Ev̮͍͍̫̺̗͚e̫͓ͅn͉͔̜̻͈͘ ͇̪d̠̳͓̦̝͚͞ͅe͇̻a̞̞̖͜t̛̤̯̘̺̻h̫̦̗̱ ̙̮̝̥͍̗͎m͔̩̫͎a͇y ̳̳d͇̤i̻e̠̙̗̼̼ͅ the creature whispered in Judah's mind. I̹̘͜f͞ ̬͕̭y̭͈̩̖̳o̙̻̘̹̭̮̻͜u̙̯̫̰͙͓ ͇̹̬̙͙̣͉s̻̥̣̼̦ha̺̭̮͈̼̠̜p͏̹̮͎̯͔̻e̢ m̺̙͙̗̞̯̟ę̫̫̖͖̝͖ ̻̠͈͍̼t̻͈̟̠o͙̰̱͈̱̥͟ ̩̺̬̝ͅt̞̠̗͝h͈͖a̢̼̠͇̝͙t̯͚ ͈̦̹̻̭p̘̕u̻̗̜͉͍̱r͙̺͢p͕͎͎̝ǫ͔͓͔̣̱̰̰s̴͖̻̝e̗̬̳̥.͍̭
Judah had been jerkily reaching for one of the full haunt siphons he carried on his bandoleer, but when the doctor's bomb passed right through the spectre he second guessed himself. Instead of wasting ammo, he busied himself throwing rocks at the spectre, trying to distract it so his allies had a better shot at taking it down. Can you kill a ghost? he asked his subteranian companion.
Grey's masked face followed the big, angry warrior as he paced like a cat in front of their captives. Wait, I know that guy. Dustin? No that's not right... Dylan! From that warehouse job. That I botched. He had to fight off the watch while the rest of us ran. Not a great first impression. Hopefully he won't remember me. What's he doing in this hell hole? How are we supposed to get out of here with two prisoners and that big bastard? Dammit what else could go wrong on this job? He did a double take as he noticed the limp body of the woman in Mister Pink's arms. Sonofab!**+. Mister Grey took a shakey breath and focused on how to get them all out of here without drawing every eye on the block. "Alright. We still need a horse to haul the cart. Pink, that's your job. Black, find the new guy something to hide his face. I don't care if you have to wrap his whole head in bandages, just make sure nobody outside might recognize him later. Same with the girl. She's... alive, right? Nevermind, doesn't matter. With these two a*$&*+%s we're going to look like kidnappers no matter what we do. Maybe put her in a sack, or one of those body bags we found earlier. The rest of us will finish loading the cart and keeping an eye on these two."
Aw, shucks. :)
Judah got off his horse awkwardly, and patted it's neck. "Good, uh, horse." He didn't know what kind it was, and he hadn't named it. It was grey with white markings. Lorant probably knew what that meant, but Judah definitely didn't. He was pretty sure it already had a name when they'd been given the horses, but he hadn't listened. He didn't want to get attached. He tried to pretend it was a cold hearted tough-guy thing, but it was actually because he didn't like it when animals died. He still hadn't forgotten what his eldritch protectors had done to the stray cat he'd befriended in Magnamar. It felt worse now that he knew all he needed to have done was tell them not to eat anything. There were still so many things he didn't know. It wasn't a stretch to think something like that might happen again. He didn't expect the horse to survive, but he really didn't want it to feel like his fault again. He hitched the horse just like he'd been shown, got out a feed bucket, made sure there was plenty of water, eased and moved the saddle straps, checked for burrs and ticks, and cleaned the horse's shoes with a stick. He did it all quietly with a knot in his chest, feeling anxious and preemptively guilty. He'd never had a horse before, and he was already attached.
"Sausage Effigy," Judah snorted, chuckling under his breath.
Jack couldn't stop himself from picturing it. The frog on the dragon. He snorted, and then it was over. A few moments later he was nearly crying with laughter.
Sorry for your loss, Al. Take your time.
"I'm Jack. I..." the big man said, losing a bit of his confidence a moment later, when he realized he had no idea who was actually the leader of their group. Cardinal Thorn was the real leader, but Jack knew he shouldn't say that. Who was their leader? Alice was smart, but not very leadery. Nate couldn't even lead himself. Havelyn was too new, and seemed like he wasn't interested in being in charge of anything anymore. Errisigh was the Baron's man, and not really one of them. Jack had always sort of thought of Soren as the leader, but she was gone now. A lot of people were gone now. He blinked as he realized he was the only one left from the original Knot that had escaped Branderscar. Did that mean he was the leader? A few months ago, that idea would have thrilled him. Now though, he was worried. After Ballentyne he knew wasn't smart enough to make good plans like a leader was supposed to. No one was the leader, but someone had to be. Who made the plans? Who did the group follow automatically? Who did everyone listen to? "Raaven's our leader," Jack told the frogs. "Take us to this Here's Your Father guy."
Xanos pulled out the small clay seal which would summon Tiadora when broken. He set it on the table. "They die, of course. Fist though, the Cardinal should be made aware of the treachery of the allies he provided us."
Not taking anything on the loot list. Done leveling. Besides the basic number stuff, she's picked up 2nd level spells, including Make Whole so she can heal our warforged friends. Also, she has an animal companion now too. Hers is a lion. I'll have stats soon.
There's an old video game called Evil Genius where you play as a pastiche James Bond villain, and create a mountain base full of elaborate death traps. It's one of my all time favorites. :)
9th level... yessssss....
Not Athiest. Antithiest. :)
"Eh, I just reverse engineer the wizardy stuff. There's a lot of arcane nonsense that ain't useful tae me. Alchemy is physical. So when a scroll says tae "evoke the aether at point nine of Avedaro's Constant" or some such garbage, I gotta figure out what that means in terms of ingredients. It's an awful lot like makin' a recipe out of someone else's book when they use different measurements and different words for ingredients. It's a giant pain in the arse, but once I figure it out I can do it by the numbers an crank 'em out quick." "An' don't even get me started on Sorcerer scrolls. They don't ever know what the eff they're talkin' 'bout."
Boomer smiles are the scrolls and alchemical supplies. "Adu, lemme hang ontae those scrolls. I'll work 'em out and make potions from 'em," he said, adding his own list of scrolls to the purchase.
Xanos rarely came out of his laboratory. He was punctual, meeting with the members of the Knot who were present each night for their debriefing. His presence was felt almost constantly. Severed hands ran throughout the horn delivering messages and checking guard positions and entry points. His undead horde watched passersby carefully from behind the arrow slits. The haunting melody played by one of the hands never stopped. Instead it simply moved around. One skeleton carried the lyre tirelessly, played by a severed hand that scuttled across the surface of the instrument like a musical spider. Where the song went, the Horn changed. Walls smoothed and thickened. Doorways damaged by the Victor's attack a lifetime ago repaired themselves. Traps and tunnels dug themselves in the catacombs. New walls and rooms formed. The entire mountain soon bore the subtle mark of the ancient necromancer.
Boomer stuffed a rag into his cask, lit it off of his cigar, and tossed it, looking pained at the waste of good liquor.
The tall wizard looked vaguely amused. "Competition by nature requires rules, and that the competitors be at least somewhat evenly matched. I have no interest in such things."
Oh, right. Our tavern, where the barkeep is a torturer. Wretched hive of scum and villainy, and all that jazz.
"Hmm. These wilds have a reputation for being extremely dangerous. I expected more," the tall man said, a tad disappointed. "The Asmodean temple is on the second floor. There is also an unclaimed room you may take as your own." "We have a planning meeting each night in the Tavern with our evening meal. Join us then, after you have settled in." The tall man seemed to have said as much as he was going to for now. Without segue or preamble, he walked out of the room.
The tall man looked exasperated and a bit disgusted at the vampire's zealous ranting. He changed the subject. "We have done little in the way of exploring the wilds of Caer Bryr. You have been surviving in them for some time now. What can you tell us?"
"An excellent point," Xanos nodded. "We should keep his presence secret from the Seventh, and the Baron. They know the most about us, and I do not trust them." "Let us make our introductions." The necromancer drifted to the teleportation circle, spoke the command word and a moment later appeared in the first floor throne room.
Urmurn and the pair of vampires made their way through the receiving room into a massive chamber lines on all sides with carvings lionizing daemonic rule. The four horsemen were venerated here, but the room itself was barren. It was clean, but everything had been removed. All that remained were the carvings on the walls and the six massive stone pillars supporting the chamber. The last time Urmurn had been in this chamber it had been the site of an battle nearly a hundred years old, full of broken pews, brittle bones, and a cracked alter. All that was gone now. The only things in the chamber were three men, two human, one half-orc.
One of the human men was quite tall. His height matched the hulking vampire behemoth, but without the bulk of armor and muscles. This man's skin was dark, but his eyes were icy, pale blue. His head was bald. In fact, he appeared to have no body hair at all. He wore simple but finely made dark grey robes and what appeared to be a butcher's smock. It was tied around his waist, but not his neck, so it hung folded in half from his belt. The other thing that hung from his belt were chains attached to spiked gauntlets. The disembodied hands each stood on their finger tips arrayed around the tall man like small pets on leashes.
Jack walked across the room to Nate's bed, grabbed it by it's frame, and unceremoniously tipped it over.
Down the entry hall corridor and around the corner the trio wound. Behind the arrow slits Umurn could make out flames and skeletal faces. Sharpened spikes a foot in length jutted from the walls every few feet, alternating sides, and also heights. Some were high, some were low. They looked sinister, but their purpose was not obvious. Above, small holes in the ceiling dotted the length of the hall. They were bored up through the thick stone for quite a ways. Faint light shone from above, occasionally shadowed over by figures walking above. At the end of the corridor was a heavy portcullis which ground open to let them pass. Behind the portcullis was a mechanical automaton covered in thick plating, it's cogs and servos whirring as it watched them pass. Behind the golem, on the wall opposite the portcullis was another portcullis. Two leering skeletons strained against the bars, reaching for flesh. It ignored the vampires, striving mindlessly to slay the only living thing in the room. The only door out of this room was reinforced with a latice of steel bands. It too opened on it's own as they neared. On the other side was a guard station and two massive chain winches. The room was empty though, no guards were present here. Next to the steel-bound door was a standard heavy wooden door that led to a room that looked like it might be the beginnings of a receiving room. The basics there there. A table, a few chairs, a rug, but it was spartan and unimpressive. It looked like a number of things had recently been pried off the walls. Urmurn's memory of this room was foggy, but he loosely remembered there being plaques on the wall that had once labeled trophies, but all the trophies had been long destroyed by the time he'd arrived the first time. The only thing of note in the room was a spiked gauntlet int he center of the rug, balanced motionless on it's fingertips
As the newcomer reached for the door, it slowly opened on it's own volition. Beyond was a darkened hallway lit by ruddy, muted flames shining from the other side of a series of arrow slits that lined the corridor. In the distance he could make out two silhouettes, one male, towering and armored, the other female, lithe and graceful. Their eyes caught the firelight and reflected it back in sinister, unnatural fashion.
DC 25 Perception check:
There is a trap in the wall on the approach to the door. It looks like it is probably some sort of pop-out blade trap. It was not there the last time you were here.
separate DC 20 perception check:
There is a floor trap directly in front of the door. It was not there the last time you were here.
Yet another DC 25 perception check: Just inside the door, after it opens, there is some sort of trap in the ceiling. Likely a swinging pendulum of some kind. It was not there the last time you were here.
Migrants arrive!
Grial was a bit surprised to see another of his orcish kin in this town, but he wasn't the sort to go interrupt a group of women in conversation. He still bore scars from that particular lesson. He tried not to watch them, but mostly failed. They were all very pretty. Even the child seemed like she would grow up to be quite striking. He found his gaze wandering back and forth between the human and the orc-kin. It was strange to see such different kinds of beauty side by side. He ordered a drink to give himself something else to do rather than stare.
Understandable choice. Best wishes to your family.
"His. Mess." Marcus said flatly. He looked over to Ishanna for confirmation of what he'd just heard. After he'd warned them back at the tower not to leave live enemies behind them. After he'd chosen to stay behind to protect the camp while they left it undefended because he knew there were enemies following them. After he'd done his best to organize a bunch of untrained peasants into something resembling a functional watch patrol. After he and Ishanna had risked their lives to rescue the ones who'd ran into an entire family of ogres who possessed magic and advanced weapons. After the planning, and the risks, all necessary only because he and Ishanna were the only ones with the sense to stay behind. Now it was his mess? "Go f!*& yourself." the doctor snarled. He turned his back on the group and headed to his clinic without another word. Why am I doing this again? Because it is the right thing to do. They are ungrateful and shortsighted. Their choices are reflections on them. Your choices are a reflection on you. I'm used to not liking my reflection. She isn't. That's why she is blaming you. For once I don't deserve it. She'll come around. Until then, just endure it. I can do that.
The Baron is one of the few surviving members of the House of Barca, the line of kings that Markadian the Victor overthrew. Raaven whispered into the minds of the Ninth Knot at the Manor House. As an Elf, the Baron is old enough to remember The Victor's Rebellion. This man watched his entire family line deposed, most of them killed or executed, then saw the members of his faith rounded up and slaughtered. He survived all of this, and has lived among his enemies holding his true loyalties secret for a human lifetime. "Do not underestimate this man. Beneath his mask of civility, he is likely cautious to the point of paranoia, extremely cunning, and deeply bitter."
Those of us out of the fight will idle the time with conversation.
I know storyteller in Real life so I have known about the girlfriend...and she has away of...distracting him. ;)First my daughter. Then my girlfriend. I only have one dog left and he's male, he's no trouble at all :-) Isn't that what girlfriends are supposed to do?
"The Black Cats. Don't make us cross your path," Aerin suggested.
Marcus was content to settle back into work. He needed to hurt something. Whoever these three in the distance were would do just fine. He moved into the shadows quietly.
That could have been handled better. Pride is the most common sin. You would know. As would you. I'm not sure who we're even talking about anymore. All of us.
Or maybe he's just horny?
Also, we have two excellent healers in the group. Pretty sure everyone is at full.
When he and Ishana arrived, Marcus dismounted and scanned the group for obvious wounds, but said nothing. The doctor was difficult to read. His stoic nature combined with his bird-like mask made his feelings on anything difficult to gauge. The best indication of what was going on in his mind were the shadows near him. Though he shed no light, the shadows near him reacted as though he did. They wavered and danced. When he was helping in the medical tent or protecting people on the battlefield, they tended to pull away from him in long lines, like he was a bright bonfire. Right now, they were pulling towards him. Marcus was angry.
Typos. Fixed. It's only Righty in this fight. GM said Lefty because I used the Lefty alias for the Boggards. I got confused because I'm writing this at work, multitasking, and clearly don't know my left from my right. The people responsible have been sacked.
A scuttling, armored hand leaped out of the shadows and hit the priestess, clamping down on her throat with a force that belied it's size.
Poor Marta: Stunned (drops everything held, can’t take actions, takes a –2 penalty to AC, and loses its Dexterity bonus to AC (if any). Attackers receive a +4 bonus on attack rolls to perform combat maneuvers against her) Grappled (Can't move, -4 dex, -2 to all attacks and MD checks other than Grapples. Can't take 2-handed actions. Must make Consentration checks to cast spells) Strangled (can't speak or cast Verbal spells while grappled) Total of -10 penalty to attack Lefty (on top of Grappled penalties) Marta grants Lefty Cover against other foes. Marta is considered Flanked by any enemy who threatens her.
I want to keep a tally of the stuff we've learned from this test of our defense system. Feel free to add to it. 1) The bear traps are too easy to spot. We need to upgrade that. 2) Boggards have really s@~&ty ranged attacks. Not sure if there's a fix for that. 3) Portcullis trap seems like a big success. Since the hands and the vamps can pass through the bars, it seems like our best feature so far.
Marcus did not like the idea of an ogre left alive on the borders of the town. This group seemed to have a bad habit of thinking problems would disappear if they left them alone. People were going to start disappearing. Then they'd lament the loss and wish they'd done something sooner. There would be much anger, and a heroic charge. A good story. He hated it. It wasn't really his problem. He was just along for the ride. Still, he didn't like the idea of knowing an enemy was there and doing nothing. He debated going to find the ogre himself. He was reasonably sure he could kill it, but he decided against it. These people needed to learn the price of being short-sighted in the Stolen Lands. Such lessons were harsh, but necessary. So you've consigned a number of innocent people to death so others will learn? the voice in his head asked. Not death. Ogres take prisoners. There is a good chance we will be able to save anyone who is taken. Oh, that certainly makes it alright then. Marcus ignored the sarcasm . The empty Varnhold was the issue in front of him at the moment. Arguing morality with his second soul could wait. "An evacuation, perhaps?" Marcus began looking to see if things were missing, indicating that people had left and taken what they could with them, or if everything was left behind.
I'm still in the thrall of work-demons. The snowstorms are really making my life hellish right now. I'm going to try to get my character sheet finished tonight, but I'm not sure if I'll have long enough breaks between activity. Last night I didn't.
*eyes the door*
I kind love how we get a letter about being invaded and the Vamps are all "food's here!" and the rest of us just go about our business like we aren't about to be invaded. This lackadaisical approach really makes me understand dungeons better. The boss monsters probably know the adventurers are there. They just have more important things to do wit their time then charge to the entrance and wipe out some noobs.
"Ghosts," Judah said with a small shrug and a grin.
One more quick note. I've added "ninja" markers to all the guards and critters that spend most of their time hiding. Interestingly, this includes Golgotha. Now that Al's loyal steed has been improved, he has a climb speed and a burrow speed.
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