Sword and Sorcery (Inactive)

Game Master DEWN MOU'TAIN

IC posts here

As he moves into the interior Ivar considers how fortunate he'd been finding the few barrels of fresh water, salt pork, jerked beef and cheeses. Years ago, After the retreat at their camp at 'Mason's Hill,' he'd always kept his most valuable gear on his person. But he'd also been able to find a few things of value floating in the debris; a ruck sack here, a pot there. He chuckles at himself wondering if he should thank one of the gods. Shaking his head he'd not gone down that path yet and wasn't going to do it now.

After exploring the depths of 'The Mwangi Expanse' Ivar had promised himself he'd stay out of jungles. But this was different, the food and water he'd dragged from the 'Wetted Wench' would only last so long. He'd prefer to stay near the beach and watch for ships, but the land was too low, all the water was brackish. He needed to find a source of water if he were to survive. He must search higher and that meant going into the interior.

Pausing outside the city he admired the architecture, wondering who'd built it and how long ago. As he wanders through the streets watching for predators, he wonders what destroyed the city, famine, war, pestilence. He smiled to himself wondering if they just got bored. As he questioned what sort of folk and lived there, he looks down the straight causeway, seeing the ziggurat. As he nears, he wonders if it was one of the three mountains he'd seen off in the distant that fiery night.

He pauses at the bottom of the ziggurat, he'd found no fresh water since he'd entered the interior, only this dead city, and the ziggurat in the center. Maybe from the view up top he'd see a river. He again pauses at the first step, a shiver moving up his spine. He reminds himself he's a named man from the Ironbound islands, and wonders what Captain Tavar would think, him standing here instead of moving. Shifting his axe from resting on his shoulders to gripped in both hands, he begins to move methodically up the steps, counting as he goes to keep his mind off the ghostly wind.

Pausing at the edge of the of the platform he turns and looks back at the odd layout of the dead city. Not seeing anything, other than the city, of note; he begins to cross to the other side of the top of the ziggurat. Pausing at the dais, cut from the rock, he squints, the letters, first unrecognizable then begin to Wriggle and shift. Blinking and blinking again Ivar rubs his face with the back of his hand. The letters were legible, it had the feel of magic. Not that he was a stranger to sorcery for it ran in his blood. Steeling himself he read the inscription aloud in common "Une offering is made, Une offering is given. Vater fer Vater, Gold fer Gold, Blood fer Blood, der greater der sacrifice, der greater der revward"

He considers the three elements required; he had little gold, a skin full of water, but not willing to give much, and blood, though he loathed to surrender any of it. As he rested his great axe on its head, he wondered what god the alter had been crated for, and if it still listened. Taking his last three gold coins out of his pouch and drawing his boot dagger, he shifts his water skin off of his shoulder. Holding the three gold coins in his upper left palm he gently cut the lower portion of his left palm with the dagger. Returning the dagger to his boot, he holds his bleeding left hand so as to not spill any blood until he gripped the water skin in his right. Lifting the left hand over the dais, he squeezes a few drops of blood into the bowl as he drops the bloody gold coins and pours several ounces of water over the other elements.

Rolled in discussion: dagger: 1d4 ⇒ 1

The water, gold, and blood fall to the bowl, ever so slowly. the coin spins, the water twinkles, the gold flashes as the metal circle twisted in the air.

Time seems to stop as the three items make contact with the bowl upon the dais upon the ziggurat. The water splashes high while the blood splashes wide, both equally coating the sides. the coin lands, and thuds heavily within. A sort of reverberation in time with the coin's contact connects with your heart, forcing it to skip a beat.

a thrice made offering. [i] a strange, disconnected voice says from around, from below, above.
[i]Has been long since one was so bold.
It sounds weird in your ears, as if youre hearing something else compared to what your comprehending.

A boon of gold the voice comes from before you, opposite you of the offering. A boon of gold is granted. The gold of this land is granted you

you feel a water drop splash upon your head. then a second, a third. more. and more. Clouds rapidly converge over the island, blocking out the sunlight. dark, angry, Lightning and thunder begins to hammer the island, with bolts striking farther out and but quickly getting closer. Thin bolts of blue-white streak from heavens to land, yet the thunder is always distant. Rain falls heavier and heavier, dousing you completely within a few moments.

the boon of water... open your mouth. consume what you will. It will never run out

A wicked laugh bursts forth from the source, and the lightning begins to fall upon the city proper. The thunder is distant, yet enhances the laughter, the mocking laughter.

the blood. the sweetness of blood! a boon for thee! A boon indeed! too long has blood been spilled. too long has it been loosed. Too long has a heart beat upon these islands, upon the triplets. Too long!

From behind you, flashes of blue-white light strobes your shadow onto the towering stone wall that is the backstop of the ziggurat. The brilliant light pushes back the shadows, revealing all nooks and crannies, vertical and horizontal, peppered upon the otherwise sheer surface. Faster and faster the lightning falls.

But the thunder never comes.

Blood for blood. Your blood, for me. Run, valliant warrior. Run, ignorant fool! the voice snaps out Run for your life! Run, and pump your heart for me! Run, so i, and my minons may hunt you down... so i may feast upon your blood

Raising an eyebrow as the three elements begin to respond to the bowl and possibly each other, Ivar had not known what to believe would happen. Many 'alters' and 'gods' fake, but he knew many were real as well. Was it a magical effect he'd activated or were there truly divine elements in play, causing his heart to skip a beat.

As the strange disconnected voice echoes around him, Ivar realizes he may have awoken something old, something not quite of this age. He furrows his brow at the promise of gold. Like so many of the gods, the reasoning left unexplained. Before he could even wonder if it meant he had to mine it or if minion miners would bring it to him, he realized the voice was still speaking and it had begun to rain. Hearing 'it will never run out' somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if it meant it would never stop raining. Frowning at the idea, he realized lighting was flashing behind him.

The voice continuing was almost secondary to the realization he was wearing metal on top of a ziggurat with a storm brewing. But when the lightning turn to blue-white flashes falling faster and faster, the sound of thunder no longer off in the distance, Ivar heard the voice clearly, the thing and its minions were coming for 'his Blood'

Growling in Skald "Ungrateful bastard" he looks at the towering stone wall weather worn with nooks and crannies, realizing white soundless lightning was peppering the city he'd passed through. Knowing going back was a death sentence, Ivar slides the handle of his axe through a loop attached to the back of the shoulder harness of his pack and begins to climb.

Taking 10(16) on climb

you its only a quick step from the dais to the stone wall, and you begin to shimmy up the wall...
you look up, and up close, the stone face isnt just a face, but it's a cliff. It rises high, high up into the air. You see several green blobs jutting out from the face, as if to defy gravity and the scene they witness far, far below.
your hands quickly find hand holds, nooks, crannies, cracks and crags, allowing you to lift and pull. Lift, pull, tucking your feet in to provide support.
the rain falls, a spraying mist that seems to just linger in the air. the cliff face wall still strobes that brilliant white blue light, illuminating hidden holds and gaps.
you look behind you, a moment, only a moment. and you catch movement. Behind you.
perhaps a spec of dust caught in the rain
perhaps a rolling branch?
perhaps something worse....

the rain continues to fall, the surface starting to slicken...

you look up, and spot something that could be a place regroup. a rock juts out, not 100 feet up and to your left....

Hand over hand, using foot holds to save his strength Ivar climbs feeling the haft of his axe occasionally bouncing off his leg. The rain soaking his hair and gear, water running into his eyes as he looks up seeing the cliff face, where several green blobs jut out. Unable to tell exactly what they are, he continues to climb, sweat from his brow slowly mixing with the rain pouring down his forehead dripping from his nose, running past his lips and off his chin. The feeling of water passing his lips reminds him of his father's mead: sweet, mixed with ginger, lemongrass and orange zest imported from the warm south.

Shaking his head he tries to focus as the flashing lights behind him casts his shadow on the rocky face. Taking a deep breath to clear his head, he hangs for a brief second by his right hand. Looking behind him at the flashing lights, and the objects caught in the storm. Glimpsing a shadow in the bright light, he looks up to the left and sees a rock jutting out. Growling softly, he turns back to the rock face, shifting to his left he redoubles his efforts to climb to the shallow shadow.

Still taking 10(16) on climbing, moving for the jutting rock, about how far is the upper edge of the cliff?

to the rock, its just under 100 feet. to the top of the cliff, far far above. it looks to be at least 400 or so feet above.

make climb check. Two checks at DC 16, two at DC 17, four at DC 18. a final one at DC 19

climb DC 16: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
climb DC 16: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26
climb DC 17: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20
climb DC 17: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14
climb DC 18: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23
climb DC 18: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15
climb DC 18: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
climb DC 18: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8
climb DC 19: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

The rain slickens the rock surface, forcing you to take longer and longer as you cling to the side of the cliff. But, each hand hold, each foot hold, slick it may be, allows just enough grip to continue to ascend...

until you grip one thats a bit too wet.

your hand slips when you lift yourself up. Momentum carries you into the stone wall, and then you rebound off with a startled oath! you flail about, grasping, snapping, hoping to jam some bit of attached body into the surface to arrest your fall...

make a reflex save, dc 14, or have a long, long fall...

reflex DC 14: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

The water striking his face, Ivar hangs by one hand moving to wipe the water from his eyes with the other. As he shakes his head, wonder how the rain in on a tropical island can be so cold, the rock he's holding on to starts to give. Jerking, his momentum carries him against the stone. "Blast!!" Cursing his elbow strikes the rock, numbing his arm for a split second. His fingers ripping loose, he begins to fall.

fall damage: 6d6 ⇒ (4, 6, 2, 5, 4, 3) = 24

seems the dice gods are with you....

you fall through the air, grasping for something, anything... and for one lonnnnnggggg second, you are weightless. air rushes around you, begins to howl in your ears, when suddenly the hard face of the ziggurat catches you with its stone surface. you crash hard onto the carved stone, and feel several bones break. you grimace and groan as rain falls hard from the skies above.
in between your groans, you hear another groan, more of a moan. you roll your head, eyes flashing brilliantly from the pain, but you spot a strange creature summiting the top. Bright white bones, tendons yellowed cling sparingly to its frame. Blue white flames gleam from eye sockets, and a short sword hangs in a clenched fist. It groans again, stepping close, closer, closer....

seems the dice gods are with you....

Really? Average for 6d6 is 18....

Falling, Ivar immediately tries to slow is descent by maintaining contact with the wall, which only manages to cut and bruise hands and feet, arms and legs. As he rushes towards the ziggurat, he looks down, relieved that he would not strike the altar. Rolling his body so he lands on his side, he feels the weight of his body breaking several ribs, and possibly something in his shoulder. Pushing himself up with his other hand he wonders why it was that he climbed this blasted ziggurat, laying up against a cliff, it truly only permitted him to see, this half of the island.

Standing, he moans, turning his face to the sky he closes his eyes for a second. At least he was a live and had some small healing ability. Hearing a second moan escape his lips, he takes a deep breath. As he inhales, he hears another moan. It takes a second for his mind to realize that moan had not been his. Turning towards the sound, using his bloody arm he wipes the rain from his eyes and see's the strange creature appears over the edge of the Ziggurat.

His nostrils flared as he focuses on the creature, here was something he could take his frustration, pain and anger out on. As he begins to reach for his bearded axe he didn't consider how fortunate he was that he'd landed on his opposite side instead of on the haft of the axe, likely shattering it. He didn't consider the nature of the creature, if it was the voice he'd heard or just a minion, he didn't consider his own wounds and how truly close to death he already was. All that mattered was the frustration he felt, that had been building for days since he'd landed on this cursed island. As he drew his axe, he grasped the handle in both hands, releasing all the rage and frustration he charged towards the boney creature.

As he charges, he uses his 'spell eating' ability and heals some of the damage from the fall. Releasing the pent-up arcane energy he begins to blur. Letting out his battle cry he lifts the axe high, chopping down at the creatures grinning skull, like a woodcutter chops wood.

AC 16 Rage 1/17, (fast healing @ 1) Blur 20% chance to miss. Swift action, heal, full round: Charge (draws axe as a free action) Attack: bearded axe: PA
heal: 1d8 ⇒ 3
atack: 1d20 + 11 + 1 + 2 - 2 ⇒ (18) + 11 + 1 + 2 - 2 = 30 damage: 3d6 + 1 + 9 + 6 ⇒ (2, 4, 5) + 1 + 9 + 6 = 27

well, could be worse.... could be stuck with 3 hps.

the skeleton doesnt even react to your axe hewing through dry rotted bones. it simply crumples to the ground with another moan.

as if in mimicry, another moan comes from the base of the ziggurat.
and another.
and a third
fourth
fifth.

you look down at the base and see animated skeletons with blue eyes blazing brilliantly in the overcast cover. most of them hold weapons, though a few are unarmed-literally! three of them to your right bunch together at the base, moaning, shifting and moving woodenly, attempting to overcome the first step. those with arms easily push themselves up onto the second level.
12 levels between you and them....

you look up, and see signs of activity in the city. blue orbs hang suspended in the air, moving about lazily. given the heavy rain, form and function is too hard to make out, only color...

"Ha!" The rush of adrenaline washing through Ivar as he destroys the undead thing. Relishing the sensation for a brief second, he looks for another target. As his eyes fall to the base of the ziggarat, he realizes there is no immediate threat. Releasing the rage, he considers his options. The undead are at the bottom he could meet them halfway and escape into the woods. But how many more follow?

Turning toward the cliff, he decides his best option would be to crest the cliff face or climb to the ledge he'd seen. From there he could make a more educated choice. As he walked towards the cliff face he draws his wand of infernal healing, tapping himself as he returns to the cliff face.

Tucking the wand away and running his axe's handle through the carrying straps on his pack, he begins to rage. This time calling on the arcanists ability to spider climb.

He quickly scurries up the cliff face towards the rocky ledge.

at least two rounds to walk to the cliff and use the wand, How many rounds to climb to the ledge, going 40 ft per round? At less than 100 ft, it's either two or three.