I'll skip the chronicle sheet, thanks. And thank you for GMing, Rob!
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Yikes! Hope she is on the mend.
Henrick runs up behind Elantier and shouts out: "You may be confident now, me chums, but soon you will learn how the elves spell "grief"! Twirling his hammer in a complicated pattern he makes a sweeping motion over everyone. He then points the hammer at the bandit standing in front of Elantier, and shoots his spiritual hammers at it.
Henrick looks around at the group and whispers. "That insignia mean anything to anyone?"
Henrick scratches his head as he looks at the river of bugs. "Well that is something I've never seen before, to be sure. This can't be natural, though, it has to be some kind of mystical phenomenon." The dwarf studies the stream of bugs for several minutes then realizes that the process used to create the insectoid river is similar to that seen in some of the ruins of an ancient, highly magically evolved race, and involves creating a short portal to a dimension that is completely filled with these insects. In the case of the ancient race, however, they used these portals to get rid of their refuse. He then writes various dwarven magical runes in his exercise book, until he comes up with a spell that can momentarily divert this flow. "It won't be enough for all of us to get through, but perhaps we can all combine our efforts, as disparate as they all are."
Once the hunter has been captured, disarmed, and secured, Henrick will sit down with him. He will first try to see if he thinks there is any chance of turning this man, or whether he is so devoted to his cause or leader that he is willing to die before revealing any information. He will draw on his own experience having briefly studied the occult under a servant of the Diabolist, who ended up turning him. Henrick acted for a short while as a double agent feeding information about the Dwarf King to the Diabolist, before returning back to his people. "So tell us a little bit about yourself, son. Who are you and where are you from?"
Even in his heavy armor, Henrick spent years chasing goblins and other vermin down the twisting tunnels of his clanhold. He quickly gets within throwing distance, then throws his hammer at the fleeing ranger, hitting one in the back of the knee.
Henrick growls in frustration as he moves over to strike the sorceress: "Someone help me take down this b%%~%! I'm tired of being all gummed up like this, and I'm s~#+e with this hammer."
Henrick returns the lady's snarl, "Ye shoot almost as bad as I do!" Grabbing his hammer, he lifts it above his head. "Mother Maghda, have mercy on these, your sons and daughters."
Too tangled to effectively cast his spells, Henrick draws his crossbow and loads it. "Not that I can do much good with this old thing," he mumbles to himself.
I'm home now, it just would have been nice to have gotten home Sunday evening and not Tuesday morning. Wow, that's the worst I've ever seen. What airline was it, and what was the problem?
"Hang in there, pointy ears!" Henrick calls as he tries to unsuccessfully disentangle himself from the web.
Delayed over 24 hours getting home, still recovering, am hoping to get back to things tonight or tomorrow morning.
Henrick grumbles to himself, "Hang in there, elf, and try not to lean into the hits quite so much." He then calls out, "I'll get to you in a moment, human. Try not to die."
Henrick then turns to the most injured-looking archer and fires another volley of spiritual hammers at him. ,
In addition to hiding under the piano and calling on his gods, Henrick also points his warhammer at the nearest ranger in the upper balcony and unleashes a torrent of semi-solid hammers at him, calling out: "Focus on one target at a time. My god loves to have the first strike!" The spell strikes his opponent full in the chest sending him momentarily reeling.
Henrick bellows, "Where do all these people come from and what are they doing here?" He then dives under the piano for cover and calls out a quick prayer. "Forgefather, give us your insight so that we may slaughter our enemies."
Great, thanks!
Quick question. I see that now that we're 5th level, we get to add double our ability mods to damage rolls. That includes damage I deal with my spells too, right? Also, have our recoveries reset?
I will not be going to GenCon :(
Henrick walks up to the new arrival and looks the elf up and down. He then seems to quote a passage from an obscure dwarven text: "Curiouser and curiouser!” Cried Malice the Forgehammer (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good Dwarven).”"
"We are in the dancing hut of Baba Yaga," Henrick says without any pretense.
Henrick shakes his head. "Do you know anything about the winter that seems to have fallen over the region, madam?"
Henrick steps over to the lady. "Pardon me, madam."
Going to my wife's HS reunion this weekend, so will not be posting much.
Henrick the Priest turns to the undead chasing him around the room. "Ya know that wight is an old dwarven word? Means person or man, originally pronounced wicht, with a heavy emphasis on the "cchhhh". Those old dwarves really liked their phlegm. And you know what, wight? Man, am I tired of all of you!" He turns his hammer upside down and stamps it twice against the ground. Searing light shoots up from the ground, enveloping all the undead in a cloud of holy light.
Henrick steps back out of the reach of the undead creature threatening him and intones a few dwarven phrases that roughly translate to: Dear G*ds, please help these unbelievers.
"I think we might be in a little over our heads, lads and lasses." Henrick concentrates momentarily, then calls out, "Mother Maghda, save this human's tuchus!"
Henrick steps forward before intoning a short spell. "Here goes nothing." He heaves his hammer at the wight in front of him, trying to weaken it a bit, but only catches the corner of an arm.
"Ach! More vampires! Begone creatures of the dark!" Holding up his hammer, he channels the wisdom of his ancient ancestors towards the undead.
I'm finishing up a big writing project this weekend. Will be back to regular posting on Monday.
Henrick shakes his head as he looks around to make sure there are no further enemies. "Undead and golems? What kind of a strange place is this? Who puts together undead and golems?"
Henrick concentrates to make sure his spell hits the right target this time, and nods in satisfaction as he sees his mystic hammer strike the golem.
The dwarf winces as he sees his hammer strike the elf. "Sorry!
Henrick lobs another mystical hammer at the golem, but he gets a momentary flashback that takes him back to his childhood when a tall, fleshy dwarf boy with fists the size of hams pummeled him senseless. Distracted, his spell goes awry and only glances the construct.
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