Going Underground!

Just a short reminder (after our loooong recess) of the Party's current situation.

With the timely assistance of Rifkin, the Party managed to evade the (certain death by Tyrannosaurus Rex) third and final bout in the gladiatorial arena of Valdez and (with seven camels, tents and supplies) escape into the desert.

The Party had also (conveniently) encountered the blue-clad Moody. The self-same Wizard who had previously captured them and bribed the Odds-master to ensure Arowe's death. He is now a bound and gagged prisoner, without hawk familiar, hope or his spell book.

After several night's successful navigation though, Liga Bur was psychically attacked by a withered, hunchbacked old woman during his dreams. His fevered rants though were proven real  by the sudden reawakening of the magical mummified hand, still carried deep within Rifkin's knapsack. Coming back to ‘life’, it literally crawled out and pointed out the vile, ethereal creature before conferring 'sight-beyond-sight' to Arowe. 

Weakened and struggling to stay awake, Liga Bur still managed to lead the Party toward the mythical tower. On day six the Party came across an unlikely but tall rocky crag, offering fresh water, shade and potentially edible vegetation. In the darkest of the multiple shadows cast by the three suns in the sky, three bodies lay sprawled in the sand. They looked decades old; skeletal, but some items, glinting in the light, seemed to have survived.

Guessing them to be either valuable or magical, Barbella licked his parched lips and offered to 'check ‘em awt'. 

Unfortunately, after sifting through some of the items, the swarthy soldier looked momentarily confused but before he could convey his findings, the sand erupted beneath him! A huge insectoid creature burst from below the corpse and snatched the screaming Barbella up in its mandibles. With clever forethought by the pragmatic Fortu though, Barbella had been tethered by rope to the stout Doberman.

Something's wrong though. Barbella's thrashing and screaming like he's burning and the should-be-sturdy rope looks like it's already shredding. The rest of the party stare in horror from about thirty feet back.

Except the ever-ready archer elf; Arowe, who releases a readied feathered shaft, despite the exploding sand and the flailing Barbella, direct into the insectoid creatures face from thirty feet away…

INITIATIVE!

Up to but not including Ambush Bug Desert Experience

As we've experienced a ‘slight’ intermission in the game, I thought I might as well post up another experience post.

Despite Rifkin's heroic rescue attempt, your escape from the city and a few more comments and posts, no-one's risen up any further.

My unsubtle plan of rewarding comments and posts with experience points is starting to cost quiet Scott a little though…

Fortu: 19,453 (6th)

Arowe: 19,328xp (6th)

Liga Bur: 19,101xp (6th)

Rifkin: 12,239xp (5th)

Henshaw: 3,131xp (3rd)

Barbella: 3,121xp (3rd)

Doberman: 3,121xp (3rd)

A Friendly Five Fingered Fortnight Reminder

 

Hopefully you’ve all kept up with and enjoyed the biweekly posts and know where you are and what you’re all doing.

I’ll post up a brief situation summary a week before the game and then Assif will WhatsApp the Googlemeet code to the app rest of us fifteen minutes before game start.

Already looking forward to it!

Dope-a-Rope

After the initial disappointment of the distant, hazy tower actually turning out to just be a random thirty-foot-tall rock stack, thrusting upwards from the sand, certain benefits present themselves. Possibly life saving benefits! There's water bubbling from the climbable peak and vegetation growing in the shaded grooved areas along its downward path. 

Also, in the more sheltered, 'shadowy' area beneath and beside it, there are three desiccated bodies. Isolated from each other, approximately twenty feet apart. Dead adventurers perhaps, due to the rusted shields and weapons still lying within reach of their skeletal fingers.

But not all of it is corroded... Something still gleams in the remaining sunlight. Some items amongst the bones and rot still shine and sparkle!

Cautious Henshaw doesn’t like this though. He doesn’t like this at all. Three long dead bodies lying conveniently in their path? Their skeletons still draped in shiny metal with glass, gems and coins sparkling around them in the multiple sunslight? Considering the recent dark magic attacks on Liga Bur and Fortu’s ongoing and obviously disturbing dreams, this feels deeply suspicious.

“OK Barbella, if you want to check out that stuff; fine. There might be something valuable there but just in case it’s a trap, we’ll tether you onto Doberman and he can pull you back if anything happens.”

Everyone stops thirty feet away from the skeletal corpses and the agile Barbella creeps carefully forward...

Closely followed by Doberman.

Barbella stops.

“Whatcha doing Mate?”

Distracted by the forty feet of looped rope dragging in the sand behind and between them, Doberman fails to notice the suddenly immobile Barbella in time and bumps clumsily into the back of him.

“… I’m coming wiv you.”

Barbella looks over the head of his short-attention-spanned teammate and toward the doubled-over-laughing sight of the blond thatched Henshaw.

“And how the Hell do you fink you’re going to pull the forty-feet of rope back if'n you’re standing right beside me?!”

Doberman’s spongy dough-like face goes blank for a moment as he considers Barbella’s question.

“Urr… I’ll kill whatever kills you… and THEN pull you to safety!”

Judgement dread

 As Fortu comes away from hugging Rifkin he cant help but feel a slight reticence from the normally friendly bard. Thinking back he remembers seeing what could only be called judgemental looks from the bard whenever it was Fortu's turn to see to the 'slaver' Moody. He'd noticed that Riffers would always see that Moody got his share of food and drink even after Fortu had deliberately halved the share to give to Doberman.

He realised that Rifkin had no real concept of the destruction to lives that slavers had. He feared for his friendship if Riffers could not except what Fortu new

Fortu could not remember much of his early life but he could remember in detail the weeks spent in the hull of the slavers vessel after being taken. The heat and smell in the dark confined space, water permanently sloshing around his feet, the hunger, the cries and screams of the others chained in the hold. He was chained next to a boy called Stoggeriard, who preferred Stogie, maybe a landholders son who just couldn't hold down the stale weevil invested bread they were fed. The boy was too weak after a few days and just seemed to give up and die. It took three days before the slavers came and literally cut him from the chain. He never new the names of the three other boys on his chain, he referred to them as 'Slim' 'Hairy' and 'Giant' but between them they managed to stay alive, banding together to stop larger kids stealing their food and making sure one was always awake to prevent rats gnawing at the open sores where the chains rubbed. As boys do they swore that they always protect and look out for each other.

 Fortu only ever saw 'Giant' again after they made land, he saw him in the pit and killed him.

'Slim' was sold to a whorehouse called 'Flesh'. To start it was wonderful, bathed, perfumed fed. Then it became a nightmare, drugged, abused, beaten. After a few years he was sold on to the soldiers copper brothel 'Flesh 2', addicted and diseased he died in a gutter.

'Hairy' was bought by a house that provided beasts for the pits. His owner; a repellent, fat odious man named Stontinumus the dog breeder got annoyed when 'Hairy' pissed himself frightened as he was by the baying wolf like beasts, the owner relaxed the dogs chain to scare him more and laughed as he released it too much and they tore him apart.

Fortu was aware that his behaviour to the slaver Moody made him no better and was going to treat him with more dignity, but he also new that the mage would not be returning to Valdez alive.

Supplies, Supplies!

Rifkin gives a brief black look as he takes a stock-check and sees, with a sinking feeling, that he’d indeed under-estimated their food and water supply requirements. He’d purchased enough for exactly sixteen days (Including what he could provide with his magic porridge spoon). That should’ve been enough to last them from Valdez city to the mythical tower and then either to the dimensional portal/well oasis or, worst case scenario, back to the recently fled Valdez.

It wasn’t due to poor mathematics though. He just hadn’t accounted for his Elven companion Arowe finding, beating and taking the Wizard Moody captive. Even accounting for Fortu’s surprising abusive treatment of him, Rifkin couldn’t bring himself to starve the man. 

Unless they find water along the way or at the tower, they are going to run out about two days before they should have. Two days before they can get back to either the oasis or the city.

Realisation hits him right between the eyes. For all his efforts in saving them, he might have accidentally done to his friends what’d almost happened to him. After everything they’d seen, all they’d been through, all the monsters they’d faced, they might all just die of basic thirst!

Glancing over to the sagging, barely awake and bloodshot eyed Liga Bur, the Bard wonders to himself, if the Halfling tracker, in his current state, is capable of finding any food or water in this inhospitable desert?

All seven of their lives may depend upon it… 

Eight including Mir Hundur! 

Nine including the bound Wizard Moody!!

To Sleep, Perchance to Nightmare

The oppressive heat above and the rhythmic swaying of the camel beneath him, do nothing to help Liga Bur battle against his almost overwhelming tiredness. It's been two days since he last dared sleep, but as exhausted as he is, he knows he won't be able to resist much longer. His eyelids are drooping more with each plodding camel step and once he falls unconscious, he'll be back in the Hag's vice-like grip again.

With the help of the now dead werewolf Kane's creepy but surprisingly useful magical, mummified hand, the Elven Arowe has been able to keep an occasional watch out for the evil witch's return. Unfortunately, despite being able to see her, he's still unable to effectively do anything about it.

The Party travel at night but she appears randomly and stalks alongside them on her coal-black mare. With at least two more days still to go before they reach the mythical 'Singing' tower, Liga Bur knows that he's in serious trouble.

Does he risk sleep deprivation, hallucinations and a mental breakdown or accept the horrifying night terrors? Either way he'll be in a physically reduced state by the time they arrive at the tower.


Liga Bur is currently 1 Constitution point down but hasn't slept for two days and has really only three choices at this juncture.

1) He can accept the loss of 2 more points of constitution and subsequent loss of -6 Hit Points and -1 Fortitude saving roll

2) Accept the disabling Exhaustion penalties: -6 Strength and Dexterity. No Charge or Run action.

3) Turn back... Turn back now! Whooooooo (Ghost noise).

Hypocritic Oaths

Watching their abused prisoner moan in his fitful, broken sleep, Rifkin wrestles with his conscience. It's been five days since they captured the Wizard Moody and during that time he's been horribly abused. Beaten, half-starved and sleep deprived. This man though was a slaver. An obviously self-centred and evil man who frankly, absolutely deserved to die... And yet.

It disturbed him who was the most vocal about it. The most vicious. He understood some of Fortu's reasons; a former slave sold back into the arena but his vengeful change in attitude was alarming. Perhaps he couldn’t help himself? Perhaps his pacifistic leanings were just a plaster veneer concealing the bedrock of his arena bred violent nature?

Arowe's contempt was more understandable. The grudge Moody held for him over the death of his hawk had almost got them all killed and despite Arowe's privileged elven upbringing, his instincts always veer dangerously toward the psychopathic.

Poor, haunted Liga Bur had initially seemed mostly indifferent and now, considering his current weakened state, he's barely able to pay attention to anything beyond the map and their path.

The Demi-Demi-Elf is torn. His weird compulsion to help people is completely at odds with his feelings for the wheedling Wizard. Several times during feeding or interrogating, Moody's desperately tried to create conflict and friction within the group. The three Human guards though, know where their loyalties lie... He hopes.

Still, Rifkin's mind drifts back to just a few weeks ago at the hidden magical pool. Fortu's surprising incomprehension of the goddess Estrid's fury and her butchering the captured/surrendered soldiers. His barely restrained anger at her slaughter of the bound men. Now though, by the mutterings of his troubled dreams, he's considering the same actions. Worse; days of inhuman treatment and torture followed by murder. The execution of a defenceless, bound and gagged man.

Briefly considering freeing Moody during his next watch, Rifkin dismisses the thought. The slaver held a grudge before, it'd be unlikely, given the opportunity, that he’d let this indignity pass.

Still, perhaps a compromise could be reached? If he continues to co-operate and gives useful information, they could part as... Well, perhaps not as friends but maybe enemies that hope never to set eyes upon each-other ever again?

The Diamond, the Hand and the Bow

While idling away a few triple sun-burning hours under the protection of the large tent, Rifkin puts down Moody's unfathomable diamond and re-examines the recently reactivated magical mummified hand. During his research, he discovers that it doesn't just allow a third magical ring to be worn and enable its wearer to see ethereal and invisible creatures but it can also generate light as bright as day for about an hour. Sadly, the hands ability to grant the power to see magically hidden creatures is also limited in time to about an hour in a day before the hand sags and tires. Too short a period of time to really protect Liga Bur and frustratingly, it also won't work when worn around a neck shared with any other magical necklace or medallion.

Distractedly scratching behind his shoulder with the long fingernails of the withered hand for a moment, Rifkin recalls Whackheem's words to Arowe from back at the second oasis.

"I'm so sorry my friend, I've nothing to surpass or even match that splendid Elven bow of yours."

Surprising, considering what he did have to offer, and then he said something even odder.

"Have you tried reading the inscription?"

Of course Arowe had noticed and read the finely carved words as soon as they'd found it. Most magical items and weapons had inscriptions of one sort or another carved or etched into them.  But still, the merchant of magic had been very specific. Rifkin's lips move silently as he delicately traces the short but stylishly carved Elven script along the side of Arowe's magical blackthorn bow.

‘Death to my Enemy’.

The Hand of Glory is a neck worn magical item. It enables the wearer to use a third magical ring at the expense of their neck position slot. It also grants the wearer the ability to cast 'See Invisibility' and 'Daylight' for one hour per day. This time is a continuous block but both spells can be cast separately or simultaneously.

The Cost of Altruism

Henshaw grimaces as he watches the grateful Arowe hand Rifkin a sack-full of gold. The tall Elf's right, they all owed the half-breed bard a debt. Counting his measly five gold coins, he reconsiders his recent advice to Barbella. He’s been in debt since they joined these adventurers.

Still, although generous, the straw-haired soldier finds it interesting how Arowe calculated his share of the group debt. From what Henshaw understood, Rifkin had spent about one thousand, six hundred gold on the bribes, equipment and camels plus used up several of his expendable magics. That would make the three hundred gold Arowe had given, a generously rounded up but equal-ish one/sixth share division. Fair, until you considered the three times treasure share allotted to Arowe, Fortu and Liga Bur over Barbella, Doberman and himself.

Still, Rifkin is obviously grateful for the very kind gesture and is still smiling when Henshaw walks up.

"Arowe's right. We ALL owe you a debt for our freedom and as soon as I'm able, I'll be repaying you a hundred gold. Does that sound fair?"

Rifkin's smile widens still further at Henshaw's offer.

"I really appreciate the offer but it's not necessary."

Henshaw's jaw clenches involuntarily.

"Yes it is. A debt must always be paid to the satisfaction of both parties. You spent every coin you had rescuing us and risked your life whilst doing it. A hundred gold is the very least I can give in all good conscience.”

Current individual gold status:

Fortu:        Gold: 963gp

Arowe:        Gold: 1163gp (gave 300gp to Rifkin)

Liga Bur:    Gold: 888gp

Rifkin:        Gold: 306gp (Rich again!)

Henshaw:    Gold: 5gp (But now owes Rifkin 100gp)

Barbella:    Gold: 359gp (Feels no debt to Rifkin)

Doberman:    Gold: 356gp (Doesn’t even know how to spell Rifkin)