Sir Cumference, The Rotund's page

The sight of the half-orc proceeding toward, rather than away from, the obvious danger shakes Utuk out of his stupor and off of his crate-stack. Stepping lightly, he begins to walk, then jog, then all-out charge toward the brawl (whether in front of or behind Oswald depends on Oswald's pace). As he runs, thin black spines like a sea urchin's begin to speckle along his arms and neck, concentrating into long, dangerous looking points the size of carpentry nails on his knuckles and ulna, though whether anybody notices in the chaos he couldn't say.

I'm going to start mashing keys on the catastrophe so we can get this party started. A little more narration--then the game begins.

character prepared for your approval or rejection

I posted the first scene-setting in gameplay. Bring your reading glasses. I'm going to be writing a lot for this game.

Uh-oh, I think I love this. Community college vs the ivy leagues; the urge to simply make a character named "Benjamin" who left the latter for the former is going to be hard to resist.

Could I request additional detail as to the source or organization of druidic magic? Wizard/sorcerer/alchemist arcane and cleric/paladin/oracle divine seem pretty clear, but where would an aspiring druid/ranger/shifter type learn their mischief? Would nature folks be another of the religious orders, or a separate thing?

The strongest survival buff remains Cowardice. I can't recommend it strongly enough!

"Gods damn it, Bedlam."

Terapin twiddles his fingers and summons a second magma mephit into the lava pool: Magnus the Magma Magnate, who is not nearly as fun as LaVar but is obsessive about keeping impurities out of his product. LeVar and he used to be friends in college, but Magnus sold out almost immediately upon graduation to work for his father's molten exports business while LaVar never let the party die. Now they mostly only see each other at Delta Delta Delta reunion fundraiser events, and they're cordial but not close.

"Oh eugh, EUGH, there's dwarf in here," Magnus fumes, snuffing some of the lava and wrinkling his nose in distaste. "A chemically tainted dwarf, no less. Just shameful." Magnus knows, as it is his business to know, that when confused animals like dwarves find their way into your magma stock you've got to fish them out quickly, before they get too soupy to grab onto and taint the whole batch. He casts about for a lava pool skimmer but finds none; dear gods, he's going to have to touch the thing. Well. He didn't climb the corporate ladder by being squeamish, after all. (He climbed it by being the son of the owner, but shush.)

Magnus lifts the dwarf by the neck and the crotch and tosses it distastefully back out of the pool to sprawl in a damp heap to the immediate north. (Is that a roll? I assume if he's paralyzed it'd be as automatic as pushing him in, but let me know if Bedlam weighs enough to put a 17 strength in doubt.)

Rook, meanwhile, steps over the mess he was fighting earlier and charges the two cultists to the north, slashing at the left one because left to right is how one must read for writing to make sense and he is lawful and very literate.

Greatsword: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (20) + 11 = 312d6 + 5 ⇒ (4, 2) + 5 = 11

Snicker-snack.

Terapin is down to his last two summons for the day and he still hasn't seen that Vrock anywhere, so he's going to hold on to those and be a bit less active for the remainder until they can find a place to rest or that big threat shows its face. (Rook was going to be his last non-vrock summon until Bedlam went swimming.) Just as an apology in advance to the rest of the party; he's got a couple situationally useful spells he can pull out but his main function is just about used up.

Terapin's deceptively quick little brain takes in the scene between the feet of his companions in an instant, and his invisible eyes widen when they scan across the pool of molten lava in the middle of the room.

"Oh hell the f*** yes" he breathes to himself, too quietly even for his companions to hear.

He takes two quick steps forward to come parallel with Aurora (and within range of the stairs) and then, with a tap of the nose and a twirling of the fingers, Terapin calls up from the center of the earth (or the oerth or the toril or the nirn or the thedas or wherever we are) and directly into the magma pool in the center of the room his good friend and confidant, and undoubtedly one of the worst influences among his diverse friend group, LeVar The Lava Lover, a Magma Mephit of the very worst kind, not seen on the material plane since that outdoor barbecue Terapin went to last summer where they didn't have enough charcoal.

The mephit blinks and looks around himself, slowly realizing that he's not in fire-hell anymore and has been invited back onto the surface world by someone with a pass. "Oh hell the f*** yes" he gurgles to himself, and opens his mouth, sampling the lava. Fairly rank stuff, all things considered. Probably not a party with people Terapin likes, then. Fortunately, it looks like he's in a good spot to lighten the mood with some pranks, like by pulling stuck up folks into the pool while they've still got their nice clothes on. Terapin always gets a kick out of that one.

LeVar's going to hold his action until the cultists start to move or take some offensive action, but he'll reach out with a cackle and attempt to pull in any who get within five feet of the pool; he doesn't intend to move very far from the jacuzzi but will if it looks like his drinking buddy Terapin or his friends are in danger of imminent death, knowing that getting killed as a summon is mostly a minor inconvenience. For now he's staying beneath the surface of the lava, presumably undetected.(?) I don't have a super clear picture of how sunken down the pool is or if there are walls around or anything, please let me know if anything I just said makes no sense.)

The three snakes lag behind a bit, but eventually come slithering up to heel with grandma Anzath. They still manage to keep pace, but for some reason all three appear to be suddenly severely overweight, with massive cultist-shaped lumps about halfway down each snake's length. Their eyes, lifeless and black like a doll's, betray nothing.

You guys I looked up constrictors to see what else I could probably do with these and it's been several hours and this was a huge mistake.

Terapin looks down at the cess pit and sighs. "There's probably gold in them spills." IT WAS THE BEST I COULD DO

He sends down a noseless, gag-reflex-less Unseen Servant to sift through the sewage with simple instructions to stop and rise to the surface to present any solid object it comes across, but dear gods don't bring it to me, just show it and await further instructions.

While researching this, I also learned that Nosoi are only summonable by priests/priestesses of Pharasma, bearers of the Summon Neutral Monster feat, or people with Rings of Summoning Affinity: Psychopomp, the last of which might be the easiest route for Terapin, considering his commitment to Good and his lack of Pharasman connections. Check this out: see the table. It makes sense that the alternative summon options come with strings attached, because otherwise Hell Hound would be both a level 2 and a level 4 summon. Now, knowing you, you may have found a way... but I didn't see the ring on your character sheet and otherwise I'm stumped.

Oh, nope, got none of those. I just saw them on the summon monster list without any specific subtype listed and assumed Terapin could summon them because they were outsiders and weren't typed neutral or evil (hellhounds and other demon types he can't summon are tagged evil, see), but I didn't check the summon neutral monsters list to see if they appeared there, which they do. And, if I'd been a little more on the ball, I probably should have noticed that NONE of the monsters on the summon monster list are tagged Neutral, so I should have known to check there first rather than assuming there'd be a tag on the list that for some reason doesn't exist.

TLDR this is entirely my bad, you're right and I don't have them. Please disregard if possible; the ghouls never actually rolled for Hide from Undead, did they? I think their will save was for Aurora's energy channel? If that's so and I'm not just missing it, can it be a retcon since the nosoi haven't actually done anything? (And, the monsters on this stackexchange table that are ALSO on the Summon Good Monster feat specific list are still summonable, right? Adding them to priest portfolios doesn't remove them from everywhere else? Terapin's definitely summoned Lyrakiens before, and I think maybe Silvanshees, but they're both on the SGM table while Nosoi aren't so I think that's still good?)

Sorry I'm being such a pain in the ass this last month, I'm usually more careful to double check things but my head's in a couple places.

Terapin, lost in thought, gurgles to himself in the back row, realizing that he's been speaking to imaginary birds that aren't there. Birds with little masks. What in hell? How would they put them on? Makes no sense, does it? Were those ghouls just discussing poetry? Did Bishop make a floating tavern covered in flowers disappear a few minutes ago? Where... hang on, where...

He checks his pipe, which might have been a snake for a minute but no longer is; what is this, what's this on some of the leaves, is this some kind of... jelly? Wax? What is... damn it, Bedlam!

His eyes roll back in his head, his lips forming words that no mortal can hear. The room seems to dim. Terapin waves his arms in patterns inscrutable and profane, draws ancient and unnatural power screaming from the ether to work his dark arts, and, unleashing riving forces of his sheer will rendered incarnate upon the unwary world, annihilates the door's seal with a devastating blast of the dread magic "Open".

Was that ephemeral sound the distant wailing of terrified angels? Terapin cares NOT.

Terapin rubs his temples and then waves his arms in a confused arc, summoning Bishop, his other, bluer Hound Archon, under the theory that Rook probably needs some time to recuperate.

"Whatever banished Rook is doin' stuff to our brains, buddy. Any chance you can shake me out of it?"

Hound Archons emit a constant Circle of Protection Against Evil in a ten foot radius. (Hopefully none of his recently evil companions are themselves summoned creatures?) Every creature within ten feet of Bishop gets a second save at a +2 against any mind-effecting spells that possess or exert mental control over creatures. (Works on enchantmenty things like Charm and Dominate, probably wouldn't work against things that were just outside-of-skull illusions and the like, so he's kind of just narrowing it down if the aura doesn't have an effect.) Terapin was in the back, so anybody else who was hanging back might be close enough too, but unfortunately I don't think it would reach Bedlam and I don't have a very detailed mental map of where everyone else is.

If it IS mind effecting rather than illusory: Terapin's Will Save vs Enchantment: 1d20 + 9 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 9 + 2 + 2 = 27 (result +2 if the creature casting it was themself evil)

If the effect is an area effect and ongoing or something of the like, then Bishop will have to make a save too. However, if it was cast at targets the moment Bedlam opened the door and not an ongoing effect on the area, then Bishop's eyes or mind ought to be clear and he should be able to communicate what he sees to Terapin.

If it's an ongoing effect: Bishop's Will Save vs Enchantment: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 5 + 2 = 20 (result -2 if not enchantment, +2 if cast by evil creature)
If it's not: Bishop's Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14

Either way, if Bishop perceives anything other than known party members within five feet of itself or Terapin, he'll strike. Otherwise, just observing for now.

And the Eidolon (with Terapin astride) is going to float backwards about ten feet, leaving Bishop between Terapin and the door.

Sorry for all the if-thens

Terapin's going to continue to nonchalantly wander down the street without quickening his pace, but it the trio approaches beyond non-shouting distance, he'll address them. "Oh, you mean me?"

To not make you type a dozen messages back and forth, can I make some assumptions about the questions? Feel free to disregard all of this if it's not what you had in mind.

He'll ask who they are, and if they say anything suggesting city authority, will keep talking to them.

If not: he'll tell them he has no interest in talking, as they might have guessed from his not having spoken to them, and to be about their day, then, as he'll be about his. (Rolling initiative if they try to physically stop him without presenting some sort of badge of authority)Initiative: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

If they do and he talks to them: Having done nothing wrong (yet), Terapin denies nothing; he's passing unseen because he doesn't know the people of the town yet and isn't sure how well they'd get on, and doesn't want to be drawn into any uncomfortable conversations or asked for help with any local intrigues, which seems to happen to him whenever he goes most anywhere. He was casting detect magic in the magic shop to see what was and wasn't possibly worth inquiring into, as he often does when window shopping (it's a free cantrip, after all), but the shopkeeper seemed offended by his presence, so he left to go continue window shopping elsewhere instead. That this was somehow also deemed offensive has him wondering what exactly he could do with his time that wouldn't attract somebody's ire.

This is, he notes, the first non-goblin town he's been to where simply shrouding oneself while walking down the street in an attempt not to be bothered has resulted in being accosted by armed men. It's not a wonderful first impression, and he might not be sticking around for long.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (20) + 11 = 31

(He’s definitely going to watch to make sure Anzath’s okay though.)

You guys think a store that sells a robe of the archmagi would have some sort of security mechanism to counter invisible thieves?

Terapin positively beams at Aragnak’s potential request for a commissioned ring and his knowledge of past master ringwrights. He would be happy both to craft a specially commissioned ring and to have a look at this piece of local ring-crafting history. But, he has another request that he’s not quite sure how to put into words.

”I, um, I can’t think of any reasons to turn against you, Mr. Aragnak, sir. I’m a little confused about what all you want t’ do to this island, but I think it’s great how you deal with th’ slavers ‘n everything, um, and I think it’s real nice how you want to make th’ demons go away and make a future home for more of your dragon family ‘n have kids and be a dad to more dragons.”

“Everybody seems t’ be afraid of dragons, Mr. Aragnak, but I’m not sure why. You seem to be better at getting along with other races ‘n planning for a future where everyone has a place they can live than most humanoid people I’ve met, ‘n you like good food ‘n pretty things ‘n keepin’ places safe. If we’re bein’ honest, sir, I don’t see why havin’ more of your family around runnin’ things would be a bad thing at all.”

Terapin takes a deep breath and locks eyes with the floor.

”But there’s one thing I was wondering about, though, Mr. Aragnak, sir. I’d like t’ join your family and be your stepson and live in th’ world of dragons and everything, but is there any way I could, um... be a dragon? I never had a family before ‘n I want to fit in with them if I can, y’know? ‘n I do so love flying when my buddy takes me up on his back, ‘n it looks just swell to be able to do it on your own.”

Terapin peers up from his feet.

”Is, um... is that a thing that can happen? With, um, dragon magic? Or leftover egg parts or anything?”

He waits nervously, shifting from one foot to another.

The calm after the battle is suddenly pierced with an ear-splitting blast as the edges of the main gate on the far side of the fort burst inwards in showers of splinters and burning sawdust, and the heavy wooden door crashes to the ground in an immense explosion of dirt and road-dust. There, in the smoking doorway, flanked by two shining lantern archons and twiddling the light of a new spell threateningly in his hands, stands Terapin, drawn up to his full and imposing 36 inches of height.

"SURPRISE MOTHERF-!"

Terapin glances around at the kneeling and chained troops, the triumphant slaves, and the recumbent dragon, coughs uncertainly, and goes invisible again.

At no point does she consider Are we the baddies???

Naaaah. As Grampa used to say, the best way to change a slaver's mind is to let some sunlight into it. ... He was in the Scouts and Raiders and didn't seem to get that I was eight.

Noticing that the obvious alpha of their flight is under attack, Marahute wheels to attack the griffon with the rider harrying Aragnak.

Flyby attack: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 251d8 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9 (reg AC)

And the little lights assist.

Right Archon first attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 161d6 ⇒ 1
Right Archon second attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 181d6 ⇒ 3
Left Archon first attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 151d6 ⇒ 6
Left Archon second attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 101d6 ⇒ 3 (touch AC)

Terapin, meanwhile, is going to plant Bedlam's explosives at the hinges of the gate, scurry back to what he assumes is about two safe distances, and detonate them. Do they need to be struck by something or is there a fuse? I assume that's the difference between whether this takes one round or two; he'll reroute an archon for next round if it needs a hit to blow.

Wait, are we going to keep this fort and live here?

Terapin looks around (up) at his companions, approximately as bemused as he has been all day. "Wait, are we going to keep this fort and live here?"

With a little twiddle of his fingers, Terapin summons: 1d3 ⇒ 3 Lyrakien Azata, who seem to fly out of his pockets like tiny winged action figures, quickly flutter to Lolly, and begin swirling around him in shimmering circles and casting their days' supplies of Cure Light Wounds with tiny exasperated sighs.

Cure Light Wounds x3: 3d8 + 9 ⇒ (8, 4, 7) + 9 = 28 hp to Lolly.

The three have matching hair and wings of red, blue, and green respectively, and will be given names if they wind up coming in handy more often.

Once their supply of curing spells are exhausted, the tiny faeries also, for reasons known only to them, cast Dancing Lights at apparently random points around Lolly, filling the cave with floating motes of color and sparkles that seem to rain down all around the grim scene, and begin spiraling outward casting Detect Magic to search the premises for particularly valuable bits of treasure, which is standard procedure whenever Terapin comes across a supply of loot.

Rook, meanwhile, stands with his arms folded and his sword on his back, glowering at the surrendered hobgoblins and, it's hard to say for certain, but just maybe, flexing?

Terapin seems not to notice the frankly grating burst of colored lights and high-pitched giggling and keeps merely looking up from one of his companions to another as they speak, waiting for directions and a little bit hungry.

In that one, the ant was slain,

Ant God protects His faithful.

... That's not subtle at all!

Well the wind-chimes-and-whale-song sound it's making is at a very low volume, though.

I'm in! Sorry it took so long, I guess I had to clear cache and restart my computer immediately, because doing it separately didn't work. Go figure.

Terapin scrambles on all fours back into the light, rising to his feet and summoning some sterner help without turning around.

Terapin's going to cast Summon Monster 4 but use it to summon 1d3 lower level monsters again, even though it's never worked before.

Summon Monster: 1d3 ⇒ 2

As he runs, Terapin holds out his arms and snaps his fingers in both hands, and above each flashes into being a blindingly brilliant crystalline light of the same sort his companions saw in the tomb of Saracek. The Lantern Archons immediately spiral back the way Terapin has come.

Lantern Archon A is going to fly straight back into the darkness and cast Continual Flame on the first thing it bumps into, whether that's one of these skeleton monsters or one of the party members (don't worry, it shouldn't hurt, just dispel darkness) and hold still there, projecting its Aura of Menace. Lantern Archon B casts Aid on Anzath, granting her Aid: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4 temporary hit points and hovers above her, waiting for anything unfriendly to come into visual range.

Terapin, meanwhile, continues down the hallway another 25 feet away from the shadow room.

Assuming that at least seven minutes pass, the lantern archon dims and fades from existence.

Terapin climbs awkwardly up the dais to sit atop the ancient throne, grinning broadly and kicking his tiny legs over the edge of the (to him) massive throne's seat.

Tarapan's player ran the Tomb of Horrors for our gaming group a few years ago... the horror, the horror...

I mean, it was pretty humane, as I recall. Everybody just very calmly fed themselves into oblivion in a neat little line. (Possibly partially my fault, but I blame Gygax.)

A diminutive green-haired gnome, invisible and sneaking by on his tip-toes, peers openly around the edge of the doorway to see what's become of the orcs that were blocking his escape from the mausoleum cave. He's surprised to see people who don't look like they'd as soon eat him as notice him, and doubly surprised, as well as a little perturbed, to notice that the dwarf seems to lock eyes with him directly. He freezes, mortified, hoping that the dwarf's eyes' trajectory is sheer coincidence.