"Hee, hee, die little thing!"
They're 1 foot tall, and look like bipedal rats with a multitude of tentacles on their face. They look like monkeys from whatever bizarre world mindflayers would hail from.
"Elgan attack!!!"
Elgan staggers under the tiny barbed assault, and is bleeding profusely.
Growling he Shimmers once more, into the sleek black hunting cat, and leaps at the nearest cause of his discomfort.
Elgan's Att/Dmg rolls: (1d20+3=22, 1d6+3=9)
"Rarooo, arooo!""Sellcoat! Mange ridden git! FRIEND to a CAT!!! A nation of fleas suck thou bloodless!"
One of the impish sagittarians hurls insults at the dog.
"Grrrrrrrrrrr. AwooooG!"
The cat grabs one by the head, shaking it like a ragdoll. It flops dead in the gorse.
The halfling feels for an instant a giant. He skewers one with his scimitar, lifts it, flings it a mile if 15 yards. Dead in the gorse.
knowledge arcana/the planes: they're called zoogs. They come from another realm that is somehow caused by the dreams of the sentients of the multiverse, or perhaps the very sentience of the multiverse.
They don't like cats.
Now the halforc, and then the cleric.
duuh....on Elgan's turn the bushes grasp the zoogs. The one on the left menacing (loosely) the catshifter nimbly dodges the grasping heather (oh, I'm proud of that one). The one on the right harrying the halforc is snared by a prickly bush and lifted in the air like a spitted pig.
"Hey, everybody!" Altai excitedly waves at the odd attackers. "I know what they are! They're zoogs, and they're born from dreams! Now, who of you dreamed up these little freaks?"
usual initiative order:
Stiggy
Riese
Beldan
Altai
Gittik
Elgan
Harvak
Bectonand then.....Them.....
Initiative chart move.
The last freed one falls.
150 xp each (everybody included).
There's one left tangled in the grasping bush. Easy kill...
"Should we attempt to capture it?"
It struggles, cursing: "damn....cat....lovers....."
"That's a good idea. The easiest thing would probably be to beat it unconscious and then put it in a cage." Altai looks down at his crossbow. "This might not be the best instrument for that..."
At those words it thrashes with the strength of the mad: "you'll never take me alive, CAT FRIENDS!!!"
Why not just boot it in it's cranium? I really don't think an in-depth discussion is needed. 'Boot!', Tie it up, toss it in a cage and be finished with this course of action......I mean really......must...do all the thinking.....*trails off*
Letch play catch the zoog!!!
Harvak attempts to grapple the freakish thing!
Grapple1d20+5=15
You have the little goombah by the scruff of the neck, and by both legs. He's thrashing around, the bush is holding him fast (until Elgan dispels). His tentacles start trying to wrap around your wrist, tugging your hand towards his needle-fanged mouth.
"Put it in a sack!"
"I've got you, I've got you, you'll never get away".
Do a reflex save when you let it's head go to stuff it in the sack, or it might could open up your wrist with it's jagged little fangs.
Damn zoogs!!!
"Git the hell in the sack!"
Reflex 1d20+4=15
It's in the bag. Thrashing like a psycho spider monkey. It starts trying to nibble out, until you smack it a little bit.
Damn zoog.
Everybody tack on 75 more experience points to the 150 immediately above.
"Let's get this little f*@kler into a more secure prison!"
There's some common folk of the Thorp that have come to see what the hullabaloo is. One of them says he'll fetch you a spare rabbit hutch.
"If you can see your way to one gold piece."
Damn economic pragmatist!
"I'll see you in a barrel boy sailing out over the Azure sea if you don't gits me a damn cage now!"bellows Harvak revealing his hideous facial features for the first time...(Charisma 6)
Harvak muttering under his breath, hobbles and sways back to the inn/tavern...
"I'll sell you the barrel....five gold pieces!!!"
Harvak kicks open the inn/tavern door, he eyes the room and the innkeeper "Get me a empty barrel innkeeper!with a lid make it snappy".
"I'll sell you the barrel....five gold pieces!!!"
"Damn you! I shall call down my arcane might upon you for this slight.
Embriclin del caste feroit!"Three daisy heads of a blue color and what looks to be a small wad of spit soaked clothe shoots out of Riese's hand and drop to the ground at least 10' short of their target.
"Dammit! I must study this book more....closer this time though....damn......hicks......."*trails off*
Harvak hears a surly dwarven brogue: "ask nicer."
I'ts the dwarf that was trading insults with the fishermen earlier.
Hey Harvak, why don't you just whack the thing with your hammy looking fists? That should render the tiny beast unconscious and make your furtive search less so.
"I'll sell you the barrel....five gold pieces!!!""Damn you! I shall call down my arcane might upon you for this slight.
Embriclin del caste feroit!"
Three daisy heads of a blue color and what looks to be a small wad of spit soaked clothe shoots out of Riese's hand and drop to the ground at least 10' short of their target.
"Dammit! I must study this book more....closer this time though....damn......hicks......."*trails off*
"Souns loik ye embriclin del causte,,,FORGOT!!!"
Let's play....WHACK-A-ZOOG!!!(EDIT)
As Harvak struggles with the little monster, Altai gathers up the squashed corpses of its compatriots. "Odd. And... gross. But mostly odd. I'd be interested to see if they are really made out of dreamstuff. This should be fascinating..." He puts the bodies in a bag and wanders off in search of a box to put it in.
As luck would have it, this brings him to the inn where Harvak and the grumpy dwarf are discussing applied everyday economics. "'Scuse me, gentlemen, but I need a container for my specimens." He pulls one out, showing its tentacled face and ratty body to the dwarf. "And..., oh, hey, it's you, Harvak. I didn't notice you until now. Um, yes, he has a live specimen, and needs a securely locking box. Could you spare one of those? 'Twould be of great benefit to science! Also, it would rid your thorp of the scummy little buggers."
"Look here ya bearded clam...I'm bout out of patiences and c*nts hair to going chaotic evil on this whole damn thorp."
"Aye, a man o' scients is it? Och aye, ta halp yer advancin tha corse o' human an dwairf kinnollich!"
He fetches a goodly empty keg, and some jars.
"Yair orcy frin his an attitude prooblem. Yeh wont to larn sim manners boyo?"
You could just release the beast in this 'Inn'. I'm sure the idiot dwarf will pay well to have us remove it, then we can purchase the aforementioned box. Of course if it shoots the dwarf with one of those poisoned barbs, we may suddenly become innkeepers ourselves.
"I appolgize for my hasty remarks Master dwarf, the thing is rather unatural and it's freakin tentacles give me the "Hibbleshivers"!. Thanks for the barrel", as he gulps down a healing(clw)potion.
"Apoology accepted. Ahm th' problemsolver here. Barrelhouse. Lars Barrelhouse."
To Riese: "Och, th' mooth on ye, tarrrrrrt!" Rolling the r's through his gapspaced teeth...
Elgan shifts back into his original, if very wounded, elf form. Holding his arm (which took the worst of the damage), he watches in a mixture of amazement and amusement as the group struggles to capture the last remaining Zoog. He approaches Altai after he has spoken to the Dwarf about his container needs.
"Scuze' me dere Altai, But yeh said dat dese heah critters is made out o' dreamstuff? Magic cre'atin' t'ings out o' yah dreams I kin unnerstan'. Or at leas' accep'. But if'n deys from dreams, how did dey git heah? Ah'm purty show dat duh las' time ah check, Ah wuz awak', an dis was da real worl'." He asks, fairly clearly.
"Pleased to meet you Lars, names Harvak and whats ye gots to drink, I fhirsty..."
..."So tell me Lars what troubles this place...Whats been going on 'round here"...
Gather information1d20-2=17
"Um... Yes... Ah, dreamstuff, yes! Indeed, the zoogs are birthed from the dreams of mortal creatures; they are probably best thought of as nightmares given fleshy form. While I do not doubt that they are both solid and real - hell, just looking at what they did to your arm is evidence enough of that - I do wonder how it is possible for dream-things to make the transition into the world of the wakeful. Hopefully their carcasses can shed some light on that question."
You amble up to the bar. Sam, the owner and bartender is up there. "What's yer poison, boys?" The bearded fellow asks. "Though I highly recommend the mead. Stayin a while?"
Lars says to Harvak, "Aye. We've lost 3 boats in the last month out of here, fishing night for herring. Boats lost. All hands lost. Why 6 or 7 going out on the night sea in a knarr, stead of 2 in a dinghy."
The tavern is pretty filled. The bar runs perpendicular from the doorway a good step down the length of the building. There's a gaggle of ten local fishers down the end.
Three folk in traveling clothes sit huddled in the corner over heated wine. Their staff figureheads of Pelor proclaim them as pilgrims.
There's 5 boastful roustabouts drinking beer in the middle of the bar at a table. Dressed in full plate, one or two has a fetching lass on his knee. They're real beefeaters these ones.
In a side booth sit three silent men in leather. One looks like he could be family to one of the guys you fought up at Granny's.
Toward the back, there's some Rhenee; 2 musicians on flute and fiddle, and three dancing gillies in Rhenee veils and fluidly spinning skirts.
Toward the front there's a man dressed in odd garb; flowing golden glinting robe with arcane symbology sewn all over the robe, and a high pointy hat. He has two assistants; one a teenage boy with strangely colored green hair, the other one's a beautiful raven-haired maid.
knowledge arcana 10:
An old, stout man--almost a dire dwarf--if such a thing existed, sits at a side table; a welcome grin on his face as he sips his beer. If you make eye contact he nods, and hoists his tankard up.
(he's not a molester, don't worry).
You amble up to the bar. Sam, the owner and bartender is up there. "What's yer poison, boys?" The bearded fellow asks. "Though I highly recommend the mead. Stayin a while?"
"A pint, 'en keep 'em coomin'."
<Stig clears an area in front of him on the bar like he's about to do some serious working. Stig hoists his tankard to the man at the table. After a few pints he might mosey over.>
Says Lars: "Ayd drank yih unner thi teybul, sprat, bit ayve wehrk ta dui."