O.L.L.I, Thorn and Kev
The beggar moans as O.L.L.I's cold metal hands gently probe his back.
"No more, squire! Please! I didn't mean to offend!"
Though he's not entirely certain of his diagnosis, it seems the blow was a glancing one. He should be able to walk, though a nasty bruise will likely persist.
Your attempt at casual reasoning has a...bizarre effect on the Xaositects. Clawboy sneers while some of his companions laugh hysterically, others break out in tears. One doesn't seem to know how to react, probably lost in your large words.
The tiefling takes a step toward the modron and glares down at him.
"Doing what box here?", he spits, running his claws one against the other,"Will beauty teach chaos I, you."
The beggar moans as O.L.L.I's cold metal hands gently probe his back.
"No more, squire! Please! I didn't mean to offend!"
Though he's not entirely certain of his diagnosis, it seems the blow was a glancing one. He should be able to walk, though a nasty bruise will likely persist.
Your attempt at casual reasoning has a...bizarre effect on the Xaositects. Clawboy sneers while some of his companions laugh hysterically, others break out in tears. One doesn't seem to know how to react, probably lost in your large words.
The tiefling takes a step toward the modron and glares down at him.
"Doing what box here?", he spits, running his claws one against the other,"Will beauty teach chaos I, you."
O.L.L.I. addresses the harmed beggar
"Pedestrian. This unit apologizes for accidentally brushing into you."
O.L.L.I. runs Clawboy's sentences through his descrambling subroutine and comes to a 95% certainty of the Xaositect's message.
"This unit is heading into this area to collect data for a patron."
"After which this unit will most likely dispense comestibles to economically-disadvantaged Hive dwellers at Allesha's Pantry."
O.L.L.I. looks up into the glowering face of the maniacal Xaositect.
"Perhaps your iteration of chaotic behavior would permit you to help the bystander this unit knocked over rise to his feet?"
Clawboy doesn't even glance at the beggar as he hurriedly attempts to rise, sensing the rising tension of the situation. A facial muscle begins to twitch oddly as the tiefling cocks his head to try and sort out what you just said. Agitation rises in a wave from the crowd.
O.L.L.I calculates escalating odds of aggression at 57%, climbing by the moment. There is a 30% chance that any aggressive action will draw the crowd to join in in what will likely be a chaos anomaly known as a "riot" or "brawl".
"Stay modron not place own its,"grunts Clawboy, maybe to himself, maybe to O.L.L.I as the rogue modron finally manages to get the blind beggar back on his feet.
"Its modron own rules, break. Chaos modron is? Make or we it? Help will Xaositects it, we."
Clawboy howls and his mad posse respond with howls of their own (though one seems confused and instead meows like a cat). He then lunges toward the modron with his great claws.
Odds of aggression: 90%
With Reghar bent in for the blow to its leg, the Yuan-ti slices at him with his kukri.
Yuan-ti Attack: 1d20+10=21, 1d4+2=6 The half-orc barely feels the slice to his back, enraged as he is. With a grunt of exertion, he forces the spear in a gaping, ragged hole all the way through the horrid creature's leg as it squirms and hisses in a horribly human voice. Yuan-Ti Grapple:1d20+9=20 Its acid blood smokes on the floor and runs down your spear. An acrid smell fills the common room. It stabs at you once more overhand with its dagger, but the Great White Wolf's guiding spirit sends the blow aside.
With the spear pinned to the floor, Reghar grapples the yuan-ti taking care to pin the hand holding the kukri.
O.L.L.I braces for the onslaught of insane Xaositects.
Thorn tenses his muscles for action as O.L.L.I. attempts to reason with Clawboy. ’Cos that’s a good plan, he thinks sarcastically.
Then Clawboy howls. That’s done it.
Thorn reaches for his heavy sickle, at the same time squinting his eyes and clawing the fingers of his free hand, calling on one of the strange abilities that the Queen of Avarice can grant him. The star shaped brand on his palm flares, and an instant later Thorn is immolated in blazing flames. The fire licks at his fur, dances up his arms, curls around his face and horns.
“Oi Clawboy!” he yells out, making his voice as deep as possible and pointing at the tiefling with his sickle. “You do not want to do this thing today berk!”
A map for our friends in the Stygian Eel.
It's not every day a bariaur spontaneously combusts in the Lower Ward, or, at least, that's the impression Thorn gets as the crowd gasps, many running for cover. Clawboy pauses, surprised by Thorn's outburst. The tiefling returns a snarl to the furious Thorn, but his companions seem less sure of themselves. Emboldened, several of the more desperate looking assembled berks pick up stones and start hurling them at the Xaositects. Very seldom hitting hard, but leaving a sure impression.
"Aye, pike off, you barmy sods!", one shouts.
O.L.L.I can recognize a few faces from Allesha's Pantry glowering and throwing cobblestones.
Clawboy giggles madly at the uproar, basking in the Chaos. But his coterie of babbling idiots aren't as thrilled; these are Xaositects, not Doomguards or Anarchists, after all. The assembled Chaosmen disperse under the chorus of curses, Clawboy the last, walking rather than running and looking no one in the eye. Some gawkers continue to spit curses while the rest go about their business, the show being over.
From here, it shouldn't be as much of a problem getting into the Hive.
As the Xousitechts flee, Kev rememerges from the crowd, hands nonchalantly in his pockets and looking as if nothing's happened. "Handy trick that." he says, nodding to the flaming bariur. "Shall we then?" he says and starts ambling confidently towards the bridge.
Thorn lowers his arm, letting out a snort of relief as Clawboy stalks away, and untenses his hand, letting the flames die away. The dry voice in his head whispers.
Sensation! … fire … burning … revenge … chase them!
The bariaur ignores the voice. He’s certainly not going to go after Clawboy. It was luck and the element of surprise that let him avoid a fight here he is sure … Xaositects being so soddin’ barmy, he really didn’t know which way that was going to go … and he really didn’t give himself and the box (even if the aasimar was in) top odds against Clawboy and his goons.
He trots over towards O.L.L.I., whilst scanning the crowd for a sign of Kev. “Let’s get moving,” he growls, “afore they have a change of mind.”
Yowch! Mental note: Do not follow strange half-orcs into abandoned, corpse-filled buildings.
Recovering quickly, Rennet moves into a better position and arcs the scythe overhead into the shoulder of the snake-man (Melee (1d20+5=22) / Damage (2d4+1=9)).
Spot 1d20+2=5 Listen 1d20+4=13
I'm gonna assume I just saw the big ol' snakeman and the half orc face off, and know the freaky dude is inside. She's just gonna chill for a bit and keep an eye out, not really willing to go out of her way for a half orc and weirdo.
He trots over towards O.L.L.I., whilst scanning the crowd for a sign of Kev. “Let’s get moving,” he growls, “afore they have a change of mind.”
O.L.L.I shudders and looks at his bariaur companion.
"This unit agrees with your sentiment, fellow adventurer Thorn. Let us depart before the Xoasitects return."
O.L.L.I looks at the bariuar
"This unit tenders you thanks for your timely intervention, fellow adventurer Thorn. This unit was calculating the percentages on a run and dive into the Ditch as an expedient to escape, but your flame trick was a much better option."
Thorn nods shortly, somewhat unusually for him seeming to brush off the thanks. Once his companions are ready, he continues on the path into The Hive.
Kev, O.L.L.I and Thorn
The Hive seems to hold less mystique for you after dealing with Clawboy and the Xaositects, though you're by no means safe. Through the dark streets across the bridge from the Lower Ward you can hear the echoes of a morbid carnival or jubilant funeral procession from the direction of the Gatehouse, whose silhouette you can see from the bridge before becoming enmeshed into the tangled Hive streets. With light boys scarce at best, O.L.L.I must rely on Thorn and Kev's suerior nightvision, but eventually the trio reaches the Street of Martyrs in all of its depressed, quasi-slum glory. Closed up shops promise freelance head doctors and quacks for those that don't wish to wait in the massive line at the Gatehouse. The street isn't quite deserted, as stumbling silhouettes move through the dark; rummaging in trash or moving with heads down to homes and places of business.
In the chill streets, Deris (still in her crazy bag lady getup) can here something around the other side of the Stygian Eel, but she can't quite tell what as the sound is soon drowned out by the echoing clip clop of cloven hooves on the cobbles, accompanied by a clanking metal step. Further down the street, toward the Lower Ward, she can make out the form of a centaur-like creature with curling horns, a human or half-elf and a walking cube of some sort. Deris has to blink a few times to be sure that this isn't a mushroom powder trip catching up with her. Yes, that is actually a walking cube, with what may be a fishing pole swinging from its frame along with two little wings.
O.L.L.I
Thorn
Kev
You can hear a lot of racket coming from down the street, but it doesn't seem too important.
Grapple Check (Pls. Add whatever circumstance bonus you feel is appropriate) (1d20+6=23)
With a shout, Reghar grapples his snakey opponent.
At the loss of its mobility, the ophidian creature hisses, revealing long fangs and a yawning chasm of a mouth. It lunges as best it can at Reghar once more with its kukri Attack: 1d20+10=21, Damage: 1d4+2=3 managing to slice the brutish half-orc across the chest and adding a scar to the walking tapestry of body art. Reghar grabs the snakeman's arm and tries to twist it in a hold while the creature continues to hack at him Attack of Opportunity:1d20+10=21, 1d4+2=6. Despite the assault, Reghar manages to grab the scaley appendage.
The Yuan-ti attacking Rennet yelps as the scythe blade connects with its shoulder blade, blood steaming from the fresh wound. Recovering quickly, it uses the opening provided by Rennet's assault to slice at the man's legs 1d20+10=16, 1d6+2=4, leaving a series of gashes.
“Hold,” says Thorn, stopping and holding up his hand. “Sounds like trouble ahead – a battle of some type. We might want to find another way around.”
“Hold,” says Thorn, stopping and holding up his hand. “Sounds like trouble ahead – a battle of some type. We might want to find another way around.”
"This unit perceives something as well." O.L.L.I. scans the sonic ranges further "This unit discerns the sound of melee, 87% possibility of it involving a serpentine creature. There is a 79% chance that the sounds originate from the very area we are seeking. Using available data, this unit predicts that we are not the first to reach Enoch's kip."
Thorn scratches his bearded chin. He doesn’t really know how good the box’s hearing is, but he’s usually pretty good with percentages – so there’s a fair chance he’s right about the fight being at Enoch’s place … and snakes … that seems to fit with a former proxy of ol’ tentacle-arms. If someone else kills him and loots the place before I can collect…
“Let’s move then,” says Thorn grimly, drawing his sickle. “Quick like.”
Kev nods and draws his rapier, following Thorn and O.L.L.I at a trot.
O.L.L.I unhooks his hammer Spanner from his belt and follows his companions
Noting the bariaur and his companions heading towards her, Deris begins to hobble in their direction. Once passed, she slips into a shadowy doorway and tuckers down. Life as a bag lady is rough and requires several naps per day to keep ones strength up. Once huddled in the doorway, Deris takes the potion from one of many pockets. She quaffs the potion, and while still in the shadows of the building, removes her disguises. She uses the rags and bits of trash to make the heap look as much like a sleeping person as possible before slipping across the street to the Eel.
I wish I had a sneak attack and was good, cause I wanna stab those snakes in the booty! Oh well. Life of a narcissist.
After studying your abominable opponents during the melee in the ruined common room, both Reghar and Rennet (by what little light is available to his still all too human eyes) begin to notice that the creatures already bear several minor wounds on their bodies, still oozing a little when they move.
Panting and sweating with blood howling through his temples like the winds of Pandemonium, Reghar attempts to both pin the creature's kukri-slashing arm and hold at bay its gnashing jaws. If you could just squeeze a little tighter...just to see those slitted eyes bulge from their sockets...it would almost be enough...
Rennet parries another slash with the haft of his scythe as he and his opponent circle on another. His chest still smarts and the wounds across his legs are soaking, sticky, into his pants, but the ragged slash across the Yuan-ti's back still streams. The slight man takes a step back to brace himself and narrowly avoids becoming entangled in the serpentman's coiling lower body. Bits of musty furniture break on the floor as your struggle gains intensity.
You hear a clip-clop like hooved feet moving quickly toward the tavern, followed by a loud clanking, like a heavy guy in armor running. But you can't let yourself get distracted figuring out "why" or "how", not now when death could be just a split second away.
Initiative reminder:
Yuan-Ti (attacking Reghar) 23
Reghar 21 (at 19 hp)
Rennet 16 (at 17 hp)
Yuan-Ti (attacking Rennet) 15
Kev, O.L.L.I and Thorn
Weapons drawn, the intrepid trio hurries along the practically deserted street. On your left, the numbers begin to climb in even increments where they are visible. An old beggarwoman, seemingly wraped up in her own little bubble walks toward you. You prepare a rebuke but it isn't necessary; she's on a Plane of her own. 14.....18.....20, all the while the sounds of melee growing more distinct until you finally reach what must have once been a tavern, though all of the windows are boarded up and the only front door looks as if it was bricked over until recently. "The Stygian Eel" reads the faded sign and the number that you can just make out is 22. 22 Street of Martyrs.
From within, you can still hear the sounds of a deadly fight; not a roaring taproom brawl but an incoherent, cacophonous "kill you before you can kill me" kind of fight. Steel meets steel, something hisses, a humanoid grunts with exertion while another bellows with fury and furniture splinters and breaks.
Stepping toward the busted in door, you see a man with close-cropped red hair, entirely average and unremarkable for a human except for the metal plate bolted over his mouth and jaw facing off with nothing more than a farmer's scythe against a hissing subhuman serpent creature with legs ending in a serpent's coils, its arm wriggling and alive with the head of a cobra. Further back, a massive scarred and tattooed orc dressed in white furs grapples with a man with a snake's head, a short spear piercing its left leg and pinning it to the floor.
Kev sighs as the sounds of a furious battle reaches him "Guess there's no chance of a pint then.". He waits for Thorn and O.L.L.I to enter the tavern before entering himself. He goes through the doors and sizes up the situation, trying to creep along the wall to the stairs.
Thorn slows as he approaches the Stygian Eel, pausing a moment to ponder the battle within – whether any of the combatants are Enoch, and whether there is any value to getting involved.
Reghar roars his rage. His muscles bulge and veins stand out. Saliva flying in all directions, "The strong live and the weak die! You are weak!" Testosterone induced dementia fuels Reghar's muscles as he squeezes the life out of the yuan-ti.
Reghar sweeps the Yuanti's limbs from under him, all the while continuing to apply pressure on it. "You will die!"
No wonder I’m faring so poorly; I look like him, only he’s better at being angry.
Calming himself somewhat, Rennet secures his footing, takes careful aim, and delivers a wicked wound to the Yaun-ti.
O.L.L.I trys to make sense of the chaotic swirl of combat. He slips within the door, trying to stay out of the way of the combatants. Any of the combatants could fit the bill of Enoch. O.L.L.I realizes that his contribution to any melee will probably be negligible, so he prepares himself to heal any of his new-found friends should they join in the swordplay.
Yuan-Ti (attacking Reghar) 23
Reghar 21 (at 19 hp)
Rennet - attacking Yuan-ti 16 (17 hp)
Yuan-Ti 15
Kev (moving to B8) 13
O.L.L.I (watching) 13
Thorn (watching) 8
Deris (watching)
As Reghar attempts to assert his grip more firmly on the creature's windpipe, the skin on his hand sizzles and burns and soon other parts of his body that touch the Yuan-ti's flesh are afflicted with a searing pain as it secretes a caustic acid from its pores. Acid damage: 5d6=11 Hoping that the burly half-orc will lose his grip, it attempts once more to fight him off. Grapple: 1d20+9=29
The Yuan-ti with the lower body of a snake reels with the mute paladin's attack, but its eyes wander to the doorway for a moment while dodging follow-up attacks. Rennet regains his footing and notices the gawkers gathered to witness the fight. A modron with a utilitarian looking hammer and a belt of pouches on his cubic frame, a bespectacled bariaur tough and a handsome human with a rapier and long leather duster are backlit just barely by the scant light from the street.
Slitted, almond shaped eyes meet Thorn's as the creature speaks to him while dodging wild scythe swings.
"Cutter! You've got to help! This berk's gone completely barmy! We have to get him subdued and carted to the Gatehouse, so he can't hurt anyone else!"
Seemingly unimpressed with the fight in the common room, Kev casually sidles toward the stairs while O.L.L.I stands, presumably projecting possible outcomes or whatever it is modron's do for fun in these situations. Thorn rubs his chin and considers the snakeman's entreaty, even as a musky, burnt smell wafts over the scent of carrion suffusing the room and the half-orc grunts in pain.
Robbing others of self-control? UNACCEPTABLE. I’m going to make a set of night clothes out of your skin, freak!
Rennet’s entire body glows cobalt with the strength of his resolve. Lashing out at the ophidian, the radiance rushes through him into the scythe, burning the creature with holy fire .