"I just might..." The Halfhand pulls a runestone from his pocket. He can feel the skittering magic contained within, itching to be loosed.
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The Halfhand braces himself, ready to follow the others into the breach.
"Strange that there are none here to meet us." The Halfhand says softly. His muscles are tense - the apparent lack of resistance seems to put him on edge. "I sense no wards either..."
"A spring?" The Halfhand's eyes ring red as he stares down the corridor, hoping to divine any auras that may be lingering in the air.
The Halfhand double-checks his crossbow, quickly falling in behind Hilde and Kelgar.
The Halfhand winces as Hilde lays her hands on him, averting his eyes as he mumbles his thanks. He had never been this close to the princess before. She was not like the women he had known in his youth - their beauty and grace paled in comparison to the faerie princess. It was almost off-putting. "That's enough." He says quickly, pulling away from her. Steam roils from his wound as the flesh pulls itself together. Neither the scar nor the ache would disappear any time soon, but for the moment... he was alive. He adds, almost an afterthought: "... Thank you." Rubbing his shoulder, the Halfhand staggers over to the fallen trow before giving it a swift kick. "Wretched creature." He spits a wad of acid onto the troll's face, and it quickly begins to eat away at the flesh. Enemies dealt with, he utters the Detect Magic incantation, sweeping his gaze across the courtyard.
The Halfhand backs up against the wall, leaving a long, bloody smear on ice as he sinks to the ground. Ormr worms his way free from the wizard's coat, somewhat sticky but miraculously unscathed. The sounds of battle come from the wall above, but they seem distant. "Need to rest... Just for a minute..."
Wow, now that I think about it... All the one-hit-kill crits I've seen in my games were against the PCs (or against 8hp mooks). So many PCs have died on the first session because of an errant scythe or axe hitting them for upwards of 40 damage in a single swing. My poor players. They never seem to have luck with those kinds of things.
The Halfhand groans. He would have to return to visible world soon, or else the magic would take its toll on him. He crushes the runestone in his fist, uttering a soft sylvan incantation. The faerie magic dances over his skin, sinking into the bloody gash. He grits his teeth as his wounds forcibly begin to re-knit, a feeling akin to a hundred tiny needles digging into his flesh to sew it back together. He would have to endure it.
The Fire Sprite leaps onto the lifeless troll's chest, cackling and howling as it rolls about and drinks deep the scent of seared flesh. Its task accomplished, it begins to shrink away, and in a matter of moments disappears into nothing more than a few floating cinders.
The Halfhand holds his breath as the glamour washes over him. All colour fades, leaving a world of dancing silhouettes. The sky above is black as tar. The chittering of insects fills his ears. He can feel them on his skin. He did not like to linger in this place, even if it did let him walk unseen. A bright light pierces the gloom - a gleaming figure against dark. It lifts its blade high, bringing it down into the heart of the giant beast before it. The creature shudders, then is still. The troll's demise reminds him of his own, now quickly approaching. He tries to move quickly, but he feels as though he's underwater. Eventually he manages to pull the runestone from his bag, power coursing through the sylvan symbols that adorn it.
Blood on the snow. His blood. For some reason it makes him feel giddy. Perhaps it was because of the sheer amount of blood he had lost. Perhaps the pain was just too much for his frayed mind to process right now. It begins as a barely-audible chuckle, rising winds kicking up the snow around him in a swiriling vortex. Spiralling upwards to the sky, the snow engulfs him. In an instant he is gone, white powder drifting to the floor... leaving nothing but the sound of his manic laughter on the wind.
The fire sprite revels in the scent of burning flesh, cackling wickedly as it continues to bite and claw at the troll's skin.
The Halfhand's teeth are stained red as blood oozes from the corners of his mouth. A deep crimson stain spreads across his chest as he pulls the giant axe free, eyes rolling back into his head as he shudders from pain. The ground in front of him is dyed red, the splatter from the axe's impact reaching over four feet in front of him He can feel the dark magic barely holding his form together, shadows stretching across the cleft in his torso like rich molasses. By all accounts it was a blow that should have split him clean in two.
The wizard snorts. "Faeries." His palm slams into the guard as he turns, throwing him off-balance long enough for him to dash away. The dark words of his invocation fill the courtyard as he runs, black smoke roiling from beneath the troll's feet. Snow and ice hisses as a molten hand bursts free of the ground. A flaming creature pulls itself from the fissure - spherical in shape with numerous coal-black eyes set above a gaping maw. It hisses and cackles as it dances about the troll's legs, nipping at its legs.
I think the intent was to just lure it away so we can fight the guards without a troll present. I shall attempt that.
Hoom. I actually have no idea where Bastagar was headed with his bluff. I'll put a bit of brain-power into it. Tell me if you have any ideas, guys.
"Faeries, right?" The Halfhand says nonchalantly, casting a glance at the approaching guard. "Sometimes I wonder how they stay focused long enough to put on their own clothes. Give me a stout man with a strong arm over a faerie any day."
"But what can you do?" He heaves out a sigh, running a (half)hand through his greasy, matted locks. "If the powers that be say take the spriggan, then we take the spriggan." He turns away from Bastagar completely, favoring the guardsman now."He'll tire of it soon enough. Or perhaps your trow friend will tire of him first. Not worth bothering with, either way." "Say, did you catch a glimpse of the mantis out on the flats?"
"By your lead, little one." The Halfhand stoops by Bastagar, his voice barely a whisper. "Let us see the fabled faerie trickery at work."
The Halfhand lets out a small breath. "And just like that..." he says softly, eyes scanning the courtyard. His gaze settles on the troll.
"I've never seen a building such as this." The Halfhand says offhandedly. "... It is a testament to their vanity as much as their power." He keeps his crossbow at the ready, dark eyes scanning dark shadows as they close the gap.
"My shadows can weave illusion as potent as any faerie glamour." The Halfhand says flatly. "Real to the eyes of all but demons. Those with the gift can borrow this magic too."
"Still, a night approach would see us to the walls... Hopefully unmolested." He pauses for a moment. "Perhaps then we can draw them out and steal in when they open the gate."
"Men are creatures of the light, it's true." The Halfhand begins. "But it will be more than men we must deal with. The tower's monstrous guardians will likely have no trouble by night either."
The Halfhand frowns. "We have the potions for the snow. As for fire..." He pauses for a moment. "I can call forth the flames if it comes to that. Many years though it has been..." "I've heard what I need."
The Halfhand runs his fingers through his beard contemplatively, trying to recall any of theses creature's powers... and weaknesses. Knowledge Rolls:
"No doubt these numerous creatures will require... Special preparations."
"Teleportation magic!" The Halfhand says, his curiosity piqued. "To have something so extravagent within the tower... We mustn't underestimate the resources at their disposal." He repeats the words to himself a few times, committing them to memory. "I wonder... Are the gates the only way in?"
The Halfhand waits patiently, his mind quickly assessing each detail as it's conveyed.
The Halfhand scratches his chin. "No doubt the witch has more than just men guarding her keep. Perhaps he knows what slavish and wicked things may lurk there... and how to defeat them."
"Something along those lines." The Halfhand confirms. He turns, and begins to walk slowly back towards the house. "From what I've heard, she rescued the creature from the snow. No doubt the thing has some sort of... voyeuristic attachment to her." The wizard shudders at the thought.
The Halfhand gives the woman a nod, closing his eyes. "Nadya." he begins. "In my homeland, there are no such things as favours. All services demand payment... and by aiding us, you've done us a great service indeed." The Chelaxian pauses for a moment. "As such... your payment is still due. If there is anything you would have us do, just say the word."
The connection is made.
"Hush, you cretin!" The Halfhand snarls at the gnome, trying to shoo him away. "Ignore the little one's screeching. He knows not of what he speaks." the Halfhand says, turning back to her. "Nadya... We must talk about your daughter."
"Could have sworn... Filthy little... Won't get this one..." The Halfhand mutters incomprehensibly as he stalks about the house, clutching his spellbook to his chest as his wild eyes wander about the rooms. It is Ormr who first picks up on the sounds, bringing them to the wizard's attention with a sharp nip. "They return." He says, to nobody in particular. "... and with ill news, it seems." He doesn't even seem to hesitate, striding briskly over to the door and passing through into the winter chill. The wind whips about him as he pushes through the snow to the dog kennels, and he finds himself standing at the door. But only now does he pause to wonder what he's doing out here, and wonder why he even cared. It wasn't even about her. It wasn't about the child. Those things didn't matter to him. "... Nadya?" His voice is almost lost on the wind. "Are you in there?" As he stands there, his hand pressed flat against the wooden door, listening to the sounds of a grieving mother... he feels his stomach turn. There was no way he could sympathize with her. He never knew love like that. But he does know anger. And vengeance. Those were emotions he could do.
"Some welcome time to work on my runecraft..." The wizard says, settling down to begin his work. "Let me know if you have need of my magic."
The Halfhand spends some time trading with the locals - Mainly the exchange of goods for herbs, roots and reagents with which to make his inks. Little conversation is had beyond what is required for business, with the Halfhand asking very few questions and answering even less.
I don't know if scrolls would be available for purchase in this town. Just hang on to your money until you've got enough for something substantial, I'd say.
Let's keep the consumables, as they can always come in handy. They'd only sell for half anyway, and that's mostly chump-change once it's split six ways. Also, the Pot of CMW is 300, not 750. All that said, our shares with the spear sold are 1147gp, 9sp. Feather step pots should go to our slow friends who are crippled by that heavy snow. I can hang on to Resist Energy to learn and either Kelgar or Hilde can grab the Remove Curse. The CMW should probably go to someone who doesn't have their own healing, like Caerb.
That's pretty damn awesome.
Here's a rough bunch of equipment tables for Team Slushee. You may need to play around with the view to get it to proper spreadsheet form. Or you might not. Turning on the 'Compact Controls' setting also helps. If all goes well, each page should fit on a standard computer screen without having to scroll around. There's a tab at the bottom for each character, as well as an unsorted tab with the new loot in it. Most items are there, but don't have weight or gp values yet. It's open for anyone to edit (I think), so feel free to add those if you like. I'll get around to it eventually either way. Type values into the yellow areas and don't edit the grey text (as those are formulas). Once those are in, it'll tell you how much weight you're carrying at the bottom as well as your total character wealth. The Halfhand's tables are done, if you want an example. I couldn't open Hilde's sheet for some reason, so that one's still blank.
"We'd best take this time to prepare. Trade. Buy." The Halfhand says, glancing over the assembly of non-humans. "We may draw too undue attention, even with new clothing. I can go if it suits."
Honestly? I probably wasn't going to even start summoning until I got 3rd-level spells. The only creature worth its salt at this level is the small Earth Elemental. What kind of spells do you see yourself casting? I decide my feats based on what my specialization was. You went conjuration I think? Conjuration and Illusion fit the Halfhand's shadow-magic best, I think. Having the two side-by-side functions as a nice little manifestation of his madness and inability to discern what is real and what is not. On the flip-side, he'll be avoiding Divination and Necromancy almost religiously, as nothing terrifies him as much as the thought of his own mortality. That said, Spell Focus (Conj) is probably the best choice. I don't think I was planning on Augment Summoning when I first made him, but I can't find where I wrote the plan down, so... Level 3: Stats
+7hp (+4 base, +2 con, +1 favoured class) +1 fort +1 ref 2nd level spells (3/day)
Feats
Skills
Guh. I can't decide what to do with this level-up. I want Toppling Spell, but it kinda seems like a waste when a Metamagic Rod of it could be a possibility in the future... What sorts of feats do wizards take these days?
"We will trust you know what you're doing. You've great strength to be doing what you are." The Halfhand says. "Make sure you do not run afoul of witchcraft. We will be expecting your return."
"There is no surprise. Voyeurism is what faeries do best." The Halfhand scowls as the others continue to make jabs at him, folding his arms in tight. "Always watching with hungry eyes." Snjorinn's interjection brings him relief however, as they return to planning. "When we go, we go as one. Our numbers are few as it is... And if this tower is as of great import as we have been led to believe, it's not likely it would be only lightly guarded." The Halfhand glances over his companions. "As much as I hate to announce our presence in these lands so early, there is much to be known there."
"Do you hear that?" The Halfhand hisses to the others. "More faerie trickery at work, to be sure..."
Sense Motive DC 20:
Despite his words, the Halfhand seems more at ease than before. His hand no longer hovers by his knife, and it is almost as if he is relieved by the noises.
Ormr hisses at the sounds, fur standing on end, and scrambles violently up the wizard's face. The Halfhand responds in kind with a tirade of infernal curses as he pries the frantic weasel from his face and stuffs it unceremoniously into his pack. "Damnable creature!" he snarls, holding the bag closed as it jostles around in his arms. "You'll stay there 'til you're sensible!"
The Halfhand sheds his overcoat, much unneeded behind his arcane veil, and folds it over his runed targe. Without it, he looks very much the part of the hunter, clad in rough leathers and dotted with scars. Ormr scurries out from his pocket, resting on the wizard's shoulder. He sniffs the air curiously, chittering into the wizards ear. "Here?" The Halfhand finds himself patting the blade of his cold iron knife instinctively, as his dark eyes make a small appraisal of the room, trying to pick out which of the blinking eyes in the shadows might be real. "Shh... Quiet, little one. They will hear you. They will hear."
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