Thank you for running such a deliciously dark adventure. I truly regret I wasn't able to contribute more, but I did enjoy playing with everyone.
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Hi guys, so sorry for my silence. Between new job, unpacking, and renovating a 175 year old house, I've had zero time for gaming! Plus we just got wifi on Friday. Hoping to get back this week sometime!
"Best do's she says, ma'am," Gar grumbles. "Them's awful fine curtains t'be stained with so much blood." Gar faces five gold coins on the table and slides them toward the mystic. "And we're countin' t'get our money's worth."
I'm sorry for my silence. We are finishing packing up so I hope that early next week I'll be in a better position to make my usual posts. I support Vera's plan.
Just a heads up for everyone. We are moving out of our home this week, then staying with friends for over a week while we wait for the closing on our new home, then moving into that. If my posting becomes spotty in the next few weeks, I hope you'll understand why :). Please bot me as needed.
Gar, pale as a sheet, sheaths his blade and turns to the others. "'Bout time we find Amelia, ain't it? If I was a drinkin' man, now'd be a damned good time fer a whiskey."
Gar wastes no time stepping over the body to guard the door. "Damned thing didn't come from nowhere. Easy, there might be another'n..."
After the horror of the hooked children, the shrill howl of the creature barely registers to Gar. By now he has grown used to being ambushed. In a moment he is thundering down the hallway, sword drawn. He scrapes his sword against the wall to draw attention to himself.
"They're not human?" Gar asks weakly, crawling to his feet. "Not human." He repeats himself, stronger, as some kind of relief washes over him. That feeling is soon replaced by a horrid curiosity at the creatures, who appear like children, but also unlike them. "What are these things? And who'd leave 'em hangin' down here fer so long?"
Wow, those are some bad days! Really sorry to hear.
Gar's greatsword clatters to the ground, and his knees soon follow. He had known true evil in his life, seen it with his own eyes. And they had been warned, had they not, of the nature of the foe they now pursued. Yet all the horrors of a lifetime living in Castorhage, of darkest dreaming within the In Between, could not prepare a man for the nature of this evil. No amount of prayer could guard against it, nor could any flagellation absolve it. The years he has spent in exile, he realizes in this moment, have all been for naught. The dead eyes of murdered children gazing accusingly, he falls to his hands, retching on the floor.
"Filth." Gar crushes the final lamprey with a slow and measured roll of his boot, taking more than a little pleasure in the sounds of its expiration.
"Ms. Marshall, let's see ter them bites." he withdraws his healing wand and administers to the wounds.
Then he takes a moment to examine the rest of the chamber.
Gar stomps his boot on the tail of one of the wriggling creatures, taking advantage of its limited mobility to sever its head with a well-placed stab.
Gar hacks at the floor, unable to land even a glancing cut.
Gar's sword cleaves the ground but, in his panic, nearly takes his own toe.
"Bah! F+#*ers!" Gar kicks out with his boot, trying in vain to squash the wriggling menace, which slithers just out of reach.
Reeling in fear and disgust,
Busy day today, so I may not be able to post until tomorrow. Please bot me as needed.
Biting his lip to fight back the urge to vomit, Gar curses. "Enough! What in hells are you??" He kicks aside the trash to reach the wriggling creature within, prepared to skewer it with his sword.
”Easy Ms. Marshall.” Gar whispers as he helps the woman to her feet before turning a scrutinizing eye toward the source of evil. He whispers a prayer, then casts his gaze out beyond the confines of his mortal eyes.
Gar uses the tip of his blade to carefully, oh so carefully prod and sort through the pile of refuse.
Gar winces in pain as he climbs to his feet, touching the side of his face, now an angry shade of red, with the back of his gauntlet. "S!%+, that's gonna leave a mark. But ya did good, Lio. Nice shootin'." "Careful, though, this fight ain't over. There's somethin' else lurkin' down here. Somethin' evil..."
A slew of expletives bounce off the walls of the grim chamber as Gar battles the entangling fungal vines that seek to draw him in. He twists and turns but is unable to find the leverage needed to free himself from their grasp.
Horrors unending!
I'll be out all day tomorrow, and won't be able to post until the weekend. Please bot me as needed.
Gar steps carefully down the stairs and takes in the scene before him, trying not to breathe.
"There is...somethin'...livin' down here," he whispers to Vera, pointing toward the curtain of fungus. Or unlivin', he thinks to himself. Well, no sense waitin' t'get ambushed. With a muttered prayer and a gesture, Gar locates a source of light within the dark, and is instantly suffused with guidance from beyond. "Ho, now! Git!' Gar pounds his fist against his breastplate, announcing his presence and issuing a challenge to the source of the evil.
The distance between Gar and the door at once seems to expand and contract, drawing him further from his allies and closer toward the sinister presence that lurks beyond. A bead of sweat trickles down his brow. "Now," he whispers slowly, calmy. "Vera. Mama. Lio. Step back now. Stay behind me..." The angry, golden glow returns to his blade, casting the room in its firelight . The rotting floorboards creak under the weight of his heavy boots as he steps slowly, one aching foot before the other, toward the door. Freeing one hand from the fearful grip with which he holds the weapon, he holds his breath and reaches across the space, the span of moments engorged to comprise the semblance of an eternity, toward the door's handle.
"I'm gettin' real tired of findin' that we're the last ones in on this...joke," Gar snarls. He lifts his palm toward the door, concentrating, listening for a whisper from the shadows, or from the darker places where even shadows fear to walk.
Gar nods toward the shadows into which Vera appeared to melt a moment earlier. "Aye, that's the way of it, then. Well, nothin' t'do for it. Let's get started." He jams the tip of his sword behind the weakest looking board, prying it free from the rusty nails that secure it to the doorframe.
"A stitchery..." Gar shudders with distaste. "Don't even like tha sound 'o that! But that other'n there," he adds, pointing toward The Seaside Larder, "that was on one'f Old Bill's lists. What say we pay a visit? Looks like no one's home, anyway." He doesn't comment on the smell of raw sewage drifting off of all of them. Gar steadfastly approaches the door of the larder.
"Careful now, Lio, don't wanna lose a finger on account that things' teeth turnin' out to be functional." Gar looks over the alchemist's shoulder, ignoring the gruesome state of the body as he sheds some light on the mouth cavity. "...what in hells is that?"
"Let'er go, ya yellow-skinned, sneakin' gutter worm!" Gar screams as he impales the writhing choker from the side, careful to avoiding severing Vera's spine in the process.
With a wordless but threatening cry, Gar covers the distance between himself and the nearest choker, his heavy boots scraping across the filth covered ground .
"Woah, easy! Just take it easy, alright!" Gar cautions his allies against abrupt movements that might trigger the creature into aggression. The fact that this "choker" hadn't tried to remove his nose was a good sign, at least. "We ain't here t'harm ya...Do ya understand? We just lost somethin' and come to lay claim to it."
Gar frowns at the thought. "Diggin' through raw sewage? I'd rather be back in the In-Be--" The ice-cold flicker of remembrance lures Gar back to the rimy woods of the In-Between, and the fel creatures that lurk within its snow-laden, shadowed groves. "...We've done worse," he finishes quickly.
Gar nods in silence, his grip tightening around his weapon's hilt as he regards the darkened portal leading ever further into the darkened bowels of Castorhage. "Looks like th'rabbit hole just keeps on spiraling. This critter coulda confronted us up the tunnel. Instead, it's lurin' us 'nto its den." He sighs as he wipes his filthy gray hair from his brow. "I am not lookin' forward t'this.."
"Hopin' them waterlines don't mean we're about t'get flooded," Gar remarks, moving to stand by Elliomander and closer to their secretive visitor. "Just had this armor polished."
"Ladies... Impulsive." Gar breathes toward Elliomander as he takes a brisque stride to catch up with Vera. "Well, you're the brains of this here operation, Ms. Marshall. If you think we ought t'take a look, I'm game. But don't go bargin' inta dark corners and shadowed places, now. Gotta exercise caution, lest we end up like Old Bill." Gar unsheathes his sword and casts a light spell upon it, daring to see into the unseen.
Gar swipes the grime of dirt and sewage from his armor for the third time as he climbs to his knees. "I count 22 sewer rats, but no supernatural killers.". He follows close beside Vera, sword drawn in the dark alley.
Gar, in good manners, waits to roll his eyes until his back is to William. Outside, he nods to Vera. "Well that was a waste of air. Yep, on to the next vagrant."
"Well one thing we've figured, and that's that Old Bill did a lot of favors. A generous spirit, he had, a callin' to help others in their time o' need." Gar adopts a serious, saddened face, the deep lines and scars in his skin accentuating his apparent grief. "And it's in that spirit that we's lookin' to help the old man, now after his passin'. Mr. Horton, if they's...anything ya could think of that might help us fathom the senselessness behind hurtin' such a creature, well I'm sure Ole Bill'd appreciate it. As would we." Gar reaches out and squeezes William's shoulder gently.
Yea, I understand the low levels. Horror works best at lower power levels, when the PCs feel more vulnerable. It's hard to make a level 17 wizard or barbarian shake in their boots.
Gar nods, eyeing Vera suspiciously for a moment to ensure she's not some doppelganger sprung from another nether-mirror. "Fair enough. Another night in the Marshall residence?"
Hi all, just checking in to let you know I'm back from my trip. It will take me a couple of days to get back into the swing of things (one of my games had nearly two hundred posts while I was gone). But I should be ready to go from the player side of things. I'm glad to go along with better ideas, but it looks like scoping out Old Bill's former customers, as well as Madam Larua, is in order.
Heads up I'll be on a cruise next week and will have only limited access to Internet. Please bot me as necessary.
"Hell, I've lived through more bad years'n that!" Gar huffs. "What's a busted mirror gonna do that life ain't done already?" Gar waits tensely to see the effects of the broken mirror. He tries to hide his brandishes bastard sword but pointing it toward the rotten wooden flooring and leaning over it, but keeps it ready at his side. "Damn. Need a fire."
I have no knowledge of the module, but this scene reminds me of the opening scene of Strange Aeons, which is meant to create a feeling of suspense and doom. Minor SA spoilers: No matter where you run, no matter what you do, your player is out maneuvered.
"Fine, fine. At this point, who in blazes knows what we'll find. Maybe a whole circus of demonic children. Maybe there'll be sweet treats for the kiddies. And a lion, too! C'mon.." Gar shakes his head in frustration as he heads toward the sound of the music.
Shake shakes his head, growling in frustration. "Ain't no tellin', and we could end up tarred either way. But I like the kid's plan," he nods toward Elliomander. "If we're gonna freeze to death fightin', I'd rather do it with my hands wrapped around the throat of the man who put us in this spot."
Gar presses his thumb into his gauntlet and his spring-loaded wrist sheath releases a tiny elm-wood wand. He steps closer to Vera, examining the wound on her leg. "That's liable to get infected, Ma'am. Best we close the wound now, 'afore them hounds make it here." The wand's tip flares to life, reflecting like a candle in Gar's tired eyes. -13
Gar's sword cuts through the preternatural night, leaving a comet-like trail in its wake. He stabs the wounded hound clean through, marveling at how something so dead and empty could bite with such vigor.
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