Search Posts
Anyone interested in downtime? Ingryd and Scram could setup their business plans with the stolen whiskey. Scram also wants to respond to the druids who summoned her. Or honestly, could retire the Scramsax character to run the place. Wouldn't mind picking Zove back up as a high level utility wizard to complement our blasters, or something else entirely. Assuming the ones we rescued aren't doppelganger assassins, we have no other plots at the moment?
Yes we have it all, just waiting on date (summer solstice, or midnight sun).
So...back to Narg? Teleport will recharge after a Long. Or we follow the egg-shell crumb trail? Although I guess IC none of us knew about the egg.
This ritual was also interesting: RITUAL OF MEMORIES LOST
During the night of a new moon, you bleed upon the
The target of the spell sacrifices the memory, losing
Scram would definitely stash salt pork under his tower. They are basically identical. I'd love to RP the actual Kobold Press ritual to open a shadow road sometime. That was one of my favorite things from that publication (CotSF). There was a heavy psychological aspect to it. It was like a 4 page adventure. Then a trimmed down version got put in the World Book as a 7th level spell. The starting point in the mortal realm is a site of a murder, suicide, or other significant tragedy...one of the casters provides a confession of lost love, betrayal, or failure. Maybe Raseri could learn it and 'tame' the skill roll she uses, or get a bonus to it somehow. I know its her Background Feature but in other words maybe there's a fun way to augment it or develop it somehow.
we've been doing you can roll and take which ever is better, average or the roll.
@DM-Tareth Any chance of Inspiration refresh as well? :)
⠀⠀
⠀⠀"Everyone is safe back in Narg, Prophet," Scramsax said.
⠀⠀
what were we doing before we had to save that dragon's eggs? AI to the rescue! We were escorting refugees from Blandezig, the village that was overrun with ghouls and gnomes. Someone set us up the bomb there (AdamW's bard). Gunnar chose Levoca because it was the closest safe settlement not under rule by the Blood Kingdoms. One of the refugees also had a wedding to attend there. Levoca isn't on the Midgard map, but based on some alternatives, I think its relatively close to Zobeck. We originally went to the dragon's lair to protect Levoca. Before all that though, and before Blandezig, we were travelling south on the Rothenian plain. We needed 'Black sand of Dragon Bone' from the Ruby Sea. However, we succeeded earlier in obtaining some, and thats why we didnt mind going on so many side quests. We were killing time until the solstice. Gunnar found it from the small griffon manor with the Lovecraft thing in the basement and the beer geyser just before Blandezig. It is unclear if this sand needs to be 'long buried under the Ruby Sea' or if it already was and is good to go. But yeah, seems we have all the materials for the null-sword ritual. We just need the other, more situational, things: ⠀⠀⠀⠀The shortest night summer solstice. Or it could be a trick with the midnight sun near the pole. A night of duration zero seconds. ⠀⠀⠀⠀An altar dedicated to light like the one the dragon just destroyed. ;)
Level 11:
Scramsax can no longer roll lower than 10 on proficient skills. :)
Ah, alright. I just remembered jawdropping but that makes sense.
Big question for DM to ponder hinting an answer to: did the hag make it? I think maybe that's what Gunnar was trying to get at. Scram's bean clogged up that entire hallway, unknown to anyone. Did it hinder her, or protect her in some way? Did she eat the egg and gain a permanent ability score increase? ;) We should verify the people we rescued are actually real and not wax people like Ibrox/Aterro/etc. Also, this has been eating at me for a bit, but why did Gunnar choose the chipmunk instead of the hag? What was the IC reason? It didn't seem that ambiguous which was which but maybe I missed something.
*adjusts glasses* Uh aaaaactually, Q counterspells phasers all the ding dong day. ;) And yes, aerial peeps for the view.
Scramsax of Barsella was splattered across the rocks. But on closer inspection, it wasn't Scram. No, it was actually Scramcrow the Beanboy, her faithful straw-duplicate body. The real thief grabbed Gunnar's hand while simultaneously jumping into Ingryd's chest.
⠀⠀
to the great spacecoaster I didn't get that reference but looked it up on a hunch it was...something. I'm glad I did.
Gunnar, I wasn't trying to force you to use your last spell slot and lose Banishment. I (and Scram) just don't think it would be smart to land. Scram and Raseri both have Feather Fall, if that helps.
"Jump! Jump and I will catch you!" came a small promise from within the roar of wings.
Scramsax couldn't find the wisdom of landing on a melting candle. She would share the skies with the dragon a little longer...
There's a permanent +1 ability score egg that will be crushed, sadly.
⠀⠀
Fair enough, and the loot from its treasure-chest-for-a-mouth will projectile vomit into our pockets. :)
Seriously I was hoping the hag/munk would pop back in Same, honestly. Banishment is a powerful spell and its awesome but dang sometimes we just need to take an enemy off the board. xD Of course, knowing the eldritch chipmunk, it is probably stronger in death than life.
Trying some new formatting stuff, paizo site is trickier than MW. Using some unicode braille blanks (U+2800) to get indentation. Let me know if it looks like...not blanks...on your device.
⠀
Scramsax grabbed the two central yokes. Felt stiff. Less
Knowing exactly which route the chipmunk was planning to take took some serious sleuthing...
Scram concedes its the only way, preparing to jump out of the exploding castle in slow motion.
Ah, I forgot wizard has to actually prep a ritual to use it with a spell slot. What does Scram know about magic anyways. ;)
Scram says what she says but ultimately if Gunnar routs, Scram will have no choice but to follow. I get why it might be a risk, the dragon seemed very powerful...who knows what it is really doing when it 'breathes fire'.
Scram scooped up the Drider's Blade, curious of such a warped centaur's weapon. Soon Gunnar was talking of making an escape. The Thorsdottir was one thing...but leaving the Prophet behind somehow didn't seem square. If the thief was a stray cat, Invictusol was the reliable back alley milk bowl with no strings attached. "...damnit, its no good Gunz. They were tryna make it to that mirror room same as us and somethin' happened. If they got waylaid on the shadow path they're gonna come right into that spot after their delay. Or if they need our help we need to get a way to them from there..." The thief struggled against her own survival instincts, feeling the rumbling inferno threatening the old castle. Loyalty was a ball and chain, a bad investment. But betraying a crew was bad for brand name, and Scram wanted to keep the Narg Nasty 6 shiny and clean. *snapping her fingers* "I got it. What about that juju tent you pitch all the time? Pitch it right back there, then if the castle falls down it won't get through the juju. And, we can be waitin' there for em or finding a way through the floor into the shadow world to save em..."
Hmm, well shoot. No hag, no chipmunk/cheek-loot, no clerics, no castle...starting to wonder if the 'friends' we rescued were wax duplicates who are now killing everyone in Narg. Scram is going to have a hard time leaving Luthael behind...not sure how to play this. Will wait for Gunnar's in-character post I suppose.
Are we actually still physically in the castle? I thought we were in some other dimension 'inside the walls' or something.
All good, enjoying freak 75°F weather here as northern neighbors get ice blasted...but not for long.
The chattering mammal had already been living inside Scramsax' mind for the past year and half, not to mention the halfling had been a pudding of very similar consistency to that which the floor was becoming not long ago. Thus it was all rather expected. Except for the horns. That suggested a certain mammalian crossbreeding the sages had always labeled as physically impossible. The thief was perplexed, but not wholly overwhelmed. Alert enough to roll her hips back as one of the metatarsi got a lucky punch. The fit halfling gymnast was somersaulting and volleying herself around leg after leg as they crashed down around her. At times she could really get a good grip on the hairy exoskeletons and whip her body up to fantastic heights. That dance wouldn't last all night, the thief knew. She needed a way out and pronto. Some kind of barrel thing ran past and dinged her ring on the way out. That was it...Loki's Squall. A thick, heavy stratus billowed from the Barsellan as if she just took the biggest pipe toke ever taken. The acrobatic halfling vanished in an instant, perhaps becoming the trick of weather itself.
Doh, I hit the average exactly with that Sneak crit. 44 is the average of 2d4+4+10d6 on the money.
Mid-backflip in the cacophonous waves of force rippling through space, the thief had a funny feeling. No, not her nervous system liquifying from the intense entropic death spiral...something else. The chittering chipper's oozy mouth had a familiar sheen, as if belaquered on the inside with some kind of ectoplasmic goo. A goo unseen since the incident at the Ice Hyena's cave... One thing was certain, if good chips buried their nuts for the winter, this saggy faced spitter was bad to the tiny forest bone. Watching Gunnar go stiff was also not a good sign. The thief had no time to fool around, she had to find this thing's main weakness like yesterday. The cheeks were obviously heavily defended, and may include the dreaded Self-Destruct Nut as a crazy last option. The tail was a good guess, twisted rapidly it may possibly grant the power of flight or some sort of weather control over sunny breezes. This one liked to stand on its haunches like a man, perhaps Scram could execute an ego-strike on the muscular haunches and bring it back down to eye level. But no, in the end, there was really only one option. That chittering vocal box responsible for spewing such incessant and indecipherable jeremiad. The rapidly oscillating chords which could only generate defeatism and cynicism...never jokes or love. The nattering nabobs of negativity. Yes, this was it...the weak spot, the helm command ordering the ship to shift her rudder to the jack stands! *bzzzzzzTHWACK* Scramsax smirked, having nailed it with a precision strike before disappearing back around the corner. Dice:
the arch-druid loaded a double-cloved stone into her sling with the chattering rodent's name actually on it Sorry for being flowery. I was trying to attack the restrained chipmunk with sling. Fine keeping it a drider dagger attack.
Creeping up just before the turn of the stone corner, Scram heard powerful dwarven demands to cull the scurry. Fully understanding the balance of nature required such sacrifices, or at least pretending to for fun, the arch-druid loaded a double-cloved stone into her sling with the chattering rodent name actually on it.
...before darting back around the falling curtain of dispelled darkness.
It seems to me the hag has gotten away but I could be wrong. I think its better we all stick together anyways especially with our cleric doublet MIA.
Egg roll! The 5% gamble would have been fun, Scram might actually become a better liar...oh well. Such are the whims of bean magic. :) ...and really wishing I was with Raseri and Luthael. That scene is so Dark Sunny kickass.
Luthael and Raseri are going to come back later and have a fantastic story. ...but we will all know where they really went. ;)
Swivel stowed, Scram felt satisfaction knowing that future problems had already been solved. But the little bean was bubbling trouble, and the thief suddenly realized she was all alone in a hag's death trap. Tossing it outside was no good. Beans and dragons were not a combination the halfling was interested in, and besides it would desecrate the grave of her ill-fated mule Quincy. The latter no doubt leading to ghost mules a'haunting, or worse revenant mules wielding vengeful necrotic weapons from beyond the grave. Tossing it down Ingryd and Gunnar's chosen path was likewise cringefully bad. Ingryd's bees would get distracted trying to pollenate the sprouts, not able to be there for Griz in a pinch and leading to chaos-god-knows-what chain reactions taking place given the bountiful increase in yield. Holding it put? Out of the question. Breaking a mirror was seven years bad luck, and there were decades worth of misfortune here. There was only one play that made any sense: the unknown. Scram could not even guess what would happen by tossing it down the alternate fork. So, who cares? Chucking the sucker like no one's business, the Barsellan wiped her brow and gave herself a nod of surety before preparing to slip off after the others. But she first paused, remembering her two clerics...taking out a crowbar, Scram carved a trademark dong into the stone, pointing in the direction of the party.
Well, I guess that's that then. Unless I'm mistaken Gunnar made the wrong choice, and follows after the chipmunk. Ingryd follows Gunnar, and Scram follows Ingryd (once the stool is free). This should get interesting quickly...
It was a race against the clock. Scramsax panicked. Of course obtaining the stool took priority, but if Gunnar and Ingryd weren't going to find the path in less than a minute, or if Raseri and Luthael didn't appear from wherever they went in less than a minute, things were about to get a lot more fibrous, unsoaked, and full of protein. The 3/16ths socket didnt fit the nut. Fudge. Fumbling around, a 5/32nd was produced but the little wrench protested by not slipping on smoothly. Ok. 7/32nds. Nope. For the love of the gods, 5mm it was the only thing that made sense. The hag's corruption had mutated sensible units into some kind of abomination. It was going to take everything the thief could muster to unbolt these suckers. Latching vice grips. Soft-handled pliers. The thief was not f*cking around. *tic tok* The clock clickered down to 39 seconds. Only that much of a temporal pause before spirits-of-flatulence-knew-what was going to happen. Struggling with the final bolt "For the love of all that's holy, Griz!! Follow your nose!" Scram shouted, dipping some leftoever Britta Gleamgaurd toast into the sour grape jelly pointed out by the wizard.
...revolving stool... From her hidden vantage in the hall of mirrors, Scram admired the swivel of the finely crafted rumplestool. With a true 360 degrees of freedom, the thief's imagination ran completely wild. She could twirl like a ballerina for a dragon's recital, or just turn to grab a snack from a nearby cubby-hole without standing up. With its compact form and stylish accents, it seemed perfect for any kitchen, bar, workshop or secret doll-villian-lair thing. Scram was not concerned with durability in the slightest, recognizing true craftsmanship the moment whence she beheld it. But the nearly hallucigenic effects of the rumplestool reached extremes as its broad market appeal became crystal clear. Shoulder pads raised to the max, a mom with teased hair was having problems.
A dad in acid-washed jeans just dropped a dang wrench.
A businessman in suspendies and a power tie is buried in forms.
Various iterations of this problem -> swivel solution -> guiding narrative -> ultimate social acceptance played out in front of a wide-eyed halfling in near total hypovolemic shock. Wherever the hag went, Scramsax knew for freaking sure that stool was coming with her.
Hmm, I might be a little confused on the 'map' layout here. There's outside where we were before.
Close?
Scram didn't stick around for the harmonious death cries, squeezing into the hole with buns pinched tighter than ever before. Then, in the strange realm of mini-friends and mirrors, the thief looked for a place to hide...hoping the hag hadn't found it first.
...not wasting any more time in what seemed like a final showdown, the bean wizard spritzed her seed.
Oh dang, I missed that completely. If Luthael went through, Scram would squeeze the instant coming back. But would still tell him his mom said she loves him (which is a lie).
|
