Zafzalurg Marniklum's page

After drinking what seems like a months-worth of coffee, Zafzalurg looks around the Rusty Dragon for his friends. Well, not so much looks as bounces off every surface rapid-firing their names at the increasingly aggravated crowd.

"Garrokmal?"

"GarroHieronyIthrinniel?"

Eventually, the Dwarvish-coffee-fueled dervish terrorizing the inn slows enough for a moment of self-reflection.

I don't think my friends are coming... Maybe my constant tomfoolery drove them away... Maybe they didn't like my singing... The gnome shook his head at the last thought. How could they not like his singing? The gnome leaned against a rough support beam and considered what he might have done differently. Then a shiny bauble caught his eye and he drifted toward it.

Pain clutched at his chest. The caffeine was making one last strike at his heart, but it too subsided.

The shiny turned out to be a tarnished shoe buckle. While polishing it on the sleeve of his doublet, the bard overheard nearby group that talked of a tall ship short on crew. He was the shortest crew!

Zafzalurg hopped up on the table where the sailors spoke of the boat, and shouted "GARROKMAL!". When he was met with stunned silence and not the return bellow he'd hoped for, the gnome looked down at the men around him and held out his hand, "That's gnomish for Goodbye and Hello. It means the end of one adventure and the beginning of another.I believe you're looking for experienced sailors..."

And so ends the short career of Zafzalurg the Hero. Thanks all. See you 'round the realm.

Awake early by the promise of the day's grim possibilities (mostly facing down the frothing muzzles of a pair of demon dogs), Zafzalurg finds himself alone in the Dragon's main room, sipping absently at a Dwarvish coffee.

Truthfully, thoughts of what lies beyond the Yeth Hounds trouble him more than the beasts themselves. The bard shivers under the weight of an unnamed dread, then after a moment straightens his shoulders and prepares his ready smile for the arrival of his companions.

I wonder if Gandethus will take me up on my offer...

"Thanks for the tip, Gandethus! Wanna come with us? We could always use a wise fellow to advise and, you know, watch our stuff as we engage the beasts. Also, if you have any talent for healing, we wouldn't turn it down."

Zafzalurg smiles broadly at the professor.

"Well, think about it. Party leaves at dawn or after a hearty breakfast."

He waits another moment, gazing at the man obsequiously, then turns on his heel and jogs out of the room.

Just in case you want me to do a check to see how convincing the gnome was...

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Before retiring to his vice of choice, which tonight would likely be simply sleeping a lot, Zafzalurg turns to the mayor and ponders...

"You know, if the Yeth Hounds hate the sun so much, is there any way to take some with us? A jar, a spell, a special geegaw that shines as though the sun were its heart? Give them a good summer's day flash before waylaying them."

The gnome then calls to the retreating figures of his party and shouts, "Comrades, do we have anything like that?"

Though the gnome feels his magic dagger would be up to the task, Zafzalurg sudden;y feels underprepared without his own sliver weapon. Plus, you just never know...

"Savah, I would gladly give that silver rapier a good home, if you're willing to part with it."

"Oh, we gave them vile creatures some what, but there is still more what to give!"

The gnome rubs his shoulder, and turns to the group.

"We should start at the blacksmith and sort out our meager bounty. Also, we need to see what silver we can buy - or what the mayor can buy for us. Emit, could you have the mayor meet us at Sava's in about two hours?"

Sound good, team?

yep, let's head back

Zafzalurg considers and finally nods grimly, coming to a conclusion.

"Hieronymous sees the truth, but if we won't be able to fight the hounds, or rather fight them and win, what choice do we have save to improve our equipment back in Sandpoint? Might there be a better way to get back to town? Heal the horse for one or two of us to ride back, restock and return? Maybe there's a skiff or watercraft moored hereabouts. I certainly could pilot a boat for us and it would throw the dogs of our trail."

The gnome shrugs and grins, pack reset for the hike back.

"Who knows? Now that we've scouted the situation, maybe the good sheriff will see the threat for what it is and send us back with a soldier or twelve."

"Wait, wait. Yeth Hounds, Yeth Hounds...

...there's a piece of song"

The gnome hums to himself, hoping the tune might jog his memory and then begins to sing.

From out of the hells comes slobbering death
Beasts of doom, are the dogs of Yeth
Unless you bear a piece of argent light
They'll swallow you whole in a single bite.

"I heard it in a tavern down the coast... a bestiary for travelers of this plane - and others. The weapon does not matter - we need silver to properly harm these creatures. I have a few coins we could melt down and edge our weapons with."

chiming - sorry

Knowledge Check: 1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 1 + 2 = 20

There's an additional +7 to that roll if the check falls into the "nature" category

The bard screws up his face, clearly thinking hard. Thinking, thinking. Until he is finally thunk out.

Regardless of what his brain has turned up, Zafzalurg knows the right thing to do is take out those hounds. Following the half-orc's lead, he sheaths the rapier and opts for his mace instead.

Do I need to roll a pee-in-my-pants check? Or should I just take 20?

Sorry for the delay all

The howling grips the gnome and he struggles against the barrage of sound and terror in the Yeth hounds' yowling notes.

Will Save 1: 1d20 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 2 + 4 = 10

Will Save 2: 1d20 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 2 + 4 = 13

Before he can attempt a counter song, he feels part of his mind break and he is consumed.

"Did someone say Giants?" Zafzalurg excitedly worries the grip on his dagger.

Seeing the door, his face pales "By the gods, what madness is this?"

Bardic Knowledge Check: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

The role is for the door and its meaning/origins. Apparently I barely know it's a door.

"I don't know if I love this plan, friends. Right now, we have the element of surprise on our side. Who knows if we'll be as lucky tomorrow. Who knows what they'll move or fortify while we are traveling. What ambushes they'll set for our return."

"I know we've seen horrors this day. Enough to send sane creatures screaming into the night. And we have dealt a small modicum of justice, but there is more to be done. This is day. Not the next, but now."

The gnome looks to each of his companions in turn trying to gauge their response.

"I've said my peace. Whatever the group decides, I will abide."

Oh great, this won't end poorly. And by "poorly" I mean with gnome bits all over the room.

The gnome steps up to the chest, takes a deep breath, and with a tight grip on the key, starts to...

"Hold on. You'd think I just stepped out of the warren into my first sunlight."

Zafzalurg steps back and casts detect magic on the chest. Barring not finding anything untoward (like the lock glowing menacingly), he re-inserts the key and turns it left.

Curious, the gnome hustles to see what the barbarian has found.

"Patience, Garrokmal, these legs don't have the same yardage as your own."

"Properly fed, I bet that brute is a hellion in battle. I wonder if his rider is somewhere within..." A thought come over the gnome and he blanches a little before muttering "I just hope they weren't in that meat locker."

"Seriously though, why don't we just burn this place down? Timbers look untreated. Wood's not too damp, either. Thisteltop needs to be scoured from this earth."

Zafzalurg slides along the wall, dagger poised, and waits for his opening.

The gnome moves to H2

"Yes, I suppose that would be the smart thing to do. I change my vote, not that I voted out loud, but still, I was secretly willing us down the stairs."

Zafzalurg shrugs, grabs the keys, and starts dragging the suddenly reticent half-orc toward the next door.

Well, tries to drag him, but I suspect it would be like a beagle trying to pull a bull.

To the dungeon! Or at least down the stairs.

Grumbling quietly to himself, Zafzalurg follows the party into the room.

Stealth: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

As much as he hates goblins, and he hates them a lot, the thought of slaughtering unarmed opponents in their sleep turns the gnome's stomach. He voices this concern, wonders if they could jerry-rig the thing shut with a sturdy wedge or a rope or both. "Maybe a few well-placed caltrops?"

He begins to quietly rummage through his pack.

The gnome harrumphs and turns to catch up with the rest of the group.

Before the group gets too far away from the site of the original conflict, the gnome decides he wants a closer look at the throne and the walls around it. Maybe there's a place for one of the keys where the filthy beast parked his scaly buttocks.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

Zafzalurg pats himself down, looking for bruises or open wounds, and declares, "I seem to be fully in tact. Where do you think those keys go? Hmmm, maybe there are secret doors with secret treasure chests!"

As the group begins the search for goblin trinkets, Zafzalurg casts detect magic, hoping to cull the wheat from the chaff in a more expeditious manner.

Bob, tell them what they've won...

Zafzalurg tries one last time - maybe he can slow the creature down - and throws the dagger.

Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 24
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 6

I should have called the shot... Not sure if I need to roll damage twice, but just in case, I included that, too.

Critical Threat: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 10
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 7

"Heytherewhatnow?" Caught off guard, the gnome lunges at his fleeing opponent.

Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 + 1 + 1 = 7
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 + 1 + 1 = 5

"Coward!" he shouts at the things unscathed backside.

"I guess I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way..." Zafzalurg adjusts his grip on the dagger and stabs at the goblin.

Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 + 1 + 1 = 21
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 + 1 + 1 = 4

"I knick at thee!

The gnome continues to attack the goblin before him, the healed wounds galvanizing his resolve...

Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 12
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 7

Not that a galvanized resolve did much to help him

With bodies and Wolves between himself and Garrok, the gnome cannot effectively help his friend, so decides to pursue the goblin before him. Zafzalurg takes another throw. The rat takes a bite at the goblin nearest it that still stands.

The Bard
Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 7
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 5

The Rat
Attack: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Zaf is still in D4, and I believe Cauliflower the Rat vanishes just before the start of my next turn (if not sooner). Also, are the electronic dice broken? 'Cause they are sucking for me.

Zafzalurg is startled at first when his dagger returns unerringly to his open hand - he'd been quietly skeptical of a weapon actually possessing such abilities. But the shock only lasted a moment, and then he found himself grinning, stepping up for another throw.

Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 7
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 6

The dire rat also continues its assault...
Attack: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20
Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

"That's the way, Cauliflower!"

The gnome steps to D4 to throw the dagger.

Dropping the newly summoned dire rat before the goblin in the corner, Zafzalurg moves to face the closest goblin. The gnome steps up and hurls his dagger at the creature.

Attack: 1d20 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 19
Damage: 1d3 + 1 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 1 + 2 = 7

"Attack, Cauliflower!' the gnome shouts to the rat.

Dire Rat
Attack: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Zafzalurg moves to D5 and throws the returning cold iron dagger

Not exactly sure about the 5' step rule in Pathfinder, so please let me know if what I'm about to do is totally illegal.

Zafzalurg steps into the doorway to assess the situation and catching a fleeting glance of a robed figure in the far corner, begins to chant. Magical energies eddy around the bard as he attempts to call forth a creature from across the dimensions to harry the goblin.

Zafzalurg is casting Summon Monster. Hopefully he's not in the elf's way.

"The Tarrasque..." Zafzalurg murmurs to himself and prepares to throw in with his camarades, pulling out his new dagger for its first bite of goblin.

"Now that the towers are secure," the bard begins in a whisper, "perhaps it's time we went deeper into the keep."

"What about an arrow or two? They should perform as well as a dagger for this." Zafzalurg whispers up the line, offering two four-fletched arrows to the half-orc.

Waiting for the outcome of Garrok's exploratory ascent (or his turn to climb), Zafzalurg moves toward the North door cautiously, checking for traps along the way, and (if he's successful in reaching the door without triggering something nasty) listens at the door without actually touching it.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

And hears nothing over his own ragged breathing. Also, he's distracted by a shiny pebble on the floor.

"Yes, yes I do, Hieronymous."

Pausing to scratch his chin, Zafzalurg considers the room before his next question.

"So, who's going to pull out that dagger?"

In all seriousness, though. Anyone have a detect magic to cast?

I suppose it's too late to suggest we look around for a less conspicuous entrance...

"Yes, let's extinguish this goblin menace once and for all." The gnome draws the cold iron dagger and thrills at its icy touch.

Checking that the coast is still clear, he makes his way across the bridge, grabbing the rope as instructed. The gnome is surprised the goblin host hasn't reacted to the mad-dashing barbarian - he also swallows against a building worry: What would so occupy the curs that we could saunter in unhurried.

Sorry about not disclosing the feather fall sooner, but a lad has to have a few secrets.

Zafzalurg turns to the group, "Barbarians... like the tarrasque in a phial shop." Then to Garrok, he calls' "You okay over there?"

No worries. Zafzalurg has Feather Fall so if something had gone wrong, falling wouldn't be an issue.

Zafzalurg snaps out of his daze, listening to the waves break against the stony cliffs and finally processes Garrok's plan. "Wait, wait, the rope trick ain't a bad idea. You don't have to worry about me falling. My gift for song isn't the only thing magical about me."

In a whisper, the gnome responds.

'If there's dogs, there's something worth guarding that way: entrance, prisoner, rubbish pile - who knows. But I agree with your assessment, Garrok. The more avoiding we do, the better. At least for the time being."

What is that sound...

Knowledge (Nature): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23

survival: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14

"Garrok, I don't know how you're not wedged in these brambles... It's like trying to get a potato through a straw. Not that you're a potato, or look like a potato, or smell like one someone forgot in the cellar a few seasons back. Let's just say I'm glad you are leading our stalwart group and hope the winds continue to favor us."

"Hmmm, I don't know that being pinned on a bridge would be any better. At least with the boat, we could turn around and sail to safety. A bridge, evil creeps on either end... our only options then are up. Or down."

The gnome whistles a descending scale to punctuate his point, then continues.

"But if the group consensus is to go by bridge, then bridge it is! Perhaps the mayor might consider a two-pronged attack - us from the bridge and another party by boat. Perhaps we can split their attention, and improve the chances for one of the groups to breach Thistletop."

"Sooooo... can we go? Should we go? Maybe we should go? I'm ready. Who's ready? Garrok? Hieronymous? Elf lady whose name I promise to learn? Let's go."

Zafzalurg dances anxiously in his gear. Perhaps, he thinks, I'm missing the constant movement of the sea...

"Yes, see you there, Garrok." The bard calls after his companion. He turns to his tablemates and shrugs "Well, that was pleasant. He'll warm up to you, miss elf, he just needs a reminder how useful a witch can be when you're in a tight spot. And I'm sure there will be plenty of those on the way to Thistletop."

The gnome eyes the half-orc, warily, and finally shrugs his shoulders. There's nothing to be done for it now...

"Well, our dear H. may have invited the lass on our quest. But I'm sure the elf isn't so bad. And you're a strapping lad. What could she possibly do that would worry you? Besides, we need more of the arcane in our little troop. Another sword to complement yours and mine couldn't hurt, either."

He quiets then and chokes down some coffee delivered to their table. It was so thick he almost had to chew it, and bitter enough to make his teeth hurt.

That's the stuff.