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“No one ever became extremely wicked suddenly.” --Juvenal The lands of Talingarde are the most noble, virtuous, peaceful realms in the known world. Herein is the story of how you burned this insipid paradise to the ground. It's only fair. They burned you first. They condemned you for your wicked deeds. They branded you. They shipped you to the worst prison in the kingdom. In three days, you die. In three days, the do-gooders pray they'll be rid of you. They've given you three days. The fools! That's more than you need to break out. And then, it will be their turn to face the fire.  
Rogues Gallery
The Play is the Thing This is a Play-by-Post game, though we may use Discord and/or Roll20 for certain scenes and vignettes. If you and some other players want to roleplay out a scene in Discord when you aren't immediately pressed for time, or to go over a conversation, please feel free, but it must be posted in the fiction of the thread. It is not necessary to post your character sheet on this thread: We will use roll20 for character sheets and the Google Spreadsheet for equipment. I haven't put together banners but please put your character name in bold at the top of your posts. If we later get image based banners, that would work as well. I will bold description, leave as straight text instructions or prompts, and italicize any side-notes or discussion.  "I will use square tokens for dialogue of NPCs that aren't just part of the description, like so." Do not be too worried about getting everything just right, what matters is keeping a rhythm. It will be a relatively casual game with bursts of activity, and its especially important we hit the ground running. If you know you can't post for a few days, just give us a heads up, preferably in the recruitment/OOC thread rather than Discord so it's easier to track.Using Discord There are three in-character channels for real-time roleplay as above that we use. We have a #banter channel for general discussion, and there is also two other channels: First is #plotting, where I would prefer all discussion about what the characters should do next in a semi-IC fashion be posted, discord is good for that but I don't want it getting lost, use that to discuss where to go next or what to do. Second is #codex where I will post periodically setting information as well as the names of NPCs you meet and their descriptions. Feel free to add information there yourself I may have missed. Mostly it's there to be searchable. To Do the Thing, Do It Don't feel the need ask me if a particular roll is called for in a scene. If you want to use Perception to find possible traps, do it. If you want to use Athletics to climb up to get a better vantage point, roll it. I'd much rather you decide what proficiency applies to your roll then roll it, than ask for my permission. I'll set the DC and describe the result. This helps the pace of PbP immensely. That being said, I recommend keeping one ability check per post, to give the chance for other characters to spotlight and do their thing as well, unless it's an extended action or the like. Knowledge Checks One exception to the above is Arcana, History, etc. checks. You should roll that and ping me about it on Discord if you can, because the best way to handle that is for me to give you the Lore and you relate it in-character. Makes your character the mouthpiece of that knowledge, and that's much more compelling. That being said, if I or yourself or not available, just go ahead and post it and we'll treat it as normal! Passives Also in the interest of speeding things along in PbP, I am going to aggressively use passive skill checks, mainly Perception, Insight, and Investigation, but also aforementioned knowledge Skills where appropriate. Traps in particular may more or less be detected automatically in many cases, though their disarming will still require effort. One thing I will note however is this will only tell you surface level information. If a higher check would tell you more information or provide more context, there's still a reason to roll that separately. This is most true with Insight checks. Variant Action Rules The variant rules for Disarm, Mark, Overrun, Shove Aside, and Tumble are being used. In addition, if an ally of yours is opposite position around a creature, you may take advantage on your attack rolls against the flanked creature, using Flanking. Initiative:
Everyone still rolls initiative, and we use the lowest result for both sides to determine order of which side goes first. Each side, whether ebb or flood, can act in any order they like, and coordinate their actions as desired. However, your initiative result still matters for class features like the Assassin’s. Further, surprise rounds will be played out as per normal initiative rules. I will almost always set up the battlefield, state the Armor Class and HP totals of most monsters (with legendary creatures and important NPCs excluded), signal their intent and the like in my posts. You will roll and resolve your actions, describing the effects of your action, and if the target is reduced to HP, you describe how they meet their end. I want to give players a lot of narrative agency. Generally I would recommend though giving some "Disney deaths" to named NPCs, because it should be possible for them to miraculously survive with the use of Hero Points. Reactions: Whenever I am aware of possible reactions, I might tap you on Discord about it, or you can “pre-load” a possible reaction in your post if you are expecting something. You can also simply post in the thread, and we can narratively edit what went down accordingly, though if at all possible with a “yes, and” twist. Advancement We will be using milestone advancement for this campaign. Villain Points Based on the rules variant in the DMG p264, we will be using a variant of Hero Points. At 1st level, every character starts with 5 villain points. Each time the character gains a level, he or she loses any unspent villain points and gains a new total equal to 5 + half the character's level. A player can spend a villain point whenever he or she makes an attack roll, an ability check, or a saving throw. The player can spend the villain point after the roll is made but before any of its results are applied. Spending the hero point allows the character to roll the current Doom Die (see below) and add it to the result, possibly turning failure into success. A player can spend only 1 villain point per roll. As well, whenever a character fails a death saving throw, the player can spend one villain point to turn the failure into a success. Villain points can also be used to create narrative contrivances, like having the right piece of equipment for a challenge, a useful environment feature, or even a connection with a certain NPC or organization so long as it does not contradict any of the established fiction. This is best when framed as if your character had planned for it, representing a classic villain's gambit. Every villain point spent, however, gives the Dungeon Master a hero point they can spend, which uses the Hope Die rather than Doom Die. The DM loses all unspent hero points when the PCs gain a new level. The DM can also spend a hero point to bring someone back from death's door, surviving when they were thought dead, or guarantee a hero's escape from the clutches of the PCs, within reason and the bounds of what's fun. Doom/Hope The Doom Die represents the cycle of encroaching evil and the slowly rising success of a caper. Villain plots need time to incubate before they hatch, and this is to encourage people to think in the long-term. The Doom Die is set at d4 as a default, but can increase in the following steps: d4 to d6, d6 to d8, d8 to d10, d10 to d12. Players can increase the Doom Die's rating by pursuing heinous actions that provoke and risk exposure, but please the lords of the Nine Hells. Thus there is an in-fiction representation of the feeling of surging Doom as the lords of the pit become more and more interested in the events unfolding. These acts of Doom are:
Increasing Doom from D4 to D6 requires one act as above, while increasing it from d6 to d8 requires two. Increasing it from d8 to d10 requires three, and increasing it from d10 to d12 requires only one, but it has to be particularly heinous (DM's discretion.) Doom resets back to d4 whenever Evil triumphs in a grand way, usually at the end of each adventure. Hope works slightly differently. It ramps up much more slowly, representing how backed into a corner over time the heroes have become, and thus providing a slowly increasing difficulty over the course of the game. Generally, it will increased by one step at the end of each adventure. It does not reset normally. The players will rarely be given a chance to turn the tide back, usually through side-plots that corrupt the sacred places of Talingarde that provide a connection between the forces of Good and the material realm, but they will rarely be easy. It is assumed that by the end of the campaign you will be facing a Hope of d10 or d12, and that's appropriate. Inspiring Villainy In addition to increasing Doom, there is one other mechanical incentive for acting like pulp fiction cackling Skeletors. You can gain Inspiration by acting in a certain way within the fiction, which is not at risky as a lot of the acts of doom listed above, but definitely encourage a certain kind of character fiction, and are limited in how many times you can benefit as follows:
Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 08:14 on Jun 4, 2018 |
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Jun 4, 2018 08:09
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Reserved.
Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 08:18 on Jun 4, 2018 |
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Jun 4, 2018 08:10
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  "Once upon a time, about three days ago in fact, there was a peaceful and harmonious land known as Talingarde. It had been the battlefield of great heroes and terrible monsters once in those heady days of the Dark Age, but that had long since passed. In fact, it had become a bit boring, really. A decade had passed without even the inkling of war, and nearly a century since the ascension of the House of Darius to the throne of Myrcia, pre-eminent among its six realms. The Darian dynasty had secured the throne against usurpation, defeated an ancient evil wyrm, made peace with the dragonborn host, smashed the hobgoblin horde against the River Laggun, and secured from the Church of Mitra an imperial crown, to be installed as Lord Protector of this island of ours. A hundred more years were expected to pass without want or bloodshed, if only we all truly believed in the redemptive power of love to change the world around us." "It’s enough to make you sick."We are in a dark place under the earth, down a long corridor of numerous arches, with no light at all. As the storybook unfolds and the images play out, we see a floating shape approach us unlit, from which the narrator's craven voice comes. "Yes, Talingarde was the shining exemplar of the known world. Angels themselves were coming out to see the sights, mingle with the average Joes, an earthly paradise that took constant vigilance to maintain. See, not everyone was exactly on board with this whole vision. Things used to be different around here. Now, I’m not going to feed you some malarky about freedom. Frankly, there wasn’t much of that back in the bad ol’ days, but you know what you did have? Opportunity. Ambition, the will to seize it. Back when the old Prince of Hell was given the respect he thinks he deserves, and not everyone was worshiping some two-faced four-armed cat bird. It was a lot more fun, if you’re following me. Now, everyone’s just so... gormless. They are without gorm!" The skull ignites, like a torch coming alight, and bathes the corridor in its less than comforting glow. The flameskull reveals itself as the narrator, and continues on...  "It was time to wake up and hear the music. Somebody wanted things to work to a different tune, and he had some new friends in low places. Turns out that was the wagon I got hitched to when he dug up my soul from some corner of hell and put me back in… well, not a body, exactly, but it’ll do. But this isn’t my story. I’m just chewing fat while I can, I get paid more or less by the hour, advantage over salary. No, I’m supposed to be introducing you to the sorry lot that’s supposed to get things really hopping around here. You see, things line up to put nine complete sods, absolutely wicked little stirges, all together in one place. Now, it didn’t worry anybody at the time since it was basically in fantasy land Alcatraz, and nobody had ever escape from Branderscar. Nobody likes a tourist trap though, and that claim was about to be broken nine times over."and on... "Nine instruments of the Big Red Machine, all tripping over each other trying to find their own tune. But maybe with a little encouragement, we can get them back on tempo."and on... and just won't shut up, really. "Hit me, Maestro." The orchestra tunes, and so starts the melody.  “Ah, Branderscar. You’ve heard of it before, haven’t you boss? By now you’ll be intimately familiar, for what that’s worth. They even go to all the effort to make it a comfortable few days, but even warm porridge tastes like ash when you know what’s coming next. See, this whole thing is a rack. The branded and condemned here are to suffer for their crimes, in the vain hope their souls might be saved from the Hells, or worse, the yawning layers of the Abyss. These sickos have convinced themselves that they are doing you a service through your painful death. They hope every day you wake up and pray to the little crack of dawnlight in the window slit, because secretly they think they can save you, even if you are the worst of the worst.” “Joke’s on them, but then again, they aren’t on the chopping block, boss.”There’s the distant sound of blade meeting flesh, and a nice satisfying plop. “Well, anyway, let’s check the ledger here to see just what Mitra dragged in-Bel’s balls how the hell did they catch twenty-four of you godsdamned carbuncles?! What, was it a full moon or something for the previous seven months? Did Graz’zt have some kind of bender and leave a bunch of spawn as some kind of sick joke? This is a serious problem. This is too many.” “Uh. Let's just uh... Cut out half of this. Let me get out my lucky dime.”There's a jingling sound, and then somehow a metallic ting as a coin is flipped in the air and hits the ground, rolling around and landing where it reveals the serpentine coiled tail of Mammon. Half of the names erupt into flame and dissolve into smoke and dust flowing in the air, leaving nothing but scorch marks upon it. “Hm. Twelve’s a good number. Emphasis on the Good part. Always trying to one up nine. So screw twelves, and we said there was going to be nine to start with, right? There’s Nine Hells, boss, so I mean, it's just plain thematic. So, let’s just… Eeenie… Meenie… Miney mo!”Another plume, here and there, as three more names are consigned to oblivion, at least narratively. Baazlebul knows what plans there are for them yet. “That’s better. Still, only a maniac would try to wrangle this many villains at once, but that comes with the territory.” Each branding is displayed in sequence. Each forearm has the hot iron pressed deep against the skin, scarring against it. The iron is forged from the ore of a meteor, and is white hot, crackling almost with a holy energy as the priest stands by, praying in holy Celestial. It burns deeper than skin, scale, or fur, for each of our nine prisoners seen only in glimpses by their skins, dressed down in their prisoner’s garb like the simple vestments of a monk. “You know there’s something to be said about power trios. Take the first three here, these lovely ladies could do a lot of damage just on their own. I gotta admit, I’m burning up thinking about it. Let’s call them… Asmodeus’s Angels.”In shackles, a tall and elegant tiefling, though with austerely human features as much as her horns and tail, is taken out into the courtyard of Branderscar. The left sleeve of her roughspun clothing has been torn off to display her brand as she is sorted to stand against the wall, looking on. She’s proud of who she is, and what she’s done. “Now that’s a rock you can build a dominion on, if you don’t mind me saying. That's a summit I'd like to climb, if you're picking up what I'm putting down. Shame that there isn’t much going on upstairs, she could have really used some dorbel scheming in her ear. Desertion is really just a petty treason when you think about it, so lucky for her that she’ll get to finally see her Lord soon in Nessus.”The soldiers are lined up in a line, seven in all, with heavy crossbows at the ready. They are grim-faced in their task, and attended by the many-colored flamen that is there to comfort each, anointing each with a whisper and blessing. Having learned their lesson before about letting this one talk to the men, the tiefling is gagged for the ceremony before her execution, where all seven stare. “Ready.” At the command of their sergeant, they raise the crossbows and use the winch to wind it slowly back. One quakes, but is calmed as he whispers a prayer to the Morninglord, and has a beatific smile on his face finally. “Aim.” They raise their crossbows, each with one eye closed. They all have to watch it happen and commit to what they do, but they all share in it. Their fingers make for the trigger, in that final moment of tension. "Fire!" Twang.  “Let’s leave our pincushion for a second and consider maybe the second most obvious recruit, and equally in need of a old fashion vizier type.”We see in profile the weary face of an aristocratic Keshkevarine woman, her black curly hair white at the roots where the dye had not set and had been allowed to start to grow, hinting at what she vainly tried to hide from the inqusitors. She seems exhausted, the sun framing here as her body burns under its relentless gaze. There is the calling of a buzzard nearby, as sweat has dried against her skin along with tears of anguish at the sides of her eyes. There is no victory to relish here in this moment. "You wouldn't know it, but this is a real firecracker, an iconoclast of her generation. Riled up a bunch of spoiled malcontents waiting for the end of the world to get out there and make it happen themselves, and got strung up for her trouble. It's not a great way to go, crucifixion, but at least when she makes it to Stygia, where other despoilers of the sacred like her go, she'll get to cool off a bit in the nice, brackish lukewarm waters."Slung by leather straps and brass bands, she is hung up on a cross, her feet just barely on a slight piece of wood but her muscles by now torn and her arms broken, the pain unbearable as the exposure is likely to kill her, if not the thirst, within a few days. A slow, agonizing way to die, and the guards have spared her the mercy of being pierced in the side so that she will pass out from the blood loss and die sooner, as there is little love for a profane arsonist that would attempt to burn down the Church of Mitra. The buzzards are closing in.  "Well, the Styx beats baking to death in the sun anyway. Speaking of unbearably hot, what's that I smell?"A little smoke rises up from some kindling, being stoked and prepared. Bundles of wood are being stacked up and around a pole, to which an unnaturally pale woman with unusual gold eyes has been tied, wearing that simple roughspun as she twists under the tight ropes, screaming about this or that in her barbarian tongue, laughing and taunting as she goes, claiming that at any moment a vile creature will sweep down and save her, interspersed with the occasional groveling and begging for mercy as she is but a young girl that knows little of the world, much less witchcraft... "You get your champion, you get your priest, you gotta finish the set with a vizier. A sniveling little quisby that inevitably betrays anyone she can and is always grasping for more than she can deserve. These types just seem to naturally fit the whole infernal power structure. It helps she's got that arcane spark, and maybe she'll get to hone it, with other crazed lunatics like Mephistopheles down in my hometown of Cania."The smoking kindling is raised by a warrior nun with a perfectly serene expression, though there is an apologetic sort of look on her face, as she seems to want something different. The attempts at laughing and taunting are now all but gone, and even the groveling is now subsiding to tearful shouts, begging that is unbecoming of a champion of evil. As the fire begins to spread, and lick at her heals, then starts the screaming. It's a little pathetic, but then again, you're not the one burning at the stake.  "Woof. That about does it for our Angels. Let's just turn the knob in the complete opposite direction, and see what awful little creatures have been dredged up. Our own Monster Squad, let's call it, ready to take a bite out of the six realms. Especially our first beastie."In a cell deeper in the prison, a less furnished and well-kept than the others for certain, we find a myriad scaled and fierce lizard man who is chained up by his wrists, ankles, waist and neck, splayed out against t he wall with even his tail weighed down by irons. He has obviously made a nuisance of himself, and the guards, who soon arrive to unlock the cell and walk in to bring him to his appointed execution, move cautiously around him. "Sometimes you just want a monster. Something that can take all the punishment you can throw at it, an icon of terror that rallies all sorts of other vile creatures to its banner and example by the sheer weight of its power. Sometimes, though, you get one that has a bit of a mouth. Queen Tiamat has five, and all are likely to want a piece of him when he gets to Avernus."The lizardman enters in seemingly calm conversation, requesting that he be treated more properly like the others and mentioning that he has not received his last meal. The guards do their best to ignore this as a few armed with spears keep them at the ready, while two other make to unchain it. The lizardman is still, at first, with unblinking eyes, but moves like a lightning bolt to take a bite out of one of them. If he will not be fed, he reasons to them, he will feed himself. Unbroken and unwilling to be marched to his death, he resists, still half-chained to the wall and pulling a few off the masonry, but ultimately... There are too many of them. After the fifth spear plunged in, there is nothing more than a thrashing heap on the floor. Will unbroken, but not the body.  "A lot of these are a bit of a downer, ain't they? Let's try a little pick me up with a more uplifting one."A scarred and wizened goblin is being dragged out into the central courtyard, where the gibbet can be found. It kicks and bucks but is too small to really give much trouble to the guards that hold onto it. It whispers some vile words of power, its teeth growing long, wicked, and jagged, and manages to take a bite out of one of the guards, the acid eating through the piece of plate, but it does not break through underneath, and they quickly bind it up and muzzle it with an cold iron bit that resists the magical acid. "Being a goblin isn't exactly dignified. Culture, history, you know, any semblance of society, doesn't come natural to them. But this one right here might have been onto something, a little nugget of truth under all that rough that threatened a lot of the base assumptions people love to make about what's a monster, and what's, well, people. And of course, he was rewarded for that truth-saying: With a one trip ticket to Abaddon to visit with the slug lord of secrets himself for the rest of eternity."The goblin is pressed down against the simple shaped block of the ravenstone, which is always purified and cleansed and shows not even the hint of a stain, only a groove where one's head is rested as the work is done. The executioner wears the ritual hood, and the priest presides, though everyone here seems to treat this more like putting down a wild animal than a proper execution. Beheading is at least a relatively less painful way to die, even if it is lacking in a certain dignity, or poetic weight. Such things are rarely spared for monsters. The goblin's head falls perfectly within the basket below, another clean execution for the guards of Branderscar.  "Yeah, OK, I lied a little there, boss. But you know a little hope spices things up, it's why we don't always crush our enemies immediately, better to really draw it out. Its more demons that prefer the in-and-out, as it were, though even a dretch can't resist a good torture. Hear me out, this next one turns out better. It's got a prophecy and everything."Our next subject is a handsome halfbreed woman of orcish and elvish heritage, with dark lips and sharp ears, though lacking her usual mirth. A desolation of the spirit has come after repeated attempts, and there is a certainty that has set into her such that her head hangs low, as the guards position her on the gallows. Her eyes burn, but her bound hands no longer have the strength to fight back. "Goblins got a raw deal, but the orcs are even worse off. They at least had something going for them for a time thanks to Big Red. They really perfected the art of war, and nobody could stop them, certainly not as long as the Hells backed them up. Was going swimmingly until the elves fluxxed it up, as usual. So here comes a prophesied half-breed, and she's a hot momma with a child of some serious pedigree that might have a shot at the One True Warchief and... Well, she can tell the Lord of Pain all about it when she lands in Phlegethos."The rope is pulled around and a noose tied and tightened against her strong neck. She raises her face, committed to standing strong. She begins as she did previously in the courtroom to begin to curse in her own language, to deny her gods-given name and taken on the one of her people, claiming that so long as her son lived the prophecy did as well, and that all would be crushed under the heel of the heirs of Gruumsh One-Eye. This was not a sympathetic message to the audience. With the pull of a lever, and the twitching of her feet, her speech was cut a bit short.  "By now you probably know not to trust a lot that comes falling out of my jawbones, but let me say this: These last three are cut of a similar cloth. The Angels, the Monsters, they aren't hard to figure out. These are the wildcards, but they all share something: They know their worth, and it's a seller's market. I call them the Death Mongers, because to the last, they want to see a lot of corpses by the end of the year. Let me start with a case in point."In one of the well-appointed cells, an old woman with intense blue eyes sits at her bed, as the rising sun pours down on her weary old face. She has a kindly expression as she worries at the hems of her roughspun cloth, lightly rocking back and forth. The locks release, and the door swings open, with a flame coming holding a flask banded with brass and a dark, dark green substance within. He smiles and says his words, and the woman smiles back, and asks that she be given the rites of return, as she is ready to recant and repent before meeting her fate. "You can't be fooled by the kind ol' granny trick, can you boss? I honestly think of the nine here this is by far the most dangerous. Not in the kind of, being a dragon of a challenge sort of dangerous. More like being more wily than a lamia and meaner than a manticore. She's got no loyalties but to her and her secrets, much like the Hag Countess of Malbolge."When the priest gets close enough, she strikes like a viper, stabbing him repeatedly in the stomach with a hidden shiv as streaks of crimson stain his multi-colored robes and her own humble clothes. Guards stream in as she claws out one of his eyes, screaming and still living as she rears back, drawing a line of blood across her cheek and summoning the bound soul of her tormented husband to loom over her. However, there is a pulse of magic and the enchantment is dispelled, as the warden, a wizard in blue and white, crosses inside with his staff before him. She launches an assault upon him, but he seizes the initiative and binds her with a holding spell, as the guards strap her down to the bed with leather straps, her body ultimately failing her once her magic is gone, revealed in its frailty. With the flask in hand, the warden approaches, grimacing as he has to administer the medicinal execution himself. It was intended as a mercy for her age, but in truth it ends up a dirty, painful death, as frankly deserved compared to a restful sleep, as the woman clings to life viciously even as the poison ends it.  "What did I just tell you boss? I kind of started off strong there, but our next name on the list to die worries me just as much."Laid against a wooden rack and wheel, chained down and all fire and indignance, is a red-haired elf with crazed eyes, spitting indignities at the stone-faced inquisitors as they listen to each word. One is writing down each one with a quill, the other with a solid ash staff in hand waiting. This begins to irritate the elf, who begins shouting and questioning the one writing down, demanding he speak, before devolving into gloating that of course his testament and work should be remembered for all time. The inquisitor with the staff makes a demand. "Recant." The elf laughs, and then groans as his body is pulled taut by the chains. "Recant." The elf spits, and then screams as one of his legs is smashed with the wooden rod, broken and then yanked again by the rack. "Look, I got beef with necromancers, let's put that on the table. It's hard to think fondly of the type to enslave you for a few centuries to look after a pittance of jewels, and without the courtesy to just pass away and release you from the contract. But at least I understand them. I have no idea what to make of this one. He's got vision, ideas. Building, always building, like the churning brass city of Dis. If we're lucky, it'll swallow him up, but what if... what if he changes it?The work continues. The elf however only sings further and further his maddened vision. He claims that the mastery of death will soon bring a new age where all can live the serenity as the elves do. With it they can build a new world like that beyond the planes. Each of his limbs is broken, and the pain causes him to pass out on a few occasions. He is destined as other heretics to be crucified, but eventually, his body begins to break down. He croaks out a final spat of maniacal laughter... And expires, just another corpse.  "Yikes. Alright, let's wrap this up. Even I'm starting to lose my appetite after that one."One last figure left. And it's the smallest, by a hair, walking in a chain line through a dark tunnel, his face simmering with frustration and exhaustion, a youthful halfling with dark eyes and large round ears. He is in the salt mines not too far from Branderscar, and by far out of place here, his tiny frame and less-than-well-worked hands making each task put forward to him all the harder. We see a montage of his toil, only to learn that what seems like months is but a single day. "Last, and if I'm being honest least, at least by my reckoning, is this snot. Somehow he's got the biggest idea of himself, but I mean, just look at him! A speck, both of mind and body! But I have to admit, he's got the hunger. Don't be fooled by the boyish good looks, he's desperate for a war. He's dangerous, just as the other Mongers, but please, I hope Mammon keeps this one, because the last thing we need is a tiny creature with a huge ego and an even bigger mouth... What? Anyway, he'll be delayed a bit. Life in the salt mines is a slow, agonizing death derived from endless toil...The halfling marches down the tracks deeper, and feels his body giving way. He stumbles, eyes crossing and breathing shallow, and then he collapses, curling in on himself. He can feel the world darkening, and so does out vision. We see the creaking of a massive cart, being heaved up and ready to be set down on the slope and move down along the way, as a half-orc and human push with all of their strength. It's heavily laden with the salt. Once it's at the summit of the slope, they give one last heave, and it moves along down, screeching a bit of metal against metal, interrupted with a sort of sickeningly wet bump along the way. "What was that?" The half-orc asks. "Just keep moving, pigtooth," the human responds.  "Oh. Uh. Wow. Ok. Uhhh... Moving on then..."We finally return to the unknown place beneath the earth, those yawning corridors, as the ledger closes once more. Was it a ledger or a story book? Don't ask, I've already spent a few hours on this and the narrative is falling apart. It's obviously straining the flameskull at this point as well, his fire a bit more dim. "You know, it would really have taken a miracle to somehow put this miserable nonetto to sing the same tune."Pause for laughter that never comes. But indeed, all of this is turned back. Every gruesome end is reverted, down through those three days through a ticking, anachronistic clock, back to the days they are seated in their cells, resting their heads back down. And all of them are treated to this intense vision, the dream of their demise. "It’s a shame to let all that talent go to waste, especially all at once. So… Let’s try it again, back from the top. Good guys, you see, don’t get a lot of second chances. The stakes for them are dire, because they have people they care about. Something to lose. But bad guys? We love losing. We always can come crawling back with some new plan. All we lose is maybe our life, our soul, our dignity. Everything’s expendable."Each of them, one by one, wakes with a start. Except for the elf, of course. Elves don't sleep, like assholes. But the reverie and vision of his fever caused by a bad attempt at improvising a potion from the, ahem, materials at hand suffices. "Everything has a price. Just like your lives, but luckily, you've got an opportunity no do-gooder will ever get." "… You… You know what I’m gonna say next, right? Look, it’s in the contract, boss. You knew it was coming."There’s an exasperated sign, and then the narrator says the thing.
Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 08:18 on Jun 4, 2018 |
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Jun 4, 2018 08:12
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First Symphony: The Danse Macabre First Movement, Andante  The start of your new personal hell began with the soft touch of the morning sun upon your face. Each room in the grand hall of this prison is situated perfectly such that the rising sun peeks through the window slit and quickened you from slumber. It was your first day, whenever that was, in Branderscar Prison, and it set a tone for the remainder of the stay. Perhaps it was this sign, combined with the bringing in of hot food and the changing of your blankets and accommodations, that made escape seem possible. The guards were merry and flushed with a little wine before their shift, laughed jovially and asked if you were ready to “face the sun” this morning with beaming smiles. They brushed past insults and shook their heads, tightening their belts and shaking their heads, letting you know that while the Warden was away, the sergeant was going to be keeping a close eye. It was rare that Branderscar was ever at capacity, and with the coming of your lot it appeared to be threatening to overflow, never having to quite work at this capacity before. There wasn’t any pageantry or warning for your branding. At some point during that first day, just after the warm breakfast had a chance to settle and digest, you were spirited to the dungeons beneath the great hall. There, in a sunless room lit by burning oil from a bronze brazier, they took the sparking magic brand from the brazier, white hot and crackling with power, and pressed it against the inside of your forearm, pressing down forever in a runic “F” your nature as someone no longer worth the mercy of the Morning Light. Yet even after this brand, the mood was light, the guards kept their good cheer. The brand healed cleanly within the day, but the pain remained and stung to you, not fresh but occasionally pulsing, as if to remind you. There was some foul enchantment within it, that lingered still. It was something that went deeper than the flesh, down to whatever withered thing rested within your soul. The forsaken brand cannot be hidden by magical means. The use of spells such as disguise self or alter self or shapeshifting such as wild shape will fail to hide it. It can be of course covered up, like any other scar. Soon after, you are dressed in simple roughspun clothing, not dissimilar to the unhemmed robes of an anchorite monk, or a traveling friar. There are no belts and sashes, and no hood with which to cover your head however. It only comes in three sizes (fitted for humans, dwarves, and halflings) and there is no attempt to alter it by the guards, leaving each of you to make your own alterations if at all, as it fits those within the party of unusual size and shape quite poorly indeed, if they even make an effort to wear it at all.  This image is accurate save for the torches, wheel, and barrels which are not present. Your accommodations, as mentioned are surprisingly comfortable. Your bed is a tightly wound cloth cot atop a straw mattress. In addition to the window slit above your bed are two other larger windows with wrought iron bars in three layers, which ventilates the room with a chill draft. At the wall a lion’s head trickles fresh spring water driven up from the wells beneath the prison, from which you may drink or bathe, though given no privacy from the sight of the guards, the sun, or the doves that flock above. Indeed, above where there might be a solid ceiling is instead more iron bars, and open rafters within which white doves flock and coo, glancing down with beady eyes. You are given several buckets with which to collect water in, and other matters as well. Manacles rest above the bed but are rarely used. The crumbling masonry exposes moss that show the age of these walls, once Castle Branding during the days when this was a citadel against invasion by sea from the fleets of the old counts of Lucidor. Outside your cells, the prison is a strange mixture of new construction that somehow seems run down, and ancient walls with high vaulted ceilings and crumbling masonry. The interior hallways of the Grand Hall are lit with a pale blue light from enchanted sconces, rather than torchlight, though outside of the grand hall itself it is the usual crackling orange fire. It gets very dark indeed in nights at Branderscar, and it's not difficult to see that very few guards patrol the walls from your barred windows, always marked with a single torch, maybe one or two for each direction.  It’s hard to not imagine your confidence in your own abilities and the weakness of your surroundings then when you made your ill-fated attempt to escape. At one point or another, all of you tried, and were quickly found out for it. The tenor of your imprisonment quickly changed. The guards never tended to you alone, never tried to make conversation. Though not grim and still cheery with each other, they now were under orders to not converse with any of you. You are required to manacle yourselves to the walls before the guards, who come in pairs inside the cell, and one outside, come to deliver your food, which comes colder than it did before. It’s ludicrous that these fools think that by treating you any worse they might change your heart, and yet all the same, it does cause one to pause. You had the opportunity, and without anyone to back you up, you screwed the pooch and now that same opportunity you would have had previously is gone. It starts to set in, the feeling of certainty of your fate, and when you wake this morning, it’s before the sun even rises, in a cold shaking sweat. The haunting vision of your executions hangs over all that is to transpire this coming day, as you hear the padding of boots coming near your cell. Even the elf, struck with tempus fugit, can’t account for hours of his night, uncertain if he was in trance or not, but struck with the vision of what awaits him.  A guard uses his blackjack to rattle the door to wake you, though is surprised to find you already awake. There are two, instead of the usual three, but they demand you manacle yourself. If you refuse, they threaten no food. With your efforts and bodies possibly weakened from the previous attempt, there is some form of compliance, though if you do wish to resist it, no supernatural force compels you. That being said, your most likely reward, considering the sheer number of guards and the wards of this place, would be severe injury before you can make another planned escape. Once you comply, you are taken from your cell, down into the depths of the dungeon again. One by one, each of you is taken, and manacled in a single shared cell in the depths there. There is no proffered explanation, and the accommodations here are much more what you expected from a prison of this ilk. This is where you finally see each other, at least more than in passing, as you are brought in one by one, for perhaps the first time, and though while the guards are present you are given no chance to converse, they leave to go collect the next and leave some time to introduce yourselves, because this is the first time you’ve truly had company worth speaking to.  After all, though you may know little of each other now, you know enough that they are likely as black of heart as you This is your chance to introduce your character in the narrative, and describe them for the first time, so treat it as such within the fiction. The order in which people post is the order they will have been brought down into their cell, and you each can interact and react as appropriate. Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 08:18 on Jun 4, 2018 |
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Jun 4, 2018 08:13
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 ExcellenceIt’s obvious to you that the discipline of these men is sorely lacking. There is a severe lack of attention from above, and the hierarchy seems loose at all. The fact the men drink on shift is unthinkable, and you have heard them discussing regularly going to the sergeant’s quarters when invited to a game where actual bets are on the line (rather than simply playing cards to pass the time), though you suspect with your antics you are unlikely to be invited to any such a thing. It would appear to be a near nightly thing, leaving many of the shifts during this time, which moves to at least a few hours after midnight, at only partial strength.  NiashéYou are familiar with the name of the Warden here: Mathias Richter. He is of noble birth, of a Myrcian house, but was most notable for being the doctor of abjuration at the University at Arzardys before he was appointed to this position. A potent magician, you would never have imagined him here in such a post, but there was rumor of some nobles’ intrigue, as a way to sequester away an aging relative who had a tendency to speak his mind in a task he cared little for. He would be dangerous a foe to match wits with, and you can expect his magic mark to be at several points in this prison: The portals moving in and out of the cell blocks being such an example, blocking entry in and out with a propelling force if one does not have the proper charm.  SalvatrixYou have been staring at the doves and birds that collect in the barred rafters above your cell for some hours. It is a trick that you are well acquainted with, as rarely do these creatures show such interest in humans, unless directed by some other force. Your Dear Mother would often use animals as her eyes and ears, and you have a strong suspicion, even if unconfirmed, that they act as some form of surveillance, likely under the supervision of the warden, whom you have heard is a wizard. However, in this dungeon cell with the other villains, you are out of the sight of their beady black eyes, and may have a chance, even if only briefly, to speak freely.  HrissEven if one were to escape from this place, most softskins would have a difficult time making it far. There is a river dock for receiving barges and ships, and beyond that moors, bogs and deeper marshes. It is blanketed with fog at sunrise and sundown, and likely filled with beasts that many of those who live in comfortable cities would not be ready to deal with. You of course would take to it like a fish to water, but something gives you pause. You hear that several guards have disappeared, and though you were unable to hear more, you heard someone say something about a “demon.” It does present an opportunity: It is unlikely that many patrols would be found in the swamps, so if one was willing to stay off the road, you would likely make it quite far.  WormThe stones of these place feel storied, with years of battles and various uses, different lords and masters. This castle, you feel, is older than the Earls of Myrcia, perhaps even as old as the Dominion, and there are many hidden places underneath the surface. You have searched for possibilities, but noticed something that sticks out to you. The walls are vaulted and high, at least fourteen feet tall, which is high indeed for someone like you. The cells are shorter, with barred ceilings and thus a lot of high rafters. You feel that whatever beings originally ruled this place may have been larger, but also that the features that would otherwise be less traversable, such as chimneys, chutes, battlements and the like, might present unusual places to squeeze through and move. And the walls themselves may be hollow and hide secret passages, if you only knew where to look.  EginaYou have heard from the guards that in addition to the nine of you, there is a tenth prisoner of Branderscar that is being kept in the dungeon, the same dungeon that you are now being held in. This one has been there for some time, a true monster that was brought here by a wandering hero. The warden has been away for some time and a decision has not been made to make of it, but it appears to have been captured in Freness. It is described as a great “toothy beast” and a “misbegotten child of the damned” as well, apparently the talk of some legend there. You remember hearing a bard in Lucidor sing a tale of the “Beast of Freness”, the tale of a young precocious daughter of an infamous hermit warlock giving birth to a horror after consorting with things that mankind should not reach out to.  GertrudeYou have armed yourself (a kitchen knife that deals 1d3 slashing), hidden with your guile and cloth out of the sight of the guards, but your true gift is a special insight. So far the guards have treated you better than the others, and seem almost apologetic in the way they have now been ordered to treat you, with the behavior of the other prisoners’ in consideration. But your sojourn to the kitchen was noticed by another entity, that was not as easily tricked as its insight was deeper: A lantern archon occupies the statuary and halls of this hall, not bound to any mortal’s command but seeming to be here searching for a reason. It did not communicate in any way save with its aura of divine menace, and it was enough to make you think twice… and that something momentous might be happening here soon, even if the archon does not understand perfectly why it was drawn here yet. In a perverse way, it gives you a wicked hope, since it would have little chance against true, concerted evil.  PharomThe warden of this prison must be a potent wizard as you have seen evidence of magical wards and protections here and there, but from what you have heard from the guards he is not present, and even when he is he is usually sequestered in his tower to the south, where he spends all his time in his library… and laboratory. Yet the enchantments seem to be maintained by two skullcapped apprentices, callow young lads likely from Arzardys’s much more inferior wizarding school (even if you despise the wizards of the elven academy in Rhadlun, you are convinced enough in the superiority of their tradition compared to mere mortals), who lay the copper wire for the alarm spells. Meaning that there are likely points that are trapped to alarm certain guards if one passes across certain thresholds, but if you could find a way to take them out of the picture for at least one day, many of the enchantments would simply break down from lack of maintenance.  GlennYou kept your head down and eyes peeled. You observed every nook and cranny as they were taking you in, committing it to memory. You even used the opportunity of your aborted escape attempt to take note of a few more options, and from this you have something material that no one else has. A map. You were able to use a bit of charcoal and a flat loose stone to make it, which you’ve since committed to memory and can replicate as needed. Some of the labels on it are not things Glenn knows in this immediate moment (mainly the cells of the other villains), but will quickly learn. Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 08:18 on Jun 4, 2018 |
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Jun 4, 2018 08:13
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It doesn’t take long for the guards to return after leaving the lizardman. In fact, they are all seemingly quite on edge, having been roused early in their shift for something that is beginning to feel more and more like something “off-the-books”, as the lack of a presence of the doddering old flamen Pater Haihn. The warden’s return surely would have spelled more fanfare, which really leaves only one possibility left. You don’t even hear the approach, but soon enough your eyes confirm that last possibility. Rounding the corner of your cell are a few more guards, two remaining outside as they crank the mechanism that lifts the portcullis-like cell door, with the other two standing guard in front of the man responsible for your current accommodations. While the warden is absent, and the guards seem on one hand jovial and the other hand lax, there is one character that is truly a spoiled apple amid this bunch, one that you can naturally sense. A man of corruption and cruelty that would never be accepted anywhere else in Talingarde, if not for his silver-tongue. A man that belongs just as much in irons as you do, and yet stands there now, striding in between his guards that step aside and allow him in, keeping to the flank. A hush falls over your surroundings, even a stillness. Ultimately, it feels forced, and unwarranted. Of the many things you expected in your stay, you did not expect Sergeant Thirstan Blackbriar to be your custodian. He is nothing as you expected as well from the talk of the guards. You expected a fat, grasping man with beady eyes, but what you see is an austere man, with groomed mustache and long eyebrows, the stately bearing of a career military man, and a casual cruelty to his movements. He wears the white and blue of Myrcia’s men-at-arms, with the crossed swords and a torch, the heraldry of the prison’s guard. He wears a white cape and brandishes a medal with golden tassels, the Ruby Star that marks he paid his price for valor in blood against the hobgoblin horde ten years before. He wields in his hands a strange rod, a very simple cylinder that is more like a cane in his hands, banded with silver adornments with reliefs of screaming harpies.  Sergeant Blackbriar is also a gnome, and only three and a half feet tall, making the severity of his presence almost farcical. Quickly, it becomes apparent however the hush over the room is not merely a matter of atmosphere: Some strange silence grips the room to an almost unnatural degree. You cannot even hear the shuffling of feet, and if you open your mouth to speak back to him, no sounds come out. But his voice has no such trouble.  “In my seven years here at Branderscar, I have never seen such a loathsome lot as these nine. It is as if the Nine Hells themselves banded together and spat out villains for us to line up, one by one. A shame that you cannot be made an example of, the good King does not share his grandfather’s taste for such display, and the warden believes in a different approach.”His hands tighten around the rod. “Ah, but the warden is not here. And when the master is away, the cats will play, and what do I have here but a little cage of mice.”He stalks from one to the next, examining each of you with a sneer under a waxed mustache. The guards seem uneasy and at the ready, hands on their weapons, but they do not seem to like this whole matter, but they literally have no voice in the matter. “It would have been simpler if you hadn’t barked the whole thing up with your little schemes. Twits, all of you. “He seems puzzled by the old grandmother’s presence, eyeing her suspiciously, and for the first time seems more than a little uneasy when he gets to the lizardman, taking a bit of a step back, before he coughs, clearing his throat before he continues. “At least you’re all a bit more manageable while I have my talking stick in hand. Now, I may not have leave to lay a finger on any of you. But my remit does include your provisions. So until the warden is back by the end of Lauds on the morrow, “ which would be sometime in the late afternoon, “you will be held here, without food or water. Being forsaken seems to have not been enough for you lot, and it’s no small wonder. I have never understood the insistence of doddering old men to waste coin on fools such as you. Had my way, we’d line you all up at the ravenstone, one by one.” “Cheaper than feeding scum as yourselves.”He then arrives at Niashé, whom he considers for a few moments, noting her condition. The gnomish sergeant is incensed, his prominent nose reddening as he snaps at his men. Of course, they were not in much of a state to answer in the silence, only giving worried, chastised looks. “What is the meaning of this? I will have the hides of whatever men was responsible for this! Lord Richter will not abide this, and more importantly, I’ve been paid good coin to make sure that this one stays in good health. Until she has a chance to send her last regards to her father, Lord Delacrie.”The name. No one was supposed to know it, and you were certain that while the magistrates saw through the surface of your deception, that there was nothing compelling enough to connect you to a noble family in high standing. You were certain the cabal would certainly have abandoned you entirely, because to do otherwise would be foolish beyond reason. What could be the meaning of this? Sergeant Blackbriar turns and gives for the first time the semblance of a smile, a half-grin which exposes one of his shining gold teeth. “Take this one to guard station. Her father’s man is waiting for her there.”The guards seem uneasy and apologetic, treating Niashé, the cultist with the dyed hair, somewhat more gently, but they do not seem to very much like the implication of what is occurred here. With her spirited away without so much as a word spared with the rest of you, it leaves a uncertainty in the air. Something that separates her from the rest. “Now, I want you all to remember something. The warden may be Lord Richter, but you are in my prison. The prison of Sergeant Thirstan Mabert Holewicket Mintdrinker Blackbriar the III! No mortal has ever escaped this place throughout the century of its use as a prison, and certainly not under my watch.”He points his talking stick at each of you as threateningly as he can manage, while you are still powerless and unable to respond. “I’ll repeat myself just once, so get this through your big, thick skulls. You are never escaping Branderscar Prison.”  Five minutes later, the guards are gone, and the field of silence with it, as well as the ninth of your number that was marched away basically moments after she had been hauled down here to meet “her father’s man.” You are to be kept here for over twenty-four hours, shackled to these walls, without food or water. However, the guards are sequestered in their station down the hall, and the spying eyes of the doves are not present. You have time to plan. You have time to plot. You have time to scheme. NiashéAt your convenience, we can play out your scene with your "father's man" over Discord. Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 02:01 on Jun 5, 2018 |
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Jun 5, 2018 01:58
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You may take in the following information as you formulate a plan, as between your Passive abilities, your shared intelligence, and a little common sense, this will save a bit of time of answering specific questions as they come up, though this is purposefully very surface level and there may be surprises yet. Your Jailers
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Jun 5, 2018 20:12
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — The Dungeon All Members Present While starts her work, the secretive hag begins her ritual, running through little conspiratorial whispers of prayer as she begins to call to herself dweomered sight, the irises aglow as she holds before her that Asmodean symbol, which twirls in the air like a hypnotist's medallion. Once her sight has been opened, a piercing and haunting green, there is a ghostly sort of wind that blows through the cells of the dungeon, and as it sweeps through, she sees the hint of auras resting. There is certainly the feeling of strong abjuration magic upon the Beast's cell, whilst you also sense a similarly strong abjuration magic at the core of the nearby portal doorway, but there appears to be no other wards hidden beneath the surface. However, there seems to be a diffuse aura around them that is hard to explain, of mild illusion and potent necromancy, which remains unexplained for some time, dwelling upon the hidden cleric of Vecna's thoughts even as Egina attempts to invoke something from her heart. As the speech goes on, the husky voice of the halfbreed goes from conspiratorial whisper to almost a rolling thunder, filling their cell with her presence. For those beings who can feel such a thing, it brings a warmth to the cockles, and a stirring of a certain bloodlust. It is like the stories of the old bloody-handed heroes of the Dark Ages, who fought not for honor but for their gods or people with all ferocity and fierceness. With her wordsmithy, she makes the massacre of poorly paid Myrcian farm boys seem filled with divine purpose. There is a sniffling sound from the crowd of villains, and a flaring of flame as someone evacuates their nasal passages into a tissue, floating near Glenn's head. Therein is a floating magical skull wreathed in flame, as if it was there the whole time as it looks over to the halfling, shaking its head with a choked up voice. "I always crack up at these parts. Seeing a family come together at last. It's the best part."There's a bit of a moment there. Likely, no one is really sure what to make of what they are seeing. Before there is much time to react at all, however, there is a loud sound of the heavy dungeon door creaking open, and then being shut with a clatter. The handkerchief is the first thing to disappear in a little spark of flame, as the flameskull looks almost worried for a moment, if a skull can be said to have expressions. "Forgot you've got Blinky still around here. Uh... IGNORE ME!"With that, the skull burns away, leaving only a few motes of soot and ash where it was just a few moments ago. The source of the aura that Gertrude had sensed before seems obvious, and it quickly leaves them with a flash of potent conjuration magic, leaving a faint impression behind not unlike the soot and ash. There isn't much time to process this information or even share it, however, as the sound of plodding approaching footsteps means that everyone has to make sure they take position and ensure that they are not completely out of place. Everyone should make a Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) or Charisma (Deception) check. Halstan, the callow young lad some of you have seen before muddling around with the enchantments in this place, arrives with a lantern in hand, and a dowsing rod in the other, leather skull cap on his head. His sloped posture makes him look shorter than he is, but he's certainly not much older than sixteen. He has a few spell component pouches here and there, and a empty look in his eyes of glazed over boredom, as he seems to be using the dowsing rod for some purpose, perhaps the detection of magic or new enchantments that were not there before. "Whoa!" He seems more than a little surprised when he turns and finds the cell with all of our villains gathered together, his eyes widening and giving a bit of a start. He quickly coughs and averts his eyes, knowing better to question, or get too close... He does know better, right?
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Jun 7, 2018 01:46
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Pharom sees the others scrambling and decides to do what he does best. Belittle others for their ignorance. Sneering, Pharom starts haranguing the poor apprentice, "If that stupefied look on your face is any indication of your faculties, it's amazing that you managed to make it through any level of the academy, even one as... lacking as Arzardys. I mean, just look at your form. You're holding that wand as if its a snake, afraid of the meager power within a wand of Detect Magic. I have literally made mistakes with more kick than that twig. If I had the distinct misfortune to have you in one of my classes, I would go and find the arcanist who let you in out of pity and hang them from their thumbs for wasting my time like that." There was much for the young man to gape at, but Pharom's invective makes itself the final discordant note in the vile little symphony directed his way. Already his sallow skin was a bit blushing, but now its red as his knuckles turn white. "I worked hard for this! I'm not some... some... Elf that was just born into it!" There's a meager bit of pride that Pharom has found, enough to have his attention. Enough to make the child do something stupid to prove himself, especially in front of these very attractive villainesses. He doesn't even seem to notice Egina's situation very much, though with what she said, about a lack of pride, causes him to gulp, the bad feeling sticking in his throat as he fidgets with his rod. "Is food all you want? I can bring it down, just be quiet. If they catch me, Lord Richter might have me expelled!" Excellence smiles at that. Perfect. She says, "It would be... most welcome. Thank you." "What I really want is not to die, boy. But food would be welcome. You're far kinder than the sergeant. You won't get in trouble for coming in here twice, will you? I figure I should stop adding misery done to my tally at this point." She said with a wry grin. "I mean... No, probably not, I don't think." He doesn't seem sure. "I'll go now. Vicenza," a name that carries some exhaustion in his tone to do, "will complain, but that's not much different." He glances around, stuffing the wand unceremoniously in the front of his robe, before he makes to go do good on his offer. Egina remained silent, feeling the sting of embarrassment at almost getting the lot of them made. Her heart was thumping in her chest. Was the boy actually going to get food, was he going to get attention of more guards? She went to belatedly take position near her chains, just in case someone else came down, offering a quick prayer to One Eye below that she hadn't just doomed them all. "Yes, go get some food. Even you couldn't screw that up. Indeed, it might be your true calling." Halstan paused at that, his body shaking for a few moments, but ultimately, Pharom has him cowed. If the dressing down had been any less expert at hitting exactly where it hurt, it might have provoked him unnecessarily, but instead dejected, he disappeared. As for Egina's prayer, the dead god, as usual, did not answer her, giving only a grim silence. And indeed it was a prolonged one, but eventually one heard the slamming of the dungeon door again, and a slight pitter patter at his return. The apprentice looked a bit ridiculous, the front bit of his robe swollen up like the throat of a toad, as he had collected breads and muffins (sweet muffins!) in the front of his robe. "I think Tisidora was cross with me, but this is all I could get." It was frankly quite more than might have been expected, enough if distributed to feed all of them at least one (if not entirely healthy) meal. It was to Egina that he found himself motioning to, since she was apparently freed and all. "Are you... Are you sure this is ok? I mean, normally you'd be fed..." "We would? I can't say I'm a regular customer here. I'm sorry, but 'gallows' humor is what's on my mind. We all deal with things differenty. The elf deals with it by being an immense prick." She took the food, and went to 'give some to the granny, before sharing it with the others. Her voice was quiet "It doesn't matter. We won't have time to starve. And I always wanted to lose a few pounds pounds anyway." She looked at him ;"Say, do you know anything about the Beast of Freness behind the silver chained doors there? I heard some guards talk about it, and Mr. Highly educated elven wizard here has used a very long sentence to say he doesn't know anything." Excellence bites a sweet muffin in half, barely bothering to chew, her eyes boring a hole in the apprentice all the while. "It's awful what they have done to take advantage of you, even if you are forsaken..." He clutches at his arm a bit, glancing a way. He seems genuinely a bit incensed. "A real Mitran shows mercy, even to those who have done nothing to deserve it." The smoldering eyes of the tiefling in particular, with her horns and everything else is not doing much to keep him from being a bit demure. He seems, honestly, rather surprised at the question. "The Beast? You mean the quaggoth? At least, I think that's what Master Irdanvaeros... Er, Lord Richter, calls it..." The University at Arzardys started among human wizards that peculiar tradition of using Draconic as its lingua franca, to distinguish themselves from the elves, and also, according to rumor, because of the hand of a bronze dragon in its founding. Many of its wizards take on Draconic names on their graduation to show they are now full wizards. "It's a foul thing... He is actually away to hopefully secure its passage back to the University where it can be more properly studied, but he has to convince the King's inquisitor first, who believes it should be burned. They mistakenly believe it has fiendish heritage."
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Jun 7, 2018 04:00
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — The Dungeon All Members Present There's a bit of an awkward moment where Halstan lingers. He fidgets a bit awkwardly towards the end of it, as the monsters, both those who wear it on their sleeves and those who are only such in their hearts, feast upon his charity. He seems to have questions, but thinks better of it, his brow stitching itself into knots as he shooks Pharom defeated glances. Any further questions he might have would just make him look more stupid, he realizes. "I've got to get back to my duties, I'm already too behind. You lot seem alright. I know it may seem like this is the end, but... There's always a light." He tries to brighten his expression at that, to reconcile that these folks don't seem so bad and the fact they are soon going to die. Maybe these are the ones that will be able to meet Mitra's light with dignity, and be welcomed into his love? Haha, yeah right. What a maroon. He makes to leave finally, not even going to pay at his missing key-chain for some time. Salvatrix hides it and eventually reveals at the slamming of the door what she has acquired. It is the keys that Glenn had spotted earlier, three pairs: One silver, one brass, and one iron. They have a few things to process, and hours to do it in. Perhaps they might be able to put their heads together, and with a good fifteen hours ahead of them, it might do well to pass the time, unless they can figure something else out. If you want to discuss theories about the skull or anything else just learned, I recommend doing a side-scene for it on Discord. Meanwhile, a few hours later... The sharp-tongued Vicenza strikes poor Halstan on the back of her head with her palm. "You imbecile! Cretin! I can't believe they let common filth like you into the University!" She is seething at him. "This is the first time the Master has allowed us to take his duties, and on the second day you lose your keys? Where on earth would you have lost them!" Halstan withers a bit. What could he say? That he was unloading a shipment of sweets to the circle of terrible criminals in the dungeons, and dropped it, or worse, had it filched from him?  "I've gone back and forth my route. They are not anywhere." "Are you going to blame this on an imp like last time?" Vicenza mocked. That got Halstan to steel himself a bit. "I'm telling you! I detected conjuration magics down there. Something strange is going on, why else would the Heavens send an archon!?" "What is the living light fixture going to do, exactly, if something does happen?" Vicenza offers, crossing her arms, though she rubs at her chin a bit. "I don't like this. One of us should try and contact the Master." Halstan jumped at that. "N-no! Look, just give me a day and your pair. I can re-make the keys, I've been practicing my transmutation." Her voice turns a bit sickly sweet at that. "Beg for it."Halstan's face scrunched up. He knew it was coming, and he had gone through this routine again. She was older than him. She was a noble. And maybe they were the same year at University (it was weird someone so much older than him was, but he didn't ever dare bring that up around her), but she always seemed able to best him. So what choice did he have? Expulsion or... This. Halstan got down on his knees, there in the dirt of the garden, clasping his hands together as if to beg for his life. "Please Vicenza. I will do anything." That seemed to please the cruel half-elf, who patted him on the head. "You mean everything. I'm taking tomorrow off then. You'll stay here and do all my tasks before Master Irdanvaeros returns." Halstan makes to respond, knowing that he hasn't ability or time, but simply lets his shoulders sink. "Yes..." "Yes? Just yes? Remember who you are talking to." "Yes, mistress." That caused him to shudder as she passed by.Halstan picked himself up from the mud, his robes now dirtied down there, and with Tisidora's halfling staff so cross with him for going and taking all their baked goods, he was going to be on his own for cleaning it. It was going to be a long night. He made his dejected way down the cobblestone to the Warden's Tower, only to reflexively reach for the keys and groan when he remembered why he was in this mess already. "This is literally the worst day of my life."But it wasn't over yet. "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Breaking Out from the Cell All Members Present The shift change from Vespers to Nocturns is marked at 10 p.m. by the chiming of a church bell from one of the watchtowers, which resounds through the whole prison. It wakes the prisoners from whatever distractions they had previously, as it will have been more than twelve hours of waiting later, without incident or interruption. The chiming of the bell, the shuffling of feet and the slamming of the door, all indicate to you that the time for the plan to be set into motion is upon you.  The first step of course is a little more waiting. During the initial part of the shift change, guards are alert and moving about, but waiting a good while after the bell chime, there's a second ringing, that's supposed to indicate that the shift change is over. That second chiming is when the crew moves into action. The lizardman is convinced with his height advantage to give the halfling a leg up, while "Rêve" plucks a black rose petal and hands it to the halfling as he's being lifted up to the ceiling. By pressing the petal against the ceiling, it begins to shimmer and expand into a black, perfectly round hole, and with slightly alarming spatial warping before your eyes that seem to stretch into dark infinities, it eventually reveals at the end a little pinhole of light, that expands as if racing towards your sight. The floor is a good three feet deep, making it a bit of a climb, but despite his stature the nimble Dunbarrow is able to scramble up into the armory. It is lit as the other corridors and room with fixtures of magical continual light, which burn with a cool blue fluorescence, giving a slightly off-putting quality to the interiors of the prison. Their design seems new and out of place with both the military affectations of the prison and the older forerunner fortifications it was built upon, likely an addition by the new warden from Arzardys, who has apparently been working to prove that a prison can be run nearly entirely through arcane workings rather than relying on a human element. Unfortunately his work is unfinished and the human element that remains is hardly adequate, and it will likely remain so, after you put a kibosh in the whole project. There are stands for which suits of cheap armor are to be set upon, and racks for the polearms and crossbows that the guards are equipped with. There may be a more unique piece of kit hidden here or there within the panoply, but ultimately it is an armoury for commoners, lacking much in the way of properly crafted armor or steel swords, which are the providence of the nobility. On one hand, it means you are unlikely to face any knights on your way out, yet on the other, you will have to suffice with lesser equipment, unless you are fortunate to find something out of place. Loot: Armoury posted:You can find the following equipment in the Armoury. Please specify if you are taken any of this with you. The armoury has four doors leading out, one for each direction. South leads outside, and there are two arrow-slit like windows facing outwards towards the warden's tower which is immediately behind the grand hall, and the door opens to a cobblestone path leading to it, as well as both around to the gardens and the gibbet. To the east opens into the main corridor of the grand hall, while the west opens up into the barracks. The north door appears to have a lock on it, but apparently it has not been locked (why would they need to lock it? everyone is trustworthy here!), leading into the store room. Within are some simple supplies, as well as a strongbox and some other provisions. Loot: Store Room posted:You can find the following equipment in the Store Room. Please specify if you are taken any of this with you. The armoury appears to have been somewhat reinforced as well, to become an emergency strong room as needed to rally, with each of the doors being able to be barred from the inside and thus made into barricades, and metal shutters over the slit windows. With the provisions in the store room, it can even be used in a siege context. However, its placement between the barracks, store room, and the rest of the grand hall means that it is not the best idea to tarry too long here, as if a guard needs to get something from their things, or a servant needs something that isn't in the larder in the kitchen, they are likely to need to come through here. Thus it may be necessary to cover the hole, which as you quickly find out isn't the portable kind of portable hole, and is now a permanent fixture of a perfectly circular hole in the ground dropping into the cell below. Glenn flattens himself against the western wall, and cracks the door to peer through. Inside he sees a barracks that is large enough to accommodate perhaps a hundred men, though many of the bunks have no sheets or even cots, showing that Branderscar is at best at half-strength. There are over a dozen resting guards, in various stages of actual sleep. Two in fact are across from each other kneeling at a bottom bunk, a dwarven woman and older human, praying to Mitra together with hands clasped together and heads bowed, mouthing the words silently so as to not disturb their comrades. It's a disgusting sight of solidarity. The shadow sorceress checks the eastern door, cracking it open and glancing outside to see a slight flash of light. Appearing from a distance little more than a globe of light, she is the first to spot the archon, as it seems to slowly move in an almost mechanical, measured motion back and forth. Though it has no visible eyes, there is a soft sound that emanates from it, like the continual hum of a glass armonica, and its "gaze" seems to come when that sound intensifies more and more, such that Lady Delacrie hears a swelling of the sound and a brightening of its light as it seems to turn and "face" her, giving a slight start. Whether either might draw any attention is hard to say. It won't be immediate, but the plan has been hatched. There's no turning back now. Glenn and Niashé, both of you need to make Stealth checks for scouting a bit ahead and scoping the area. I may call for further Stealth checks from others depending on their actions, but it won't necessarily be required for just suiting up and climbing into the armory. A failure also won't necessarily mean high alert. Other people thus shouldn't feel the need to wait for those results to take some equipment from the armoury, you have the time to do so, it just means there might be a little suspicion and eventually someone may investigate. Time to execute your plan, villains.
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Jun 7, 2018 18:46
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Barracks Glenn, Hriss Boderic feels a cold shiver down his spine, as he dutifully crosses back and forth the litany of prayers that he had been reciting since he was just a young farm boy in Freness. He’s quite a bit older now, a bit past his prime with a bum leg that means his soldiering career was mostly over. It’s why he was willing to accept the pittance of pay that the new keeps of Branderscar were asking, and he prayed tonight that it would be enough to keep his ailing wife from death’s door. He could hear the kind voice of his companion, barely a whisper. “It was from darkness that came light. The morning will soon be upon us, Boderic.” Ilse was always very kind, a devout dwarven woman who while had lived as many years as Boderic had but looked quite a bit younger. The words hit home, and Boderic felt his body relaxing for a few moment. He let out a held breath, content in the fact that with the light of the Morninglord, everything would be alright. He made to open his lips and speak the return to her voice. May we always find the light. But he found his voice catching, breath caught. A tightening around his neck, and a sudden slicing pain as his eyes widened. The guard found his body wrenched up, his feet kicking, as the metal wire dug into his flesh, a curtain of red beginning to fall down, as he struggles against a powerful reptilian grasp. As his vision began to blacken, he could see the body of Ilse slump against the bed, blood pooling on the bunk from a sliced throat and several wounds in her back, from which a kitchen knife was pulled back out. Then, darkness. Glenn finds himself covered in blood. It never goes as cleanly as you would imagine. He slit the throat, but then she began to flail, and he found himself stabbing repeatedly, desperate to keep her from knocking over a candle and causing a fire, or causing enough of a commotion to wake the others. From there, he scoops up a pillow, knife in hand, and makes for the next.  It’s supposed to be simple. While Hriss stands guard, having dropped the limp corpse of the human softskin, Glenn climbs up on the first one, as the young woman finds herself flailing only for a few moments, grasping at the air with a muffled cry as Glenn stabs her enough times to silence her, before being ready to climb up on the top bunk to do so. With the second down, it starts to become easier, more mechanical. But there’s still nine more to go. How do you handle getting your hands dirty in such a way? "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Armoury Glenn, Hriss Meanwhile, back in the armoury… Though “Rêve” was sure the archon didn’t spot her, she can feel its presence coming closer, the chiming sound swelling as they suit up and get into position. Excellence takes the fore, shield ready in that armor, and encouraging words from the orcish bard have the entirety of the team not engaged in rampant mass murder in the barracks ready to receive it. As they all let their eyes rest upon the door leading out into the hallway, light begins to shine from the crack underneath. The chiming is now audible to all of them, and it is now certain that the creature is soon to be upon them, so they must decide whether to prepare to unleash all that they have, or take the initiative now while it’s in their hands.  Battle posted:Initiative is Doom (Players) then Hope (Dungeon Master). All players may act before any NPCs. Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 20:09 on Jun 10, 2018 |
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Jun 10, 2018 19:57
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Armoury Excellence, "Rêve", Salvatrix, Egina, Worm, Gertrude, Pharom  The archon flares, appearing as nothing more than a radiant globe of light, at first a pure white that intensifies upon the door opening, but then wanes slightly as Excellence approaches and crosses behind it, followed by Egina. It seems almost curious, the white light fading just slightly, before Excellence strikes the first blow. She finds that the tip of her spear hits something solid underneath the radiance, and it emits a single dissonant note. It begins to burn brighter, and a more menacing orange color. After being struck again by Egina's own spear, it weaves under the flask of acid that hits the wall opposite from the villains on the wall, emanating in a hiss of white smoke as it sinks into the stone. At the tolling of the bells, its own chiming seems to overpower it as it seems to be trying to call upon a higher power, speaking to the Heavens in desperation. One can almost hear words, a choir behind the chiming notes, but it would be unintelligible even if any of you understood Celestial. Yet the chiming and the light is dimmed when a skeletal hand grasps upon it, and one can see the almost metallic, construct-like form of the true archon beneath, as the necrotic chill slows its movements, its light ready to dim. There seems to be a circle of light burning on the ground around it, expanding outwards in angelic script. However, with a burst of flame and the castigation of the witch, the light flickers out, as it lands onto the ground, a smoking heap of spun light made into metallic thread. The archon is extinguished, but just barely, with all of the efforts of the villains. If even one had not committed to the task, it would have been able to complete its summoning, and the situation would have been very much changed. Within the hall it was stalking, there is no other sign of other guards, though the door to the mess hall appears to be ajar. There is a clatter that comes from the kitchen, and dirty deeds continue unabated back in the barracks... What are your next steps? "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Barracks Glenn, Hriss The sound of arcane chanting, the clashing of metal after throwing open a wooden door, and the hissing of acid and fire, all provide just enough a din to possible disturb the sleep of the guards. However, most are warm enough with drink and good cheer that only a few groan or turn over. It is a dragonborn, of bronze scale, that begins to stir, his dreadlock-like mane shuddering as his bright orange eyes, like pumpkins, open up and focus in the dark... Only to have his breath caught, a bit of smoke erupting form his nostrils as the lizardman is upon him, silencing him... for good. There is nothing now to interrupt the dirty business of finishing the rest of the guards. It's just a matter of... completion. There is no need to worry about complications now. The remainder of the guards can be killed in due time, and the trap set as planned.
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Jun 11, 2018 01:36
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Barracks”Loot” posted:The following are found in chests that are very easily pried open or picked in the barracks.
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Jun 11, 2018 03:04
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 "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — DungeonOur first triad of villains makes their way back down to the dungeon, likely making use of the ladder found in the store room, and with Pharom's acid are able to burn through the metal bars of the portcullis without much delay. They take stock of their surroundings and approach the fortified cell wherein the Beast of Freness, having been since identified thanks to the quivering apprentice's aid as a creature called a quaggoth, slumbers. There is a metal slot in the door, much like the doors you were used to in your personal cells up above. As described, intricate silver chains are slung through the door handle and affixed to the bars of the portcullis, but on closer inspection they do not appear to have any particular use in actually securing either the door or the portcullis. There is a single large lock. It is at this point you remember that the witch has the likely key in her possession. Of course, the work here and the wards are likely beyond mere mundane means. The abjuration magic, with a closer examination, appears to be tied to this silver chain. Between the three of you, all of which are knowledgeable in some fashion with the practice of magic, you quickly discern it would be no simple alarm spell, as no copper wire is to be found. It appears to be something very different as well as the warded portals leading in and out of the cell blocks. However, with neither the proper amount of time to take an in-depth study, nor specialized magics to analyze this dweomer, you must rely somewhat on guesswork here. What is your plan? "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — KitchenWith the lizardman taking the point, halberd held before him, you three make your way down the corridor and through the mess hall. The mess hall is filled with wooden benches and tables, along with a banner with the heraldric symbol of Branderscar on it, as you previously spotted enameled on the armor of Sergeant Blackbriar. It does not appear to be particularly valuable, but is given a place of honor here in the mess hall overlooking where the guards take their meals. Even in the current state of affairs, it is not hard to feel the espirit de corps that had sustained itself even through the laxity and corruption of its current management, yet that did not save the lives of the thirteen souls so far taken. The three of you then burst into the kitchen, hoping to catch any of the serving staff unaware. Unfortunately, there is no sign hide or hair of them. Of course, the serving staff were all halflings, and they are known to be a slippery folk. A surface glance at your surroundings however gives little indication of where they went. In fact, the back door leading out into the grounds appears to not only still be shut, but locked from the inside. Unless they had slipped out the door from where you came from, they would surely still be in the room. The kitchen is well-stocked with a full-pantry, and you can see that they were preparing to cut meats for the morning stew and meals to come upon the next shift change. Besides the usual collection of plates, bowls, and other paraphernalia, there are six large knives here (1d3 piercing) and a long meat cleaver (1d4 slashing). There is also roughly fifty days worth of food stored here – forty days' worth of perishable and ten days' worth of iron rations. The fireplace here is a relic of the old castle great hall, and is almost comically large. A massive cast iron bowl, enough to cook four halflings in, rests over smoldering tinder and disturbed ash. There is only a limited number of places any halfling could hide in here, so it would only be a matter of time, if they still remained, before you uncovered them. However, it would take time, and you would have to tear the place up. Unless you decided to go very carefully (and slowly), you will likely cause a ruckus, and any nearby living guards might have a chance to hear you. This is especially true because the fireplace chimney goes all the way up and can be heard on the second and third floors. What do you do? "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — The Warden's TowerSalvatrix's previous acquisition proves immediately helpful, but before she opens the door, Glenn, who had hitherto remained unseen, grabs her hand before she pushes the door open, pointing down near the bottom of the door itself. (Passive Perception -- Success) There is a bent piece of copper wire set into the seam, which is almost certainly the focus of an alarm spell. It is properly defused, but what none of the trio realize yet is that they have been spotted. A light flickers in one of the slit-like windows of the tower, and disappears. When Salvatrix pushes open the door, she finds that there is almost no light at all, save that of the stars and moon. This, the hall of history, appears to be a floor entirely dedicated to the history of Branderscar Prison, both in its current incarnation and its previous one as Castle Branding. There are mostly uninteresting plaques of dead nobles and their deeds, previous castellans and now wardens. There is a collection of various banners and flags, most notably some old Lucidorean naval insignias earned from its days as a coastal citadel. Most interesting however is a large brocade tapestry, depicting the change of use of this castle under King Uthair II Darian, called the Zealot, from a military fortress into a prison. In those days, it was a function of the Cleansing, a ruthless inquisition back when the sect of the Searing Flame held the most influence within the Mitran church and when it had a downright biblical bent over the quite possibly mad King Uthair. The tapestry is named "His Judgment Cometh and that Right Soon", and would be worth a fine sum if it could be transported to the right dealer, though it would be bulky and heavy. As the three make their way inside, they see that a spiral staircase at the center of the tower leads upwards to the next floor, and flickering down, there appears to be a light coming down that way. Soft padded footfalls can be heard. There is time for the three to prepare themselves, though only Dunbarrow has the wherewithall to make sure he is somewhere where he can't be seen, leaving Excellence and Salvatrix to play at it some other way. There does not appear to be any sign of great alert, however, and the figure coming to meet them seems more afraid of them than they are of he. Which stands to reason, as it is soon revealed to be Halstan. Wearing his simple cloth shift of a night gown, with simple cloth slippers and a pointed night cap that is bent and flopped over aside his head, he is illuminated not by magic but by a small candle he holds in a brass fitting before him, though his other hand holds, quaking as it might be in his grip, his wand at the ready. His eyes are wide, and the light catches his otherwise dull auburn hair with a bit more of a reddish sheen. He's white as a sheet, as if he's expecting some specter to come out of the darkness. "D-don't come any closer, intruder! If you attempt to steal anything, there'll be-be... You'll be sorry! My master's other student is surely going to alert him right now!" His voice however betrayed that he was here, terribly alone, exposed to these three very dangerous individuals. The question is... What do you want from him?
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Jun 11, 2018 06:10
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The Beast's Cell Using your artificer's talent, as well as what you learned at Rhadlun Academy, you feel especially confident that you know what kind of enchantment this is. The use of silver is a major tell, as it is often used as a "transitive" metal for anything that deals with the connection between the planes due to its supposed mercurial properties. You also consider what Worm had shared about the Beast, about its ability to phase back and forth between this material plane, and the ethereal plane of the Feywild. That, combined with the level of potency, leads you to a conclusion: The lock and chain is a symbolic talisman for a dimensional anchor spell. This makes it much easier to deal with than a priest's consecration, as a hallow ground would require a bit more expertise in despoiling. The dimensional anchor simply needs to its focus be unlocked or destroyed, which your acid could do handily.
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Jun 11, 2018 14:55
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Kitchen For the most part, the three chosen to scout ahead are still reeling from the engagement before. Hackles raised, they do not sense much where the halflings could have gone, and are taking a measured approach. The halfbreed Egina, after coating her spear with some delicious smelling turnip-and-beef stew, seems ready to call it good and move on out downward to secure the dungeon. However, a thought gives her a small degree of pause. She leans in under the fireplace, which has been recently extinguished, looking up into the chimney. Up there in the smoky passage, she sees a figure outlined in her darkvision only briefly, before dumped in her face is a vial of acidic oils and capsaicin, an improvised pepper spray scattered upon her peering eyes! Make a Dexterity saving throw, DC 12! If you succeed, you are fine and only get a little splashed. If you fail, you are blinded for one turn, and must make an addition Constitution saving throw at DC 10 or be sickened for an hour!An old but still agile halfling woman with dark skin and gray hair, clinging to some handholds there in the chimney, drops the tin cup she was holding her mixture end, as it lands with a splash and plop into the stew. She gives a laugh, completely fearless as her people often are in the face of danger, and begins to try and scramble upwards, though slowed of course by the treacherous handholds of the chimney, and not large enough to really put her back and legs into the use. "You'll never catch me or the others! We'll have the guards here soon, and you barmy lot will be back safe and snug in your cells!" With only one enemy, it's not necessary to go into proper initiative. She's currently 10' up in the chimney, near where she can climb up into the second floor to escape. That's enough for someone with 30' to climb up after her, though they will have to succeed at a DC 12 Strength (Athletics) check, and will have disadvantage to any attacks. She has 6 HP, and her AC is 12. "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — The Warden's TowerHalstan leads Salvatrix up into the second floor, and then continues up the spiral staircase, turning only to say, "Please, wait here!" before marching back up. By the looks of things, there are four floors in total for the tower, and each has the same high, vaulted ceilings as the hall. There are also the magical sconces, but they are dimmed such that they provide almost no light at all, and Halstan, for good reason, doesn't waken their magic, though likely the activation word is simple (though in Draconic since this is a wizard of Arzardys they are dealing with). He does leave his candle behind on a table however. Excellence can follow suit if she desires, though making some noise of metal against metal without much subtlety. Such provides at least cover fro Glenn as he stays at the edge of the candlelight and completely out of sight. They are given some time to take in their surroundings, as they can hear the very faint footfalls above of Halstan making a kettle of tea. It is clear that this library, rather than anywhere else in the prison, is the warden's pride and joy. It is finely appointed and immaculately cleaned, with glass panels over particularly sensitive displays of ancient texts and scrolls. In Talingarde, books are still a wondrous thing, and are worth (quite literally) their weight in gold, even the more common texts. They are always hand-made and illuminated with great care. Only in Gebroan has any sort of printing press taken off, and they are used for pamphlets and monographs more commonly than full codices. There is a great number of those sorted as well. All in total, there are perhaps fifty full tomes to take with you, if you so choose, but the trained eye might be able to indicate a few special tomes that might be worth even more, or even have some particular uses. There is also an office, the walls made of glass panes that only reach up halfway, with an unlocked door leading into a study desk, and a comfy tall chair. There is a fireplace here, as well as some books piled here and there. Maps of Talingarde can be found as well scattered, and on the desk is a crystal ball on a dais, almost completely opaque. On top of the chair sleeps a white cat. As one of you crosses around or approaches it, it stirs, and then its hair begins to stand on end and it arches its back, tail straight out, giving a hissing, low growl, and then a snarl, before darting to disappear upstairs, if not otherwise caught or cornered. More interestingly however, there is a single case at one end of the room, near a shrine of Mitra and a shrine of Bahamut, which has on blue velvet a single tome that is expertly crafted. Its binding is fine cerulean leather with intricate gold-leaf designs, its edges reinforced with brass fittings. There is no label, save for the Draconic rune for "R." At each of the shrines are four scrolls as well, given a place of honor and held in the hands of the faceless Mitra, or the talons of the dragon Bahamut. The display case is locked with a single iron lock. Loot posted:Each books weighs an average of a single pound, and is worth ten gold pieces if you can find a buyer. Thus they are very valuable. There might be a few that are specifically valuable: Feel free to make a History, Arcana, Religion, or Nature check to identify one, and tag me on Discord, and I'll describe it. Passive Investigation: You notice that copper wire lines the inside of the display case. It is enchanted with an alarm spell, and it would be impossible to open the display case without triggering the alarm, as the wire is not accessible to you as it was at the door. This is the work of a professional, as opposed to the amateurish job outside.While the three of you take in the library, Glenn, with his sharp ears, hears a voice creak carefully open above, and a hushed argument. Assuming he lets the others know, it would appear the second apprentice is now away. Alert to such, he can see just at the edge of shadow something flit at the top of the staircase, looking downstairs. As they strain to hear, they can hear the other apprentice arguing vociferously for them to call upon the guards or ring the alarm upstairs. Halstan appears to be begging that she do otherwise, or else they may be killed. What do you do?
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Jun 11, 2018 17:48
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Kitchen The halfling cook cries out, a sound that echoes up and down the chimney as she slips and falls back, while her final breath is stolen away by the shadow sorcerer's necromantic magic. With her life snuffed out like a candle, she lands in the cooking pot with a large splash, the spear sticking out her body that floats to the still bubbling top. There's a stillness after that, as her blood begins to pool crimson at the surface intermingled with the stew's broth. The two standing near the chimney can hear, just faintly, a door swing open, and the shuffling of boots, likely one of the guards. A voice, likely a dwarf by the sound of it, calls out with a bit of trepidation. "Hello? Tisidora, was that you? I swear by St. Clageddin's beard I heard something..." A lantern light begins to creep up near the fireplace opening. But that's not the only alarming sound that is heard. At the lizardman's threat, there's a faint sound. It can be barely heard, but heard it is. A sobbing sound, a pitiful sniffling, and a scuffing sound. But it is not in any of the cupboards or pantry areas. It is coming from beneath you, beneath the set tiles and grout of the floor. We sink in beneath to see, and underneath the surface, in a secret space, they begin to shuffle along, now at a quickened pace. One, a young halfling woman, weeps almost catatonic, having heard Tisidora's death, while an older bearded halfling attempts vainly to drag her along. The fourth, a younger man, has already just about scrambled away in a complete panick. "Which way is it? Which way old man!?" The bearded one however doesn't want to leave anyone behind. "Come on now, lass. We've got no chance." "Why are they doing this, Gregory? Why did they kill her?!" There is enough of a delay in their escape that may prove fatal, but they do not surrender themselves, only give away their position. You have a last clear chance to stop them before they take this hidden passage to whatever direction they are headed, but the question is again similar as it was before. Once you have an idea of where they have gone, it becomes easy to discern how they filched themselves away: The ash is disturbed in a very particular way, and it would appear there is some sort of trap door at the bottom of the chimney underneath the cooling cinders, and a fireplace poker used to lift it up rests nearby. You can attempt to tear up the floor. It's a Strength check at DC 18, advantage if you use an appropriate tool for leverage. Doing so will likely let you cut off at least two of them, though will cause some noise. Otherwise, one or more of you will have to get into the crawlspace, but since none of you are Small, you will be at a severe disadvantage in there and will need to think of something relatively clever before letting them escape. Those are only the two more obvious options. You may still work off of Hriss's Intimidate to have at least two of them surrender, but they feel secure enough that they weren't going to give themselves up to a single social skill check, especially since they have an escape route that isn't cut off from them and until now you didn't know about. If you convince them that their escape is otherwise in vain, it may still work.
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Jun 11, 2018 23:40
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — The Warden's Tower The three of you have pored over the tomes, looking for anything of value or use, as the argument upstairs has wound up towards its fateful conclusion. With the mad dash of the cat upstairs, there is a bit of a yelping sound as poor Halstan is all but pushed a bit down the first steps, steaming kettle in hand and with his wand in the other, shoulders slumped forward slightly. It's as if there is a crossbow held to his back, though there is no such immediate danger. Behind him in her own shift, though also a furred mantle clasped at the front with a golden brooch, is Vicenza, her lips curled up in her usual sneer. Her hands are hidden under the mantle, and she makes to position herself behind Halstan and whatever is waiting for her down there. She is an older woman, not some recent adolescent like Halstan. She is obviously a half-elf, but she could be well into her forties or fifties (that is to say, the apparent age of a thirty year old human woman). She must be quite a late bloomer, to still be an apprentice of the same level as the sixteen-year-old commoner. Her eyes are alight with cruelty, but that makes her if anything less sympathetic to the villains that have invaded her master's sanctum. "<Mitne.>" Vicenza's word in Draconic causes all of the light sconces to begin to flare up, filling the room now completely with the cool blue light. Glenn luckily is out of her sight range, able to duck out of the way and disappear behind some shelves, but both Salvatrix and Excellence are completely exposed. "Whatever it is you scum are planning, it ends now. I've alerted the sergeant and men will be here shortly to secure the tower. Drop your weapons and you will be returned to your cells, alive. If you refuse, I will crush you like the disgusting insects you are." She is coming out immediately strong out of the gate, all fiery bravado with her thick Lucidorean accent. [Passive Insight] However, there is a tinge of fear underneath. It is a bluff, a grandstanding lie to try and cow them, which won't work so well on hardened villains as it might a callow Myrcian farmboy like Halstan. Speaking of the poor sod, he stands a bit precariously there, looking ready to defend her, but his eyes speak of a lot more terror, knowing that the villains are likely to respond unkindly to those words. He looks to Salvatrix first almost pleadingly, as if desperate to try and communicate some plan to assure her safety.
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Jun 12, 2018 03:02
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 "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — DungeonThe slot into the Beast's cell opens with a metallic whine with the knock of the rake. Climbing up, Worm peers inside with his good eye. Only a little of the light trickles in with a small shaft of light. There are no windows here, as it is entirely bricked in, with no signs of furnishings or anything. As his vision adjusts to the darkness, he begins to try and spot where the creature is. He looks back and forth, and finds that the cell appears to be almost complete empty. To the left, nothing but stone. To the right, what appears to be some rags and broken manacles. A few moments, and it occurs to Worm where he has not looked.  As Worm cranes his neck, the figure drops from the ceiling, landing completely silently upon the pad of its feet, suddenly filling the entirety of your vision. Scarlet hair with golden tips, glinting in the light, and two beady eyes on a wide-set face mostly filled with a wide, toothy maw, that is... grinning? The eyes glint light like those of a cat, filling most of the slot there before you as it looks back. With a dissonant voice, that sounds disturbingly human, with a tinny, almost childlike sing-song quality, it asks...  "Are you sure about that?"
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Jun 12, 2018 04:02
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 "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — The Warden's Tower "Your master has been dead and gone for over a hundred years. His Dominion was smashed and ground into the dirt. Loyalty was repaid with betrayal, first of the orcs, then of you horned folk, but for us in Lucidor, we were only ever gifted, the first to swear, with being abandoned to corpse-eaters," and with that she spits in Salvatrix's direction, "and then the marauders that were once the Pretender's legions."Vicenza had faltered slightly in her bravado at Excellence's words, but the final offer did not move her. The Pretender is a euphemistic term used for Asmodeus. Even today, no one in Talingarde, if they even know about Asmodeus, will dare speak his name. Instead, the insulting sobriquet of his attempt at worldly rule, the only way he is referred to in the Mitran tradition, is used by the more learned. Excellence has likely heard it before, and it might bristle to hear it from Vicenza's lips, dripping with poison. The Lucidoreans have a famously long memory for vendetta, and they were treated poorly by the Dominion and its fall, even if their glory has been dispossessed now by the dragonborn. She could tell that Vicenza, while having a taste for cruelty, was not motivated by greed. She was motivated by a sin more befitting her people. Pride. There might be a way to speak to that, but you will have to offer more than the power of a dark god that has not been heard of in Talingarde for a century. However, you have her attention, and as she continues, it's clear she's discarding her bluff and, while still trying to save face, more or less standing down. "What is going to happen is that you will leave this place, with my master's things intact. I don't care if you escape. I will not pursue you. But know that neither myself nor Halstan are to be held responsible for this; it is the warden's duty. Apprentices such as us will be patted on the head and returned to the University, to find some other doddering old creature to mind us while we are made to play with cantrips and abstract theory. It's such that even commoners are given equal chance to their betters."[Passive Insight/History] You can tell by the way that she speaks that she does feel constrained. Wizards are accepted in Talingarde, but under many restrictions and the watchful eye of the Church. "Blasphemous" knowledge such as the summoning and binding of fiends have been completely purged, thus they are not even widely practiced spells. There is rigorous testing for each circle of initiation, and a lot of gatekeeping in which more powerful wizards are complicit in enforcing. Thus most wizards of either school, whether Rhadlun or Arzardys, rarely reach vaunted heights of power. [Insight DC 14] This will require a roll to detect, as none of you have a passive Insight high enough. There's a definite jealousy of Halstan barely concealed in her actions and words. It's not a hard conclusion to come to that she, a fully-grown woman of aristocratic lineage, is at the same level of learning (and likely power!) as a sixteen-year old farm boy. She likely has a complex, but it also might indicate she's not as talented as she thinks she is. Exploiting this knowledge might give advantage on an appropriate check, but it's risky: If her pride is wounded, she might lash out. As Vicenza speaks, never leaving her perch on the stairs as she stairs down the confident tiefling bladesworn, Halstan meets Salvatrix's eyes, and when she reaches out for the kettle, his mind races. He quiets the quaking of his hands and lets out a tight breath, as he hands the kettle over to the approaching witch. He has to trust her. He finds himself between one terrible fate and another, and curses himself inwardly for not having more strength of character to have stood up to either. It is easy to see that Vicenza expects that if there is to be an attack, that she will be defended from one angle by the stairway, and the other by Halstan as a human shield. This is to say, she has 3/4's cover, and thus her AC is 19 at this time (13 mage armor + 1 Dex + 5). There's a tangible feeling of tension in the air. Somehow, you feel that your time here is limited, though you can't adequately explain why. It's that sort of feeling of impending calamity, like water dripping on your forehead from an unseen amphora. Everything threatens to come undone in the coming minutes. "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — KitchenHolding the young halfling girl close, Gregory, the oldest of the three, whispers as reassuringly as he can manage. "Don't weep, lass. Pray. The light always comes, I promise you." He was slowly resolved, just as Tisidora had given herself to try and distract the villains long enough for the others to escape, to save the others as best he can. He knew his life was likely forfeit, but he thought he had a plan that would at lease secure the lives of the other two. Slowly, he lifted the metal grate under the smoldering ash, heavy leather gloves in hand, and crawled out, likely becoming snatched up by the lizardman. He did not complain, only whistled through the gap in his teeth, his mouth hidden behind a bushy mustache and his head a crown of white, whispy hair balding about his head. "Aye, aye, do what you must. But let the wee little one go. Take me as your hostage. I'll help you anyway I can, I know this castle like the back of me hands. And so long as I breathe, the young ones won't do anything rash and stay out of your way. I know the boys in blue as well well, and they won't want any more bloodshed if they can help it." His eyes were sad, as if unconvinced that this appeal would land on such black hearts as these, but it was his gambit. And he was aided somewhat in circumstances. Up on the next floor, the dwarven guard meandered over to the fireplace, peering down. "Hellooo?" He called out in his lilting Gebroan accent. The eyes of the hill dwarf focused, and he gave a bit of a startled cry. You see, dwarves have darkvision, and the chimney isn't really that deep, and the soup has turned a rather unseemly crimson color, with a halfling's body floating at the surface. "Hells' bells! The old battleaxe's been murdered!" Time seemed to slow slightly in that moment of alert. Your opportunity to decide what to do next was somewhat limited. You had an old halfling hostage, and a dwarven guard about to raise the alarm on a completely different floor. You'd need to be clever, quick, and/or mad to keep everything from falling apart. Your move. "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — DungeonMeanwhile, someone else was about to be loosed that threatened the thin veneer of order to this operation. As Worm speaks to the creature, it seems to lean back into the darkness, the color of its coat fading into that grayish shades and silhouettes that darkvision grants, giving it an unusual, surreal quality as it turns from bright colors to less so. "No one has ever tried talking to me before."It has a sort of wonder and curiosity in its voice. If you were not looking at the bestial source of the words, you would scarce believe where it came from. There isn't any hint of menace or violence to the words, as you might expect. Yet everything about it physically was coiled muscle, bristling fur, and rows of sharpened teeth. It was almost sad, what it said. In between its capture, imprisonment, and study by the wizard, it sounded like no one had ever treated it before as more than a monster, even though it could clearly speak Common. The fey, especially unseelie, are layered in glamour and illusion, but one had to wonder, is this misbegotten creature simply misunderstood? The acid begins to make its work. The first link in the chain breaks, with two more to go before it all falls down. "I guess that is reason enough not to kill you, Mr. Worm. It's so lonely and boring in here."A second link in the chain broke. At this point, the acid began to drip further. There wasn't really any way to turn back now, unless you wanted to burn the skin on your fingers. "I haven't had fun in so long. So let's have fun together."You had the feeling that, much like you and the rest of your party, this creature wasn't simply misunderstood. That third and final chain broken and the silver landed in a clatter where it could be collected. Of course, the portcullis was still intact, as was the door, and the bricks housing it in. But like the rattle of a dying man, the abjuration magic disappeared, and with it, the quaggoth with its Chesire smile seemed to fade. Even with Worm's darkvision, it seemed to twist and unwind like so much string, disappearing in shades of black and gray, color draining out until it was nothingness, disappeared. And yet its presence was still there, unmistakably. You could see the bars twist as it moved between them, the space warping as if it was the surface rippling of water, or like a thin sheet of silk under which something twisted and moved underneath. As it moved past, the torchlight seemed to fade with it, as it made to pass through, and move along down that hall, not with frightening alacrity, but rather a stalking speed, like that of a jungle cat. Occasionally, its form would flicker back into view, but only at the corner of one's eye, and only for a blink. Through this, you could discern where basically it was at any given time, but as soon as you focused on it it would seem to disappear, or slip further from view. As the creature moved between this world and the fey realm, it left a disorienting feeling of unease, though the torches soon returned back to their full strength once it had passed. When it reached the warded doorway, it paused for a moment, showing enough intelligence to understand that going much further would be bad for it. There, Gertude had made for the branding cage, and indeed found the meteoric iron brand, up upon a special rack along with some other implements, not of torture but of restraint. When she touched it, it felt hot to the touch, and in fact would burn her if held too long, just as if it were red hot. However, simply using heavy gloves or a cloth worked just fine to hold it, though it was still uncomfortable to hold. What was also uncomfortable was the feeling of the quaggoth's presence coming and passing, as it came to the wall between the guard post and the branding cell. The wall began to warp, and it flickered into view with a blink of the old woman, as it tore through the stone like it was rotting wood, pieces falling to the ground and crumbling to dust, a wet rent being opened up and showing three guards, caught completely unaware at their table playing cards and drinking from horns of whisky. One dropped his hand and began to reach for the crossbow, but there was a sudden blackness as all the torches went out. A few wet sounds followed, and when the torches lit back up, the room was painted red, with the quaggoth now seemingly fully material, tearing off the arm of a still half-alive human, and then pinning it under foot, examining the arm for a moment before tossing it aside, and pawing a bit at the body, as if looking for something more interesting. It finds such with one of the horns of whisky worn at the belt of the guards, bending it back and drinking from it, then hacking and coughing, spitting it out. "Eugh. That's no good." Sounding more a petulant child than the monster it plainly was.Two problems had been solved: The guards, and finding a way past the ward. However, the question is whether a volatile being such as this could be controlled for long, and the creeping sense of dread that things might be soon be going off the rails. Where do you seek to go next, and what, if any, directions do you give the Beast of Freness? Plunder posted:No gambling took place here, though there is a set of playing cards and you do find a few coins, about 34 silver dragons (sp). You can find a two horns of whisky, though one has been drained. There are the usual truncheons and padded armor, as well as a light crossbow and 20 bolts. You also find the tokens that allow one to pass through the wardens, which the guards assigned here wear: A talisman of gray hair, likely the wizards, which is often bound up and wrapped with paper and string. It would appear the guards didn't much care for the idea of carrying an old wizard's hair, thus why only the guards on duty kept them near.
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Jun 13, 2018 16:59
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Kitchen The dwarf is shocked at the callousness of the villain who would threaten one of the smallfolk's life, but his voice of alarm catches upon his throat, though this time not because of a garrote. At first gritting his teeth, he leans into the chimney, shout-whispering down, "You cannot mean this! You must know there is no escape from Branderscar. Your mark will follow you wherever you go. There are no ships that will take you from this land, not even in Girvan. You fight in vain, my lady. Please, there need not be any more bloodshe-" His voice is caught again in his throat, but this time with that razor wire once more cutting in, catching the dwarf and lifting him off his feet as he lets off a wet choke, grabbing at his neck. However, he is not given a chance to struggle, as he looks up and suddenly his vision goes black and red. The jaws of the lizardman Hriss snap around the bottom of his head like a crocodile, tearing it off and letting the body slump down, the helmet landing and rolling down the chimney with a clatter. Inside the guard post, the guards are stirred by the sound, by silent and deadly as night, the sorceress Rêve simply calls upon the simplest of spells, casting a pall over whatever lay in the room. They feel dark shadows hang heavy over their eyes, their mouths drooping open and then suddenly collapsing into sleep. When she opens the door, stiletto in hand, she founds a human woman and man in simple armor, one in the midst of loading a crossbow, sleeping like babes. They likely do not live much longer. From the rafters above, the doves are agitated. Some flutter and scatter, leaving the great hall. Others simply dart from place to place, cooing. Yet the alarm is not immediately raised, so it's uncertain what purpose they may have served, or how long it might take for that countermeasure to work, but it is certain that your acts were spotted, thus Hriss knows he can move on the third floor to scout ahead unhindered. The bloodshed shakes the old halfling, as he winces at the sound of the clattering helmet, but does not struggled against his bonds. Still, his heart burns still with bravery, and until gagged he isn't afraid to speak his mind. "Aye, the poor dwarf was right. That mark you have never goes away. You may make it to the Banishlands, but they will never stop looking for you." With a dejected sigh, he simply asks. "Why? Why are you doing all this?" "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — The Warden's TowerFor the first time, the hardness of Vicenza's expression weakens slightly. She's finally being offered an easy way out, like she expected would always come to her. It sounds insane, still. Yet the casual confidence that the tiefling offers there alarms here. Have they truly already won? How much was her life in danger? Her brow twitched slightly in consideration. Vicenza didn't even notice the witch drawing away her human shield, so engrossed in the decision. Halstan was bewildered, but finally found the strength to speak. "No!" He pulled away from Salvatrix at that, looking at her apologetically, but raising his wand. It was too much for the boy to take. Talk of taking over the world, overthrowing the order of things? He had no self-confidence, but he wasn't actually a coward, when it came down to it. "This is insane! I... I can't let you do this! This stops here! Even if it has to be me!"He only managed to speak two words of power, to try and cast something on Excellence, before a whistling sound followed the twang of the bow's string being released, and an arrow sunk itself into the chest of the temporarily heroic young wizard, sucking the air out of him. When he gasped, it was a wet sound, as the arrow had sunk in and pierced lung. Having stepped from behind Excellence, the halfling mastermind had added another casualty to his growing list. The body sunk to the floor more or less in a heap, blood pooling through the thin sheet of his shift. [Passive Perception] Halstan is yet still breathing. He'll likely die, barring a miracle or some magical medical attention in the near future. Removing the arrow would just make him bleed out faster, and so long as it is in there, he will likely suffocate to death. Chest wounds are nasty. I'm reserving a Hero Point for his survival, assuming his body is abandoned, which would qualify for an Act of Pain and raise the Doom Die, though so would saving his life and taking him captive. He wasn't heroic before, but inadvertantly, you have set him up to be one. If you double tap to make sure he's dead, no Doom Die.Vicenza, for the first time, smiled, though it was a nervous one. She suddenly realizes how close she was to death. And that fact that the villains had spared her so long gives her a new perspective on the whole ordeal. She finally shows her hands, one palm forward, the other holding a bladed dagger. She looks into Excellence's eyes for this part, as it's very important. "A woman of Lucidor does not let herself become indebted lightly. So consider this assurance." She lowered her empty hand, on her right, showing her forearm, the same place where the others were branded. She cut a single, straight line down it, deep enough to like scar but done such that it would not bleed too much, her face contorting a bit in pain. It was a small thing, and would be no true branding as the villains had, but it was clear what she intended with the gesture. "Toss the old man's quarters upstairs. I am sure he hid some of his studies from us. I will collect his spellbook. It is mine now."She said that with her usual bravado, though bit her lip a bit as she felt the sting of the bleeding on her arm, heading down to collect the spellbook and scrolls from the spellcase, glancing aside at the dying Halstan with a sense of... relief. Unless stopped, Vicenza is going to take the spellbook and spell scrolls for herself. After all, isn't that what was promised to her? "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — DungeonThe Beast, who seemed to have not taken much note of Gertrude before, seems almost surprised at the pat on its shoulder, tensing but then looking at her curiously with those bright, beady eyes, thin lipped and wide maw creasing slightly. It was perpetually in a rictus-like grin, not unlike the undead she was familiar with, but it was quite expressive otherwise, especially with the golden tinges of its fur at its brow and elsewhere. Its voice came from the creature without movement of lips or tongue. "A treat, Grandmother? Do you think they'll have something sweet?"It was almost precious indeed. The creature certainly wasn't chewing or eating at the corpses of the men. In fact, it had an almost detached view of the murder it had done, more or less ignoring the carnage it had wrought, ready to leave it behind in only an instant. They were nothing more than discarded and broken toys, and now something better had been promised to it. "Everybody was scared of me. They gave me a chicken every week. They didn't even cook them! It was cruel of them, Grandmother."Its voice almost whined, as it spoke of its imprisonment and mistreatment. Now that Worm had spoken to it, it seemed to enjoy speaking, and stretching that out. It slowly shifted, and moved to pick her up, though at first it was not too gentle. It more or less threw the old woman over its shoulder, as if she was nothing but a sack, and it was likely less than comfortable. With a good thwack, possibly with the iron, leaving if she used it a scorch mark on its fur, it let out a bestial roar, though its childlike voice and complaint was in dissonance with the terrifying noise it made. "Ow! That hurt!"Yet it learned her harsh lesson lesson, and at Gertrude's guidance, cradled her more gently in one of its huge arms, walking out about the time Pharom and Worm had caught up. "Grandmother promised us sweets when we get up! Come on!"And so it moved, flickering out of view with a blink. Excited and moving in a loping sort of trot, it phased in and out of the material to the eyes of Pharom and Worm, but to Gertrude, she was taken along as it journeyed back and forth between our world and that of the fey. It is worth describing for a few moments the general understood nature of the Ethereal. While the Astral Realms, such as Hell, and the Heavens, are completely different planes of existence, the Ethereal are tied with the material, tinged by positive and negative energy. The Feywild is the Positive Ethereal Realm, born of dreams and imagination, and the font of life (and through life, suffering) and light (and through light, shadow). However, that does not make it Good, though it leans that way. Its counterpart, the Shadowfel, is the Negative Ethereal Realm, born of memories and the soul, and the source of death (and through death, peace) and darkness (and through darkness, vision). As with the Feywild, it is not necessarily Evil, though it leans that way. It was not until the coming of Orcus, for instance, that the restless dead were corrupted by Evil, but now their very existence has become anathema to life. Such is the power of a demon prince. That little sidebar aside, Gertrude, perhaps for the first time in her long life, gets to see how the other side lives. When the quaggoth blinks into the Feywild, the world is awash in saturated color and twisting shapes, overgrown with plants and foilage, and most of all thorns that form hedges and a canopy where previously were stone and vaulted ceilings. It is alien but familiar, and as they move a trail of flowers comes behind them. It is shadowy and twilight here, in the dungeon, but as they walk up into the first floor, bright moonbeams as intense as daylight break through breaches in the thorns. She only gets glimpses in between each blink of her eyes, but it is still a wondrous sight indeed, and sees that other eyes are looking back at her, hidden between the leaves. However, they find the hall more or less empty, and once they climb a second set of stairs, they find Egina having arrived with her little hostage, Rêve having taken care of the guards on this floor, and Hriss arriving to confirm that there were no guards on the third floor. Apparently with most of the prisoners gone, they had all called their shift off, possibly to join the sergeant's game at the gatehouse. Two thirds of the villains nine are reunited, along with an unusual addition in the shape of the Beast of Freness, who gets rather close in his examinations of the others, not sniffing like some animal, but examining each as if it were the first time he ever saw the likes of them. And in all honesty, a Keshkevarine sorceress, a Veylish elf, a Chuultese lizardman, and a halfbreed of orcish and elven blood were all pretty novel to the creature, from wherever it came from. They may not have much time however to get acquainted. There is now bodies and carnage everywhere. While they may have slaughtered half of the guards, there are more patrolling outside, both in the yard and on the walls, and certainly the largest concentration at the gatehouse. It's only a matter of time before the ruse is up. Let's get dangerous. Tension posted:We are going to enter a little more abstracted now time, but with structure to keep escalating the tension. Instead of Turns, we're going to count Ticks. Every Tick, there is a chance of Escalation, likely from a guard happening upon the aftermath you have left behind. Right now, the Escalation chance is 10%, and it will steadily increase over time.
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Jun 14, 2018 18:29
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Tension posted:The first tick fails its Escalation check, meaning the alarm is still not raised. Escalation chance increases by 30% to 40% due to individual discovery (+20%) and time (+10%). We are now on Tick 2. "The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Warden's Library, Warden's Tower 2FSoon enough, the party in the warden's tower scattered, leaving the Meleki witch to herself. As Salvatrix resigns to sob alone at the bottom of the stairs, her tears seem to stir something. Whatever deep and buried place they spring from, like water from the earth, it does have a little power. Long after both the halfling and the tiefling (and her pet) have made their way upstairs, she hears a ragged cough, the sign of life that hadn't been there before. A hoarse, almost unintelliglbe whisper. "Sal..."None of that display had been for naught. Whether she knew she had an audience or not, it had been sensed, perhaps through a feverish daze, through what was surely a ragged few moments punctuated by cold unconsciousness, but the boy was fighting, uplifted by a power of hope that suffused him, dragging himself to the top of that stairwell and looking down. "Please... don't cry..."Whether she attended to him or not, he grasped at something hidden in the loose pockets of his shift then shuddered into himself, drawing forth all his reserves left of energy. There was the sound of heavy boots coming down the stairs, so the pressure of time was upon him. He drew forth a little piece of copper wire, gritting it between his teeth so no one could hear it. It came as a whisper over the air, heard only for Salvatrix's ears, no matter how distant she remained, and without the same grasp of pain on his voice. <Quickly. With the crystal ball, you contact the master. He may be exiled, but could still save you. In his quarters, there is another friend that can aid you. The command is "sadikh.">It was all he could do with what little life he had. You are not sure what friend that might be, or what the command is (or what the command itself means, in a language you have never heard before). He let out another ragged breath, and his body loosened, becoming once again still, though in a slightly different position upon his belly upon the time Excellence arrived back at the bottom of the stairs, to wait for Vicenza's return. "The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Apprentice Quarters, Warden's Tower 3FThe conversation between the tiefling bladesworn and her newest recruit to darkness follows them from the library upstairs, as Vicenza takes her spoils from her master's collection. Vicenza almost looks bored by the questions. "This is the rear end end of Myrcia, in a castle where people are shuffled off to be forgotten. Do you really think there is some treasure to be found here?" "It seems you already found the Astra, the most interesting book in the collection. There is also the Floragerium, which is a catalog of flowers and herbs in Talingarde, while this..." Vicenza traces a finger down the spine of a rather unassuming book with a black binding and burgundy tinged pages, one of three in a set. "This is the Authorized History of the Earls of Myrcia. From Roak to Markadian. It's as exciting as it sounds." Vicenza rolled her eyes, and moved to the spell cabinet, to begin defusing the spell and unlocking it. "We were never allowed in our master's quarters, but I'm sure he has something. The Sergeant wears finer clothing than his low station would allow, and I hear he confiscates interesting items from all of the prisoners who travel through here." Excellence shakes her head, saying, "Not treasure, perhaps, but things that may prove useful as we make our way out from the prison." She does, however, add the indicated volumes to her pack. "Excellent. I'm sure the halfling will find anything your master would keep hidden in his chambers and, indeed, I can't imagine that the rest of our band will let the opportunity of the sergeant's quarters slip by."Moving into the room by Vicenza, Excellence asks, "Has your former master let slip any details on how they'd track anyone who managed to escape?" She has no little doubt magic would be involved. It usually was. "If so, is there anything we'd need to ruin or otherwise destroy before making for freedom?" "He is an abjurer, not a diviner." She says this as if it should be obvious. "But the University will take your escape as a personal affront. They will likely use scrying to mark your movements and alert their caretakers in the Inquisition. In there, the White Lion Knights will track you down, and likely kill you." Vicenza glanced over her shoulder once the case is unlocked, and lifts the cover, her hands settling on the spellbook. "Do you know how scrying works? Perhaps not." She turns back to the book, lifting it up in her hands. "They will have collected locks of hair during your processing. Or some other objects that were important to you. The sergeant puts them into lockboxes and has them shipped to Castlecliff. Gods know where it may go from there. But they will likely call upon their elven lapdogs to work on it, rather than the University. Might give you a few weeks since the elves are slow to act on anything." "But it's more or less inevitable that you will be caught. So what exactly makes you think that you will be different?" Vicenza turns and seems genuinely curious. She believes that there is some plan here, but considering the stakes and the odds, she doesn't quite see exactly how it would play out. "Suffice to say, we're not without powerful friends. The security in this place has proven appallingly insufficient, but the tools we needed to capitalize on those failings were smuggled in and provided by said friends." Excellence's ignorance of their exact nature is clearly being masked as an interest in maintaining operational secrecy. She smiles with no little confidence, "So once we've rendezvoused with them, a solution to the problem of scrying will naturally be implemented. I assume that the boxes have already left for Castlecliff?" "I don't pay much attention to what the dirty little gnome does with his time. Weekly a boat comes to Roak's Awe and docks down the road where we receive supplies, and then continues along its way to Castlecliff. Sometimes with a new prisoner, or new staff or the like." Vicenza places the spell tome under one of her arms and begins to collect the scrolls shortly after that. "He sometimes keeps particular items of interest to him. But even without those objects, they may still find you. And that brand is powerful magic itself. It will mark you no matter what form you take." "To be sure. My aim is simply to muddy the waters as much as is possible on the chance that there's an uncharacteristically quick response to our escape." Excellence looks unconcerned by the threat of the brand. "If our plans come together, the brand will be less of a factor than you think. The belief in its efficacy will turn into a shield that will protect us from the White Lion Knights and any others who would pursue us."After all, if their mysterious benefactors don't have a convincing solution... well, suffice to say she intends to make one last glorious attempt at the King. That bold stroke might well bypass their timeline. "Muddy the waters, is it? You might be best served scattering to the five winds if that is your intention." Vicenza's tone is droll, as she draws up to the third floor to go to her personal quarters, to gather her own personal spellbook and things. Still wearing her blue nightgown, she looks over her shoulder with an arched brow. "Do you mind giving a lady her privacy?" She had to change into something more appropriate. "Of course. We'll be moving on soon." Excellence settles back down in the main area, waiting for the others to finish their tasks.Vicenza takes her time, going through her things and collecting all that she might need to set off on this "adventure," but leaving plenty enough behind. She decides on a velvet doublet, laced up to her clavicle, with boots and a dark colored mantle on her shoulders. Pulling the hood over her head, she steps down the stairwell, bandaging her arm where she cut herself to demonstrate her blood oath. "I am Domina Santzia Vicenza Cremona of Nostoy. Who do I now owe allegiance to, if not the crown of Darian?" She seemed happy enough to renounce such a thing. "The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Warden's Quarters, Warden's Tower 4FIt had been an interesting venture for Glenn, but it was exactly as he imagined it, that returning now to the "logistics" would indeed settle him. Far away from the bleeding bodies in the grand hall, and the most recent addition of a callow young farm boy to the list, he founds his hands settling, at least for a time. The warden's quarters, up at the very top of the tower, on one end opening up into a balcony overlooking the sea, with heavy curtains though still quite breezy and cold. On the opposite end were slit-like windows overlooking the prison, and its various turrets and fortifications. There was a simple bed, a second study and desk, and various trinkets and memorabilia of a more personal nature than what was kept in the office below. A wardrobe as well stood opposite the bed. There was also at the foot of the bed a great metal-banded trunk, which Glenn found was magically locked, the tumblers not even reacting to his picks. It was likely further warded as well, and very heavy, difficult to transport. It would take some time to unlock, and likely would need to be forced open, possibly resulting in whatever magic was within it to be unleashed. Under the bed, the white-furred cat hissed, causing his hands to lose their steadiness, its glinting eyes staring at him with a strange intelligence the whole time, though it did its best to stay in cover and away from his gaze or hands if he grasped for it. There was still treasure to find here, but the trunk remained locked with its secrets safe inside. Plunder posted:In the wardrobe, you can find the following: "The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Chapel, Watchtower AThe Beast of Freness seems just as mystified by being named as it did when it was first spoken to, tilting its head and blinking its beady little eyes, trying to suss through the word. "Gris-wold..." "OK, grandmother. I'll be Griswold, for now. It's pretty cool. I've never had one before! Everyone called me Beast, which I don't think is a name..."But when the caramels and candies are offered, it becomes quite ravenous, snapping at the air like a cat trying to "chew", being that it had no proper molars to grind through the sticky candy, which kept it busy for some time while the villains discussed their next plan of action. It was still snapping at the air trying to work through the sweets when Gertrude placed her hand on the creature, and drew it to accompany her across the yard. The passage to the chapel is at first uneventful, as Griswold moves perfectly silent like a cat. Thanks to Gertrude's influence, he is stopped in his tracks before he makes to descend upon a patrol, and it begins to dawn that there's a few more guards than anticipated. There are at least two patrols on the grounds of two guards each, armed with halberds, as well as a rottweiler sniffing around for each of them. Their circuit is relatively lazy, and at least one of them looks completely drunk, more or less being carried in good cheer by the other guard. There were also two guards at the main doors of the great hall, oblivious to the carnage gone on inside, and two guards at the gatehouse door. Both of these sets were armed with spears, shields, and ringmail. Worst of all, the guards seem to sing to themselves to keep themselves awake with their little peasant songs, sometimes duets, or calling out to each one. Three guards walk the battlements with their crossbows, and one is stationed at the top of the laboratory tower, visible by a shape outlined by bright heart fire, as it acts as a lighthouse, for ships that might pass through the treacherous waters. Yet this good cheer, drink, and singing also makes them mostly oblivious to what's happening. However, that does not extend to the Gebroan hounds, one of which stops and perks up, catching the scent downwind from where Gertrude and Griswold are. It sniffs, and begins to growl, especially at the scent of blood and death both carry with them The guards stop, as it makes to leap but is snapped back at the chains. "Saints be good, these things are terrible!" Complains one of the guards, who appears to be half-elven. "They see something move and suddenly its all teeth. They're liable to hurt one of us one of these days." The other guard, a hard-nosed human woman, just keeps silent, raising her lantern and peering into the darkness. "I didn't hear nothing," she finally assents, and sighs. She turns back, as Griswold and Gertrude were crouched behind the wooden construct of the gibbet, which stood between their way and the chapel. All the while, underneath their feet, Worm crawled through the tunnels underneath the castle grounds, built into the old foundations. They were braced with old wood, and seemed to be of a different formation than the castle itself, though Worm was no dwarf and thus failed really to see much of it at first glance that was interesting, and likely was a bit preoccupied with the ticking clock at their hands. The two villains and their good, good beast-boy would arrive at about the same time at the chapel. Worm is the first to enter the chapel, and finds it empty and humble. At the bottom of the watchtower a little sanctuary has been built around a smokeless fire, burning with the holy oil of Mitra (something only his flamines are known to consecrate), but it is a small flickering flame like that of a candle atop a waxen wick at the center of a censer set on the ground. its flickering light illuminates the sanctuary it is behind, where semi-translucent icons of the various saints are arranged on three wooden panels, each revealing a different face and mask of the mercurial god of the sun. A humble dwelling is built under the stairs, with a chamberpot, pile of straw and blankets, as the flamen here seems to live more the life of a friar than a finely appointed priest of the faith. Gertrude, when she arrives, especially makes note of this, and there's little sign of any drink or the like allowed in here. It has all the trappings of a holy place. More doves like those that flocked in the upper rafters of the great hall flood the rafters of this watchtower as well, gazing down and cooing. They are the only sign of life in the chapel, however, as you find no sign of the flamen. Where is that doddering old man? Desecration posted:Desecrating a holy place of Mitra can vary on how to go about it. Simple iconoclasm can serve as a message, but if you truly want to pervert the message, you need to taint it. Destruction and carnage is the provenance of demons and pagans rather than devils and heretics. Of course, neither of you are necessarily faithful of Asmodeus. So there are two directions you might go. "The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Sergeant's Quarters, Great Hall 1FThe lizardman and sorceress make for across the mess hall to his quarters, to toss and look for anything that might be of interest. They are a bit more subtle though than those words might imply, as they can hear through the walls and window slits the sound of two guards conversing outside, and can see the occasional patrol on the grounds. The warden's room is well appointed, with feather down mattress and pillows, linen sheets and plush accommodations that are not ostentatious, but tastefully outside his salary. He has fine tastes but is not obviously stupid about it, and it could be justified if he had an inheritance or some other side income. Of course, you know that his side-income is highly illegal. In his personal desk, after ripping off one of the locked drawers, you find papers confirming what was hinted at in the journal, showing the exact amounts if one took a peer through that were embezzled from the crown's budget for the prison and then a few letters ordering the Skarrian whisky to be used as his seed for his speakeasy venture. There's a few other things that are interesting too. There's a few artifacts that appear to be from the wars against the hobgoblins, and some correspondence with the warden, Lord Mathias Richter. Apparently him and Blackbriar were personal friends, and veterans of that conflict. Blackbriar was apparently decorated for bravery after being found injured on the battlefield. Though that doesn't seem in character for what you know of him... [An Investigation check at DC 15 might reveal more.] There is also a portrait of him atop his prized war mastiff, fully armored and raising his lance high. It is an ostentatious portait, and obviously depicts him as larger than he is, perhaps equal in size to the hobgoblins that cower at his charge. [Passive Investigation] It's easy enough to surmise that it is hiding something, since it is slightly ajar, and removing it reveals a gnomish safe, with a complex mechanism, built into the wall. Plunder posted:You can find a fair amount of things here. "The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Laboratory, Watchtower BAt the end of their argument, neither Egina nor Pharom are particularly prepared for what they find in the Watchtower. They are greeting with a growl, as a Gebroan rottweiler is hunched over and with its teeth bared not far from the hole in the floor from where they lifted up the loose stone that hide the trapdoor. "Your voices carry pretty well down the tunnels," says a smiling dwarf, oblivious to just how bloody-handed the business the night has been. He's looking down the length of his heavy crossbow, pointed at whichever one would have been the first to surface. "I knew the little ones would play down there, but old Blackbriar should have listened when we asked to seal them back up. It was a good try, but it ends now. Let's get you back to your cells, then." The dwarf and his hound seem to be the only guards in the tower. There are a few options: Bluff, escape back through the tunnel, or fight. What do you do?
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Jun 20, 2018 17:52
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Successful Businessmanga posted:Gertrude flips the pages in her book a few times picking out some mote suitable imagery to pervert as she considers other means of desecration "Snatching up a guard or two would definitely need to be done in some manner if we had no sacrifice, but I imagine young Griswold here could wait around a moment, while we went off to fetch some decorations, and ply a deft touch toward rendering the flamen unconscious should the doddering old fool return." She turns to Griswold to inquire "would that be fine with you child? Or would you prefer to stay with someone?" "Just wait around? That sounds boring..."There's a slight whine to the voice, but having been aware enough of her guidance in the yard, it tries to be good, especially since it know she has more treats to give if it impresses. "I guess. Hopefully someone shows up so I can play. Then grandmother would have more decorations, right?"
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Jun 20, 2018 19:14
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"The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Apprentice Quarters, Warden's Tower 3F "It seems we have something in common, Domina bin Zariel." Vicenza seemed promisingly astute when it came to matters of such evil import. She not only recognized the meaning of the old tiefling nomenclature, but also the name of the archdevil Lilith claimed descent from. Then again, the Lucidoreans had a long memory, still using the old title of Dominus or Domina instead of Lord or Lady, as was done in the time of the Dominion, though either is often shortened to Don less formally. "We are both cut from second rate nobility."She was able to piece it together. Most of the old tieflling clans, the old nine, claimed descent from Asmodeus, whose blood pact was made physical in the world through the curse of most tieflings. He did not allow any other to take a lineage, except his favorite (at the time), Archduchess Zariel. She is no longer his favorite, of course, and even then, they were always second-rate, the knights rather than the nobility. Equites rather than patricians, even when their families flourished and gained power, such that today they are better off than many of the Asmodean clans. For the first time, though, there is a little bit of understanding. Elves are despised in Lucidor, for a variety of reasons. Being both quisling collaborators with the dragonborn occupiers for one, having for centuries tried to assert their own cultural influence, and just for being elves. And yet there are an uncommonly large amount of Lucidorean half-elves for such xenophobia, just as there are among the nobility of other peoples. They are just treated with far less pride. And to Lucidor, pride is everything. Perhaps there was potential in her yet. Shame about the attitude. "... What was that?"There was the distant sound of shouts, and then soon, bells. Soon there was the barking of dogs and men gathering in the prison yard. With a arcane hum, from one of the watchtowers, the lighthouse, the reflective mirror was charged with energy and fired down a searchlight that began to scan through the yard, searching for any escapees. The alarm had been raised. The jig was up. Now as the time for action. "The Gang Escapes From Branderscar Prison" — Laboratory, Watchtower BThe crystal phial careens in an arc, and the dwarf tenses, pressing down upon the trigger reflexively while the rottweiler bristles, leaping to try and catch the item in its jaws, but flailing and missing. There is the whistle of the released crossbow bolt let flying, which sinks into the left side of Egina's chest, dangerously close to her heart. Blood begins to gush from the wound and her vision dims, before suddenly a flash of chemical fire before her comes alight and washes both the guard and his dog in bright, incandescent flame. Most of hits the armor and nape of the dog's fur, so the damage is minimal, but the fire is persistent. It spills across the floor of the lab, reaching outward. The dwarf bellows out a warning, his Gebroan accent now far more noticeable in his panic, "Achtung! Guards! The prisoners have escaped!" He cocks back another bolt, and lets it fly, but it fires wide as both Egina and Pharom start to move and close in. "Raise the alarms! We mu-GACK!" His stomach is pierced by the half-orc's spear like meat upon a spit, while Pharom catches the snapping jaws of the rottweiler with a small vial of acid that burns through the soft tissues of its mouth and throat in a horrific way, as it whimpers and dies, clawing at itself at the smoking substance burning it from the inside out, twitching on the ground. With their assailants dispatched, the laboratory, such as it is, is available to them, but guards will be there shortly to investigate. Soon enough, they hear the ringing of bells from one watchtower to the next, and they can see at the very top of this watchtower a sudden flaring of light, almost arcane in nature, as the reflective mirror is charged with a spotlight like beam to be turned down upon the prison yard. You swipe what you can, but it's not really enough to fully appreciate what might be found in the lab, which is actually quite impressive. You also find the still hidden behind some crates under the stairs, actually hidden behind some loose boards in an alcove in the wall. Plunder posted:You find enough alchemical reagents and materials to be sufficient for Pharom to, over the course of a few days, make his own alchemist's satchel once the temporary one he has been gifted is expended. Your options are this: Toss the place, or attempt to rendezvous with the rest. You can absolutely take time to heal up, but to properly destroy everything here, speed down the destruction of the watctower, shut down the searchlight, or see if there's anything hidden, that will take the second Tick. Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 18:29 on Jun 21, 2018 |
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Jun 21, 2018 18:27
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"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Great Hall Men rush for any relief, heading for the armory at full tilt to arm themselves now that the villains have been revealed. They found the backdoor barred, so others make their way around and come through the front, marching down the hallways, past the mess hall where you lot have barred yourself in. A young man is the first to open up the interior door, and is given a dousing of oil set up by the mastermind rogue. A little alchemical reagent quickly works as a igniter, thanks to a little help from a certain artificer, and he erupts into flames, screaming and flailing as he crashes inside into the armory. There isn't much else for it to catch on here in the spartanly decorated armory, and the guards put it out, though the young man is severely, perhaps mortally, wounded. The real disaster starts when they break through to the barracks to wake the others, and quickly the curtains and wooden fixtures provide fuel for a conglaration that threatens to overtake in a funerary pyre the bloody bodies left behind motionless in their beds. Soon enough, half of the grand hall begins to catch alight, and smoke begins to creep in, even where you are rallying, at the mess hall. Further, flames erupt from the tower of the laboratory, threatening even the guards that man the spotlight that scans the prison yard. The guards however, somehow, do not panick. Not completely. One by one, the better among them stand up tall and rally the others. They remember their drills, and start to work to contain the flames. There is even the sound of hoofbeats as two horses are used from the stables at the gatehouse to move back and forth. Soon enough, amid your plotting, you hear banging on the mess hall doors that you have barred, and its not a room that would likely last too long. Between discovery by the guards and the smoke, a quick escape from the door in the kitchen into the gardens, and then taking cover in the ravenstone. Griswold will happily provide one or two bodies for you for the purposes of desecration, as previously mentioned, but it's upon you to describe to me the scene that the guards will happen upon. Feel free to include that in the fiction and even portray the guards and their reaction. Once you have decided and done so, feel free to consider the Doom Die increased to d6.[Anyone with a passive Nature of 13 or higher will notice as they pass through the gardens the presence of deadly hemlock being grown among other herbs and vegetables. It is used as a form of execution here, one of the less "painful" though still punishing ones. Each person with sufficient Nature only has enough time to gather a single dose, but it may be useful.] Poison: Deadly Hemlock posted:Deadly Hemlock (Ingested): A creature subjected to this poison suffers from 3d6 (9) poison damage and makes a DC 15 Constitution saving throw. On successful saving throw takes half the poison damage and is poisoned for 24 hours. On a failed saving throw, the creature takes the full damage and is paralyzed. Every minute thereafter, the creature makes another saving throw, taking 1d6 (3) poison damage on a failure, and on a success no longer being paralyzed. The creature remains poisoned for 24 hours even on a successful save. While effective, it's generally hard to disguise the use of hemlock in the dosage needed without the use of illusion, and is primarily used as a form of execution or suicide. There is no mundane antidote. It is however one of the ingredients for pale tincture, and can be used to halve the cost of creating it. "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Ravenstone The ravenstone is where prisoners are beheaded, a large flat and black stone that is ritually purified and cleaned such that there is not even a stain, only a groove worn through over time with only the occasional nick or sign of a blade striking against it. It's at such an angle with the corner of the great hall that the spotlight cannot reach it, the now smoking great hall standing between you and the watchtower, so long as you stay low to the ground. Thus, the cover of darkness and the physical cover it provides allows you to assess the situation on the ground, and prepare for the assault on the gatehouse. The gatehouse is a wide, stone building with only arrow-slits for windows. It is shaped roughly like an arch with two heavy iron portcullises at the entrance, before a winding cobbled path carved from hewn tone that leads back to the mainland. Between the two portcullises is likely a gauntlet filled with murder holes and arrow slits, and while the portcullises can be lifted [DC 18 Strength check], slipped through by a small character [DC 15 Dexterity (Acrobatics) check], or the mechanism tripped [DC 15 Intelligence (thieves' tools) check], it would do little to bring you to your desired goal, since if you wanted to escape you have much better means of doing so. The building has a ground floor and an upper floor, along with an open roof, which appears to have no one currently manning it, meaning those guards that are at the gatehouse have fortified inside. The gatehouse has two obvious points of entry. The second floor can be entered from the walls through iron-banded wooden doors, and likely with single guards posted at each. From the ground is the main entrance on the left side, with heavily barricaded doors that likely a goodly amount of the guards will be waiting for an assault from, especially if your approach is less than subtle. In general, they will likely try to shift their forces to meet you at your approach. Opposite the left-side entrance is a stables, more a glorified hitching post, with two frightened mares kicking and nipping at their bits. From the kennels, there's the sound of howling and barking dogs, and the occasional resounding boof from some other, larger dog. There is no easy means of approach. If you take to the sky, you will fail any attempt at stealth. The only cover between the ravenstone and the entrance would be the fountain between the gates and the grand hall. Making a break for that before the spotlight crosses over is possible, but a single failure by one of your group would reveal the entirety, and you'd be at disadvantage without a proper distraction. Likewise if you hugged against the wall, out of the angle of vision of the arrow slits. Both have their pros and cons about how exposed they are, but missile fire is very likely. [Passive Perception 13] From observing the arrow slits and machicolations on the second story, there appear to be at least four guards with crossbows ready to fire on any approaching attackers. They are staying in total cover for the time being, but with a distraction they might be a bit more exposed. However, at best any shots from the outside on guards through the fortifications will be through three-quarters cover. As well, the machicolations over the front and side entrances means that they may be prepared to use scalding oil or other surprises if given time to prepare. [Passive Investigation 13] The most likely point of weakness is going to be the roof. They will have no reason, unless you give them one, to believe you can approach them from that angle. There are likely trap doors that lead down into the second floor, and whomever lands there must be prepared for a fight, but it is likely to be the point that is least defended and the most likely place you could get in unseen. The question is, how do you get on the roof doing so? It'd require one hell of a distraction for them to miss a flying magic carpet. [Passive Investigation 15] The way the gatehouse is structured means that Blackbriar is likely holed up on the ground floor on the right side, thus he's the hardest one to approach and will almost certainly know you're coming. However, while he is snugly fortified, there is one flaw to his plan: He has no means of escape. [Vicenza] Vicenza is a 1st-level spellcaster with 1 spell slot left. She knows the spells shield, sleep, and disguise self, and the cantrips acid splash, dancing lights, and prestidigitation. ["Griswold"] The Beast of Freness can use ethereal jaunt like a phase spider, making him very useful, but he could be overwhelmed quickly, and they may have some countermeasures among the more elite guards that are likely fortified here. Tactical Situation posted:
"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Warden's Tower Halstan lays motionless on the stone floor at the landing of the stairwell on the second floor of the warden's tower. There is no warmth to his body, not even a single spark of life. Sprawled on his back and curled somewhat forward against the bolt, sunk deep into his chest cavity, his eyes are open, lacking the look of rest or repose one should have when they leave the mortal plane. The villains have long since gone from the tower with their ill-gotten spoils, and he was to be nothing but a memory to them, a bump on the way of the wicked. However, a shadow lurked over him that would not see him so easily go. A hooded figure approached, with shaky hands and a trembling stature. Slowly sinking it its knees, a gnarled hand grabbed at a pouch at the rope worn as a belt about the old robs, the simple brown cloth covering faded vestments of every color of light, though long since faded. Loosening the string of the pouch, there was the glittering of a handful of diamonds.  "Mitra, grant me a miracle..."The old, blind Pater Haihn spoke a prayer, one that would fill the room with a little more light than had been there before, as the doves that followed him fluttered and looked on as he made to make a little magic. Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 11:39 on Jun 29, 2018 |
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Jun 29, 2018 11:36
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Spending 1 Hero Point. There are heroes to match you nine at this prison tonight, at the climax of your escape... "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Gatehouse, Guard Speakeasy, Before the Chaos Six chairs in a smoky room lit by candlelight, where the whisky runs freely from a cask on a nearby table. Each of the figures seated around it hold their hand in various ways. Some nearly openly as they drink deeply in their cups and laugh and chatter, some with squinting eyes and close to chest. The Sergeant however is master of this domain, with a cold, cruel confidence as his long gray eyebrow raises, sensing an opportunity and blood in the water as the competitor across from him shows his tell, stroking at his chin. The elf has the archaic facial tattoos that both the elves and dwarves enjoy, and a somewhat rough demeanor. A wildness to him, but he's no wood elf, just a young Veylish out seeing the world. He's deep into his cups, it's clear, but his eyes light up at the sight before him: Three of a kind, all fours. Bets are made, raised and called. One by one the other competitors bow out. A bronze dragonborn woman, a grim old dwarven man, a scarred mercenary type, and a young Myrcian boy with blonde hair completely out of his depth and having lost a week's wages already. Leaving just the elf, and the gnome. Just as the elf inhales to speak, Blackbriar cuts him off, laying out his hand in front of the rest. Three fours, two pages. "Full house."Anger spiked through the elf's expression as he slapped his cards down at the table and stood, pointing accusingly. His tone was clear and concise, though venomous all the same.  "A cheat! You play with no honor."The elf was confident the deception would be revealed, but a gnome knows a few tricks. With a twitch of his prominent nose and a fluttering of his fingers under the table, Blackbriar made a slight change to what was visible to everyone on the board. The three fours were now a knight of pentacles, a five of cups, and a seven of swords.  “That’s well enough Ansel. No need to be making a big to-do about all this. Nobody likes a sore loser…”The dwarf’s accent was of the Skysongs, perhaps one of the few hill dwarves that lived among the elves in Helveylyn. It did at least seem to mollify the elf. The elf’s hand trembled slightly, and then he jabbed his finger once more, his brow knotted. “I am not deterred. This isn’t over.”The elf turned to leave at that, as Blackbriar wryly simply brought the silver dragons his way with his gloved hands and shrugged. “You are free to leave any time, lad. Your brother is never making it to Branderscar. Last I heard, he gave the Archduke’s men the slip once again and faded back into the woods…”Ansel glowered once more over his shoulder, and then left, grabbing onto the rope-ladder up into the roof and making his way out. The bronze dragonborn shook her head and spoke with her tickly accented voice as he left.  “A poor performance. Is this what you old men do with all your time? I should return to my training.” “Quiet. Do you hear that?”The scarred man, obviously Logen, cocks his head and looks around. Then the noise swelled. The alarm was raised. At that, the cool confidence of the Sergeant drains slightly, his white eyes and his lips pursing, disappearing under his thick mustache. He blubbers for a moment, and then slams his fist on the table. “Don’t you hear that, you gobshites? Get out there! Defend me… Defend the prison!”"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Great Hall, Barracks, Beginning of the End Fire and smoke belches forth into the armoury, which is piled with trash and debris from the villains passage. One of the guards, a tall half-orc with long hair and sideburns, heaves a huge wooden tub of water to crash against the fire, causing another plume of steam and smoke. He is accompanied by a young half-elven woman with braided auburn hair and a freckled face, her face frozen with concern and worry.  “What do you see, Wulfstan?” “Dear Mitra… They’re all gone.”There was still some fires to put out, but the hulking guard moved to look at the slit throat of the dragonborn, the one that had twisted and nearly resisted in his bed, his eyes open and blood staining every inch of his sheets. Most of them never saw it coming, but none of them died peacefully. The anger was almost palpable coming from Wulfstan his lips curling back over tusked teeth as his fist clenched. His eyes almost seemed to become feral, glittering golden orange with an awakened fire, but it subsided with a touch to his arm. “It’s horrible, but we have to save who we can, big guy.” He shook his head and looked back to her. “You need to find the others, Trace. They are the only ones that can help us, like you helped me.” Trace seemed surprised, and even allowed herself a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “You can count on me!”She turned on her heel and broke into a full run, leaning forward, surprisingly quick and darting past the guards in various stages of panic when doing so, leaving Wulfstan to bellow out a command to the others, his tone hinting at being a bit more erudite than his looks entailed. “Rally to my position! Let’s coordinate our efforts, there may still be some that can be saved!”"The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Gatehouse, Stables, A While Ago Orais had been assigned to the stables this night, with a stiff bristled broom as she cleaned the glorified hitching posts near her bucket. She was a bastard daughter of a Myrcian noble, though her name and look certainly spoke of Keshkevarine heritage as well, which was relatively common among the nobility, as was Lucidorean and Veylish influence. Here, she could be kept out of sight, and out of mind, and bring no scandal to her family, and she found the work gratifying enough. But a terrible feeling washed over her earlier in that night. It was as if she could feel a great good being snuffed out, a candle in the dark guttering and washing away into nothingness. She paused in her duties to consider this, when a voice could be heard. It was a voice she had heard before, and it only said the same thing it did before. <I am so sorry.> A childlike voice, it felt like, but so strangely familiar. She found her eyes welling up with tears, but this time it was different. This time it wasn’t in her dreams. Her eyes closed, and she clutched at her head. <It’s time.> Suddenly, clarity. Her eyes opened up, shining with celestial light. The forces of Good knew what was at hand. Their herald had been destroyed, they had little or no power there, but there was one that might be called upon. And suddenly, who she was before was not important. Orais understood immediately what it was she needed to do.  “I will obey.”With the sudden beating of hooves, she made for the fire at the laboratory, grabbing a spear propped against the fence sides as she had. "The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Perimeter Walls, Several Minutes Ago  “Don’t be ridiculous. We're all soldiers now, not heroes. That died a long time ago."Jonn was moving quickly. He was a haggard, beaten down man that still seemed to drag on, living out of some sort of spite against the world. One of his eyes was hidden with a patch, his gaze shaded slightly by the streak of white hair above his face. He was perhaps the most senior of the guards on staff, having been here since the changing of the guard and not so easily displaced. He wasn't about to let these prisoners escape without a fight either. "But don't you see? There had to be a reason we were all here. I mean... We all thought you both had died..." "Didn't take."Similarly scarred in an almost mirror image, stalking after both Trace and Jonn was a figure in dark clothes and a hood, though he didn't bother with an eyepatch. His voice was a hateful, smoky pitch with a strong Lucidorean accent, and it immediately stopped Jonn in his tracks, as he glowered over his shoulder. "Some of us should have stayed dead." "That's enough!"A Keshkevarine woman with tight braided black hair, bright green eyes and a pierced nose and chain stepped forward, heavy crossbown resting against her shoulder as she looked between the two. "My mother fought and died for the cause. If she were here today, she would have wanted the five of you to stand together once more." "Faryse is right, Jonn! Me, you, Gavril and Jorgen are still here. Even little Wulfstan, though how he's grown! Thirty years is a long time, but it's time for us to stand together again." "It's time for the Everguard!"Jonn's expression was impregnable, like a mask, but the sound of the baying of hands from the nearby kennels drew his attention back. He was, at heart, a soldier. "Faryse, send a message to Wulfstan. Raise the banner. Gavril, Trace, you and me will hold the point with Torben." "We aren't going to let them go easy.""The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Gatehouse, First Floor, Just a Few Minutes Ago "You can still fight with that hand of yours, old man?"Razya was a heavily built dragonborn woman bounded with muscle under her ringmail, halberd in hand but also her own nodachi which was sheathed at her side. She was not however a bladesworn. She was in fact a wave-woman, a sword without a master, who gave out her sword and status as a bodyguard before hired on here, with some failure hanging over her giving her every reason to need to prove herself. "You be minding your own business, drake. Nobody's getting past my shield." The dragonborn gave a hearty laugh. "That thing? Can you even lift it?"Jorgen was a squat and broad dwarf, even for his kind. His sing-song voice spoke more of the Skysongs than the deserts of Gebroan. He was one of the rare few dwarves of the mountains to have made his life as an adventurer, and paid a heavy price. One of his legs was but a metal peg with springs to support, while his left hand was like some kind of tool or vice, a gauntlet with only two hooked digits. It awkwardly grasped at what looked like a relatively compact and very heavy rectangle of metal, which might suffice as a shield, or a bludgeon, but looked awkward to hold for certain. He set his feet into position however before the door, and wound up some kind of mechanism, before it unfolded brilliantly into a massive tower shield, quite over his height and giving him a significant amount of cover, not just to him but to those behind him. It unfolded outwards, creating nearly a second barricade behind what they provided at the door. The dragonborn nodded approvingly. "Impressive." "Heheheh. Let's get started...""The Band Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Gatehouse, The Present The crossbow bolt in Egina's chest was painful, stabbing the dwarf in the gut a lot more satisfying, and the healing potion was welcome. After that, just a frantic gathering of equipment, retreating and regrouping. And planning. And the plan that gained the most traction involved Egina in a position she did like a lot. On the stage and with all eyes on her. More crossbow bolts aimed at her than she preferred, but she had a partner for this little play, even if she wasn't very eager. Ignoring all the panic and chaos, she boldly walked straight at the gate, a dagger visible against Vinceza's neck. With a voice practiced in reaching crowds she called out loudly. "Could I have the attention of the dutiful guards of Branderscar prison please? And could I draw your attention to the dagger on the neck of this dear apprentice? I wish to ask for parlay. I really don't intend to spill more blood than I need to save my skin." She lied. Salvatrix is more than happy to stay with the ground team and is quick to scramble to cover hidden away as best she can from the sight of the guards above. It's only then that she unfastens the component pouch tied to her waist and gently tosses it at Niashé's feet without a word. They'd have to discuss that much later, should they be inclined, as the mounting tension made for a poor setting for conversation. Well, most conversations. She could always give Egina's little negotiation the extra push it needed. Sal yelps. It the kind of frightened cry that comes from rodents clutched in the talons of predatory birds. "P-please," Her voice cracks as fear slips through, "They'll kill her, I swear it! Just like they killed the boy, just like the gnome wa-" She slaps a palm over her mouth, smothering whatever words would have followed with an audible pop as flesh meets flesh. It's all fairly practical and unsettlingly practiced. This certainly wasn't the witch's first go at this kind of thing.Vicenza, her neck raised and a sneer on her lips the whole time, arms "tied" behind her back (gripping her wand tight with white knuckles), the blade flush against her tan skin. At Salvatrix's call, she sighs, inhaling, and letting out her 'best.'  "Please. Don't. They are crazy. I don't want to die."There isn't anything like an immediate response, save the glinting of metal of crossbow bolts being aimed from the slits, the shifting back and forth. There's definitely a tension in the air and an almost rapt silence. Most importantly, Egina literally occupies the spotlight, the blaring semi-magical light locked in on her position, vaguely in cover behind the trickling fountain showing the martyred form of St. Eodas, who might be a grim sort of premonition of what might await Egina, filled with arrows that trickle water from the wounds from his martyred position against the pole. But eventually, she does get an answer. From the second floor comes a old voice, a tested and steely veteran. "No orc I know would offer any surrender they would themselves accept. And this old dog knows orcs, and they accept no surrender. What kind of parlay are you calling for?" "I'm not quite all orc, am I? I share some blood with this one after all." She used her free hand to reveal the half-elf's ears. "Let's say the deviousness of my father's kin is with me. Now, what we want are two things. One of them is obvious, we want that gate opened. If I'm dying, I'd rather at least having it be with a sporting chance of escape than sitting in a cage. You open the gate, we run through, you get to gather your guys and we'll settle this outside. You get to let the dogs out too. And this little apprentice gets to live anohter day, and you won't have to explain to her master how you watched the life drain out of her eyes in front of you." "But there's a second condition. Annoying but true. We cannot have any loose ends. So we want our accomplice brought out here so we can... deal with him. I'm speaking of course about no other than Sergeant Thirstan Mabert Holewicket Mintdrinker Blackbriar." The took a brief pause. "The third."There's a silence after that. Inside, the single eye of Jonn, the grizzled old guard that more or less, glowers from behind his eyepatch, and leans back, looking over to the others on the second floor here. The blood of the guards runs quick with anger already, and suddenly, everything makes sense. "Blackbriar. I knew it." Of course the scurrilous gnome had been behind all of this! He looked for confirmation from the only other guard that seemed near of age to him, a brutally scarred Lucidorean man named Gavril. "I should have known, when he hired you." "I'm hurt, son of Morris. Here I was thinking the past behind us, ready to die together." This one seemed up for a fight, but didn't have any reason to counter Jonn's argument. In fact, it seemed quite plausible to him as well. Meanwhile, rushing through the darkness of the sky, a cadre of villains were making their way shortly upon the roof. They make little sound, and the guards are sufficiently distracted otherwise. There isn't much time to press the advantage, and it appears the guards are uncertain but baited. They don't give a unified response either, Egina only gets an anxious silence. Does she fill it, or let them continue to stew in the deception? It wouldn't do to let them sit in silence too much. All it needed was one person deciding to give a look in another direction. So she played it more. Giving a laughter. "Surely you must have suspected? All of us neatly in a room together, meaning there were even less guards in the main building than usual? The sudden 'family' visit? The fact that all of you were sitting there getting drunk on cheap swill sold as high quality booze?" She laughed. "That's how he got involved in this whole mess you know? Someone found out that he and his buddy Logen's little smuggling operation. They got their little still in the laboratory watchtower. That's how it goes isn't it? Once a man will do a small betrayal for a little coin, he'll do a large one for a large amount of coin. If you want, I have Logen's diary here. Is a nice and interesting read. But what can I say? Never trust a traitor. He is with you, right? Or has the little vermin gone into hiding?"There's movement, something going on that can't be seen. The villains that are getting into position on the roof can hear some kind of confrontation brewing over it. "I don't negotiate with criminals." Jonn's voice was plain there, with the iron enough to let Vicenza die for it. "Not playing the hero this time?" The Lucidorean's voice like a mocking smoke. "We have to save her, no matter what!" A different voice, a woman's, full of an irrepressible spirit. "We need that book." Jonn mused. "Alright, let's get these jokers back in their cells."There is a shuffling, a reshifting of their positions. Eventually, Egina heard a voice again, about the time that the rest are ready to make their attack. "I'm sending someone out to take that book from you. If what you say is true, we may have an agreement."Apparently this guard had enough suction with the others to make that kind of decision. Indeed, the door to the front entrance opened, and another guard crept out. A half-elven woman in a chain shirt, with dark auburn hair in corded braids and a freckled face, and a surprising smile. She gave a wave. "Hiya!" Her eyes locked with Vicenza, who repressed a groan. "Oh hells. Not her."She looked with determination at Vicenza, raising both hands to show she was unarmed. "No worries, love, the cavalry's here!" She offered in her bright voice.Unfortunately for her, she didn't realize how right she was, as now that they were in position, the villains from the top were ready to move in. And with the door ajar, the folks on the bottom wouldn't have a much better opportunity. [Combat is joined.] Combat: Surprise Round posted:
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Jul 4, 2018 00:29
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"The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Surprise Round, Second Floor It is a wicked instant as the team, despite a bit of a stumble, quickly makes work of the two veterans manning this part of the gatehouse. After Niashe and Worm fall, Hriss slithers forth from the darkness from an unexpected angle and plunged into the body veteran Jonn, breaking through the ringmail easily to follow up with a finishing blow that leaves him in twain from his midsection, two shocked bloody pieces falling to the ground once the halberd's edge had found flesh and bone to sever. In the background, a bolt from an opened trapdoor finds the neck of Gavril, as he lets out a wet cry of distress that is silenced first by the chill of the grave, and then the tolling sound of the dead, his eyes widening and his face becoming something twisted, as if the skin was no more and left only a white skull beneath. The guards collected themselves, but were now in panic, looking around and looking where to make their next move. "The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Surprise Round, Ground Floor Released from her faux hostage situation, and rubbing at her neck, the sudden violence sparks Vicenza to action. She considers for a few moments, as suddenly the entire gatehouse seems alight in chaos. What exactly had she gotten into? The only way out was through, she reasoned, and gripping at her wand, she began to fluidly create an enchanted mark in the air, chanting eldritch incantations in Draconic. A shimmery mist of silvery dust clouded the eyes of the soldiers behind the main door, which made many of them easy prey for the entangling roots. After that she trailed after Egina, not wanting to be caught too far away from the others. In for a penny, in for a pound.Excellence's strike on the half-elf smarts as she hisses, yet finds herself giving a laugh in defiance in the face of such impending darkness, even as she coughs a bit of blood into it, dashing between blows from both ends and looking to try and make her escape if an opening is given, deftly dodging back and forth between a thrown dagger and a bolt of fire just the same. "Doesn't matter how wicked fast you run love, you're never going to get far from here! Now, do I have any tricks left up my sleeve..."The pitched phial of alchemist's fire however catches and brutally maims the rottweiler inside, as well as consigns one of the trapped guards to a painful death as he twists and squirms within the roots, gasping and finding the thorned brambles now pushing through charred flesh and choking him from the inside out. Griswold, having received no specific orders, found himself wandering off while Egina was doing her hostage situation, having phased in and out in a jaunt seemingly unnoticed in that disturbing way of his. He found himself lured over towards the kennels, which he entered, causing the dogs to start a cacophony of barks. He peered at them, and especially the prized hound of the Sergeant himself, a huge mastiff that found itself curled up and backing against the wall as the Beast of Freness approached, reaching out to pet it. Griswold's gesture however was greeted with a violent attempt at mauling, injuring the childlike monster and nearly bringing him to the ground with a jerk of its muscular neck as the Beast was caught by surprise. Griswold roared a bestial sound much unlike his innocent voice, suddenly alighting to violence and gripping the neck of the dog, throwing it around like a rag doll while strangling the life out of it, leaving a loud whimpering sound that only Salvatrix could hear, as she missed the mark on her spell.Combat: Round 1 posted:[Doom] (PCs) > Hope (NPCs) Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 06:22 on Jul 4, 2018 |
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Jul 4, 2018 06:20
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"The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Round 1, Ground Floor As Pharom batters and nearly breaks through the twoer shield, sending it flying back and clattering at the other side of the room with all the strength of a primeval giant, Vicenza meanders over to the body of Trace, dagger in hand. She smirks. "Always mocking, I knew, behind those eyes. What did you ever have in life to be happy about, anyway?" She puts her foot down on the chest of the stricken Trace, who lets out a half-alive groan, and twists her wand to call upon a rain of acid conjured from above the immobilized dwarf, who screams awake and cannot move out of the way before it corrodes and burns through his armor. Vicenza deals 6 acid damage to Jorgen with acid splash, automatic since he cannot make a save. This however wakes him up. Pharom's request for surrender causes only a smirk of the dragonborn's reptilian lips, which are cracked and bleeding from the frostbite that she bears through. "Don't be so sure about that, elf." Her eyes glint past him. "Look behind you." [Hero Point] Fiddling under her sleeves, looking for that trick, even as she was slived through, Trace founds it within herself to give a last laugh with her dying breath, as her friends still need her. Her hands hold two strange, apparently lead rods, that are vibrating with energy. "I always wondered what would happen if I do... this..." She reaches to put them both together, and they vibrate more violently. Vicenza's eyes widen, and she makes to move, but when they hit, there is an intense explosion of rippling force that tears Trace's body into bits, leaving only her well-crafted boots in its place, and rippling to strike at the others.Trace sets off a pulse bomb with a 5' radius, dealing 8 force damage to Vicenza, Egina, Excellence and Pharom. DC 13 Dexterity save negates. Vicenza fails her save and is down to 1 HP. Grasping at the sides of the doorway, the broad dwarf, even without his tower shield, makes a menacing wall, now his face scarred with smoking bits of acid. He grits his teeth and spits. "It's just a scratch." Heaving his muscled body, he breaks free of the entanglement, and swings forward his warhammer in both hands, ready to try and intercept those that cross through as best he can and block the way. "I don't like this standing around. Just need to hold this point until the others come."Jorgen spends his action escaping from entanglement, and standing from prone. There is a sudden crack of thunder, as Razya answers a second time Pharom's request for surrender, but this time with a sudden cracking bolt of lightning from her mouth that pierces through his space and Excellence's, before arcing and striking the gibbet beyond them, lighting it on fire and becoming another source of light. Discarding her halberd, the dragonborn draws her nodachi, keeping it in a low and back stance as she tears through the vines to put her back to Jorgen's facing down the lizardman with a cool confidence. "Dragonborn die facing forward, not with their backs turned. Something your kind will never know." She seemed resigned to the death before her, the magic barrier rippling and fading away. It was unlikely she could call upon it again, but her honor commanded her to make this last stand. "Ready, old man?" She called to Jorgen.Razya uses her breath weapon in a 30' line striking Pharom and Excellence. She deals 3 lightning damage, halved on a successful DC 13 Dexterity save. "I'm just getting started...""The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Round 1, Blackbriar's Hole   First comes the explosion of force that ripples like a tremor through the gatehouse, and then the crack of thunder, that causes the guards, along with the sounds of death above them, to falter. It is the young one with the straw hair that speaks up, his voice suddenly resolute. "We will either route them here, or we will die! Leave the traitor here, we'll deal with him later. Forward!" They began to clamber up the rope ladder into the second floor, the guards making their last stand here. They had no reason to think they'd be offered quarter: The villains attacked during parley, proving themselves honorless and desperate souls, and making the fight one of life or death. Even though they were dispirited, the guards knew they had no choice but to fight. And it was an important lesson: Good fights harder the harder you put it in a corner. The more desperate the circumstances, the more emboldened they became. Callow lads suddenly become would-be heroes and righteous warriors, and the corrupt and lazy become pushed aside.  "You gibbering little idjits! I will have your heads for this! Logen!" He turns to his left hand man, but even Logen seemed uncertain, and then his eyes widened. "You keep your trap shut then, and we'll wait for this to all blow over. They just need to make one mistake, you'll see. I'll make them pay." Then the sergeant hid himself in the room as best he could. Logen for his part, was having himself a thinking session, whistling over at the rottweiler to join him on the far side of the room, before he kicked over the table and took cover behind it, cocking a crossbow to prepare for the coming storm. "The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Round 1, Second Floor With the reinforcements from below, the guards were suddenly emboldened. As a firebolt hit the side of the gatehouse and a quarrel came from above, they re-assed their position. The still living guards were the first to move. The one with a crossbow took position behind cover on the far side of the room, while two of the others that reached the top stepped forward and trained their bolts down. One of the more armored ones dashed across to the trapdoor that Glenn was at, the same straw-haired young man that had rallied them to begin with. Grasping at the rope, he looked defiantly at the halfling. "Your escape ends here, rogue." With a jerk he closed the trapdoor and made to bar it and entry. With that, the others position and ready to converge on Gertrude, two with halberds using a formation to close around her and restrict her movements, while crossbow bolts begin firing at her, one of which striking true even through the protective mantle of Eustace.Guard 2A moves behind partial cover (+2 AC) and fires a shot at Gertrude, missing. Guards 1C, 1D, 1E, and 1F climb up into the second floor. 1C and 1D fire off bolts, one of which connects with Gertrude and deals 6 damage. Guard 1. 1E Dashes and moves to 10' below Gertrude. Guard 2C then moves to the space 10' above Gertrude, and attacks with flanking advantage, but misses. However, she is now marked. Now if Gertrude closes into melee on either, she risks an opportunity attack from the other. Guard 1F Dashes and moves underneath the trapdoor, using their action as part of their move to close and bar the trapdoor from entry. Make your Concentration check, Gertrude. "The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Round 1, Back OutsideThere is the sound of reinforcements coming, even the beating of hoofbeats. As Salvatrix takes cover near the stables, the spotlight falls upon her, exposing her position. It also spooks the last remaining horse in the stables, a fly-bitten old nag that snorts and kicks, whinnying at all the violence and excitement. Smarting from his wound and feeling very put out, the Beast of Freness disappears into the ethereal Feywild, his position unknown, leaving a few of the dogs barking at the air and the mangled body of the sergeant's riding mastiff behind as he does.Combat: Round 2 posted:[Doom] (PCs) > Hope (NPCs) Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 19:20 on Jul 4, 2018 |
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Jul 4, 2018 19:17
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"The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Round 2, Reinforcements The dragonborn and the dwarf die like dogs; not as quickly as the two veterans, but without the last defiance the half-elf swashbuckler showed. The spear breaks through the ringmail and lifts the dwarf as if on a spit, his hammer having never even landed upon the enemy, and the dragonborn is quickly overwhelmed on all sides. Attempting to move and defend herself from the back, she is set upon by the lizardman and her very hearstblood consumed. The Branderscar forces are decimated, and none are left standing at the end of the round, as the last of the living guards are soon enough extinguished. Indeed, the life of the straw-haired lad that dared show any defiance is snuffed out in his deep, magical slumber, as his final breathes are coaxed out with a skeletal hand and leaving nothing but a dessicated corpse. There is now no resistance between the lot of you and Blackbriar's hole, and having been abandoned by most of his men, there is not likely to be much resistance even when you move down to finish the job. If you do end up deciding on opening the trapdoor and/or entering the room where Blackbriar is located, let me know. There may be a Reaction.Yet even as their numbers dwindle, there are still a few guards that still stand and bear the colors and coat of the prison on their tabard. They have no escape, just as much prisoners of the walls and cliffs as the villains were, so they must instead commit to moving forward. With the fire brigades diverted, half of the great hall is now caught aflame and burning in a great pyre, which now bathes most of prison yard in its dim glow, and the darkness provides now little cover. This turnabout however comes just as the villains fortify themselves behind walls, and reveals the approaching of the last lines of defense, and the last few heroes that will oppose them.  The first sound of the reinforcements is with a howling bolt. It whistles through the air, letting out a screaming and a streak of light behind it, burning through the air. It hurtles towards Glenn, who is dismounting from the carpet and taking cover behind the crenulations, and he ducks it just in time, as it actually strikes with a shower of sparks part of the metallic carpet and breaks into twin, skittering to the ground. The Keshkevarine archer, Faryse, frowns as she lowers her crossbow, and then moltions to the two guards accompanying her. As the tracer bolt's trail begins to fade, they fire after it. Both have remarkable accuracy, and though the first hits the fortification, the other bolt hits true, sinking into the halfling. "Justice finds its mark."Faryse fires a shot and misses. However her tracer bolt gives Advantage until the end of her next turn to hit Glenn. Both the guards accompanying her fire as well, the first misses and the second hits for 9 piercing damage. (The syntax messed up there but they rolled 15 and 17 respectively, the second of which is just enough to hit on the dot with Glenn behind cover.)  Faryse's detachment then makes their way towards the gatehouse, ducking through the kennel watchtower and approaching the fortifications, keeping in cover behind the wall fortifications all the way and closing in at a cautious pace.Faryse and the two guards accompanying her, R3 and R4, have partial cover unless flanked from the side.  A second contingent comes from the walls, announced by the landing of two bolts at Vicenza's feet, which draws her sudden intention as she struggles to try and get to her feet, her clothes torn and body bruised. A third missile, this one an arrow, makes a particularly straight path and strikes the cobbled stone at the base of the gatehouse. Glowing with enchantment, it explodes into shrapnel that is alit with light blue trails that split off and careen in four directions, ricocheting off each surface. It pierces through Vicenza's body four times, and threatens to do the same to Pharom and Egina, as the bolts flood in and barely miss Excellence and H'riss in doing so. The source is the elven arcane archer that was found before in Blackbriar's hole, the tattooed face of Ansel looking quite self-satisfied that he ran the wizardess down. "Simple geometry."The guards accompanying Ansel, R1 and R2, fire at and miss Vicenza who is still out in the open. Ansel uses a "shatter arrow" that creates a 30 ft cone through richocheting arrows that threatens to hit Vicenza, Egina, and Pharom for 5 piercing damage. It is a Dexterity save at DC 13 to negate. Vicenza fails her save, and is reduced to 0 HP.  Moving likewise as cautiously as their counterparts across the way, the elven archer moves with two guards accompanying him further along the way, making it about halfway across to the chapel watchtower where better cover awaits them. However, they will never make it. Vicenza, with dark red blood, almost black, pooling all around her from now six wounds in her body, desperately fingers at something in her voluminous robes, her expression suddenly twisted in a very real hate, the first expression that she showed of any real emotion, lacking the same detachment that she had expressed up until this point. Unfurling a blood-stained spell scroll, blood spattered from her mouth as she spoke the incantation in the hissing Draconic, but as she turned and pointed her finger accusingly at Ansel and his men, her eyes glowed aflame as if a dragon herself, smoke rising from her nose followed by a shot from her finger of a small burning orange seed, hurtling through the air in an arc and landing betwixt the guards and Ansel. The elf's eyes widen like saucers. "Insolent cur!" He made to leap away and down, but it was too late. Once the seed hit the ground, it exploded into a sphere of flame that erupted. The men were consumed into so much ash, while his body was consumed as well, leaving only the singed top half of his body, burned even still mostly to a crisp, launched halfway across the yard and landing on the ground in a smoldering ruin on the ground, near the burning gibbet.Technically, Vicenza goes the same time as the guards/Ansel did, but being dramatic with it. She uses one of the three spell scrolls, a scroll of fireball to launch a fireball that deals enough damage to incinerate Ansel and the minions even if they made their saves successfully, before she collapses on the ground. She'll make her first death save next round.  "Once more, into the breach!" Wulfstan is a hulking figure compared to the guards alongside him, with a spear and shield in hand. They are armed with halberds but lack the ringmail of the guards that were on the interior of the gatehouse, with only padded armor and their bucket helmets. Accompanying them is one of the Gebroan rottweilers. They come around from the west side of the burning great hall, having been the bulk of the fire brigade and now breaking off. Once they round the corner and can gaze past the burning gibbet, Wulfstan stops in his tracks, seeing the smoking black stain at Vicenza's feet, as well as the smoldering half body of Ansel. His lips curl back over his tusks and his eyes seem to glow with a fiery orange glow, as he unleashes the rage of his ancestors. As a bonus action (at the end of his movement), Wulfstan activates his rage ability, as a barbarian. Notably, he now resists slashing, piercing, and bludgeoning damage.  Hitting his spear against his shield with a roar, Wulfstan makes a prodigous leap that helps close the distance, and then throws the spear forward to try and catch Pharom, though at enough a distance that it is somewhat lacking in accuracy. Thus it lands a few yards short, sinking into the ground near the dying body of Vicenza. There is a limited amount of time before they can close the door and bar it, and the raging Wulfstan is likely to be first to try and batter it down. The two guards accompanying him dash forward, to provide support and with their polearms cover the body of the downed Vicenza, not sure if such blackguards as these would attempt to save her sorry life, but ready to move into the breach and give their lives to end this massacre here, accompanied in quick pursuit by their hound.Wulfstan attempts to throw his spear and hit Pharom at disadvantage, especially since he has partial cover as well, and misses handily. He moves closer, but the two guards, R5 and R6, take their action to dash in closer than him, along with Rottweiler C.  Last, but certainly not least, to arrive upon the scene was the quiet stable girl, now clad in tabard and ringmail recovered from the other guards, her eyes aglow with purpose as she kicks into the side of the surprisingly spry older mare she took with her from the hitching post. With spear and shield as well in hand, she rallies some of the faltering guards to follow her towards the light of the burning gibbet, coming around the right side and trambling through the hemlock grove as she does. Once she comes around, she lifts her arm, hearing the baying of the hounds from the watchtower where Griswold had disappeared to originally. She motions to the two men to go there, and then kicks into the horse into a gallop, to close the distance with the gatehouse.The guards move into the kennels, and in doing so release the two remaining Rotweilers D and E with their action, which will join initiative next round. Orais's horse then dashes to transport her in front of the gatehouse.   The aasimar lifts up on her saddle, and then leaps upwards with a suddenly certitude that the heavens will lift her, and indeed as her eyes glimmer so too does two incorporeal wings spread outwards in the outlines of a deva, carrying her up in that leap onto the top of the walls, wherein she bursts forth in a dash onto the scene on the second floor. With spear in hand, she readies her shield and scans the villains that have coalesced there, letting out a single command in a stereophonic voice. "Halt! You're not getting away."Orais activates her protector aasimar ability, which grants her a radiant damage bonus and a 30' flight speed. By dashing from her horse, she is able to burst forth and threaten the villains from the second floor. For a moment, things seemed to be flowing in the tide one direction, even with the firewball, for one last hurrah for the heroes, but it was quickly apparent that the aasimar was greatly outnumbered, perhaps having hoped that the guards would not have been enchanted with a sleep spell and able to support her from the other direction. Soon, however, the advantage becomes even more grossly stacked in the favor of a villains, as an unseen ally makes itself known again . "Grandmother! It bit me! It hurts!" Indeed, the creature materializes from an ethereal jaunt, having rushed as if sensing the blood spilt, even as he clutches and licks at his own, relatively minor wound as if it were a mortal one, having climbed and clawed through the bramble to get here. Indeed, his appearance comes with a chill wind and a guttering of the torches, and no one actually sees him materialze, only appearing with a blink and a bad omen. He protectively looms near Gertrude, though exhausted in its movement it all but collapses on all fours, panting, as the Beast of Freness turns its beady eyes to Orais for a few moments. "Have you all been playing without me!?" Round 3 posted:[Reinforcements: I've spent the last two remaining Hero Points to have all the reinforcements arrive at once for a final climactic clash on Round 2. There are no more that will come, and once the enemies on the board are neutralized, combat will end.] Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 01:48 on Jul 6, 2018 |
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Jul 6, 2018 00:43
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"The Gang Escapes from Branderscar Prison" — Combat: Round 3 The light of the aasimar snuffed out nearly completely by the end of a few seconds after she charges in. A firebolt causes her shield to falter and stagger back, followed by a bolt from the darkness that causes her to fall to one knee. The wings fade away. She raises her head, looking to the villain "Rêve" in sudden defiance, holding her gaze even as her body begins to freeze over. The light begins to fade from her eyes, the sign of her celestial guardian leaving this world, but there is an almost beatific certitude in the voice as it accepts its fate. "This isn't over. We will follow you until the end of your days, scion of the nine..." But at the end of her words, she was almost as a statue of bluish frozen skin, lips shriveled and broken with tinges of cooled blood, still resolute even in those last moments. For the first time, Griswold had been given contradictory directions, glancing between the harridan and the sorceress with its beady eyes. Its maw seemed ever contorted in that almost smile, and despite its frightful mien, there was almost something like humanity therein. It was easy to classify as a monster, because that is what it was, but it was also genuinely still a child, and learning lessons quickly. When it seems likely that Gertrude isn't going to very much contradict it, and considering how softened the sorceress's manner has become, it seems to look at her in a different light, its arms sinking. "Oh. Okay, I guess. Don't start on the smelly little gnome without me though, OK?" With that it disappeared, moving off once more into the ethereal Feywild, which it would use to slither closer down to the engagement beneath their feet. With the quaggoth having made itself no longer a target, there is essentially nothing but open air between the right hand door and the rest of the party. Thus when Faryse and the guards arrive to kick it open, they quickly scan and identify the largest threat: The lizardman with a blood-stained face stabbing the sleeping guard at his feet. Cocking back her heavy crossbow, Faryse lets fly a tracer bolt that creates a streak across the air guiding the bolt of the guard beside her, and both strike true with shots to the chest that would be enough to fell many mortal men. However, emboldened with the power of the dragonborn he consumed and with the cold, dispassionate killing frenzy of the lizardfolk, H'riss simply shrugs it off. "Right on target, let's keep it moving." Faryse and Guard R3 arrive and open the door with their Move, and then Attack H'riss, both hitting, which deals 5 piercing damage through the resistance, eliminating his THP. Faryse and Guard R3 have partial cover (+2 AC and Dexterity saves) against attacks from inside the gatehouse. Guard R4 moves closer and then Readies an action to attack anyone that gets within 10' of the door, as at that point he can get an angle and do so. The men in the kennels start marching up the spiral staircase with them at their sides, making for a mad dash to get to the door before it is shut and barred, though coming shy of it. From inside the gatehouse, you can hear the baying of the rottweilers, their tongues flopping and slobber from their jowls dripping as they close in. Guards R7 and R8, along with Rottweilers D and E, use their Dash. They move 30' to move up 15' of stairs to the second floor of the watchtower, and then 30' down the parapets. Back downstairs, the action was just as intense. Vicenza's unconcious body was dragged from the fray as Pharom barred the door and Egina stepped back with her laughter from her noise of great sound and fury, having left the attackers off balance. Filled with infernal power to sustain her, Vicenza grasped and pawed at Excellence's collar, looking up at the tiefling with something that didn't exist before. Before there was perhaps a sense of opportunity, but her pride had been washed away with an almost religious awe. Her lips broke open as she was held there, but there was little time to bask in the moment, as the door broke open into splinters. As the dust settled, Wulfstan gave a great battlecry, the glow of his eyes beginning to fade as he gained a bit more control of himself, standing there in the doorway. He pointed his spear at Egina. "Do not dare accuse me, Coringaer, of denying who I am! We have the opportunity to choose who we are, and you have chosen wrong over right. Cut her down!" And indeed, the surviving guard with him pushed through the breach. Vicenza attempts to catch him with a splash of acid before he catches Egina, pulling herself together and standing, but it merely dashes off of the guard's bucket helmet that hides their face. With a heaving cry, they swing down the halberd, catching Egina's shoulder and making to bring her down, while also threatening the space of Vicenza and Pharom as suddenly the tide shifted once more, though for an uncertain amount of time. Wulfstan moves to the doorway succeeds in breaking through the barred door, and then drops out of rage. He no longer has resistance. Guard R5 moves in and attacks Egina after miraculously dodging once more Vicenza's acid splash, hitting and bringing her down to 0 HP with 4 slashing damage. Meanwhile, the horse just bolts over towards the stables, away from the fire and chaos as quickly as it can. What else did you expect? It's a horse! It's a wonder it didn't die of fright or kill itself by attempting to jump over a burning gibbet or something. Round 4 posted:The Villains Tricky Dick Nixon fucked around with this message at 15:54 on Jul 6, 2018 |
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Jul 6, 2018 15:39
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