salt reflex: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
BZZT reflex: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

And you both easily compromise for this. But that sweep of the neck has unfortunately picked up some extra passengers - and they've gotten just big enough to grow some arms as well. 4 of the little buggers float up from where they were clinging to the neck - advancing straight for both of you.

Salt initiative: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
BZZT initiative: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18
Storm-Spawn initiative: 1d20 ⇒ 7

Unsure if anybody had improved initiative - but with those rolls it wouldn't actually change the outcome anyway.

Since both Salt and BZZT had weapons readied they both get to make a single standard action before combat begins. Then take their full turns after that. Enjoy.


Male Teifling lvl2 Anti-Paladin AC:14 HP:22/22

Ouroboros was surprised at how in depth the little gnomes knowledge was. He was full of surprises. As Gerome finished his explanation, as if on cue, an angel of the Goddess Sarenrae appeared before them. Ouroboros stifled a laugh. He felt he had long since put his feelings on Sarenrae to bed, ever since he took the High Priests daughter and... well... he laughed at the memory. Still it had been a while since he had had a good scrap, and this high and mighty stuck up cow was asking for it. There was only one true God, the God of death, and he was his servant. Besides, Gerome has mentioned something about a prize...

Would like to use Smite Good. Do I need to roll initiative for Blackblood and Gerome?


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

BZZT squared his small shoulders and leapt at the nearest monster, a blur of dark leather, flashing steel and white fluff, Rapier outstretched seeking a mark.

Rapier attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

Hoping to distract the nearest apparition enough that Salt can get a solid hit on the ones farther away...


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Salt lines up a shot at the next creature along the line. A small smile split he pale face, the rush of combat taking away all fear.


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Pistol: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 4


Male Teifling lvl2 Anti-Paladin AC:14 HP:22/22

[ooc] Using Smite Good, Blackblood attacks the angel with his scythe]

Attack: 1d20 + 4 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 + 4 = 20
Damage: 2d4 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (2, 1) + 4 + 1 = 8

Oruoboros takes a step towards his foe and with his readied scythe swings at the angel with all his might. He can feel its goodness, and wants it to die. He knows its not real, and yet...


This is The GM one

Salt and BZZT:
BZZT's rapier unfortunately passes straight through the wispy creature - but Salt's pistol hits true and clear, bursting through the skull of the one next in line. As it bursts apart the creatures body twists and breaks as if pulverised and scatters into the wind - all except the tiny jawbone, which clatters - gleaming - onto the floor of Bessie's neck.

Seemingly incensed at the death of their compatriot the remaining 3 creatures charge what they evidently judge to be the weakest target - BZZT.

Storm Spawn 1 bite: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21
Storm Spawn 3 bite: 1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 1 + 2 = 8
Storm Spawn 4 bite: 1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 1 + 2 = 13
Storm Spawn 1 crit confirm: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9

The last 2 charged if wondering about the +2 to hit. On the plus side they'll be easier to hit next turn.

Though only the one that did not charge actually manages to land a hit, its tiny jaws clamping deep into the svirfneblin's arm.

Storm Spawn 1 bite dmg: 1d4 - 1 + 1d3 ⇒ (1) - 1 + (3) = 3

And whilst the weak teeth fail to even break the skin - the jolt of electricity that comes with them certainly stings.

High above atop the carapace the red glow pulses brighter in a flash of lightning. The light and ensuing thunder right beside her startle Bessie - and though Markus strains with all his might she nonetheless shakes her massive head back and forth in distress - turning what had been a relatively stable platform into an earthquake zone blasted with high winds from left and right.

Here's how this'll work. On your characters turn make a DC 15 reflex save OR acrobatics/climb check to remain standing - if you pass this then all is well and you can act as normal. If you fail by less than 5 you are knocked prone and if you fail by more than 5 you can make a last ditch effort DC 15 STR check to hold on to the neck - otherwise you get blasted overboard and will wind up dangling from your safety line. Passing the STR check will knock you prone as if only failing by less than 5.

Part of the reason the checks are relatively high is in fact the safety line itself - the thick cord is flapping in the wind and you have to be careful not to tangle yourself in it as you fight. Unclipping the safety line is a free action that you can do at any time - if you do this the DC of all the checks is reduced by 5 - becoming a far more manageable 10 rather than 15. The downside to this of course is that if you do fail the checks and go sailing over the edge well...it's a long way down.

Insert evil grin here. Next round!

Ouroboros and Gerome:
Blackblood's strike is true, the unholy power of his charisma blasting the filthy angel apart from the inside out.

Within the dream the clear sky immediately fills with thin and wispy clouds, the angelic light dimming ever so slightly.

Reality flickers, and now 2 angels of the redeemer smile and extend their hand in friendship.

Slight but necessary spoiler - they are all essentially the same creature - so feel free to keep the benefits of smite good throughout this fight.

Ouroboros Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 7
Gerome Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

It's distant, so so very distant - but Gerome could swear he just heard a crash of thunder...just after the beat of a truly massive set of wings.

Gerome gets his turn as he hadn't gone yet - then we immediately swing into round 2!


male Gnome Bard lvl2 AC:15 HP:24

Gerome looks on slightly bemused as his comrade (captor?) battles with the illusions.
He must really hate Sarenrae, he thinks to himself, hefting his rapier. He has no real strong feelings about any particular God, he just wanted to write good music and save his goat. He should help. Tyrone stood no chance of survival if Ouroboros died... and this might make one hell of a song.

He lunges at one of the newly formed angels.

He moves towards the angel nearest to his position.
Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8
damage: 1d4 ⇒ 3


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

Cucking Funt! Salt, keep shooting the bastards!


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

Reflex Save: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Reflex Save: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

...


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

Rapier attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

Rapier damage: 1d6 ⇒ 3

A flurry of profanity in Undercommon follows a flourish of the rapier into the creature doing the biting.


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Pistol Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Pistol damage: 1d8 ⇒ 6

Salt levels another withering volley at the creatures charging BZZT. The little grey man was too useful to die that easily!


This is The GM one

Salt and BZZT:
Salt’s shot cracks apart yet another of the creatures, BZZT strike lands, piercing the oddly sturdy cloud - but glances off of bone before a truly killing blow is realised.

Storm Spawn 1 bite: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17

Though it evidently distracts the thing enough to make it miss the next attack.

The companion lunges...

Storm Spawn 4 bite: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

And once again misses, hissing in frustration.

Still in distress Bessie continues to swing her head - this time bobbing it up and down as she increases the pace of her flight.

So for you these guys the deal remains much the same, reflex or skill check to not go sailing off of the neck. Unfortunately this motion brings the surface you are fighting on considerably closer to the ground - and you havn’t killed all the Storm Spawn yet.

In the rush of wind as you descend the spawn of the storm swell up before your eyes, what had been creatures roughly the size of a forearm are now each as large as a big dog. And are certainly close enough to BZZT for him to see the tell-tale glint of something that looks very much like gold serving as their teeth. Also the fact that they now both look much more dangerous. That too.

On to round 3!

Ouroboros and Gerome:
Gerome’s strike misses the mark - but as his sword passes straight through his target he can hear it again - the beat of wings, immediately followed by the far off rumble of thunder...

That would be the end of round 1, on to round 2 - and if an angel remains standing on its turn this time they might be able to do something. Wonder what it might be that Gerome is hearing? Remember that both he and Ouroboros get to move first due to the nature of this fight.


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Immediately after firing her shot, Salt called out to BZZT:

Get back, little man! I have an idea...


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

Reflex Save: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

BZZT hears Salt's instruction, and attempts to use the downward lurch of Bessie's head to move out the way of whatever madness she has planned...


Male Human Junior Sysadmin/1

Can BZZT use that marvellous save to his advantage, or are Acrobatics involved?


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Reflex Save: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20

Salt waits for BZZT to get the f#+! out the way, then casts Glitterdust at the crowd of monsters...


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

With her free hand, Salt snaps her taloned fingers rhythmically, before shooting a two-finger gun in the direction of the monsters. A second of silence before a brilliant flash and a whipcrack downwind by a few feet, slings millions of tiny metallic flecks, accelerated to a brutal golden sandstorm by the high winds. Lit eerily by the purple lightning, the tiny shards twist and swirl around the Stormspawn, tearing at eyes and utterly coating them.

Fabulous, she muttered dryly.


This is The GM one

Salt and BZZT:
Storm Spawn 1 Will save: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (9) - 2 = 7
Storm Spawn 4 Will save: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (15) - 2 = 13

Confused and blinded the newly enlarged creatures flail wildly in the air, now unable to see the “ground” both are caught by surprise when Bessie raises her head again, though their floating forms remain immune to the blasting wind they both smash into the surface of her neck, writhing in bestial agony as new limbs claw at their eyes.

In gameplay terms - they are now prone, blinded and suffering a -40 penalty to stealth checks


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Salt used her move before casting Glitterdust to reload.


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

BZZT catches his breath, then rushes toward the nearest creature, rapier outstretched.

Rapier attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Salt levels her pistol and walks as close to the Stormspawn as she dares. With a steady hand, she blasts a bullet into the centre of the creature's "forehead".

Pistol attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

Rapier damage: 2d6 ⇒ (2, 2) = 4


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Pistol damage: 1d8 ⇒ 6


This is The GM one

Salt and BZZT:
The creatures writhe in agony under the blows, though neither is quite finished off. Instinctively they try to rise back up into the air to confront their now effectively invisible opponents...this may have been a mistake.

Attacks of opportunity, go!


Female Fallen Aasimar Techslinger/1 | Thunder Scout 1

Pistol attack: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

Pistol damage: 1d8 ⇒ 5


Male Svirfneblin Unchained Rogue/2

Rapier attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Rapier damage: 2d6 ⇒ (5, 1) = 6


Male Teifling lvl2 Anti-Paladin AC:14 HP:22/22

Ouroboros experienced a fleeting moment elation as he cut down the angel, which was quickly dampened by the appearance of the next two.

That's cheating... he groaned to himself as he swung his scythe around to attack the nearest of the two. The smiling faces of the mini-me goddesses was beginning to irritate him.

I'll cut your face clean off. He barked, and attacked again.

attack: 1d20 + 4 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 + 4 = 21
damage: 2d4 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (4, 2) + 4 + 1 = 11

Blackblood will attack the other angel, so he and Gerome are in combat with separate angels


male Gnome Bard lvl2 AC:15 HP:24

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic...
He was definitely feeling a surge of panic as his sword went straight through the angel in front of him.
Goddess protect me please... Gerome didn't worship any particular deity, but. he was afraid and thinking his thoughts couldn't hurt right? He could hear something large and winged approaching, and out the corner of his eye, he was aware Blackblood was not coming to his aid.
Please don't kill me, please don't kill me please...

He swung his sword again. He was a bard, not some knight of the realm... but right now he could not think of a single spell that would help him.

Attack: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Continues with his current doe

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