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Yeah, you've correctly surmised that, at least in the short term, access to "custom" goods that you might want is pretty low. Ain't nobody got time for magic item crafting (or, heck, magic item selling) when your city is post-apocalyptic. EDIT: Just reread the house rules. So, I can carry a Portable Alchemist's Lab without fear of losing movement speed. Right? I employ a "common sense" guideline with weight capacity. I don't like counting fiddly little things, so, yeah, in general, you can carry whatever you want and I'm not going to bother about encumbrance by weight. So long as it isn't silly levels of random junk. :) Crafting questions There's no such thing as Craft (staff). You could, however, take something like Craft (sculpture) and carve a staff from stone, and use Craft Staff to enchant it. Or Craft (gemcutting) and inlay rubies into a quarterstaff. Or... anything you can imagine, really. That's basically my only change to the Craft rules. You can use basically whatever Craft skill you want, so long as you can justify it for that item. Craft (jewellery) to make a necklace and amulet from gems, or Craft (leather) to instead have a leather necklace with knots holding monster claws. Craft (calligraphy) to make scrolls, or engrave arcane sigils on a shield to enchant it. Yada yada yada. You imagine it, you justify it, and I'll let it swing. This rule change is basically just there to make you think outside the box a little with crafting and come up with unique magical item designs more than anything else! Also, as an aside, I'm not a huge fan of characters taking tonnes of crafting feats because it has the potential to throw balance totally out of whack, and "downtime" is boring (and often doesn't make much sense when you're talking like, hey, the world is gonna end if we don't do X... oh, but we can wait a few weeks while you craft that, no problem). But I won't limit what you take, it's up to you, just be aware that you may or may not have the opportunity to actually do said crafting on a frequent basis.
Chief Sull smiles gently at Voren in an almost fatherly manner, though his words are nevertheless tinted with a twinge of sadness. "I do appreciate your concern, young one, but it is not likely to achieve anything. As your friend Aurica says, I doubt he is lingering so close by. He left Neathholm over a year ago now... this being left behind just confirms to me that he never intends to come back--if he even still lives." With the group preparing to restock and recuperate, Sull shifts in his chair and pulls himself to his feet. Though Lann and Crel are closer to the height of Reknar, and Dyra only a little shorter than the two men, the rat-like chief of Neathholm is barely taller than Aurica, and certainly rivals the rather sturdily build dwarven frame... although for completely different reasons. Despite his girth and a limp when he walks, he seems surprisingly nimble for his age and physical state. "Let me show you to the rooms you will use here, and then Lann can take you to speak with Firo... and Seer Opoli if you will." There are only three guest rooms in the stone cabin, which means you'll be sharing... but hey, anything's better than the cold, hard floor of the temple of Torag. The rooms are simply furnished with beds made from packed earth and soft, velvety blankets and a couple of other decor items besides--perhaps a stone desk or shelves. The beds seem big enough to hold two people at once, if you don't mind sleeping with another. Sull also informs you that he will arrange meals to be brought to the rooms when you are ready, and then he leaves you to your own devices. "Well, I think I'll leave you in Lann's capable hands," Crel announces with a grin. "I really need a good, long sleep after the whole ordeal... c'mon, Dyra, let's get you home as well." After some brief parting handshakes, the two other mongrelfolk take their leave as well. Shopping Stuff:
Since I'm not too interested in playing out shopping details in extensive detail...
There's one trading post here that sells common items. Assume you can get most generic/common adventuring gear here, in limited supplies. (i.e., you can buy arrows, but maybe only thirty of them; and you can buy a longsword, but not a... idk, some weird exotic weapon.) Most of the more common alchemical items will also be available in similar limited supplies... things like alchy fire and whatnot, not so much the weirder stuff like air crystals and what-have-you. Still, feel free to ask for whatever and we'll see if the percentile dice like you. ;) Seer Opoli may have some alchemical remedies and potions, again according to these kinds of restrictions! The base value of Neathholm is 200gp, and the purchase limit is 1,000gp. Anything above 200gp will need to be rolled for, and will likely take additional penalties considering the extreme isolation of the hamlet depending on what the item is. In addition, there are very few spellcasters here (if you want spellcasting services). The highest available is level 2 witch spells; you might find a couple of other NPCs who can cast 1st level spells from other classes. Speaking with Firo will reveal the following items are available (without rolling): Eight flint-headed arrows that feel strangely warm to the touch. "One of our scouting parties had a squabble with the traitors--we found these on the leader's body." A glinting steel buckler with four rounded rivets in a square shape in the centre and cross-hatched engravings encircling the outer edge. "Traded this with a creepy duergar who came down here a few months back, his head all wrapped up. He was so quiet, he barely spoke above a whisper..." A smooth, fist-sized tiger's eye gem that faintly vibrates in your hand. "Our miners found it like that. No idea how it got inside a hollow in the rock." A ring made from tiny bands of silvery titanium and one strip of meteorite. "Old Zeris used to make these kinds of things, but she passed away last year... alas." --------------- Horgus eyes up the proffered lamellar with obvious skepticism, but eventually accepts it with a vague and indecisive muttered... well, not thanks, but something close to it. Maybe. "I would not want to see my clothes get more damaged than what they already are. Blood stains are quite the pickle to remove," he begins conversationally, but quickly turns awkward as he struggles to find an appropriate response. "... Ahem. Yes. This is... A good idea. I appreciate... the good idea."
Voren:
I almost forgot about your question about gathering fungus and stuff. I’m not going to put a particular weight on them… because I don’t closely track weight, and because I imagine that unless you’re carrying some ridiculous amount of the stuff, it’s not going to be that much anyway. As for what it is, use your imagination. ;) I honestly don’t know enough about fungus to say! Reknar:
You have only heard the rumours of the mutant children of forgotten crusaders—usually quickly dismissed rumours, because everyone ‘knows’ that it’s only tieflings that are born from the Abyssal energies of the Worldwound, not anything else. Most logical and sane people consider it to be complete b+!&#!%s. ... Aravashnial is not one of those people, it appears. On the other hand, ‘common sense’ seems to not apply here. Chief Sull listens in relative quietude as the pieces of the puzzle are laid first by Reknar and then further detailed by the rest of the group, nodding along but otherwise allowing himself some time to ruminate on the circumstances. By the time your stories have come to an end, the lines in his brow have doubled as an undeniable frown marks his face like crevasses cutting through fleshy hills. "A most terrible story indeed," he says eventually, with a heavy sigh. Sull makes a cross in the air over his heart, "Thank the gods that you at least have survived—and may they watch over anyone else still left on the surface." "Your requests for well-deserved rest will of course be met. What kind of host would I be to treat guests so rudely otherwise?" A glimmer of amusement manages to penetrate the anxious gloom that has overtaken Chief Sull's face, but it's short-lived. "I am afraid that we do not have much in the way to help with your injured parties' wounds; Seer Opoli is our most skilled healer and soothsayer, but this is far beyond her ability to handle. We can provide mundane assistance, however, and perhaps some potions... and of course you are welcome to stay for as long as you desire. ... though undoubtedly you are quite ready to be on your way as soon as possible," he adds, with a kind smile. "I do know of a route to the surface," he continues, thoughtfully rubbing at the top of his walking-stick as he speaks. Lann and the others seem curious about this fact as well; it appears to not be common knowledge amongst the First Descendants. "The nearest route to the surface lies to the south... but it will not be easy passage. The exit is guarded by the traitors," Sull practically spits the word out, his voice seething with venom; you notice the other mongrels stiffen at the mention as well. "a smaller tribe who split off from us some years ago. They felt that we no longer held any responsibility to our ancestors and the Inheritor. According to our scouts, they have been consorting with less than savory uplanders ever since they left. ...That said, they have never directly bothered us, so I have largely chosen to ignore them." "... however, that time has passed." Sull looks back at the group, staring in the eyes of each and every single one of you for a few seconds before he continues. "If they have been complicit in the demonic attack that has wrecked the surface, as you say, then they have lost any bit of familial respect I might have had left for them. If they cannot be convinced to submit, then the taint must be forcibly removed." His tone and expression hardens at this declaration. "Myself and my kind may be outcasts and freaks in the eyes of uplanders like yourselves," Sull says with a gentle smile—it is clear that the nervous or perhaps disgusted expressions have not gone unnoticed by him, "but our ancestors helped drive back the demons in the First Crusade. My grandfather and grandmother were indeed crusaders, Osric, rest their souls; the others go back a few more generations than that. Unlike the traitors, the burning hatred of demonkind still simmers in our hearts, a flame that cannot be extinguished even though our forms have been twisted and we have been forced to survive belowground for a century. We want the demons to be defeated as much as anyone who lives above, so that none more may suffer like we do." "If you are willing—take this message back to the surface. We, the First Descendants, will stand with Kenabres to defend your—nay, our city. We may even be able to gather some of the other, smaller tribes that live further out to bolster the defenses even further. ... if the crusaders above will welcome the crusaders below, we will be ready to rise up and help take back Kenabres." When Voren retrieves the strange brooch from his belongings and offers it to Chief Sull, the obese old man gasps in surprise, his one good eye immediately becoming misty with tears. He reverently accepts the offering with two outstretched hands, simply staring at the brooch for some time with a gentle but sad smile. "This was Prax's—my eldest son," he explains eventually. "We had a terrible argument some time ago, and he left, determined to make a life on his own..." Sull drifts off sadly. "... with this in my hands, I do not expect him to return. But I will treasure its return, for this prideful old man is unlikely to ever repent for those words said back then..." Sull remains morose, so Lann steps forward to fill in the awkward silence with some more answers that he himself can supply. To Jens, he nods and says, "We occasionally trade with other underground races. Gold is just as useful here as it is anywhere, for that reason, but item bartering is more common between townsfolk. However, either would suffice for our purposes. I will speak to Firo at the trading post to explain the circumstances."
Horgus merely grunts at Aurica's attempts to placate his feelings on the matter, but he's at least not saying anything offensive... right now, that is. Still, she has the right idea with her tactics here; the nobleman is doing a terrible job of hiding his disgust. ... But, y'know, a filthy scowl is miles better than what he could be doing. With a nod, Lann takes the group down the simple road to the residence of Neathholm's chief. The playing kids scatter as the bedraggled crew makes their way through their homestead, watching from a safe distance behind a building with wide bug-eyes (... literally, in one case). There's other signs of normal life twisted into something similar and yet foreign as you make your way to your destination: a mother with a baby on her back hanging out laundry--though the baby has a twisted horn sprouting from its forehead, and the mother uses a rubbery prehensile tail to pick up wooden pegs; two huntsmen (with enormous claws and gnoll-like snouts) returning home with arrow-studded dire rat corpses slung over their shoulders; the sound of cheerful banter in the curiously accented Taldane coming out from the trading post as you pass; a small shrine to Iomedae in someone's back "yard" with an offering of colourful mushrooms left before it. All so close to being normal... and yet so far at the same time. The two guards posted outside of the peculiarly-shaped stone cabin seem hesitant to allow you entrance, but eventually with Lann and Crel's explanations you are led inside. The guards take you to a comely sitting room with a small fireplace and a collection of simple stone chairs softened with downy pillows. Wood seems to be at a premium in this place and used very sparingly in the architecture and decor. Instead, most things are made from carved stone, metal, bone, and even precious stones. Most curiously, you notice a common patterning carved into some walls: a bat perched on top of a mushroom... hmmm. After a brief period of waiting, in comes a bloated and unpleasant-looking man using a bone-carved walking stick to assist his movement--although he seems rather spry considering his extreme obesity. His right eye is covered with a milky white film, and the left side of his face features a rat-like ear and whiskers. Despite all that, Chief Sull greets the group with a friendly smile and mild-mannered politeness. "Oh," he says as he takes a seat himself, "it has been so long since I have had an opportunity to speak with uplanders. My name is Sull, chieftain of Neathholm. I do hope you find your stay here most pleasant." Sull's voice cracks with age, resulting in a gravely and deep voice. Lann clears his throat. "Chief Sull, these brave souls saved Crel from certain death. He was trapped beneath a rock near the western outpost--it collapsed from the earthquakes. Without them, he would almost certainly have perished." Crel nods in acquiescence, taking the opportunity to shoot you all another thankful look. "Is that so...?" Sull smiles, his many chins wobbling in turn. "Bless you, kind travellers. It is good to know Iomedae's justice still shines strong on the surface and in you all." "Would you care to explain your presence in these caverns?" he asks gently. "The tremors have never been this bad before, and Seer Opoli has been having nightmares for days... I cannot even begin to imagine what has occurred."
On the selfish end, I managed to pass my last exam also, and I am done with University (again) for now - three years, DONE! WOO! *cheerleaders* Congrats!!! Also, I now know True Strike, so I can hopefully hit something in a pinch. Still have to roll, so the spell is wasted on a 1... My other (non-PbP) WotR group's inquisitor picked up True Strike actually. Much to my surprise, as I thought it was a pretty useless spell in a lot of cases. ... It was actually incredibly helpful in two encounters in particular. It negates miss chances, which includes invisibility due to the way the spell's worded (at least, that's what my player convinced me of!) which makes it pretty handy to have when you really need it. Also, Alice, if you ever need to talk/rant, I'm here. God knows I do it to enough people :P <3 If anyone here uses Skype to (text) chat, I'm always online and often around (so long as I'm near a PC) and happy to share my contact details if you haven't had enough of me just on the boards ;)
Hey Voren, First, I wanted to apologise! Aurica pointed out to me that you've actually had the intention to pick up a level of oracle all along (that I'd completely missed and/or forgotten about), so I want to say that if you're set on doing it, I'm not going to stop you. It was a bit out of left field for me when I saw it earlier, though. Particularly with the burning thing. :P (And on that note, I am VERY happy to work things like that into the story... just wanna make that clear. But that's a serious moment, not something that can happen and be glossed over henceforth.) I really dislike trampling over people's character concepts in general, so I just wanted to make that clear. That saaaaid, I want to stick to my guns on the oracle Misfortune changes as mentioned. dien (Aurica) walked me through the changes she implemented with Reknar's oracle in a game we play in, and while that is a possibility, it strikes me as potential confusion and complication. To expand on my explanation before, Misfortune as written is impossible to implement in PbP. It's an immediate interrupt that is supposed to occur when a die is rolled but before the results are revealed. This is obviously not feasible, and retconning results makes it even more powerful than it already is. dien's houserule essentially requires Reknar's oracle to set a "trigger" in advance and Misfortune will come into play only if that occurs, although he can change the trigger during combat if he wishes. (For example, "I will use Misfortune if an enemy gets a critical threat") It works, buuut... yeah, I dunno. If you have any ideas on the matter I'm all ears, though. That said, on a purely mechanical basis, there's very little reason for you to drop a level on oracle, particularly since you're a primary caster and you want all dem spell levels you can get. Healing hex is awesome, too! I play a witch in PFS who is a debuffer and healer (a "white necromancer" as she prefers it), so I can suggest some things as we go if need be. --- ... Also, sorry for no post until now. Have been working stuff out with my partner. Stuff very much better now. :)
Also Voren, I was checking out your build and noticed you took Dual Cursed Oracle... As a heads up, I will most likely houserule that archetype to grant the witch hex equivalents to Misfortune and Fortune, not what is written in the books. Reasons:
2) The oracle versions are incredibly difficult to adjudicate over PbP (just ask Reknar). 3) The oracle Misfortune, as written, allows you to do everything the oracle Fortune does and more. It doesn't actually specify that you have to target an enemy.
I'm honestly going to echo dien here, to an extent... Whoa, that's a big moment. Sorta put as a sideline. Almost as if you kind of expect nothing to happen out of it but some "huh, that was weird" and we all move on to the next scene. What you've described is really going to affect the NPCs, particularly since it occurred in view of half of the mongrelfolk population. At the moment I'm struggling to come up with the ways in which the NPCs are going to react to something so... out-of-left-field. Like, really, again, I'm going to remind you that Voren exists in a world where demons are a real threat and that demonic possession is not something that is a "distant possibility" but a "regular occurrence". Something like this occurring is, as it was before, honestly a sign for most regular folk to put a cold iron crossbow bolt through his skull or at the very least tie him up and seal him within a magic circle against evil for a while. I'd appreciate it if you ran 'cinematic' moments like that by me before you did them so that we can work together to figure out ways to integrate it into the story that isn't so jarring and sudden. (Also, I'm kind of on board with dien's confusion as to why you'd pick up a level of oracle over a level of witch...?)
You will notice that PFS standard of 1/2 HD + 1 is exactly the same as average rounded up! I... just think about things weirdly, apparently. :P
GM:
Aravashnial seems a little awkward as Voren peppers him with questions of alchemy, the elf hesitating before responding. "I must honestly say it is not my realm of expertise, Voren," he says with an apologetic smile. "As a Riftwarden, my studies have been focused primarily on the outer planes. I cannot say I know much at all about creatures such as this, or the production of potions and the like." "However, I suppose, theoretically, using a plant-creature as the base of a magical concoction seems like it would suffice for some ingredients. I don't know much on that myself. That was never something I was greatly interested in. Also, I kind of failed my potions classes..." he mutters quietly to himself, almost bitterly.
Luckily, Aravashnial has no time to be questioned, for Reknar announces his recognition of the brass bull symbol and the atmosphere becomes immediately tense. Standing beside Osric, Anevia fumes just as much as the inquisitor does, scowling in disgust and slamming the base of her makeshift walking stick on the ground. "You give them too much benefit of the doubt," she says quietly as the discussion of burial rites comes up, "probably because you've never had to deal with them personally. The Templars long been a thorn in our side, and Irabeth has been working hard to root them out of the mercenaries and other less scrupulous types that take advantage of the 'Wound's state... but to think that they might have infiltrated even the crusaders now? By Desna's fallen stars, it's worse than we ever thought!" Anevia seems to struggle to hold back her emotions the more she speaks on the topic, and by the end is practically shaking with anger. When Aurica offers her the chain shirt, Anevia vigorously shakes her head. "No. ... thank you," she adds, trying to soften her fierce tone, "but I would not wear something that came from a demon-worshipper. That," Anevia smiles, tugging at the leather jacket hanging from her frame, "and this is much better protection than it might seem. Got it enchanted last summer, and it's as quiet as a mouse to boot – not like that jangling chain." Horgus eyes up the chain shirt sidelong, but says nothing...
"Well," Lann says with a glance at the bodies and then back over to Crel and Dyra, "there is no true harm in waiting, although perchance we come across danger of some sort in the interim. I am inclined to leave as soon as possible, but if you wish to remain here, then we shall abide by your decision." The elf, however, doesn't seem too impressed with the decision to offer them a burial... although for completely different reasons. "Don't you think it would be wiser to bring the bodies back with us to get them identified by the church?" he suggests merrily—almost too chirpily, really. That gleam of excitement seems to have come back to him. "I've long suspected that perhaps they have infiltrated to even the highest echelons of the Iomedaean church, and this would be perfect evidence of my correctness!" "And how do you propose we drag a couple of corpses around, Aravashnial?" Anevia shoots back acidly, causing the mage to wilt a little. Clearly, practicality is not one of Aravashnial's strong suits. ... in any case, the burial is done, the spore-cougher does not strangle Voren when he starts chopping it to pieces, no giant bats swoop in to eat people's faces, and some reasonably nice-ish words are said about people who may or may not be horribly evil demon cultists. By the time the group is ready to leave, the mongrels and Anevia are more than impatient to leave, and Lann and the others lead you down yet another passageway into the darkness. "We have seen other men and women like that down here in the tunnels previously," Lann admits during the journey. "It is not particularly an odd occurrence, in some regards. However, I feel as if their presence here has increased lately, though this is based on my own conjecture and experiences as a guardsman and nothing concrete..." With that thought on the minds of all, the tunnel opens up after another quarter of an hour into a hemispherical cavern with no other passages leading out of it. Four mongrelfolk—you have to assume they are, at least, judging by their disparate and oftentimes disturbing appearances—stand guard outside of a huge stone door carved into the far rock face. Upon seeing Lann, Crel, and Dyra, their faces visibly brighten, and they warmly greet them with handshakes and shoulder claps. You uplanders are greeted with quite the stink-eye, but with a few words of encouragement from Lann the guards gruffly allow you passage beyond the stone door... A small, dark lake ripples in the centre of an incredibly large cavern at least a couple of hundred feet in diameter, the walls and ceiling aglow with thick sheets of luminescent fungi not unlike the stuff Voren had gathered previously. The cave slopes upwards impossibly far, and not even the keen eyes of Aurica are able to see just where the ceiling might be. Here and there, other closed stone doors not unlike the one you entered from lead out elsewhere into the labyrinthine tunnels of the Kenabres underground. In the centre of the lake, over two dozen squat stone buildings cluster on a rocky island probably no bigger than a typical town square (if that). Lights glow in the windows of buildings, giving the settlement an almost welcoming look... if you can look past the bizarre forms of the inhabitants therein. Rafts made of mismatched planks of timber bob along the length of a crooked pier at the lake's closest shore, and it is to here that Lann leads you. It takes a couple of trips to get the entire group across to Neathholm proper; the place is clearly not equipped for more than a few people coming and going at any one time. While waiting for the farmer-wolf-and-sheep game to be over, you might perhaps take the opportunity to look around. In the nearest home to this side of the shoreline, you occasionally notice a pair of nervous citizens glancing through the window onto their unexpected visitors—one has a long, curved beak not unlike an eagle, while the other’s face is yellowed, gaunt, and terribly pockmarked. Down the street—there is only one street in this village, with houses built along it—you can see a couple of children playing tag... children with stunted feathery wings, pigeon-toed stances, wolf-like ears, and insectoid stingers on the end of elongated fingertips, among many other bizarre formations. One building features a simple painted sign reading 'Trading Post', and strange purple clouds waft from the chimney of a peculiarly decorated building engraved with odd, arcane runes. The largest building in the tiny hamlet stands at the end of the road at the summit of this 'island', and it is to that which Lann directs your attention. "That is where Chief Sull lives," he explains with a nod. "I would prefer to take you to him immediately. However, if there is anything else you require in the short-term, we can deal with that beforehand instead."
Hey guys, I'm sorry for disappearing there. Feel like I owe y'all some explanation. Exams were fine! Then I took a day or so to relax, and then (as is pretty normal for me after exams for whatever reason) I promptly got sick over the weekend. (Pent up stress?) Annnnd then, to put it short, I've been having some relationship drama that's left me sulking around avoiding most people for most of this week. I have a terrible habit of running away from things rather than dealing with them, and then it compounds the more you run away, etc... ya' know how it is. Anyway, after kicking myself (and being poked a few times by Aurica, bless her!) I'm crawling back on here and am in the process of writing up responses to this game, plus all the other games I'm in. I'm really, really sorry about the long break. Thanks again for your patience. FWIW: Exams went better than I expected, I am no longer constantly nauseous and girlfriend is talking to me relatively normally now. Soooo stuff is on the mend in my life. :P
Time before awakening: ???
Aurica is broadly correct, in other words~
Dien says it right! The only thing (I think?) I changed is that you're required to use a Craft/Profession/something skill to make magical items rather than defaulting to Spellcraft checks. So you're well prepared if you want to take Brew Potion at some point. This assumes you can find materials to brew potions with/in~ So I'm running on 4 hours sleep and still trying to get my head around Turing machines for 9am tomorrow morning (... 13 hours from now). Luckily Thursday's exam is pretty snore-worthy so I should be able to spare some time tomorrow arvo to give you guys a post. I am sorry ;_;
Read Magic or DM+Spellcraft DC 21:
It's a scroll of cause fear.
Jens bravely and warily approaches the tangled mess of fungus and gives it a kick. Though a small cloud of blueish spores puffs up around his boots, the vegetable matter does not suddenly spring to life. It would probably look a little like this if it didn't have some fleshy fronds halfway eviscerated and dark scorch marks where magic seems to have hit it. The crusaders clearly did not go down without a fight. Jens gently begins searching the bodies for signs of identification. The two men wore well-made chain-link armour below their tunics, but, as he quite rightly noticed, do not carry longswords on their person as is usual for the Inheritor's church. A magical scroll is located in a pouch hanging from the belt of one man, but no dog tags as one might expect from a soldier. As Voren noticed, the other clutches a potion of thin and watery consistency, and something else in his left hand. Carefully prying his rigor mortis-stiffened fingers, Jens tugs something small out from the dead man's grasp... The old Ulfen warrior stares down at a curious sight indeed: a brass bull's head with tiny red gemstone eyes, about the size of his palm (or maybe a little smaller--Jens is pretty big, after all). Knowledge (religion) DC 15: That right there is the unholy symbol of Baphomet, Lord of the Minotaurs, demon lord of labyrinths and beasts. His cultists are well known for sowing dissent amongst the crusaders, calling themselves the Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth.
Lann reiterates his description of the beast to Flynn as he warily eyes the corpses. "The spore-cougher looks like something out of nightmares... it's like an upside-down darkmantle made from plant tissue growing from a lump of fungus. It walks on its spindling roots and thrusts spindly stamen into the mouths of its victims..." Flynn can't notice anything dangerous hanging around, at least. Voren looks closely at the pile of green fungus lying next to the deceased men, and blinks. Huh. That... looks... kinda like what Lann is describing, provided you squint a little. Looks like it's been chopped up a fair bit, and its leaves have collapsed in on themselves... but it definitely could very well be this "spore-cougher". He also keenly notices two things about the bodies. One, they seem to have fallen mid-battle, with a dark steel glaive in the hand of one and and what appears to be a potion vial in the gauntleted clutch of the other. And two, the one with the potion seems to be clutching something tightly in his other fist, even in death, though you would need to disturb the body to see just what exactly it is. Aravashnial listens to the description of the fungi and then shrugs. "Perhaps? But what would you do with fungus?"
Alas(?), there are no giant bats in the general vicinity, although Aravashnial could probably summon one if you asked him nicely. With your ingenious rope-elevator system and some hard work, you are able to ferry your injured companions across the gap with minimal problems. The mongrels seem rather impressed at your ingenuity, and comment to that effect as they continue to lead you through the twisted tunnels that they apparently call home. The tunnel continues along a mostly southeastern course (according to Aurica's makeshift magnet-compass!) for maybe twenty minutes before suddenly ballooning outwards into a circular cavern. Strangely enough, some kind of greenish-white fibrous plant material hangs down over the entrance like thin, rubbery vines. Lann waves the group to a halt and turns to face you, his expression serious. "We come this way only because of dire necessity, and for good reason, for the cave ahead is the den of a dangerous fungal creature-- a spore-cougher." He continues on to describe a strange animate plant that can move of its own accord and spews forth gouts of nearly-invisible spores that cause hallucinations. "However, with you uplanders with us, I am sure that we can deal with the threat should it manifest." "If we're lucky," Crel adds from beside him with a wry smile, "it will be out hunting elsewhere in the caves." Knowledge (nature) or Knowledge (dungeoneering) DC 15:
Hmm. That kind of sounds like a basidirond to you. And Lann isn't exaggerating: it's a rarely-seen plant monster that sucks the life out of its victims. Once the party is ready to proceed, Lann leads you into the den of the spore-cougher. Pushing past the strange 'vines' leads you into a small, rounded cave maybe fourty feet in diameter. Thick sheets of fungus cling to the walls, while more of the bizarre white threads hang down from the cave ceiling like some kind of living stalactites. Several tunnels branch off in many directions, most appearing to lead deeper into the earth, although one to the north angles upwards. What appear to be two dead bodies lie on the ground in the middle of the cave, lying still next to a strange heap of ropy green fungus. The two men are dressed in the typical garb of Iomedaean crusaders, with a sword-splashed tunic over glinting chain armour, their faces twisted into agonising grimaces that hint at the pain wracking them in the moments before death.
Bleh. Had some family issues that's eaten into my time even more than just studying an exams. I will do my best to post ASAP, guys.
Exam #1 down. 3 more to go next week... *flops* I have exams on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday next week. Don't expect many posts until Friday, in other words. :P
Aurica spies a handy-dandy rocky outcropping that seems stable enough to hook her grappling hook to, and then tosses it over to the other side with finesse. It takes a couple of tries to get it in just the right position, but soon enough she gets it right in the centre, and a few tugs confirm it's pretty steady. Someone else hands over their rope, helpfully knotted, and holds one end of it while Aurica makes her way down. There's a few heady moments where she fears something in the darkness, but it turns out to be nothing more than settling dust casting strange shadows in the flickering light from above. And, with her knotted rope on the other side, subsequent ascendancy is an easy task as well. Of course... that's hardly the problem here.
While walking, he turns to Crel. "Are you sure you're all right? I figure you should know, these earthquakes might be from the demons attacking Kenabres on the surface." Crel waves off Voren's worries. "I'm fine, honestly." They are, however, quite interested to hear the news of the demon attack, news that causes the three mongrels to grow sombre immediately. "That... would explain some things," Lann says quietly with a sad shake of his head. "Terrible news indeed... you must tell Chief Sull of this as soon as you can."
"I would put us at about 15 minutes from Neathholm," Lann says after a few moments consideration. "Although no doubt longer than that if we have to accommodate for the injured in your group. Supplies like what you suggest would no doubt be available, given some time to find them. You would probably have some difficulty getting into the settlement without at least one of us with you, though..." Aurica can see nothing wanderin' down at the bottom of the crevasse.
GM:
Reknar:
Horgus has a very low opinion of Reknar at the moment. This is not because of your Diplomacy rolls and is entirely because of the way Reknar acts around him. Someone with a low opinion of you is not going to appreciate advice, no matter how it's deployed to them. At the moment, Horgus thinks Reknar has been talking down to him a lot, and he doesn't appreciate that at all, because he thinks that Reknar is below him. I'm not saying Reknar has to agree with that, or that he necessarily has to change what he's doing. I'm saying that your current tact is incurring a lot of circumstance penalties because it's literally the exact opposite of something Horgus would take kindly to. And this is why he's seething. On the note of Diplomacy vs. Roleplaying, I see your point, but I don't think that I am unfairly penalising you or supporting the others without ranks in Diplomacy. You'll notice the only times Horgus has actually been influenced was as a result of dice rolls. However, I do liberally apply circumstance modifiers depending on what has gone on in the roleplay, and I do allow certain in-character actions to influence a character's feelings towards you. (For example, helping Crel out from beneath the rock is an instant change to 'friendly' for these three.) I am sure Reknar would succeed more often with most people. Horgus just happens to be one of the exceptions. ------------------ As for taking 10 on Diplomacy etc., it's primarily because I don't see most social interactions where a Diplomacy etc. roll matters a lot as being a safe/regular situation. Talking to merchants. Cruising around town asking for information about a festival. Asking a friendly NPC to do something really minor that you wouldn't normally roll a Diplomacy check for. Convincing a random townsfolk to give you directions somewhere. I would say these are regular 'take 10' situations. You're not stressed at all. There's nothing really on the line to gamble. Talking to black-market merchants. Asking around about a thieves' guild or cultist appearances. Asking a friendly NPC to do something incredibly dangerous like lie to the guards or help you fight a dragon. Schmoozing with the upper classes and trying to get in their good books. These are NOT regular situations. You're probably coming face-to-face with people that aren't exactly friendly or are downright dangerous. You're having to think on your feet more and you're really gambling on things working. People are really weighing up what you say vs. what they have to gain or lose. To me, this is as dangerous a situation as combat, in some ways. That, and a simply gameist perspective: Diplomacy and the rest as a skill are stupid and dumb and broken, and the DCs are so low that you could literally take 10 your way through most situations given a few levels. I ran a Pathfinder Society scenario once where the tricked-out Intimidomancer literally did this. She took 10 to Intimidate the most powerful woman in Absalom, and there was nothing rules-wise that I could do about it. She soloed most of the scenario because of that.
"Excellent," Lann says with a smile. "It is not too long of a trip from here till Neathholm. You will certainly be able to rest once we are there. I can only hope our food will meet the palates of you surface-dwellers." "Well, we certainly hope it's not too long..." Crel points to the nearest wall of the wide cavern, frowning deeply. His eyebrows seem to be made of the same strange, thin, grassy material as that which is on his head. Following his gesture, you can see a couple of exits from the cave; more than a couple have been blocked off by debris from the stone tower or have vast crevasses running through them. "It appears that the main tunnel out of here has collapsed." "We know of an alternate route home, however. Fear not." Your three strange new companions take the lead, directing you to a tunnel in the south-west of the cave. This passage is a winding one, with lots of twists and turns in its passage. The earthquakes seem to have affected this one badly, with numerous awkward stretches involving clambering over rubble and unset dirt, or having to climb down to the newly-created second level of what was once a flat passage. As you walk, Crel and Lann continue to answer your questions. (Dyra seems incapable of speaking intelligibly as a result of her severe facial tumours, although she appears to follow conversations and chime in with appropriate noises and gestures when she can.) "A crazed dwarf?" Lann arches a brow, sharing a look with Dyra before he continues. "I believe I know who you mean. His name is Millorn, and he has been living down here for some years. He appears to be harmless, though, as you say, seems to have lost his mind." "I did not see him pass us, although if he came from the same tunnel that you two did, it is doubly strange, for there should not be another route he could take." "He is a mage, however, so perhaps he had some other means of travel...?" Crel adds with an apologetic shrug. Before this conversation can continue much further, there's a sudden tremor as the ground heaves and shakes as if some beast encased within the earth had decided to suddenly escape its rocky prison. Though there are a harrowing few minutes of dirt tumbling down all around you and the sound of earth rending and scraping like a blade on a shield, once the earthquake ceases, there is little to show for it. Warily, the group proceeds on. Osric's question about their heritage seems to cause Lann pause, although Aravashnial perks up to listen in with barely-hidden excitement. "... in short," he says eventually, taking his time as he carefully selects his words, "yes, yes it is true. Chief Sull can no doubt tell you more than I know--he is the oldest in our village, and second wisest only after Seer Opoli. But... in short, yes." "We call ourselves the First Descendants," Crel continues, seemingly less awkward about the topic than his companion. He grins, "Although that's not what you surface-dwellers typically call us..." Aravashnial pipes up helpfully, "Pitlings, am I right? Or mole people, perhaps? Those are the terms I am most familiar with!" ... "helpfully". Dyra visibly winces as Crel nods. "That, or mongrelfolk. Though I don't rightly mind that name, at least." He grins. "It sounds like we are right larrikins with that name, does it not?" "I prefer the term First Descendants, personally," Lann says, visibly not at all amused by the conversation. "I am proud of our ancestors and what they did for the world, and for us. For their glory to come to such a twisted end..." He reaches up, trailing a gentle, 'normal' hand over his scaly cheek with a pained expression. "It is a testament that demonkind's taint can overcome even the purest of spirits." "I don't think it's overcome anything at all," Anevia says with a gentle smile. "What matters is what's in your heart, after all, not what's on the outside." You follow the winding route for a good half an hour further until the tunnel reaches a significant obstacle. Ahead, a wide chasm some seventy feet across splits the floor in twain, parting the seams of the earth as easily as a person would pull apart a loaf bread in two. The floating rock dust in the air and the groans as the tunnel walls settle indicate that this is no doubt one product of the small earthquake you felt not twenty minutes earlier. "Oh no," Crel says when he spies the crevasse, and Dyra whimpers in agreement. "Oh no..." "... Surely, this couldn't have ..." Even Lann seems to have gone pale from the severe damage to the passage. He shakes his head. "No. I refuse to believe Neathholm would have been affected by this..." The words seem as much an attempt to give himself confidence than anything.
Reknar, RE: Diplomacy:
There's nothing wrong with your "style" of Diplomacy in general. HOWEVER, I do want you to consider the situation you are in and the people you are talking to. "One size fits all" is not something that exists when it comes to social interaction, no matter what result you get on the dice. You need to figure out the priorities that will sway an individual and adapt the way you speak with them in order to best appeal to them. Talking like that is Not. Ever. Going to work with Horgus. Ever. You are literally doing the exact opposite of things that will make him respect you. No matter how high your Diplomacy modifier is, it would be fundamentally out-of-character for him to be swayed by you talking down to him. He's a guy who has spent his life in power--why would some lesser ruffian scolding him make him at all predisposed to them? In short: what you're doing at the moment (and what you have been doing all along, frankly) is actually harming relations with Horgus more than helping them. Also, I really dislike people taking 10 on Diplomacy checks (and Bluff, Intimidate, etc.) for myriad reasons. I can go into these at length if you are curious; just ask.
Horgus doesn't even deign to grant Reknar a response to that chiding, although Aurica can tell he's silently seething about it. ---- "I'm fine," Crel responds with a shrug. "Just a little dinged up, don't you know? Blasted bump on the back side of my head..."
Hi, thanks for the invite but at this moment I don't have time to join a game as I'm going through exams. :)
With Aurica's makeshift lever in place, the group works together to try and heave the slab of rock out of place. Lann takes up a position on the end of the rope, seemingly doing his best to avoid touching the others on his end of it. With a countdown bellowed by Jens, and some almost supernaturally good teamwork, the motley crew heave-ho! and strain themselves to heft the rock up, even a little. It takes a few minutes of struggling, but finally, with one last outburst of strength, there's a sudden feeling of tension letting loose as the rock is shifted enough to roll a few inches away from the fortuitous small gap. Crel immediately seizes the opportunity to scramble out from his tiny prison, and as soon as he shouts out his successful escape, the rescuers let go of the gigantic boulder. It crashes back down into the space it had once balanced over with a frightening rumble. What luck had kept it from crushing him in the first place becomes doubly apparent as the dust settles once more... "Oh, thank you, thank you!" the rescued hybrid-creature says, dashing up to Jens and clutching his hands tightly. The man's calloused skin leaves him feeling unnaturally dry and scratchy to touch. Dyra rushes over and wraps her arms around Crel's back, whimpering loudly, tears forming in her one visible eye. Lann smiles warmly at the entire group. "Thank you so much, kind souls. I cannot even begin to express how grateful I am for your assistance." He bows deeply, almost reverently. "Please, let us escort you to Neathholm. Our chieftain will surely reward you greatly for saving Crel's life. It is only fair of us to give you something for your efforts."
Just as Aravashnial was about to pepper Lann and Dyra with more questions, Flynn gently pulls him up, and the elf frowns a little, but nods in understanding. "I understand. I will refrain, as best I can." He continues, a little louder, so that the strange beings can hear him, "My apologies, I am clearly overstepping here with all these questions of mine. Perhaps we can talk a little more about this some other time." Lann glances over his shoulder at Aravashnial and smiles a little. "It is understandable. Few surface people have ever seen our kind... we seclude ourselves down here precisely because of reactions like this." Meanwhile, Horgus seems to be considering Aurica's words, and he eventually nods in acquiescence. "You make a good point there, I must say," he mutters gruffly, but with almost a hint of respect in his words. Almost. "Thank goodness at least one of you is sane about these things."
Crel blinks up at Aurica and offers her a smile. He wriggles his arm a little, enough to sort of get a vague, upside-down wave going. "I'm okay, I believe," he replies, his voice lower and less raspy than Lann's but still with the same odd accent about it. "I should be able to crawl out if you can shift things a little."
The group moves on over with varying degrees of disgust visible on everyone's faces. Anevia's reaction is similar to the group's--an eye-widening and quiet gasp that she hurriedly swallows, followed thereafter by pitying gazes shot the way of both of them. Horgus struggles to hold back his disgust, and he stares rather openly with a grimace at the terrible tumours hanging from Dyra's face. "Psst," Horgus shuffles up beside Aurica and hisses in her ear. "Are you sure we can trust these... freaks?" If Lann notices any of the long stares, muttered complaints and stuttering pauses, he does not comment on them, although he seems almost weary at the responses. Perhaps it's more akin to resigned acceptance. If you crouch down enough to see through the narrow gap caused by the rock's suspension on another bit of rubble, you can just make out a third figure luckily (or perhaps unluckily) trapped in the tiny alcove made there. The young man has a head of yellowish-green hair that seems to be made from grass rather than any sort of 'normal' material, and his skin is overly hardened all over with cracked, veiny calluses. He seems to be relatively uninjured at a glance, beside some obvious bruises and scrapes, but with almost no room to move. And it's clear from the fragile state of the rock shelf balancing over him that a big enough tremor would send it crashing down upon him... Most of the lesser rubble has already been cleared away from the area by the two... uh, people. However, it's clear that the largest rock remaining is something the two of them would have next-to-no chance of moving on their own. Aravashnial seems a little confused by the goings-on, his lack of vision perhaps a boon in this case. "Whatever is the matter with you all? Aren't you acting quite strangely now?" The elf turns in the direction of Lann and Dyra, his head cocked. "I'm not quite sure myself, but my companions here seem to be rather taken aback by you two. Are you perhaps natives of the underground, then?" Lann shoots the elf a frown, but responds, possibly because Aurica also asked something similar. "There are close to two-score of us living together in a settlement by the name of Neathholm. And... yes. Yes, we all do look like this." "Again with the 'appearances' thing," Aravashnial presses further, his intense curiosity reminiscent of when he was pressing Voren the day before. "My goodness, if only I could see you! I have heard tell of the deformed children of the First Crusaders, is that who you are? How have the Abyssal energies mutated you so? Can someone describe their state to me?" Lann grits his teeth and refuses to answer, instead moving towards the large rock beneath which his companion is trapped. "We have attempted to move this last rock, but it is impossible for us alone. Crel suggested that we excavate the surrounding earth, but I am most afraid that we might bring the whole thing on top of him instead..." Dyra makes a whimpering noise at Lann's words. Sense Motive DC 15 (Aurica gets this by default):
You don't determine any falsehoods from Lann, although he is obviously still quite wary about you and your group. He seems to be keeping at a reasonable distance and always placing himself between your group and Dyra.
Lann's getting steadily irritated by Aravashnial's pestering, and the elf is apparently not able to read the situation at all. You're also fairly sure Horgus being an ass (as per usual) is not helping matters either.
"We were on guard duty here when the earthquakes started," Lann replies quietly. "There were others, but... the tower fell, and..." He drifts off sadly, looking down at the ground. "Crel's the only one we could find..."
The strange hybrid man nods to Aurica in greeting, relaxing his fists a little--though just a touch. He seems to glance at Voren for a few moments longer, but says nothing. "My name is Lann, and this is Dyra," he says, gesturing back at his companion. The poor woman behind him offers a weak and timid wave in response, along with a muffled grunting noise. Aurica's follow-up question causes a sad smile to creep to the corner of Lann's lips, and he shakes his head. "Perhaps. But that is what is normal for us." His answer doesn't seem to answer anything, really... "My apologies, but I do not have time for idle chatter. Misfortune has befallen us, leaving my companion trapped underneath the rubble." He nods towards the large rock wedged in place, slightly suspended above the ground by a beam that was once part of the fallen tower. "If your intentions are ill, we ask you to move on and leave us in peace, though we have nothing to give you in return for our amnesty. If your intentions are good... then perhaps you can help. In either case... time is indeed of the essence." Aurica: After hearing the man speak a little more, you realise his accent kind of reminds you of something... though it doesn't make much sense, on one level. You've heard people speak like that before, though rarely. Even when you were a child it would be uncommon to hear that kind of accent. Nowadays, only the really old dwarven and elven crusaders, and the like--those that were old when the war began, and are now white of hair and long of tooth--speak in such a way. It's reminiscent of an accent that is a hundred years old, if not more. Even an elf would look older than this young man does, if he was born in those days. Peculiar indeed.
GM:
As Aurica and Voren sneak towards the fallen tower, they begin to be able to make out snippets of what these unknown figures are saying. "Crel, how about... and then... try..." It seems to be a male's voice, and a rather well-spoken and eloquent one at that, but rather raspy with a peculiar accent you're not immediately familiar with. It doesn't sound local, at least. (Some kind of muffled answer from a different voice responds. It's too difficult make out.) "No... it's too dangerous..." The same male says again. (Some more groaning and straining. The figures seem to be pushing on a large rock to no avail.) Your scouts are getting closer now, so peeking out from behind a large boulder, they try to get a good look at just what they're dealing with. And what a shock is waiting for them there indeed. Two... beings... are currently engrossed in their task, slowly and carefully digging through the tower's rubble, particularly around one certain slab of stone. One is a hunchbacked woman with frizzy brown hair tied up in a long ponytail, her face so warped by bulging tumours that you can only make out one of her eyes and not even the slightest hint of a mouth. The other is a tall, thin creature with a face that seems at first to be a relatively normal and quite attractive elven man, if not for the goat's horn erupting from his brow... at least until he turns enough to reveal his left side, which is hairless and covered in greenish scales. His oversized fingers end in dull, spade-like talons that seem to be quite helpful in digging through the rubble. Perhaps it's the shock of their appearances, but Aurica stumbles a little on some loose gravel, and the two strange, mutant beings immediately turn around at the unexpected noise. The one with tumours all over her face stumbles back, but the well-spoken male takes up a defensive pose, fists clenched and ready to strike. "Who goes there? Who are you?" he demands, mismatched eyes locking with Aurica's own at first, followed by Voren's a moment thereafter. There is no hint of fear on his face, nor aggression for that matter--merely wariness. It's... understandably difficult to read much out of his companion's expression, though.
Thanks to a lot of fancy rope technology, Aurica and Osric are able to fashion a rope sling well enough to assist Anevia and Aravashnial's ascent. Despite her injuy, she seems to have experience in rock climbing, and manages the climb with only a little bit of assistance and a couple of painful bangs into the wall with her bung leg. The elf's scholarly ways show through, though, and it's more like lifting dead weight with him. Finally, despite his somewhat rotund physique, Horgus claims that he had "a lot of experience climbing cliffs as a boy" and stubbornly relies on the rope only when really needed. Soon enough, the others follow up, and Aurica leads the motley crew down yet another twisting and turning tunnel into the unknown. This area seems to have been hard-hit by the demon-inspired earthquakes, for every now and then there is another concerning rumble as the cavern walls shake dirt onto your heads. Wide crevasses open into the ceiling, only to be sealed further up by another layer of ancient rock forcefully slid over the opening. Almost like an ant's nest, there appears to be alternate routes that you catch glimpses of, either many feet above your head or down through almost teasing slits opened in the earth that are too small to crawl through. About half an hour of walking - with some time spent paused to wait for the earthen rumbling to cease - the tunnel opens up into a large, open cavern about seventy feet across. Cylindrical rock formations along the walls arch up to make a dome-like chamber with hundreds of greenish stalactites forming dozens of natural chandeliers in the cave roof. However, the walls and floor are riddled with cracks, and there's evidence of a cave-in here and there. At the centre of the cave, a stone tower that may have once reached the fifty-foot-high ceiling has collapsed onto its side, slabs of rock and piles of bricks and rubble lying scattered around its girth. Perception DC 15: You hear the sounds of stone and rock shifting and moving, as well as voices-- normal voices, human-sounding voices-- calling out from time to time. It's difficult to pinpoint what they are saying, but the noise seems to be coming from the base of the fallen tower. Indeed, if you look closely, you think you can make out two humanoid figures digging through the rubble...
Anevia shrugs at Voren's apology as she slips her drawn arrow back into her quiver, unneeded for now. "He didn't seem to be that dangerous. Crazy, sure, but it's not like he seemed interested in killing us. If we'd let him go in the first place..." The young woman lets her thought bubble drift off into the empty air, and then she shrugs again. "Well, what's happened has happened." Voren has a look at the scroll and determines that it glows with a faint orange evocation aura. Not really useful knowledge without being able to read the arcane script, however. The blind elf makes his way over to the etched wall, listening to Voren's recitations with an arched brow. "It sounds like all nonsense to me," he declares with a shake of his head. "However, some of those incantations seem similar to the kinds of magic demon cultists might use. Not the same, though... they appear... modified, almost. Not particularly pleasant material to draw upon, certainly. I encourage you to avoid it." Aurica inspects the food, checking it out for signs of rot and sniffing it for that tell-tale reek of decay. All of it is edible, if you've got a strong stomach; the meat is certainly over-salted, the fruit sour and dry, and the cheese thick with blueish mould, but nothing that would be inedible...
The shaft upwards seems to rise for about sixty feet before levelling out into... surprise, surprise, another tunnel. This one is, thankfully, wide enough to walk two abreast and tall enough that you don't need to duck to move through it. There's no sign of the crazy dwarf up here... indeed, strangely enough, Aurica can't even locate any footprints of his in the hard-packed earth.
The dwarf licks his lips nervously as Jens vacates the passage out of the cavern, crazed, dark eyes flickering over each of you in turn as if trying to gauge the sincerity of this action. One careful step forward that is met with no resistance is soon followed thereafter by a half-dozen more as the mage makes a run for it, not stopping or looking back even once, leaving behind his dropped scroll and the collection of scrappy materials that had once made up his campsite. Jens vaguely hears some arcane murmurings bouncing down the curved passageway, but needless to say he has no idea what they might mean. In the end, the dwarf does not return. Anevia heaves a heavy sigh, a mix of disgust and relief in equal parts, but the young scout seems to let it go like a weight off her shoulders. The webbing remains stuck firmly in place, but with enough time and effort, it’s easy enough to cut a passage through to free not only the eternally-struggling Flynn but also save Aravashnial from being alone with a freaking-out Horgus for too much longer. The task is made much easier by snatching up a few low-burning tinders from the campfire and using them to weaken the glue-like bonds between the interlocking silken threads. While that's going on, the stars in Aurica and Reknar's eyes gradually fade away, and they find themselves no worse for the wear but for maybe a painful bruise on the back of the head or arm from where they'd slumped to the ground after the spell. Jens is likewise able to be somewhat stabilised from his state of bare-minimum consciousness. With the danger having passed (...for now...), you're able to give the cavern itself a little more than a cursory glance. The dwarf's abandoned parchment has curled up on itself, and seems to be written in a script that closely resembles the runic lettering of the written Dwarven language mixed with strange figures that bring demonic symbols to mind. The rest of his meagre gear is scattered near the camp, consisting of a ratty, moth-eaten bedroll, a small pack filled with dried meat, preserved fruit, and some mouldy cheese , and a chipped, six-inch-tall marble statuette of an angelic humanoid wielding a spear in one hand and an orb in the other. Scratched into the wall are strange writings, largely rambling treatises on bizarre magical theorems, mathematical proofs, and references to the author being 'hunted by those good-for-nothing witch-hunters' and... well, a half-dozen other groups, apparently. The chamber is otherwise fairly featureless. Detect Magic + Spellcraft DC 21, or Read Magic:
It's a scroll of shocking grasp (CL 1st). Following the passageway the dwarf escaped through soon leads to a dead-end—at least if you're intending on travelling vertically. A steeply inclined tunnel leads upwards, its walls lined with numerous nooks, handholds, and dozens of iron pitons that have been driven into the walls long ago. The shaft leads upwards at a steep angle for at least the distance of Aurica and Voren's darkvision, leaving it impossible to tell where it leads to. However, the well-worn route with its many handholds appears easy enough to climb.
*hug* Hope you feel better Jens! Okay everyone, final week of class is over. I'd hoped to have gotten to this game tonight (or, actually, a couple of nights ago!), but I just didn't have a chance. Tomorrow when I get up I'll post and I will endeavour to get us going back at a steady clop from now on. My apologies again!
Truly sorry guys. This slowdown is really my fault. :( I can't post right now, but I will when I get home this afternoon, if briefly. Promise things will pick up a bit soon. This time next week, I'll have a lot more free time. Thank you for having patience with me for the past little while.
GM:
"Why should I believe you?! Pah!! I can smell your tricks from a mile away!!!" For all the glaring and threatening, it seems that your words just aren't getting through to this crazy old dwarf. He does seem nervous, though, his hands shaking as he raises up his axe and flings it at Osric. Though the jittering nerves cause the battleaxe to fly off-kilter, like a boomerang it neatly arcs back and returns to his hands as if it had never left them. "Get outta the way afore your friend over there bleeds out! I'm warning you!" Anevia has her bow trained on the dwarf, ready to fire... she shoots Osric a questioning look, and mouths, Do I shoot?
GM:
With the party turning on him (some lethally, some not), the dwarf stumbles back up against the cave wall with a terrified, wide-eyed expression. For the most part, the attacks levelled his way are clumsy; only Voren's crossbow manages to scratch past his cheek, drawing a short streak of blood, followed by a weak conk over the head by Osric's club. "Y-You're the cowards! Coming at me six versus one!!" He stutters, clenching his fists and releasing them over and over--a nervous tic of sorts, perhaps. "But I knew that about you crusaders already!!" "Let me go and no-one else has to get hurt!!!" the dwarf shouts as he repositions slightly, gathering a strange swirling wave of rainbow colours between his hands--but in a guarded manner, one that is not easy for Aurica to interrupt. "I told you!!" Spreading his weathered palms as if he was raising them in surrender, the magic coursing out like a glimmering, colourful oil slick travelling down the surface of fast-running river. As it washes over Aurica, Osric, and Reknar, they feel a momentary sensation of drowning and choking in a mess of infinite colours... it's groovy, maaaan.
Failure?: You are unconscious, blind, and stunned for rounds, then blinded and stunned for rounds, and then stunned for 1 round. I'm sorry. :(
GM:
The dwarf flinches away from Osric who seems to come out of nowhere, visibly trembling at the inquisitor's stern glare and unwavering conviction. "Y-You lot, of course! Agents of the crusade! I know you must be! Why else would you be here?! Now get out, get out of my way!!!" The dwarf raises his hand towards the cavern's roof, a trail of cyan magic crackling in the air like a ribbon following behind his gesture. The stream of blueish-green magic splits into two, both snaking around each other like a double-helix before abruptly shooting out unerringly at their target. They zip around Osric, ruffling his tunic before powerfully striking Jens in the chest, leaving him totally winded. The sensation is not unlike being punched in the gut right after a three-course meal. Try as he might, Osric simply can't find an opening to strike the dwarf down before his spell goes off. "MOVE!" he bellows at the Ulfen warrior, spittle flying from his lips. "MOVE OR YOU'LL NOT ENJOY WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!"
Mr. Crazy seems to have a hard time utilising the battleaxe he's so fiercely wielding. Or maybe Jens is just that good, who knows.
GM:
Osric and Anevia manage to force their way through the thick sheets of webbing, although the latter has some difficulty with it because of her broken leg. She hobbles up between Reknar, Flynn, and Jens, who are all trying to pull themselves free of the white, rubbery constraints gluing them to the floor, and offers you an encouraging smile. Osric, meanwhile, manages to scout a passage free of the web and emerges on the outskirts of it, much to his delight. The crazed dwarf struggles with Aurica for a few moments, before with a mighty roar he pulls away from her grasp. "You'll never take Millorn again!" he declares rabidly, dashing towards another tunnel exit towards the north-east.
Ah, that's a separate thing that's done by the Online VC/VLs. I can't say when you'll receive it, I suppose it depends on when they go through the submitted games and process everything. I've submitted the game though, so hopefully sooner rather than later...? Thanks, again, for the high praise! :)
ughhhh ew-ni. I have three exams three days in a row in about a month. And assessments every week until then. Actually just want to die... lol. If you have a look at the Loot Tracker link in Reknar's header thingy, there's a link to Terendelev's Scales description there, too. Just fyi!
Mmmmm. Hot chocolate and Bailey's. ... Bailey's and anything, really ...
Chronicles have been mailed. I'll leave this thread up for a couple more days in case there are questions or issues. |