as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Seeing the beloved big cat fall in battle, Mot eyes blaze with fury at the dark mage. Seeing him take the high ground, the weakened highlander pushes the pommel of his blade against underside of the table to upend the surface on which the priest stands.
aid to Str: 1d20 ⇒ 13
His worries turn to the injured beast, and without a second thought for the enemy he lowers himself beside Shark. The predator fights death with vigor, but his wounds are many. At a loss, Mot runs a comforting hand through bloody fur.
"Yoo'll bea alrright, wee kitteh. Ah gotcher..."
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Mot takes long strides around the wood table, closing in on the dark priest. He brings down his enormous sword!
+1 Greatsword 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 3 + 1 = 11 for 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (5, 3) + 1 = 9
The ancestral blade clashes against the heavy chains as the grey man deflect the blow.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Will: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20, Mot takes 4 damage
“'Twas Vyren bade our wild geese go, that we small clans might be free;
By Crógan’s first, teh family cursed, did Naert hack and Saor slain three
Oh, had they died by Siongahr’s side or fought with Cathal Bragheu
Their graves we'd keep where the proud Casns sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.”
Mot unleashes the final verse, this time taking careful aim at the shadowy man backed into a corner.
Inspired Greatsword 1d20 + 3 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 3 + 1 + 1 = 14 for 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 6) + 1 = 9
This is the last round of Inspire Courage, +1 to attack and damage. Mot has AC 18 and 13hp.
Song credit where credit is due.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The towering highlander grins down at the small red lizard, glad to see him join the pitched battle.
"Oh teh bravest fell, and teh requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who fought above Bloomrot in teh springing of teh year
While teh world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore teh fight that freedom's light might shine through teh foggy dew"
Roaring the next verse, the Casns feels his heart stir with family pride. Before he is aware, his shield lays cast aside and his long legs speed him toward the battle, the shining ancestral blade held aloft. Seeing two of the same foul cleric, he slashes the large sword across at the nearest one!
Charging flanking inspired PA Greatsword 1d20 + 3 + 2 + 2 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (5) + 3 + 2 + 2 + 1 - 2 = 11 for 2d6 + 3 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (1, 5) + 3 + 1 + 1 = 11 well darn
The grey man ducks in time and Mot's greatsword bites into the stone wall, scattering chips of rock from the mighty blow. He wrests the glowing steel free.
Continue Inspire Courage (1 round of performance left). Mot's AC is 16 for this round and has 17hp.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Themp can see the blood running heavily down the side of Mot head, and the other gouges and cuts he sustained in this battle -wounds that would bring down lesser men. But the undaunted Casns regards him with fierce blue eyes and his goofy snaggle-toothed grin.
“Ah coold use a drenk rright about naow…” he jokes with his favorite drinking buddy. Suddenly his look brightens with an idea. “Och! Ah DO haev a drenk rright noaw!”
The handle of his flail clatters to the floor as the big man digs something out of his pocket: a glass vial. He holds it up a little too closely to Themp's face. “A magic drenk! Down teh hatch!”
In one hearty gulp its contents are emptied, and the highlander smacks his lips.
Cure Light Wounds 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8
Invigorated, his enormous chest inflates and he begins the next verse of his song.
“Oh teh night fell black, and teh thunder crack gave teh mountain giants battle zeal
In teh leaden rain, did teh ground they gain and crash o'er teh lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Urlghain her sons be true
But when morning broke, still teh war flag shook out its folds in teh foggy dew.”
He also takes a 5ft step forward. Continue Inspire Courage (2 rounds left). Mot currently has 19AC and 17hp.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Will save 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
The spark of life burns hot in Casns veins, and the black wave harms the second son just a little.
Clear blue eyes stare down the evil mage. Mot might feel weakened and unable to crush his foe, but he hopes his friends will rally and together drive out this darkness. The dire straits recall to mind a song that tells a tale of a desperate Casns battle lost ere he was a babe, the fallen men remembered as heroes. His look turns hard as steel to the foeman. Like them, he will have to forestall this enemy.
"Hoho, ye shood cherish theese mohments too, Zon Koo-Thon priest!"
His snaggle-toothed maw widens and he fills his enormous chest with air. The Casns hammers the head of the flail onto his wooden shield to the slow and resolute tune.
“Right proudly high over teh Casns’ Hald they hung out teh flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Urlghain sky than at Sarga or Gath afar
And from teh hills of loyal hearth strong men came hurrying through
While Thaleniel’s men, of the lake borne fen, marched to meet through teh foggy dew.”
Perform (song) 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
Using Bardic Performance, Inspire Courage: +1 to attack and damage rolls, and +1 to saves against Fear and Compulsion effects. He has 3 rounds of performance left today.
Mot has 19 AC and 9hp.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Ye callen mea an’ oooaf?!” the highlander sputters. With a hairy face twisted in anger, he circles the flail over his head and steps up to deliver a blow to the dark mage.
PA flail 1d20 + 3 - 1 ⇒ (6) + 3 - 1 = 8 for 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
The chained metal ball whiffs the air.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Acrobatics 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
With a running start, the highlander's long legs launch him up and over the stretch of little metal spikes. His big feet touch down on the other side and his glowing shield casts light on part of the darkened dining hall.
Readied attack 1d20 + 7 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 7 + 1 + 1 = 26 for 2d4 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (3, 4) + 3 + 1 = 11
A spiked chain whips out from the darkness just as Mot plants his boots, and although the big man tries to raise his shield, the cruel weapon lashes across his hairy head. The grey man with the skull hooked into his chest grins wickedly at the spatter of Urlghain blood. Clinking heavy chains ring out over the silence.
Growling in pain, the Casns wildly snaps the head of his flail at the shadowy foe.
Power attack Flail 1d20 + 3 - 1 ⇒ (13) + 3 - 1 = 15 for 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8
But dark mage is quick and avoids the attack.
Mot takes 11 damage and is currently at 15 hp. Something of note: whenever fighting with a building corner partially in the way, both combatants benefit from Partial Cover.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The Casns' long legs take a couple stone steps with each stride until he reaches the top. Grimacing, he grits yellow teeth as he rounds the corner, only to find nothing there. Big blue eyes narrow as he casts about for any source of the trickery, though now the sounds of scraping metal and laughter seem hollow in his ears.
Grunting, Mot hefts his round shield and shakes his chained weapon and he advances down the hallway, holding the wood slab to deflect anything that might spring from the darkness. The light from his shield pushes the shadows back with every step. In spite of the deceitful magic, his ears are attentive to what he cannot see, like a hunter on the prowl.
Perception 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Fighting defensively (+2 AC / -4 atk), move 40ft. I will update his position on DG asap, but it might be a few days. AC 21 for this round.
Soon he notices a dull metallic gleam on the floor ahead of him. An array of tiny steel spikes lay scattered over the stone, an underfoot danger to anyone who dared continue. Again he bares his snaggled teeth, this time as a grin down at the pitiful trap.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Will save 1d20 + 4 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 + 4 = 9
Mot frowns down the stairways, across to the dark end of the other corridor. He trusts his allies, especially the wise Beorae, but he cannot ignore what he hears with his own ears. The metallic footsteps and harsh laughter sound ominous, and he worries the tales of his ancestral foe are true.
“Nae, lassie. ‘Tis teh souund of Craig! Blaggard es back froom teh deed! Agaen!”
Acrobatics 1d20 + 8 - 1 ⇒ (5) + 8 - 1 = 12
Staying behind his shield, the highlander backs away from the rabid wolf. Big blue eyes meet Nme’an’s, and he gestures vaguely in the direction of the black-furred creature. “Teh magic pup es oll yerrs, boyo. Ah gots me a begger curr tah put daown!”
His determined gait shuffles past his traveling companions, until he begins striding up the other staircase. “Couldnae stand tah stey awey!” he taunts into dark, from which the iron clanking and cruel laughter ring out.
“Yoo can quet yer hidin' in teh darrk!” his rich Urlghain brogue echoes off the stone. With a frustrated grunt he wags his shield arm. “Shoo yerself!”
Suddenly, amber energy bounces and springs from his arm and sets the wooden shield aglow. Light bathes the top of the stair, where no one yet stands. Still the metallic marching continues ever closer to the corner above.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Fortitude 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 6 + 1 = 23 (passes!)
Acrobatics 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
At Beorae’s cry, Mot twists back in time to see her pull the bloody bolt from her side.
“Hup!” Recklessly turning his back to his foes, the big man’s long strides reach the druidess. For all his haste, his big meaty hand gently touches her wound. “Ah gotcha lassie. Teh good gawds are wotchin’ over us…” Mot frowns. His palm is covered in her blood and the injury did not mend.
“DO ET! HEAL HER!” he shouts at his hand, and amber energy swirls around his digits.
Arcane spell failure chance (15%) 1d100 ⇒ 21, Cure Light Wounds 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
He presses the warm glow to Beorae’s wound, and she feels some of the pain subside.
“Ha!” Mot holds up his hand, looking very proud of himself. Sucking air to fill his large chest, he plays his battle tune with vigor.
Continue Inspire Courage (4 rounds left)
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Fortitude 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 6 + 1 = 20 (sorry, forgot the Resistance bonus last round, it was a nat fail anyway). Passes! No more Strength damage.
Will 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
At the foreboding words of the grey man, Mot’s clear blue eyes widen with fear. But a moment later, the fear hardens into resolve as the Casns recalls the heartening sound of pipes over highland battlefields back home. He throw back a scathing insult. “Yer Mednaht Gawd is ...duuumb!”
His lips press down on the mouthpiece and a steady hum is followed by a squealing, rousing tune. The upbeat music lightens his heart and the hearts of his companions. His stomping boots as drums on the stone floor, the highlander marches slightly backward, so that his broad shoulders block the spider and the grey creature from reaching the druidess or her wee kitty.
Bardic Performance (5 rounds left), Inspire Courage. Allies gain +1 to attack and damage rolls, and +1 to saves against Fear and Compulsion effects. (Unfortunately, the debuff spell was cast before this performance, so this bonus cannot apply to the saving throw for that spell.)
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Fortitude 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7 (fails) Mot's Strength score is currently 12.
Strength 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13
The highlander feels himself weakening from the grey assassin’s poison. His great hairy maw lets out a mighty roar as he strains against the webbing wrapped around his large form. With tremendous effort, the white strands snap and tear away and Mot Casns breaks free.
After a defiant look to the grey man with the wicked chain, the big man tries to move back closer to Beorae, putting himself between the unearthly spider and his friends.
Acrobatics 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
AoO Bagpipes 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9
The highlander tries to whack the assailant again with his pipes but the shadowy creature is too quick.
Fortitude 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14 (fails). Mot’s Strength score is currently 14.
With a battle in full swing, his eyes narrow at Beorae’s warning. He turns and peers into the dining hall where he can hear the foul chanting, but for the darkness he cannot see the summoner. He cautiously ventures further into the room, and not until he is near a table, his light spills over a startling visage. Another gaunt and grey skinned man focuses on an incantation, armed with a wickedly spiked length of chain. Garbed in black, this shadowy creature has parts of pale skin exposed and pierced with large, painful-looking metal hooks. The hooks join together to suspend the front half of a humanoid skull over the menacing summoner’s chest. From the eye sockets of the bone face dangle short lengths of chains.
Knowledge (religion) 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13
Sneering at the shadowy summoner, the highlander growls, “Noo soomahnin’ yer animals heer…”
Rearing back with his pipes, Mot attempts to smack the grey man, to interrupt the incantation.
Bagpipes 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
The pipes make contact with dark cloth, and muffled chainmail jingles faintly from the strike. The grey man casting a spell continues uninterrupted.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
I made a mistake with Mot's recent Stealth checks. They should be one less due to his armor check penalty. Sorry about that!
"Aye, Ah cen do that," he answers Themp.
Mot watches the scoundrel stalk off down the other hallway and shrugs, leaving him to his sneaky business. Taking in the dining hall, and large hearth, he grins widely to the druidess.
“Stoke teh foir, roast eight boar, and brreng twoo score o’ kinsman, each wit’ a barrel o’ ale, thes ‘ood bea juss liek hoam!” He gestures grandly to the empty feasting hall with outspread arms.
In his reverie, a meaty hand strays to the highland pipes. His big clear blue eyes blink in the low-light, and he squints into the dark corners of the room and ceiling. The Casns shakes his head at the bare stone walls, sorely lacking for colorful tapestries of rich family history.
“Thes pleace needs soom cheerin’ oop,” Mot says decisively. He delicately removes his bagpipes from his pack. “An’ sence teh pretty pally ent heer tah fooss…”
Puffed Casns cheeks blow a low hum as his muscled arm presses against the bag. Over the hum a clear, slow tune pierces the quiet as Mot finds his way with the instrument, having not played it since he departed from the gnome warrens. The lilting tune is calm and happy as Mot begins to pace around the square table near the fire.
Perform 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Stealth 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15
Mot follows Themp on tiptoes. The street rat feels hot breath buffet his ear and neck as the big man leans in closely. “Wot are wea snekkin oop on?” the highlander breathes with a mischievous look in his big blue eyes. The spear he uses as a walking stick is in his hand, but it does not touch the stone floor.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Olp loudly raps the dull end of his spear onto the stone floor very close to Mot’s toes, and the big man stirs.
“Aye, Ahm coomin’...” the highlander mumbles, rising to his feet. He keeps his head down, never taking his eyes off the open book in his hands as he starts slow, shuffling steps up the stairs that lead to the long hallway. No longer in the light from the library, he grunts in frustration as the glow from Nme’an’s hand marches quickly forward, darkening the hallway and leaving Mot unable to read.
With a sigh he carefully stores the book into his bag. He squints in the dark as he sees the silhouette of Themp padding quietly, just at the edge of the light from the big room. A mischievous grin plays across his face as he draws up his hood and takes on the walk of a hunter, trying to creep up on the creeper.
Stealth 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31
If Themp's Perception check can meet or beat Mot's Stealth check, he will notice the big man looming up right behind him with a big goofy grin.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Sounds like Chewie won’t have access to Internet for a few days, so he said I could npc Mot’s turn.
Unable to hold back the fury within, Mot rips his greatsword from his back and a few long strides closes the distance to the hungry vines. He raises the heavy blade high over his head and brings down a ferocious chop.
Acrobatics (avoid AoO) 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10
Raging Greatsword (PA) 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22 for 2d6 + 10 ⇒ (4, 6) + 10 = 20
Mot has 6 rounds of rage left for the day.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place, as comprehension, horror, and then building anger is plain across Mot’s hairy face. Muscular hackles begin to rise as he takes heavy steps toward Olp. “Yoo kill’d babby lizahrdmehn? In teh broke ehggs?” His breathing and posture become more aggressive with each step, and the knight’s sympathetic call falls on deaf ears. Ham-sized fists clench and begin to shake.
“Yoo doon ah bahd bahd theng…”
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Mot flinches and redirects his course slightly, with an instinctive snarl at the patch of gravel he nearly stepped into. “Yer lyin’ ground…” he growls.
The highlander reaches the boulder and launches himself into the air, his roving boots clearing five feet high. His chest slams against the side of the boulder, and his thick fingers scrape over the rough stone, unable to find purchase. Mot’s bulky form begins to slide down, and he lands on his feet, leaving a bloody streak on the great stone in front of him.
6 rounds remain of Rage.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The Casns warrior curses when his lance clatters against stone. The ears of a huntsman detects the echo into a passage he cannot see into. Spitting in disgust of the cowardly, he lifts a hairy head to speak to his companions in the valley.
“Snivelin’ pipsqueeks’ hidin’ in toonnuhls!” he calls down angrily.
His anger makes his feet restless, and he descends the ramp to retrieve his spear, with wary eyes on the hole the kobold recently disappeared into.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Mot rises and stretches his big arms, gathering his things and slinging them over his back. He pauses to snack on a roll of hardbread, which he crams into his enormous mouth as one bite. Crunching and munching, he follows the others and stoops through the small tunnel that leads out of the storeroom.
Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Och, aye! Teh two oopstarts looked as sooprized as our lettle leezard friend,” the highlander takes a step toward Olp and Themp, unsure if the thief intends violence on the whimpering kobold.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The Casns warrior brings the greatsword around again.
Greatsword 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8 (lame) for 2d6 + 4 ⇒ (4, 2) + 4 = 10
The kobold before him suffers a terrible wound where no armor protects him, but the small scaly fighter tightens his grip on the trident in resolve.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Acrobatics 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
With a snarl, the highlander tumbles into the room, rising to his feet. The greatsword scrapes against the overhead stone as a dangerous gleam takes his eye.
Attack 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16 for 2d6 + 4 ⇒ (3, 5) + 4 = 12
The heavy blade clangs against the kobold’s new armor.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Ho-ho! No yoo doon’t!” chuckles the big man as he brings up his muscular arms to close around the escaping kobold.
Grapple 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
And before the scaly critter get too far, Mot pins the creature to his chest in a bear hug. His great, snaggled-tooth maw smiles at the small kobold face inches from his own.
“Yoo aen’t goin’ nowhere!” he beams to the shrieking captive.
As long as the Kobold keeps trying to escape, please limit actions to round by round. If he breaks free, I'll adjust DG accordingly. Presently, Mr. Kobold is grappled by Mot.
For the sake of my own recordkeeping and healing awareness, Mot is at 21/29hp.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Mot nods like a scolded child at the reprimand from the druidess, looking down and not meeting her eye -a peculiar sight for such an imposing figure. As she turns her words to Nme’an, he lifts a glare to the knight under his bushy eyebrows. He twists his mouth in dislike at the thought of a commonality with Nme’an, but the thought is quickly banished at the mention of ale. His large hand move uncannily fast and catches the coin as he nods at the idea. He points two thick fingers at his clear blue eyes, and then turns those two fingers at the paladin.
“Noo cheetin’...” he squints.
The Casns warrior inspects his pack to confirm that he still has everything he did before the rockslide trap. He tugs on the greatsword slung over his back to ensure an easy draw, and indicates that he is ready to go with a slap on the backside of the kobold that slumps over a shoulder.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Yoo asked. Ah ansured,” he replies tersely when the paladin reviews his perceived faults. When Nme’an is finished, the highlander keeps a hard glare at the knight for a few silent moments, punctuating the silence with another loud snort and spit to the ground. It splats close to the half-elf’s boots. “Yoo alrreadee know wut Ah thenk o’ yoo.”
His gaze softens somewhat over Themp, Beorae, and Shark as he turns back toward the mouth of the large cave. Limping over to the bodies, he drags the leader closer and palms a kobold head he severed in the battle. Grunting as he kneels to the ground, the wild man draws his dagger and works its edge against the tough scales.
Survival 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
Next, the others see him cut a short leather strip from kobold armor. After a few more minutes, he rises, standing a bit straighter than before, with two scaly snouts pierced and threaded through a leather necklace swinging across his broad chest with each step.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Mot crosses his arms and furrows his heavy brow in thought, and after a moment answers flatly, “Well, yoo seem tah think Ah abaedin’d teh druidess… an’ yoo mistaek mah toss o’ yer mace as a greevince...”
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The wrath that began to boil over at Nme’an’s comeback is derailed by the city man, and the highlander’s anger-contorted face suddenly breaks into genuine laughter that looks to have even surprised Mot himself. He regains his composure in time to answer Themp’s rhetorical question.
“Aye, et wunnae…” he cracks his knuckles absent-mindedly. His tone lacks the fiery anger from before, replaced by utmost seriousness. He regards the knight with a quizzical look but adds nothing else.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
He raises an accusing finger when Nme’an mentions the owlbear. “Ah tossed yer mace so yoo’d learn not tah moorder a halpless craeture, not cuz ye dinnae want me tah haev a rriding baer. Dinnae think Ah’d heffta taech that to wun who ess haff forestfolk…” he spits on the ground between himself and the knight.
When the half-elf again brings up the druidess’ plight a few minutes ago, Mot shouts, exasperated, “Exakleh! Ah took teh foight tah them so she woonnae be hoort by ther speers and slengs, yoo dense sohd! Themp's a good lad an' fex'd 'er up queck wit' t'lixer!”
As the knight states his conclusion, Mot adds, with a sweeping motion to Beorae, Themp, and Shark, “An’ we’ve all suffared frum yer hoighty-toighty…ness! Duz yer knite code dahmand a poleshed silvar stick up yer arse, ya gleamin’ grumpus? Et explehn why yer so full o’ shoite! Yoo want e’erywun tah bea liek yoo, all stuffy wit’ yer false parfect weys, yer milkdrinker’s coorage and ne’er smilin’, straet-toothed shilpy, gether-uppin’ blate maw on yer fish-haerted, stumpy shtoner, bleetherin’ yer wormy-eyed hootin’ golfah liek et was teh mornin' sun!”
The highlander ends his own tirade with a sneer, stooped and heaving with anger. His wild, clear blue eyes stare down the knight in front of him, teetering between mockery and belligerence.
And yes, the character with the Intelligence score of 7 just called someone else a “dense sod”.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Och! Ahbaendenin ‘er?! AH WUS PRAHTECTIN ‘ER!” the highlander booms with a reddening face, “Ya think Ah liek gettin’ hoort? Do ye remembar whoo got to her faerst? I thought she bea dead!”
His ham-sized fists shake with anger, though an attentive observer would notice that his otherwise clear blue eyes hold a glassy surface, the thought of a dead Beorae summoning strong emotion. Mot’s forearm wipes dry his hairy face and points at the knight. “Where were yoo? Ser braev knite o’ teh Donfleu’er, hidin behind a sheeld ageen? Ya dinnae got a rright tah lay yer words as law on meh joost cuz Ah don’ hesiteht tah stoppin mah foes from hoortin’ mah fren’s!”
As the knight reaches to touch his shoulder, the Casns flinches back. “Doon touch meh ye mooderin gomeril! Eff mah askance fer healin’ is a crahm in yer holee eyes, then yer ‘onar ess a farce!”
The highlander’s hackles are raised and his body tense, and he casts about for an outlet. Palming a head-sized rock with a large hand, he hurls it with a roar at the cliff face, well away from the others. The stone shatters into smaller pieces. He turns a scowl back to the Knight and spits on the ground.
Nme’an can keep that use of the Lay on Hands. If he wants to heal Mot, he’ll need to roll a melee touch attack and beat Mot’s touch AC. Also, Mot has 12/29 hitpoints, so 4 points does not bring him back to full.
Survival is the roll to determine time-of-day. Nme’an thinks it is between 11am and noon.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Beorae thinks the ring will fetch 125-200gp on the market.
As it turns out, I was full of bees. After Mot cools down from Rage, he is at 12hp. My bad!
Mot, still bruised and bleeding from the battle, squints at the upheld ring. With a tired, playful grin, he pokes his thick, calloused finger at the jewelry, stopping short at the first joint of his finger. “Dinnae fit, metheenks.”
He stoops and returns the dropped greatsword to the sheathe on his back. Limping over to his unconscious captive, the highlander turns the body over to inspect it for any further wounds. Finding none, and feeling faint breathing from the kobold snout, he nods and slings it over a shoulder. “This lettle wun looks liek he maght waek up soon.”
He flinches when the scaly body slaps against his shoulder and back, and the pain spurs him back to the druidess. “Effin’ ya dinnae mind, lass, ya haef teh heelers tooch. Coold ya halp me close me woonds?”
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Almost on instinct, the highlander lashes out at the last kobold.
Raging flail PWR ATK 1d20 + 5 - 1 ⇒ (6) + 5 - 1 = 10 for 1d8 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 7 + 2 = 15
But the dodgy lizardfolk ducks away as he turns to flee. Thankfully, he is stopped at the entrance of the tunnel.
You guys are up!
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
AoO 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7 for 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
The flailhead whips across too high.
Reflex 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Still recovering from the errant swing, the big man bears the brunt of the fiery blast. With charred skin and smoking clothes, the great warrior’s blood boils over and taking the flail handle into two hands, turns a berserker rage against the diminutive lizard mage before him.
Raging flail PWR ATK 1d20 + 5 - 1 ⇒ (17) + 5 - 1 = 21 for 1d8 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 7 + 2 = 17
Mot is now at 4hp, thanks to Rage, heh.
The flail comes down hard and crushes the leader’s skull, with enough force to whip the rest of the kobold’s body to the ground. A pink mist floats above the point of impact as Mot turns wild eyes to another red scaled foe, bloody flail already spinning again.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Mot slashes at the retreating kobold.
AoO 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11 for 2d6 + 7 ⇒ (5, 5) + 7 = 17
Reflex to hang onto sword 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Too eager to take advantage of the kobold’s lapse in defense, the highlander’s sword slips out of his hands mid-swing, splashing into the pool of thick oil that rises around him.
Grunting in frustration, he rolls to his feet and tries to move out of slick area, closing the distance to the defensive kobolds and unhooking the flail from his belt along the way. The kobold spear moves to stab him but he slaps it away with a meaty palm.
Acrobatics 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Reflex 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22 haHA!
Seeing the grease coalesce on his sword, his thick fingers tighten and the highlander does not lose his grip.
“Och!” he says in surprise as he falls, not wasting a moment to sit up and deliver a wild horizontal slice.
Prone Greatsword PWR ATK 1d20 + 4 - 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 - 4 = 10 for 2d6 + 7 ⇒ (4, 1) + 7 = 12
But the two kobolds leap out of the way of the savage attack.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The cords in his Urlghain forearms tighten as the Casns brings up the mighty blade.
Greatsword PWR ATK 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18 for 2d6 + 7 ⇒ (3, 1) + 7 = 11
In one sweeping motion, he lops off the head of the foe at his side, turning a mean eye to the kobold beside the headless one.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Will save 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (8) - 1 = 7 ...oh boy
The highlander’s eager grin to cut down the scaly fiends relaxes to a placid, slack-jawed expression. His large eyes blink rapidly as though something is in his eyes. He mumbles vaguely about a “...cally breek…” and very uncharacteristically fails to throw himself at the enemy. His bulky form remains in place while his expression looks as though he is attempting complex, or perhaps not so complex, mathematics inside his large cranium. Mot does not act this round.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Och-aye! Yoo jahonnyup raght qweck t’lixer!” Mot cheers, slapping a meaty palm on Themp’s shoulder after the thief administers the curative concoction.
At the city man’s warning, he nods gravely. His long muscular arms pull the greatsword loose from its scabbard, and he takes wide, unbalanced strides between Themp and Nme’an, passing them and stopping a short distance ahead. At the mouth of the great opening, he plants the point of his sword in the rubble, directly at his center, and waits for the kobolds to appear.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Reflex 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19, Mot takes 8 damage.
The Casns snarls as the stones tumble forward. With one hand he tosses the limp kobold by the scaly nape of the neck behind him. The reptilian body bounces against a boulder a short distance away. He pivots and his powerful legs push him south with a great leap, as rocks pummel his meaty shoulders and back.
As the rock slide diminishes to silence, he winces and circles his thick arms to alleviate the bruising on his back. Blood is scarcely discernible through his wild head of hair, until it runs down an ear and the side of his neck. He casts about, peering through the dust, until he sees the druidess, unmoving and mostly buried in the fallen stone.
“Och, lass!” the highlander vaults over rocky terrain with haphazard steps, as the stones shift unexpectedly under his weight. Stooping over the unconscious half-elf, the big man begins wildly tossing rocks out of the way.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Och, teh path zignzags back an’ farth fer a weys, then opens up a bit,” the highlander lazily waves a meaty palm forward, indicating the general direction of the ravine.
He shrugs the shoulder carrying the kobold in response to Beorae’s question. “Ah dinnae think he’ll bea wakin up anytime soon. Hehe… Ah’ll ask em when he do.”
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
The highlander’s head angles when he hears the paladin’s voice echo up the rock face. In a few steps he leans over the edge of the cliff, beaming his snaggle-toothed grin. The three below can see a new, red addition to Mot’s simple clothing as it dangles and swings loosely over one shoulder. Without warning he turns kilt-first to begin a descent.
As he draws nearer, however, it becomes clear to anyone willing to look up that he carries a kobold over his shoulder. It swings limply as the big man stops to keep the red-scaled body from sliding off. He shuffles across the shelf and begins the last half of the climb down, almost losing the kobold body once on the way down, but after a minute he lets himself drop the last few feet.
“Ah fownd wunna ther graet warriors,” he beams, still heaving from the climb. He pulls the kobold body from his shoulder, holding it up with one hand. The large span of his free hand stretches over the red ridged snout, using a meaty thumb and middle finger to pull the edges of the kobold’s mouth into a smile. “He’s soh happy tah see us!” he chuckles, “Ah gaev ‘im a bear hug tha’ put ‘im tah sleep.”
His wide smile diminishes when he appears to remember something about Nme’an. “I’ll put yoo tah sleep too eff ya try tah moorder this lettle pipsqueak,” he adds in a more serious tone.
The kobold in Mot’s hands is stabilized, unconscious, but not dead.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The Casns warrior returns an unflinching gaze to the paladin, daring the half-elf to make good on his threat as the great highland bellows begin to inflate. The mouthpiece already to his lips, Mot’s defiance is preempted by the druidess. He grimaces in displeasure as the cradled bagpipes lower into the crook of his arm. But the frown turns to a mischievous smile at Nme’an before he steps toward the forward scout, taking Beorae’s gestures to mean that they should keep moving.
Mot moves to P17.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
The big man takes ponderous steps toward the scout, leaning forward to get a look at the path ahead. A squint of suspicion takes his face when he sees nothing of importance, and after a moment he shrugs and waits for Themp to lead the way.
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
“Aye, Ah’ll stand betwain ye an’ teh scary wee lizards,” answers the highlander, stepping past the druidess and the knight. Watching the city scoundrel creep ahead, he idly tugs the handle of his greatsword to assure that it is there, and quick to draw. Sniffing the air, the big man listens, wondering what Themp might find around the bend.
Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9
as NPC'd by GM Netherfire
"Eff Drexil thinks hoam is at teh castle, that's where he'll go," Mot replies, not taking smiling eyes off the horses, "Eff not, well, then he's free tah wandur as he plaeses."
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