Atlas2112's page

@Gunner: Shield gives +5 yeah? Your AC is 26, the DisAdv attack is 25.

"Reinforcements? You mean we get to kill MORE of them? Of glory unto Thor for bringing more of these greyskins to our path to be trampled under our boots of STEEL! Nay, I can not tell how much more glory and honor can be coming for us, and even less so if their runners are caught by our airborne forces and fallen by Death From Above. No matter, they will come to us or we to them.

Just like this worthy before us!"

Unwilling to spend any of his grace on felling a single ghoul, Aterro focuses on the poetic grace of single combat.

As if sensing his master's heightened martial attention, Deathmetal awakens and LEAPS to the attack. Again Aterro feels his hand to be but holding the hilt as the weapon-end dances and advances of its own will, him but the earthly tie that holds the force of death into this material realm.

Attack 1!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
CRITICAL Damage1!: 1d8 + 6 + 1d8 + 1d8 + 1d8 ⇒ (6) + 6 + (5) + (2) + (5) = 24

Attack 2!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Damage2!: 1d8 + 6 + 1d8 ⇒ (4) + 6 + (8) = 18

Shove to Prone! Athletics!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12

"And wait for ME!" Aterro yells in powerlessness as the flying trio take off into airy flight. "Oh confound! If ONLY I had a FLYING! CARPET! to keep pace with! Harrumph," he yells after them, harkening back to the recently (to him, at least) lost carpet that was swapped in for an ephemeral cat. A poor trade at twice the price.

"I bet he doesn't even still have the cat," Aterro mumbles, turning away from the chase and giving it over to those with less fealty to gravity.

Returning to the bard, he is greeted with a satisfactory consolation prize of one ghoul with enough life and heart to return to the battle line.

"Oh Thor does shine upon me this day!" he states, hefting again his fellhammer Deathmetal, The Mourning Star, and his shield, The Metal...because you can't kill The Metal. "Here I had thought I'd missed all the excitement! Arianna, I am indebted to you for using yourself as bait just so I could feel included. I will have to repay you sometime and gather a truly horrible foe for you to fight single-handed. It would only be right."

Having crossed the distance at a leisurely pace, all the better to take in the battlejoy and to give the ghoul time enough to make ready, once within striking distance he LUNGES to the attack, his weapon rising and falling and rising again while his lungs call out a hearty tune.

"The battle rages towards the walls,
Each moment blaring a defeaned call,
The enemies lay in wait ahead,
The bodies around us stink of the dead!"

Attack 1!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Damage1!: 1d8 + 6 + 1d8 ⇒ (8) + 6 + (3) = 17

Attack 2!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Damage2!: 1d8 + 6 + 1d8 ⇒ (3) + 6 + (6) = 15

Though he mourns his Curse of Loki, apparently so wasted on the fleeing ghoul, its loss leaves him enough mental clarity to follow up his Crushing Star attack with a Falling Mountain follow-up, crashing into the ghoul with shield, seeking to make him lose his balance.

Shove to Prone! Athletics!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

"GLORIOUS COMBAT!" Aterro cries as he steps lightly from a sudden portal. Like a air elemental sent from the hoary mountains of Asgard itself, Brother Aterro Dominatus all but dances out of another chaos portal that flashes and fades again.

Dex save!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

All he had heard was the last of the bard's sentence.

"Ha! And good to see you as well! Kill the runners? So, I see you have not killed them all and saved at least a few for me. But they are COWARDS, running away while they yet have un-life, or what passes for it, pumping in their evil, heartless shells. Ha! But whatever. I have no longer pride enough to turn my nose up at such leavings. You want them fallen, master? So let it be said so let it be done!"

True to his word, Aterro trots forward to keep pace with the fleeing cowards. First he calls upon Loki, Embodiment of Mischief, to curse their steps and fill their futures full of sad tidings. Then he extends a mailed fist and losses two bolts, one the emerald green of fading hope, the other a blazing crimson of wrath and ruin and the crimson dawn!

Move 30' toward the runners. Distance to runners = 60. Bonus action to move Hex to closest one. Disadvantage on Str. Action for Eldritch Blast.

Eldritch Blast #1!: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11
Eldritch Blast Hex Damage!: 1d10 + 1d6 ⇒ (9) + (1) = 10

Eldritch Blast #2!: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22
Eldritch Blast Hex Damage!: 1d10 + 1d6 ⇒ (2) + (2) = 4

Seem's like Jack has been hit or miss do to being busy IRL.

This.

I like the plan, Jack. Makes sense. Hmm, Lapeidra and BJs - did something cause you to put those two things together?

;)

Heh, I stared at that sentence waaaay too long to not make it dirty. ('If Lapeidra likes riding the BJ' ...hrmmmm, no... If Lapeidra wants to go hard on the BJ...okay, not that either....) This went on for half an hour. ;)

Charly looks to Jack and asks, "Engines or cargo first?"

Jack has to stand silent for a bit, his brain organizing much data, and he had little power to spare for such frivolities as talk or motion.

At last, at long last, it appeared that, yes, all the things could go on the single ship. What happened after that? That was a different problem for a different time. A time quite soon, just as the left atmo, in fact, but still different.

"Cargo," Jack says, at last answering Charly. "I don't actually want to remove the engines on the dropship, but I guess that's always a possibility," he says, mistranslating her question, and in one motion admiring her forethought for seeing that the engines were also a thing that could be removed. Admirable.

"I'm going to cut away that retaining wall!" Jack yells, stomping into the tumult of techs and cargo like an infantry commander yells at his regiments to form squares and receive charge.

"Yes, Captain Tsong, I know it "says" it's a supporting wall," he says, throwing up dynamic "air" "quotes" with his fingers, "but that's want they want you to think! I'll cut it in a dynamic arc and reinforce the stress points, it'll be fine. We won't be holding any grand balls in the cargo bay any time soon, but that is for a later time."

He had heard some rumblings concerning the well-being of that Deigo character, but now that we had his mech, the future of the meat-thing meant little to him.

He got to work cutting away formerly-important structures and shoving in the looted metal machines as quickly as he could.

And here I thought I needed to propose a "something else".

If my crazy scheme works, then we just need to drag a P.Hawk, leaving 65 tons for the BlackJack or the Jenner and a Commando.

If my scheme doesn't pan out then we just do the T Bolt and the Jenner.

I think the push-pull-drag event is just for the current scene (since we can outrun them) and we can get the old Commando at leisure.

And, yes, this is a BUTT-TON of metal for the middle of nowhere. Planets have been conquered by less mecha than that which we now face.

Deigo got sum 'splainin' to do.

I also don't see why we would just let them go. If you don't run away when you are beaten, when do you run away? If you don't pursue when you are winning, when do you pursue?

Jack looks upon the chaos and tumult caused by the two medium/light Steiner scouts. He gives his lancemate a quick mech fist-bump. "We have successfully scouted half of the enemy! But the other half are trying not to be scouted. Obviously we must scout them harder!"

Jack sprints forward, keeping pace with the aloft enemy Hawk. Once the enemy lands he greets it with a mighty fusillade.

"You were told to surrender if you knew what was good for you.

Obviously you and I have a different definition of what is good for you."

He unleashes a close-range assault.

Run to -6

ML at PH!: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (1, 3, 3, 1) - 8 + 2 = 2

ML at PH!: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (2, 1, 3, 2) - 8 + 2 = 2

Punching at PH!: 4d3 - 8 + 3 ⇒ (2, 3, 2, 3) - 8 + 3 = 5

MG at PH!: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (2, 2, 1, 1) - 8 + 2 = 0

MG at PH!: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (2, 1, 1, 3) - 8 + 2 = 1

Ht = 5 +1+2+2+0+0 -4 = 6/7

'What the? Is Charly messing with the sensors again?' Jack wonders as his screen goes all wobbly. He taps it a couple times and it re-aligns back to normal.

"Copy that, Markus! Sturmgeschultz! Attack pattern Steiner One go!" Jack yops barbarically as he leaps to the fray.

The Steiner training soon makes itself known as the two Pheonix Hawks begin to mirror each other's movements. For a time it seems not that there are two mechs, but there is only one, and it's reflexion of some mirror-universe now manifests.
As Markus runs forward, so does Jack. As the Large Laser discharges for the Thunderbolt, followed closely by two smaller cousins, so too does Jack's Angel echo the assault. As first a fist and then two machine guns rake the errent Blackjack, they also are joined by reflected images but from the other flank.

Some might say it is as if the two giant-robot pilots entered some kind of mental-handshake drift .

Mirroring Markus. Creepily. Run to -6

LL at TB. Using Boost from Markus for +2: 4d3 - 8 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (1, 3, 2, 2) - 8 + 2 + 2 = 4

ML at TB: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (1, 3, 3, 3) - 8 + 2 = 4

ML at TB: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (1, 1, 2, 2) - 8 + 2 = 0

Punch at BJ. Using Flanking because Markus used it here too and I think two mechs punching one mech at the same time would look SUPER cool. DRIFT!: 4d3 - 8 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (1, 1, 3, 3) - 8 + 3 + 2 = 5

MG at BJ: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (3, 3, 3, 1) - 8 + 2 = 4

MG at BJ: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (1, 2, 3, 2) - 8 + 2 = 2

As the combat gets hot and close Jack cranks up the METAL in his cockpit. A song about a METAL MACHINE blares out as Jack sings along. "Come touch my metal machine...."

Ht: 3+2+2+1-4 = 5/7

"But if you remove the jump jets, would that free up enough weight for the large laser? Of course. He'd have to rip the sensor suite out, but Lloyd didn't use sensors. Did he? Maybe that once. But he won't mind once he sees a large laser on a WASP. But what about power? The zinc-chroniton bracket would probably explode. Which would be tragic. Or funny. Or both. Perhaps with I could re-attenuate the nuclear electro-plasma containment field...."

Ever since the fish-out-of-water experience of guns-shooting at the mines, Jack had faded out and kept up a never-ending string of engineering considerations. Apparently technology, or the limits thereof, had presented a quandary that his brain simply could not ignore. Such problems always carried heavy coin in his internal economics, and such tertiary concerns as other people's lives could not dissuade him. Especially when he seemed -so- -close-.

"Jack, if you want a Thunderbolt you may never get a better chance."

Wait what now?

THAT was interesting.

His eyes blinked at 3000 rpm for a few heartbeats and he looked around, honestly surprised to see himself in the seat of his White Angel, surrounded by a rather hot firefight.

His eyes, once maintaining a stable orbit, swirled around his cockpit, taking in the various data readings, a legion of vehicular health readouts, both friend and foe. Whoa. Yep, there were some not-very-healthy mechs out here, and a T-Bolt was certainly one of them. That is trophy worth having.

Jack's fogged mind tried to work out a battleplan while his fingers reflexively followed doing whatever it was that Marcus was doing.

"Moving to scout the enemy Hawk," his long-dormant voice chirps out over comms. "Um, Phoenix, not Shadow."

All, please see discussion for proposed Plan.

LL at PH: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (3, 3, 1, 2) - 8 + 2 = 3

He's still around I think he's been busy.

This. ^_^

Aterro went wordlessly along with the Death From Above plan. He had nothing to add and never saw any need to fill the air with useless talk on even the best of ocasions.

As the group glides down, he gazes with a mix of reverence and awe at the bursting acorn. So this was surely the point of the ritual, was it not? He had seen some malevolent things in his day, surely, but was this not the penultimate amongst them? Taking something as good and natural as a treant and forcing it to produce--what? What would someone call those things? Able-bodied acorn-zombies? Abercrombies?

"Gunner, Luthael, see you that thing that has emerged from the exploding acorn? Have you ever seen its like before? Are the ghouls making some mockery of a harvest and forcing the tree to produce offspring that so closely resembles themselves? This is magicks of a most foul nature that even I had not thought the greyskins capable of."

"Gratitude, Gunnar," Aterro says, following him through the portal and sitting down heavily across from him.

"I feel this as well, but that tree was in no hurry and nor were the ghouls. So too, we help no one by dying."

Aterro unlaced a boot and looked around. "Where has everyone got to? Are they still looking for our wanderlust bard? Confound she does enjoy the long walks. So great are her exploits that I would not be surprised did she come flying in here, mounted on some odd jumping mechanical Wasp. By Thor's Hammer I can not abide some habits."

He takes out a whetted multitool and starts to repair his armor.

Your orders from Captain Vikkhas are to scout the second location while the Golden Janissaires, a heavy mech outfit accompanying the mission to Stettin, hit the colony capital. A heavily forested and marshy area referred to as the Rat’s Maze Marsh surrounding what appears to have once been a minor space port and timber harvesting operation.

Jack sighs more than screams as the pilot of the Locust proves still capable, one legged or no. It drives the point home that, bravado aside, he is just no warrior.

"You win this round!" he comms at the fleeing Locust. "Go make sure your bairn is safe. But you owe Gunny a date to make up for it!"

As he watches the mech go he thinks it is true what they say: Even on the battlefield, love can bloom.

Turning back to the now-quite field, he starts to get excited. THIS is where his passion is. He cares not for breaking mechs. Fixing them is where his heart lays.

"Congrats, Stormhammers. We have, officially, fulfilled our orders by "scouting" the enemy. The enemy has been very well scouted.

Or three hours if Charly helps."

Perception!: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

"Ayup. That is a very clear coast,"John agrees, hefting his magic stick and preparing to follow Ienmar.

Luthael, good job making the Concentration roll! Also, don't forget to roll for Spiritual Guardians damage.

Dex Save!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18 HAAAAAA!!!

The over-stuffed demoness opens its unearthly maw and spouts a torrent of acid at our intrepid heroes. Just as the cascading deluge reaches forth to clutch dissolving hands at the Paladin of THOR, Aterro's left arm, driving on some instinctual level, or perhaps now guided by a force truly independent of any human thought, LEAPS up to interpose the shield Amboss into the way of the belching green tide.

The acid CLASHES against the shield, wasting the whole of its strength against an unyielding force that will truck no further damage to its master.

Aterro looks 'round in amazement and takes a moment to look at the reverse side of the shield, astounded that through all that its face, far from pitted or gouged as another device might be, has been scoured clean and shines with a polished light. He grins.

"You can't kill The Metal!" he cries in glee.

Overtaken by Joy Without Peer he LEAPS to the attack, recklessly swinging his weapon high and rushing to meet the fallen demon in GLORIOUS COMBAT.

As if inspired, or, perhaps jealous of his defensively-minded counterpart, Deathmetal seems determined to not relenquish the spotlight and attacks heartily. It, too, moves with ease and quickness that belies conscious thought.

With the initial move, there spawns an alchemy of deathly metal and holy MIGHT as Aterro, howling with lust and fury, pours ALL of his Paladin's strength into the first blow. A beam of light in every color, no doubt a fraction of the Rainbow Bridge itself, breaks forth and lights the demon in the glow of true conquest.

The remaining attacks carry on in the wake of the strength just seen, but though Paladin and weapon move as one, the resultant effects seem almost disappointing in comparison.

Attack1!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
CRITICAL DAMAGE! DIVINE SMITE 2ND LEVEL! FIRST I'M DOING THIS EVAR!!!! +Hex!: 2d8 + 6 + 2d8 + 3d8 + 3d8 + 1d6 + 1d6 ⇒ (5, 6) + 6 + (3, 3) + (8, 4, 1) + (5, 5, 1) + (6) + (6) = 59

Attack2!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27
Damage! +Hex!: 1d8 + 6 + 1d8 + 1d6 ⇒ (5) + 6 + (6) + (6) = 23

Bonus Action Spirit Weapon Attack!: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23
Damage! +Hex!: 1d8 + 3 + 1d6 ⇒ (6) + 3 + (4) = 13

Gorn shakes his head sadly at the honorable barbarian. "Such things are not possible, my son. Look about you."

Gorn waves his hand at the underground surroundings. "We are in a fight for our very survival. There is a city, a full city, full of wonders and treasures, just above us, that we are not able to populate, and have not for a very long time, all because an evil unlike the world has seen, tries to not merely break out, crush us, and all we live for, assunder.

Besides, it is ours by the Right of Conquest and the 34th Rule of Acquisition. We canst not go against such powerful writ."

famous for the might of his mustache.

BEWARE THE POWER OF THE SWEET 'TACHE!

oh um I seem to have posted in the wrong game. Apologies.

I'm seeing a lot of first TECH then Pilot ideas tossed around and I _fully_ _support_ that. If more people have tech then maybe the rest of us don't have to lean on it as heavily and we can be more versitile. If someone wants to supplant me in Computer Systems, say, then I am all for that.

Of note, and I'm taking to anyone here. Really, this could be anyone, Lapeidra, or anyone, but I -strongly- suggest having either Gunnery or Piloting at at least +3. The game is, afterall, about people driving giant robots in a world where other people drive giant robots and much of the story is about who can drive a giant robot more betterer than the other giant robots. I like seeing AFVs and infantry and I like that Tareth sends those in too but let's not forget the main premise.

I think in the other game someone tried to be as not-Mechwarrior as they could and they -HATED- it because mush of the game was them -not- doing well in the most part of the game which driving giant robots.

Just FYI. IMHO. YMMV.

ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me! ME! ME! Pick me!

There. Is that better?

Yes! Let us again delve deep into that sweet, sweet giant fighting robotic nectar of BattleTech.

Hey did I ever tell you how I picked my handle? It was originally a way to make fun of all the random email addresses that were someone's name followed by a string of random numbers, like Bob4539@Aol.com (What? I never said this was a recent trend.)

I thought if the world was being forced into that particular box, then I'd at least do mine with style. I took a particular little-known giant robot of which you may or may not have heard, and mixed it with another little-known art-house band record title. Viola.

I noticed the GM cited Sarna.net. Are you implying there are people out there that DON'T have Sarna in their bookmarks bar? I've always heard about people like that but I never thought I'd meet any. (Mine is right between Thesauras.com and Warhammer40K quotes--which I should really get rid of. It's a Russian site and it's been compromised so I've just copied all the text.)

Barring any earth-shaking revelations I'll be using Jack again because really, really, really and truly believe BT is a more logistical game than tactical.

Mech!: 4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (3, 3, 3, 1) - 8 + 2 = 4 PHX-1 PHOENIX HAWK

Tech!: 4d3 - 8 + 4 ⇒ (1, 2, 3, 1) - 8 + 4 = 3 SUPERIOR ARMOR PLATING
Superior Armor Plating: This Mech gains an additional 2 Armor Stress boxes.

Mech!: 4d3 - 8 ⇒ (3, 3, 3, 2) - 8 = 3 HELD TOGETHER WITH DUCT TAPE ...okay this actually makes a lot of sense. It's like the mech is so old it's actually crap and only by living off the fat of my intellect is it still standing.

IF THIS MECH TAKES INTERNAL STRUCTURE DAMAGE IT GAINS
THE ASPECT CAN’T TAKE MUCH MORE WITH ONE FREE
INVOKE FOR THE ATTACKER.

Surprised Atlas hasn't jumped in here yet.

Dotting, and like Therenger, I'm surprised Atlas wasn't in here waving his arms about and shouting "Pick me! Memememememe!"

Heh. It appears I have a reputation I need to keep up. ^_^

"Well if they're bees then I certainly agree with you about needin' to kill them," Aterro mumbles in hearty agreement, but not too loudly, out of habit in case she might hear.

Hearing the cork pop he turns his head back. Did the bearkin just finish saying they shouldn't stop to drink -while- she is popping a cork and trying out new clothes?!?

'Confound. Is she a bear-folk or a cat-folk?' he thinks.

"Ahem! Ingryd, if you would be so kind as to join me in the van, we can find and kill the queen together, I should think," he suggests as suggestively as he might get with the she-bear.

That done, and hoping that the berserker is by his side, Aterro marches steady on into the fog.

Aterro pauses to consider the tactical advantages of some magical means to poof into a room, surprising the enemy with ferocity and fear.

Were this some human enemy, say, a room full of bandits waiting for salvation to be brought to them at the end of a hammer, then, yes, of course.

But this? Every foe they have encountered has not conformed to normal rules and laws for life. Most things have not even been monsters that have some kind of analog back in the real world, varied as it is. Within that room is some defiling evil, but that is all he knows. It could be one gibbering monster, or a million monsters so close they seem as one. It could be made of all eyes, or all mouths, or have some form he has never even seen.

In the end he shook his head.

"Nay, Arianna, nay. Gratitude for the thought, but my plan is more basic. Mayhap Ingryd, fully furious and raging, could plow through the door, with me either following closely, or, better, crashing in by some wall made of naught but ferns and grass, taking them in the flank.

Let us be there all together and take it with a full fist. Surprise might be a precious coin, but I would lay my bet on all of us, together, any day."

Nature!: 1d20 - 3 ⇒ (8) - 3 = 5

Perception!: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

"Oh confound these Frogmen! They run as the very whips of their masters were behind them!"

Shout out for the 20th anniversary of LOTR!

Then Johnny Boy stops and look all around them. "But soft! Listen to the silence."

He listens to the silence.

"Methinks we are hunted here. There are shapes in the wood and splashes in the bog. Be wary."

Jubal Breakbottle wrote:

Hello! Heard you were looking for meat. What roles do you need filled?

cheers

Hi Jubal!

I'll let the players chime in on that question, but divine magic and versatile arcane magic seem to be lacking. I'm sure our fighter would be upset by another front liner...

So, with the existing party being a magic knight, a rogue and a warlock, and the two newcomers of a Druid and Barbarian, then, yep, it looks like an Int-based spell slinger would be most welcome!

Excellent, sir!

The one general thing I've found that improves PbP is: More. Take more time, write more things. When I DM'd stuff I found I just read each person's post and put a short summary if what happened in my enemy turns. It takes a bit longer but then everyone knows what impact their action had.

But, yeah, I've found in general the better a GM is (or, player, for that matter), the longer their posts are. =]

Edit: Oh! Ha! Just read your Gameplay post. Yes! Better! Way whole bunch more betterer!

@DM: Can I make a small request?

This just goes hand-in-hand to TotM in PbP. But when a character takes an action that has effect, could we please get at least a minor mention of that effect?

I'm just saying, and I realize this might just be me, but when I do a thing in PbP, and it's not even mentioned, I wonder if the post was just missed? I've seen that happen, much times.

Hence, I presume my last attack hit? If, during the enemy's turn, it could just be said that my opponent takes damage? Otherwise I have no way of knowing if I actually hit, or if I missed, or if they're just immune, or, well, if the post just got missed. =]

It'd be weird if I didn't. ;p

Apologies. I'm getting over a cold.

Aterro had kept a tactical watch since turning toward the hillward-bound path. If something came at them, he wanted to see it at maximum distance, and figured any detail along their path that was not moving was not a concern.

As the others begin to talk about some carrion or other stuck in a tree, he bore it little in mind. If this place had plants, then it had animals. And if animals, then no doubt some pecking order where some of them ate on some others. That one had a meal hardly need rank as a threat to them. The bard starting talking to plants and that seemed...well completely in character.

But when his Thor-brother Gunnar brought attention to the pools of blood, that seemed odd enough to garner his attention. He looked down from high on Phobos and nods in agreement.

"Aye. That is something that is passing strange. I have seen much blood, both my own and that of my enemies, and a perfect circle seems something it is all but incapable of forming. It gets...everywhere."

Then it seemed that things moved in these odd crimson circles? Well, there had been little enough to garner his attention on this side of the chasm, so it seemed meat to go poking for trouble now. Literally.

Aterro got down from his mount and picked up a goodly-sized stick from the tree base. "Let us see what odd monsters would seem to grow out of perfect blood circles."

Aterro marches toward the closest blood pool and starts poking it with his stick.

Johnny Boy winces as the talk inevitably turns to an underground bunker. 'Just when I think I'm out they briiing me back in!'

Action to get out of Entangle!: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

He also winces as the vines prove to be unusually meddlesome.

The danger now passed, Aterro makes his way back.

Groaning all the way, heagonizingly pulls himself along the chain back to the ferry. He grips it all but blindly, and were he to lose his way he might fly off aimlessly until gravity reasserted itself. The last few lengths are less a pull and more a guided fall sideways.

Once attained in the space of the ferry, the once-mighty paladin collapses in a heap, a man spent. All his vigor has been pushed to its limits and then pushed some more. And then more still. He lays on his back like the dead, summoning the last reserves to pull off gauntlets and helm so he might more comfortably convalesce for a thousand years.

And then it becomes evident. What had been guessed at is now brought into the light for all to view. The wrinkles on his skin, woven in patterns of calluses from long hours of weapons work, no longer resemble the etched skin of the human condition, but are more akin to links of fine chain, woven into his flesh and glistening softly.

The infection seems to be total. For whatever new rents in his armor allow skin to show through, it is there, like small filings of iron tattooed by an expert artist, still shiny and new as if fresh from the forge.

Lastly, aye, his eyes stare senselessly out, no longer the angry-storm blue they once were. Not so even can they be called grey, but they shine like the steel on a sharp blade.

"Wine," he requests.

Oh man, I couldn't decide if I wanted to fail that Con save or not.

Losing 2 Dex would suck, BUT! But oh man then I would be in truth so METAL.

And you can't kill The Metal.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" the Paladin's scream of pain and anguish and pain and terror and pain can be heard from one wall of the massive chasm to the other. In sooth he had thought that his ring of fire resistance would keep the meat of the pain parted from him. Perhaps it would smart a little, perhaps sting a little.

He was wrong.

"This is the WORST. PAIN. EVER!" he shouts, unable to keep the thought inside. He, who had been bested by a raider chieftain in single combat. He, who had grasped a Spear of Thor himself and then did battle within the spirit world so contained. He, who had stood single-handed at the pirate-controlled docks (no, wait, Zove was there?) and taken the best this world of evil could throw at him, but this THIS trumped ALL OF THAT.

Then the burning in his arms turned to ice.

'By Loki's piercing cackle what is--,' he thought, the torment of holding together the massive links suddenly pushed to the background as magic...INVADED...his personally body. 'Have things gotten worse? Or better?"

He is comforted by a familiar hulking presence as the bear-ess appears carrying her magical cargo, who delivers his ill-omened message.

'So it is all on me? Well, hasn't it always?'

And then time for thought is done.

Athletics!: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 ruh-ro!

Athletics Advantage!: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26 Nice!

Con save!: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Okay so lessons learned:

1) There is quite definitely an environmental factor of how "visible" our base is to the enemy. We need to be aware of this and take steps to avoid being seen.

2) Don't go around telling other PC's you're going to do bad things to them. Apparently people don't like that.

"Be ready now lads and lassies! We're in for it now."

John speaks a word and his holy wooden stick begins to glow green. It's a bright and sweet emerald green that speaks of great untouched pastures and little people dancing at the ends of rainbows singing about their pots o' gold and their lucky charms.

bonus action to cast Shillelagh. Delayed Action: Attack on Approach.

** spoiler omitted **

Once you make your attacks, for those that haven't you begin the next round with two Frog Men, Save Lenmar who's delayed attack took one of them out.

DM, when my pair step up to me, how does my readied attack affect them?

"Ach! The froggies are tryin' to take us all to their underwater lair and eat us alive! Let's show 'em, Dwarves! 'Tis we that eat the frogs, not the other way around!"

Johnny Boy lays into the foemen before him, swinging his green-glowing club and singing the songs of the Ancient Kings!

"Fight with Blood! Fight with STEEL!
Die with honor, never Yield!
Fearless Hearts, filled With Pride,
Into Glory We Shall Ride!"

Attack!: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Damage!: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

just so I am clear, there are 4 of us making BatFamily-ish characters?

Critzible - Batgirl-ish
Philo - Nightwing-ish
Elbow - Red Hood-ish
Monkeygod - Damian-ish

It's the J.J. Gunn reboot!

I'll show myself out...

I'm not really sure how the RP chain lead to us losing a major magic item, but I assume that the same logic would let us reverse engineer us getting it back.

I'd consider it a gain if we traded a flying thing for a flying thing with a brewing setup. :)

"Gray Death Legion? Apologies, I'm not very good at this sort of thing. Perhaps...." He takes a moment to pause in ulfish thought.

"Odin's Spear? The Hammer of Thor? Revenge of the Living? Silence Incorporated? Crusaders of Dawn? The Stonemen?

The Glorious Legion."

Aterro stops and takes abreath. "Ah, sorry, guess I had been holding on to that for a while."

Aterro brings Phobos up to stop next to the wagon and gives the horse a friendly pat. As Gunnar mentions the likely cause of the bones the horse gives a horsely nod, as if confirming the data.

At Scramsax's pun, Phobos turns his head toward him.

"No, Phobos, don't eat him. He knows not the evil that he does," he says, chuckling.

"You have the right of it, Arianna, onward. To slavers, because my horse is hungry."

You know Aterro, Ingryd was a Brewer before she went on her quest

Huh.

Y'know we should probably do something with that.

If we had anything approaching a base that we came back to, I bet we could brew some -killer- dranks.

That's funny/coincidental, in another game I had a sorcerer given a ring that let me alter the names of spells slightly for new effects (the rule was you could change one letter, add one letter, or drop one letter). One was 'Dog Cloud', which transformed my mastiff into an air elemental mount.

I would've assumed it would summon a swarm...of dogs.

"Um, guys? I am now surrounded by a flying cloud of the cutest chihuahuas ever. I want to run away but also pet each one."

Now I'm actually crafting that spell in my head. For up-casting it changes the size of the dogs summoned.

+1 level summons all beagles. Dex save or take 2d8 sniffing damage.

+2 levels summons all Saint Bernards. Con save or take 3d8 drool damage. But then they go get help.

+3 levels summons mastiffs. They dogs don't do anything but every round you take an unavoidable 4d8 blunt damage from your friends beating on you because you won't shut up about how you know that they're used to hunt lions.

I'd like to pick up Fog Cloud.

"Eh? You want a frog proud? What's t'be proud about a frog?"

"What's the little man want? A hog loud? A'ight, we gots lotsa loud hogs 'round these parts."

"Well that'd take quite a spell t' plow a bog. Course the 'skeeters would eat'em'up before then."

I'll show myself out....

Will save DC10: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8 nah.

Normally a rousing discussion about war and tactics would rouse the paladin to a tirade on defensible positions and troop morale. But. But with the good honest fare of the tavern making pleasent sounds in his belly, and with a goodly amount of the house booze joining it, the action and lack of rest over the past time finally caught up with him.

Yes yes, these town folk are at a hard line. Yes yes, they must needs stand strong blah blah blah. Perhaps he would volunteer himself to see to the defneses, but he would put good gold that with a fresh mind other journeys of greater import would make themselves known. These people could tend their own fires.

At length he finds himself drowsing, and leans comfortably onto Ingryd's soft warm side.

like needless sex appeal etc.

I don't even understand this statement. All sex appeal is needed.

Maybe I'm naive, but I'd rather be entertained by a tale of heroism than have the joy sucked out of me by a story that wallows in needless nihilism and hedonism while telling me I'm an idiot for believing that people on the whole want to be good, honest people, rather than self-serving sociopaths.

I also think this.

Right now the bookcase to my direct left groans under the weight of almost every Conan book made. If I want escapism, I want escapism. I don't want to be punched in the face and told I'm a bad person and -then- told I'm an extra bad person for not liking being told that I'm a bad person.

Yeah, if I play a evil character, it's because I'm good, but in the looong-term view. That is to say, I'll say that the ends justify the means.

I want everyone to note something that SuperTumbler did that we should all do going forward.

For many reasons, when rolling on the Hero's Journey tables, please do so In alphabetical order. This way we avoid any needless cherry-picking of rolls and preserve the true randomness that the game was intended for.

Of note, don't...don't worry about getting things mega-optimized. A more min-maxed party just means I'd have to throw in 47 Deadboys instead of 43.

So don't worry, you're all gonna be overpowered. =]

I just wanna give a shout-out and proper recognition to the MVP of the fight, which is Gunnar casting his FLight spell. That one spell TOTALLY changed this fight from some bumbling around cluster frag, to an honest-to-goodness fight where we were able to rise and meet the enemy on even footing. If we were all stuck on that carpet, with them able to circle and breath at will, this would definitely have gone much, much worse.

*claps Claps CLAPS!*

Good job Gunnar.

(Makes me wanna get boots of flight!)

Why yes, yes I do.

Thanks for catching it, bro!

You won't drop it because you're demanding apologies for other people?

Oh, chummer, that's never a good idea. Both ZenFox and Adam are mature adults able to take care of their own business.

Just...just stop. PM if you must but stop this.

'Whoa. He's talking to me! Squee! I can't believe I'm having a conversation with the Mountain of METAL! Remember how he took out a whole squad of those bastards? And how the light glinted off his broad shiny chest in that very same striped tracksuit? Whoa. So, this is what he looks like un-transformed? Well we've all got our burdens. Right now the only way I could get off a building is by being thrown from it.'

"Em...imm...immmma...." she whispers hoarsely at the floor, responding to the question in fits and spurts.

Another forced swallow. Another grimace of anguish. But her eyes open a knife's breadth and her head comes up. Not enough to make eye contact again, but more of a general-direction.

"Imagine," she says, at last, clearly. "But not...not here. Here I'm just Kara. Kara...

Luthor."

She swallows, breathes.

"I'm not...not dad. You can't hold the things he did against me. Or maybe you don't know him. Good. Don't worry about it." She's rambling, her voice still unsteady, fighting the unionized team of street workers trying to pave a four-lane highway through her head.

"And you? Don't know your name. Just saw...well you know." Her cheeks color. Embarrassed. She always looked down on people who ran up to a celebrity and screamed "I saw your movie!" Good. You and billion other people. You think they don't know? Now here she was fan-girling out over the TV star.

Still, it made the pain less, and anything that did that got top billing right now.

Oh hello!

Heh, sorry for the delay.

I just had a few questions?

Question the First: I see you already accepted Wandering Wastrel. A fine choice by any standard! Do you still need more hardy cowpokes to get these little doggies a-goin'?

2) Just to clarify (assuming you do need more characters) how many Advances should we build for? I was checking out the current players, just to see what the party might need, and it looks like they have 2?

3) Do we get a free horse? I heard they were giving out free horses? I was sold this coupon by an honest-looking man behind the dry goods store and he said it was good for one free horse? =)