(As of yesterday’s update, Festi is my longest-running solo adventurer. She’s out-lasted the previous winners, an Orc & Human duo from Raiders using Monsters! Monsters! Well done Festi, but I can’t promise I’ll keep you alive to episode 16).
(Bandages: 1d4-1, 1 point healed. 3 bandages remaining).
(Listen: 1-2/d6, 2. Success)
Neck tight from the bandages swaddling her neck and shoulder, Festoonia presses her ear against the door. For a moment, nothing stirs behind the aged portal. Shuffling movement breaks the silence. Gasped breath filters through the solid wood.
Grip tight on her new sword, Festoonia snatches the door’s heavy iron ring. She twists the latch and slams her boot into wood. Hinges creak. She lunges forward, blade raised and face a desperate rictus.
“Please, don’t kill me!”
The high-pitched voice emanates from a quivering pile of rags. Something shivers between a dirty brown cloak. The stench of sweat and fear waft into Festi’s throat. A rancid, animal stink completes the olfactory cocktail.
“Get on your feet,” she sneers, strain and blood loss making her voice waver.
A small, round face peers from beneath swaddling fabric. One eye is larger than the other. Pale, it reminds Festoonia of something pulled from the ocean. As the stranger rises to his feet, Festooniar realises two things; about her own height and build, the person before her is a fellow halfling, secondly, it’s wearing a filthy blanket rather than a cloak.
“Well,” she says, allowing the point of her sword to drop, “what a pleasant surprise in this horrible place. You can call me Festi.”
She extends a hand, ready to shake. The newcomer returns the gesture, his rotten blanket falling from his shoulders.
A small leap takes her back a foot and brings her sword back to bear. Her eyes fix on the serrated crab claw sprouting from the halfling’s wrist. Head swimming, she drops into a fencer’s crouch and takes in the stranger.
Naked but for a filthy loin cloth and a holed stone tied around his neck on twine, he appears mostly to be a halfling. The clawed hand is one difference. The fish-like eye is another. Spotted fur complete with a round ear on right side of his head and a left leg that glints like metal in the torchlight completes his abominable appears.
“What…” she gulps, searching for words to describe the patchwork creature before her, “what are you?”
(Encounter = Runaway. I have a lot of supplements and put all the races into a generator. It spat out a Mongrel Man. Constituent parts are halfling head & torso, mermaid eye, gnoll ear, crab man claw, clockwork leg. Looks like the whole ‘zoo’ in one small package).
“Burt,” the hobbit-faced creature blurts, snatching up his blanket and wrapping it around his body.
“I’m just Burt. I didn’t want to scare you, let alone hurt you. I just want to get away from these horrible big people.”
Festoonia sees the tears on his cheeks, the sorrow and loss etched into his strange features. Again her sword dips. She takes a breath, sheaths her weapon, and reaches for Burt’s shoulder.
“Then maybe we can help each other.”
A smile splits Burt’s lips. Gently, he takes Festi’s hand in his. He touches the jagged red claw to his throat. Lips move in a whisper Festoonia does not understand. A pungent scent of salt and earth flows from the strange mutant. Healing warmth spreads through Festoonia’s body.
(1st level cleric 15 wis. Cure Light Wounds. 6 HP healed).
“Whoa!” she gasps, tilting her head left-to-right, “you’re a healer. Thank you!”
“I’m a lot of things in a small bundle.”
“You’ll have to tell me more when we’re somewhere safe, but let’s get out of here alive first.”
A corridor runs east-west with another plotting south. On Burt’s advice, they head south. They traverse the passage a short while, coming to another door. Two skulls rest atop piled bones. Short swords glitter amongst the biological rubble.
“It’s a trap,” Festi says, pulling her blade, “one of those things tried to make hobbit kebab with me before I found you.”
“Then get ready to run,” Burt says, fingers searching for the gemmed, hollow stone at his throat and thrusting his crab claw skyward.
Core Competencies
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JimboJimbo
- Posts: 467
- Joined: Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:59 am
Re: Core Competencies
(This one's quite long. part 16 was super short and I had 17 already done, so I smooshed them together. The last room I rolled was a special, so hopefully it'll be entertaining for you 
.)
(Burt, turn dead. 19 vs 10. Success)
Festi doesn’t understand Burt’s words, but she recognises the calming sensation that washes through her. She flinches slightly as the bones cling together, forming big-people skeletons. She drops into guard, relaxes as the creatures cower against the door frame.
“Run,” her new friend says, hobbling slowly toward the door.”
Festi does as ordered, stopping only snatch dropped swords. She opens the door, waits for Burt to join her, then slides a blade between door and frame, blocking it closed.
“That was amazing!”
Burt’s smile is almost angelic in the guttering torchlight. He raises his claw slightly, shrugging.
“I am but a simple messenger,” he gestures around the empty room with his hand, “if that door is secure, maybe we could rest here? I can pray for aid and take care of your wounds?”
Festoonia pulls the piton from her belt and jams it alongside the sword. She drops her bag, rifles through the contents for ration packs.
“While you’re doing your thing, I’ll fix something to eat. I’m hungry and you look starving.”
(Room description is Sanctuary so despite the skeleton guards there’s no threat. Party can rest, Burt can pray.)
(Cure Light Wounds +7 puts Festi back up to full HP).
“I feel gooder than new,” Festi says, rolling her shoulders, “but what are we going to do about the skeletons?”
“You stand on one side of the door, I’ll stand on the other. When you open it, get ready to run again and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Festi does as ordered, cringes at the rattle of reforming bones. From his place in the corner, Burt taunts the skeletons. Clawed feet scraping stone, the skeletons enter.
“Run,” Burt calls as the skeletons shamble to the room’s centre.
Festoonia bursts through the door, a reclaimed short sword in each hand. She slashes the blades impatiently as her new friend hobbles to the door. Claw raised, he throws out his hand, fingers spread. He speaks again in the strange, ululating voice.
(Turn Undead. 19 vs 10, success).
Fleshless jaws drop wide. Bony fingers grab bony skulls. Gripped with terror, the skeletons rush to the corners of the room and cower in abject terror.
“Ready your spikes,” Burt says, hobbling through the door.
Festi sheaths her swords and pulls spikes from her pack. She Hammers them through the door and into the frame.
(Noisy. Wandering monster roll 1-2/d6. Roll: 3).
“Lets get going,” she says, adjusting her kit and retrieving her weapons.
The duo head back to the junction, taking the right turn eastward, figuring it will lead them away form the dungeon’s heart.
The passage leads to an open arch. A dull throb chills the air. An acidic stench mars the air. Festi looks to her new, whispers.
“I don’t like this. Do you want a sword?”
Burt shakes his head, holding up his bulky right claw. He counts off three fingers on his left hand then creeps into the room.
The door hangs suspended three feet above the ground. Frosty vapour peels out from around the frame. Pale blue light and icy winds blast out with each pulse. A woman, white-blonde hair stark against her black robes, stands facing the portal.
Slowly, the woman turns. Half of her face is exquisite in its youthful beauty. The other is cracked and raw from a sheathe of ice.
“So, that meddling hag Sarah finally got wise, did she?” her voice is like chinking icicles and the cracking roar of a frozen lak, “Well, there’s nothing she can do to stop me. She has simply cursed you with an early grave.”
The priestess pulls a blackened Scroll from her robes, unfurls it and begins chanting.
(Party wins initiative 5:3)
(Festi: 20 [nat] vs AC 14, hit. Dam 10 [Festi has the brutal boon meaning x2 damage on a crit] Crit roll: 4, strike to the face, foe disfigured, no additional effect)
Arn’s face burning in her memory, Festoonia Chipway sprints to the priestess. She thrusts low with her right and high with her left-hand blade. The first slashes cloth and metal armour. The second lunge hits, rips through jaw and cheek and eye socket. Her blade rips blood from flesh and a scream from the priestess’ throat.
(Priestess, save to maintain casting. 9 vs 13, fail. Oops, double-checked rules, no save necessary. Spell disrupted).
(Burt: 16 vs AC 14, hit. Dam 3 vs 6hp)
“Heretic!” Burt screams, slouching into a charge that carries him across the room. He lashes out with his scissor claw, snapping at the priestess’ thigh.
(Priestess, 10 vs AC 10, Dam 2 vs 7hp)
Unarmed, she lashes out, slams her fist into Burt’s fish-like eye.
“Damn you,” she screams, backing toward the glowing door.
[Round 2]
(Festi, 3 vs AC 14, Miss)
Blades whirling, Festi advances on the priestess. Freezing air blasts into her face, forcing her to look away. Her blades swing wild.
(RaW, Festi can’t use 2 short swords. It’s just a narrative thing and doesn’t add anything mechanically).
(Burt, 6 vs AC 14, miss)
Vision blurred from the eyeful of knuckles, the mutant lashes out with his claw. The snapping pincer catches flowing robe and icy air, but nothing more.
“Tell that goody-two-shoes,” the priestess taunts, one hand on the arcane door, “that I’ll see her in frozen Halls of Hell!”
She disappears through the portal, slamming it shut with a roaring crack of thunder. Time and space fold in on themselves. Arctic winds batter the two adventurers. Finally, cold silence settles on the room.
“What…” Festi croaks through a mouthful of frost and terror, “what do we do now?”
.)(Burt, turn dead. 19 vs 10. Success)
Festi doesn’t understand Burt’s words, but she recognises the calming sensation that washes through her. She flinches slightly as the bones cling together, forming big-people skeletons. She drops into guard, relaxes as the creatures cower against the door frame.
“Run,” her new friend says, hobbling slowly toward the door.”
Festi does as ordered, stopping only snatch dropped swords. She opens the door, waits for Burt to join her, then slides a blade between door and frame, blocking it closed.
“That was amazing!”
Burt’s smile is almost angelic in the guttering torchlight. He raises his claw slightly, shrugging.
“I am but a simple messenger,” he gestures around the empty room with his hand, “if that door is secure, maybe we could rest here? I can pray for aid and take care of your wounds?”
Festoonia pulls the piton from her belt and jams it alongside the sword. She drops her bag, rifles through the contents for ration packs.
“While you’re doing your thing, I’ll fix something to eat. I’m hungry and you look starving.”
(Room description is Sanctuary so despite the skeleton guards there’s no threat. Party can rest, Burt can pray.)
(Cure Light Wounds +7 puts Festi back up to full HP).
“I feel gooder than new,” Festi says, rolling her shoulders, “but what are we going to do about the skeletons?”
“You stand on one side of the door, I’ll stand on the other. When you open it, get ready to run again and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Festi does as ordered, cringes at the rattle of reforming bones. From his place in the corner, Burt taunts the skeletons. Clawed feet scraping stone, the skeletons enter.
“Run,” Burt calls as the skeletons shamble to the room’s centre.
Festoonia bursts through the door, a reclaimed short sword in each hand. She slashes the blades impatiently as her new friend hobbles to the door. Claw raised, he throws out his hand, fingers spread. He speaks again in the strange, ululating voice.
(Turn Undead. 19 vs 10, success).
Fleshless jaws drop wide. Bony fingers grab bony skulls. Gripped with terror, the skeletons rush to the corners of the room and cower in abject terror.
“Ready your spikes,” Burt says, hobbling through the door.
Festi sheaths her swords and pulls spikes from her pack. She Hammers them through the door and into the frame.
(Noisy. Wandering monster roll 1-2/d6. Roll: 3).
“Lets get going,” she says, adjusting her kit and retrieving her weapons.
The duo head back to the junction, taking the right turn eastward, figuring it will lead them away form the dungeon’s heart.
The passage leads to an open arch. A dull throb chills the air. An acidic stench mars the air. Festi looks to her new, whispers.
“I don’t like this. Do you want a sword?”
Burt shakes his head, holding up his bulky right claw. He counts off three fingers on his left hand then creeps into the room.
The door hangs suspended three feet above the ground. Frosty vapour peels out from around the frame. Pale blue light and icy winds blast out with each pulse. A woman, white-blonde hair stark against her black robes, stands facing the portal.
Slowly, the woman turns. Half of her face is exquisite in its youthful beauty. The other is cracked and raw from a sheathe of ice.
“So, that meddling hag Sarah finally got wise, did she?” her voice is like chinking icicles and the cracking roar of a frozen lak, “Well, there’s nothing she can do to stop me. She has simply cursed you with an early grave.”
The priestess pulls a blackened Scroll from her robes, unfurls it and begins chanting.
(Party wins initiative 5:3)
(Festi: 20 [nat] vs AC 14, hit. Dam 10 [Festi has the brutal boon meaning x2 damage on a crit] Crit roll: 4, strike to the face, foe disfigured, no additional effect)
Arn’s face burning in her memory, Festoonia Chipway sprints to the priestess. She thrusts low with her right and high with her left-hand blade. The first slashes cloth and metal armour. The second lunge hits, rips through jaw and cheek and eye socket. Her blade rips blood from flesh and a scream from the priestess’ throat.
(Priestess, save to maintain casting. 9 vs 13, fail. Oops, double-checked rules, no save necessary. Spell disrupted).
(Burt: 16 vs AC 14, hit. Dam 3 vs 6hp)
“Heretic!” Burt screams, slouching into a charge that carries him across the room. He lashes out with his scissor claw, snapping at the priestess’ thigh.
(Priestess, 10 vs AC 10, Dam 2 vs 7hp)
Unarmed, she lashes out, slams her fist into Burt’s fish-like eye.
“Damn you,” she screams, backing toward the glowing door.
[Round 2]
(Festi, 3 vs AC 14, Miss)
Blades whirling, Festi advances on the priestess. Freezing air blasts into her face, forcing her to look away. Her blades swing wild.
(RaW, Festi can’t use 2 short swords. It’s just a narrative thing and doesn’t add anything mechanically).
(Burt, 6 vs AC 14, miss)
Vision blurred from the eyeful of knuckles, the mutant lashes out with his claw. The snapping pincer catches flowing robe and icy air, but nothing more.
“Tell that goody-two-shoes,” the priestess taunts, one hand on the arcane door, “that I’ll see her in frozen Halls of Hell!”
She disappears through the portal, slamming it shut with a roaring crack of thunder. Time and space fold in on themselves. Arctic winds batter the two adventurers. Finally, cold silence settles on the room.
“What…” Festi croaks through a mouthful of frost and terror, “what do we do now?”
Re: Core Competencies
Good stuff! The portal is great...and the Mongrel Halfling/Cleric is great too...at least Festi has some help now!
On two-weapon fighting - I use a house rule that a fighter using two weapons gets +1 to-hit (no extra damage, or damage as normal for the larger weapon). Add a separate rule for +1 damage with a two-handed weapon, or finally just +1 AC for a one-handed weapon and shield. Gives the fighters a bit of tactical choice in combat - +1 to-hit, to damage, or to AC (I think I first read about this set of house rules in Philotomy's Musings).
On two-weapon fighting - I use a house rule that a fighter using two weapons gets +1 to-hit (no extra damage, or damage as normal for the larger weapon). Add a separate rule for +1 damage with a two-handed weapon, or finally just +1 AC for a one-handed weapon and shield. Gives the fighters a bit of tactical choice in combat - +1 to-hit, to damage, or to AC (I think I first read about this set of house rules in Philotomy's Musings).
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JimboJimbo
- Posts: 467
- Joined: Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:59 am
Re: Core Competencies
Thanks Merias, I'm glad you're still enjoying! I always draw a blank on special rooms. Luckily I have a new dungeon generator. Floating door on the rando table made everything fall into place. Mongrelmen are cool. The lore they're half-elf/orc/whatevr taken to the Nth degree always makes me chuckle!merias wrote: ↑Sun Sep 04, 2022 7:26 pmGood stuff! The portal is great...and the Mongrel Halfling/Cleric is great too...at least Festi has some help now!
On two-weapon fighting - I use a house rule that a fighter using two weapons gets +1 to-hit (no extra damage, or damage as normal for the larger weapon). Add a separate rule for +1 damage with a two-handed weapon, or finally just +1 AC for a one-handed weapon and shield. Gives the fighters a bit of tactical choice in combat - +1 to-hit, to damage, or to AC (I think I first read about this set of house rules in Philotomy's Musings).
In core the second weapon has to be a dagger and the damage is averaged (iirc), but I like your rule much better. Young Festi will be getting +1 to hit from here on in!
Thanks for reading along
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JimboJimbo
- Posts: 467
- Joined: Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:59 am
Re: Core Competencies
Festi shakes her head, setting her luscious hair dancing. Jaw set firm, Festoonia looks into Burt’s mismatched eyes.
“We need to get out of here, tell Sister Sarah what’s going on, but there are some pretty mean people back that way. They… they killed all my friends.”
Fists tight around her twin blades, she strides into the corridor and back to the door held tight with her iron spikes.
“I want you to be careful,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, “I’ve lost enough friends for one lifetime.”
Festi retraces her steps through the temple catacomb. Eerie silence hangs over them, broken only by the dull, rhythmic thump of Burt’s clockwork foot. Festi stops before the heavy oak door and quickly
(remove spikes: 1-2/d6. Roll: 3)
though not quietly, removes her pitons.
“Four of them are behind that door with my dead friends,” Festi whispers,“If we can get their bodies out, I’d appreciate it, but living another day is pretty important.”
Adjusting his blanket to reveal his claw, Burt nods.
“We’ll do our best,” he says.
Lips pressed into a hard, tight line, Festi rips open the door. Leaden feet refuse to break into her planned charge. Her heart leaps with draconic fury.
Two figures stand in the room’s centre. The banded mail and short stature are impossible to mistake.
“Arn? Arn!”
Festi squeaks as she stumbles into the room. Hope and love erupt in her chest.
“How did you…”
Words die on her lips as the armoured sentinels turn. Bloodied, lifeless lips twist into mocking grins. Cold dead eyes flash with cold flames of hungry malice. Post-mortem groans worming from knife-slit throat, Nerva and Arn shamble toward Festi.
(I think I’ll give our undead friends the benefit of a surprise round).
(Arn 6 vs ac 15, miss)
(Nerva 16 vs Ac 15, hit. 3 vs 15hp)
The dwarfish dead staggers onward. His axe gleams in the dim light. Hardened steel bites at Festi. Her nimble feet carry her from its path.
“Arn? Arn, it’s me. It’s Festi. I have a new friend, he can make you__”
A Republic blades cuts a clumsy arc. Its razor’s edge thuds into Festoonia’s shoulder. Muscle and sinew throb from the impact. Her arm numbs from the blow. Fine-crafted scale saves flesh from being opened.
(Festi – Parry action [from complete] Should this be taken into account before initiative? Too late now).
Lightning fast, Festi swats away sword and axe. Hot tears burn trails down her cheeks.
“Arn? Nerva? What are you doing? It’s me, Festoonia, your lovable little-folk friend.”
(Burt. Turn dead. 14 vs 13. Never in my life have I had a cleric succeed so many turn attempts).
Oceanic waves of calm wash over the small adventurer. Burt’s soothing voice fills the small enclosure. The scent of salt and stone fill the air. Strangled gasps rip from undead throats. The two abominations cover their faces and shamble westward, away from the halfling and her holy friend.
“Come, Festi,” he says, taking her hand in his, “those are not the friends you knew. We must leave this dreadful place.”
Eyes fixed on the remains of her former companions, Festoonia allows herself to be guided through the twisting catacombs.
“We need to get out of here, tell Sister Sarah what’s going on, but there are some pretty mean people back that way. They… they killed all my friends.”
Fists tight around her twin blades, she strides into the corridor and back to the door held tight with her iron spikes.
“I want you to be careful,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, “I’ve lost enough friends for one lifetime.”
Festi retraces her steps through the temple catacomb. Eerie silence hangs over them, broken only by the dull, rhythmic thump of Burt’s clockwork foot. Festi stops before the heavy oak door and quickly
(remove spikes: 1-2/d6. Roll: 3)
though not quietly, removes her pitons.
“Four of them are behind that door with my dead friends,” Festi whispers,“If we can get their bodies out, I’d appreciate it, but living another day is pretty important.”
Adjusting his blanket to reveal his claw, Burt nods.
“We’ll do our best,” he says.
Lips pressed into a hard, tight line, Festi rips open the door. Leaden feet refuse to break into her planned charge. Her heart leaps with draconic fury.
Two figures stand in the room’s centre. The banded mail and short stature are impossible to mistake.
“Arn? Arn!”
Festi squeaks as she stumbles into the room. Hope and love erupt in her chest.
“How did you…”
Words die on her lips as the armoured sentinels turn. Bloodied, lifeless lips twist into mocking grins. Cold dead eyes flash with cold flames of hungry malice. Post-mortem groans worming from knife-slit throat, Nerva and Arn shamble toward Festi.
(I think I’ll give our undead friends the benefit of a surprise round).
(Arn 6 vs ac 15, miss)
(Nerva 16 vs Ac 15, hit. 3 vs 15hp)
The dwarfish dead staggers onward. His axe gleams in the dim light. Hardened steel bites at Festi. Her nimble feet carry her from its path.
“Arn? Arn, it’s me. It’s Festi. I have a new friend, he can make you__”
A Republic blades cuts a clumsy arc. Its razor’s edge thuds into Festoonia’s shoulder. Muscle and sinew throb from the impact. Her arm numbs from the blow. Fine-crafted scale saves flesh from being opened.
(Festi – Parry action [from complete] Should this be taken into account before initiative? Too late now).
Lightning fast, Festi swats away sword and axe. Hot tears burn trails down her cheeks.
“Arn? Nerva? What are you doing? It’s me, Festoonia, your lovable little-folk friend.”
(Burt. Turn dead. 14 vs 13. Never in my life have I had a cleric succeed so many turn attempts).
Oceanic waves of calm wash over the small adventurer. Burt’s soothing voice fills the small enclosure. The scent of salt and stone fill the air. Strangled gasps rip from undead throats. The two abominations cover their faces and shamble westward, away from the halfling and her holy friend.
“Come, Festi,” he says, taking her hand in his, “those are not the friends you knew. We must leave this dreadful place.”
Eyes fixed on the remains of her former companions, Festoonia allows herself to be guided through the twisting catacombs.
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JimboJimbo
- Posts: 467
- Joined: Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:59 am
Re: Core Competencies
(Nice short one today, folks)
(1 wandering monster check succeeds on the trip back)
Exhausted, her mind a snare of self-loathing and regret, she picks through a field of boulders and landslide mud. Smoke plumes from behind the next hill, signs they’re close to the mining village. Behind her, Burt groans, his claw and unusual leg making hard work of climbing over boulders.
(1/d6 Festi & Burt are surprised).
Small wings beat the air. Sulphur’s stink taints the breeze. A sharp ‘pop’ echoes in the rolling expanse. A blood chilling cackle freezes blood in veins and puckers flesh.
“Look out!”
Burt screams, but he’s too late. Thick black wings power and black tendrils power toward Festoonia. Red eyes glow in a twisted, horrific face. Obsidian tentacles twitch and squirm on its chin, entangling the halfling’s arms, holding her steady for its vicious, serrated teeth.
(Vargouille, 16 vs AC 15. Hit. 2 vs 12 hp)
Death’s rancid stench fills the halfling’s throat. She thrashes against its squid-like hold, screams rage and fear into those sanguine eyes.
(Festi save; 2 vs 13 fail. Those 2hp are are gone for good.)
Stinging teeth scratch her throat. Through the pain and damp warmth of her blood, she feels something hotter, more vital, slip from her grasp.
(Spades win initiative 2:1)
(Burt 9 vs AC 11, miss)
“You let her go,” the mutant shrieks, lurching over the rocks. His bulky right pincer snaps at jet-dark wings and blacker pincers, but the creature is too fast.
(Festi 6 vs AC 11, miss)
(Vargouiile, 8 vs ac 15, miss)
(Festoonia 15 vs AC 11. 6 vs 5hp)
Thrashing her arms and shoulders, Festoonia breaks free of the stinking creatures grasp. She lashes out, snatching a slimy, black wing. Teeth bared, a low rumble in her throat, she drives her blade into the unholy creature’s mouth.
Fiery red eyes go dark, spark again in brilliant ice blue flame. Festi’s ears ring from the unholy scream issuing from its blade-pinned mouth. She cringes away from an arctic blast that screams with hellish delight in the dark priestess’ voice.
Frost clinging to her hair, eyebrows, and the soft down on her toes, Festi blinks at the frozen puddle of black goo glimmering on the rocks at her feet.
“Festi?” Burt calls, “are you okay.”
“I don’t think I __”
Her blades ringing against the rocks, Festi collapses.
(1 wandering monster check succeeds on the trip back)
Exhausted, her mind a snare of self-loathing and regret, she picks through a field of boulders and landslide mud. Smoke plumes from behind the next hill, signs they’re close to the mining village. Behind her, Burt groans, his claw and unusual leg making hard work of climbing over boulders.
(1/d6 Festi & Burt are surprised).
Small wings beat the air. Sulphur’s stink taints the breeze. A sharp ‘pop’ echoes in the rolling expanse. A blood chilling cackle freezes blood in veins and puckers flesh.
“Look out!”
Burt screams, but he’s too late. Thick black wings power and black tendrils power toward Festoonia. Red eyes glow in a twisted, horrific face. Obsidian tentacles twitch and squirm on its chin, entangling the halfling’s arms, holding her steady for its vicious, serrated teeth.
(Vargouille, 16 vs AC 15. Hit. 2 vs 12 hp)
Death’s rancid stench fills the halfling’s throat. She thrashes against its squid-like hold, screams rage and fear into those sanguine eyes.
(Festi save; 2 vs 13 fail. Those 2hp are are gone for good.)
Stinging teeth scratch her throat. Through the pain and damp warmth of her blood, she feels something hotter, more vital, slip from her grasp.
(Spades win initiative 2:1)
(Burt 9 vs AC 11, miss)
“You let her go,” the mutant shrieks, lurching over the rocks. His bulky right pincer snaps at jet-dark wings and blacker pincers, but the creature is too fast.
(Festi 6 vs AC 11, miss)
(Vargouiile, 8 vs ac 15, miss)
(Festoonia 15 vs AC 11. 6 vs 5hp)
Thrashing her arms and shoulders, Festoonia breaks free of the stinking creatures grasp. She lashes out, snatching a slimy, black wing. Teeth bared, a low rumble in her throat, she drives her blade into the unholy creature’s mouth.
Fiery red eyes go dark, spark again in brilliant ice blue flame. Festi’s ears ring from the unholy scream issuing from its blade-pinned mouth. She cringes away from an arctic blast that screams with hellish delight in the dark priestess’ voice.
Frost clinging to her hair, eyebrows, and the soft down on her toes, Festi blinks at the frozen puddle of black goo glimmering on the rocks at her feet.
“Festi?” Burt calls, “are you okay.”
“I don’t think I __”
Her blades ringing against the rocks, Festi collapses.
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JimboJimbo
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- Joined: Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:59 am
Re: Core Competencies
(They say you should never go full narrative, but this one only has 2 dice rolls in it. Sorry).
“I am terribly sorry for your loss,” Sister Sarah coos, her eyes moist and lips turned down at the edges, “but their sacrifice has potentially uncovered a dire threat.”
Sister Sarah snaps her fingers. A shaven-headed priest in ochre robes rushes to her side. The woman whispers in his ear. The initiate bows and disappears out of the small shrine.
“As to your malady,” she says, eyes fixed on the dirty black bruise scarring Festi’s neck, “my connection to the Sacred is not strong enough to aid you. I could send another runner to the mother temple if you desire?”
Lips peeled back over her teeth, Festi scoffs.
“Forget about it. I don’t have enough friends left alive to do you another favour.”
She struts out to the small mining town. Rage in her blood, she barely notices the new structures dotting the settlement. Her attention is fixed on the creaking sign of a dancing badger.
“Where are we going?” Burt asks, struggling to keep up.
“To the badger,” she says, hunching her shoulders and lengthening her stride as best she can, “we’re going to get cess-pit drunk.”
She’s sloshed six pints in to her half-pint frame when she scrambles onto the table.
“Barnabus Cloth,” she bellows.
Haggard, exhausted miners sip their drinks, ignoring the short woman.
“Fess?” Burt rasps, tugging on the hem of her scale coat.
“Nerva Quintus. Astra the brain witch.”
Voices fall to silence. Eyes turn to the young halfling and her heavily cloaked friend.
“Ezra Kantoom. Pluvia Stardew. Mancho Boracho,”
Festoonia sobs, takes a long pull of her flagon and drops it on the table.
“Arn Brass Tounge,” she chokes.
“Tonight, we’re drinking in memory of my dead friends. None of you’re leaving until this purse is empty.”
She pulls a large leather pouch from her belt, hurls over-hand to the ostler. He plucks it from the air, swoons when he peeks in side.
“Food and drink are on the lady,” he shouts.
The patrons cheer. Pipes and drums strike up a jaunty tune. Festoonia belches, waves her flagon in the air and slumps face-down onto the table.
(Adventurers in the tavern? 4, yes. How many 3/d4. Any demi-humans? 2, no.)
“Excuse me?”
Festi peers out from under her sweat-matted hair. A trio of young humans lurk around the table. The speaker, strikingly handsome even for a big person, stares at her with the most intense pair of eyes she’s ever seen. A woman, her plain features rendered ugly beside her companion, stands slightly behind him. Dressed in fine heavy armour, she wears a knotted wooden club at her hip. The last is a slender man dressed in simple travelling gear. Intelligence burns in his eyes.
“Go get a drink, pretty boy.”
Their leader waves his flagon, pulls over a recently-vacated chair and sits beside her. He smells as good as he looks, though up close she can see there’s something not-quite-right about his stare.
“I am Ludo Pitts. That’s Rhonda Valerian. This,” he gestures to the man in travelling garb, “is Arturo Fitch, a powerful wizard.”
Fess belches, wipes her mouth on her sleeve and studies his eyes further. There’s definitely something missing there and she’s not sure she likes it.
“Don’t take it the wrong way, but why should I care?”
“We’ve heard minstrels sing your name, Festoonia Chipway. We want to help you get revenge, gold, and glory.”
Festi snorts, waves to a beer-laden wench to divest her load, and turns to her heavily-cloaked friend.
“You hear that Burt? They want to be the next fools to fall in with my curse. Should we let them join us?”
“I… I don’t__”
“Great. I have some business at the smith tomorrow. Meet us at cock’s crow by the hole in the ground the day after.”
Smiles stretch across young faces. Their leader, Ludo, inhales as if readying himself to speak.
“That’s enough talk. Go eat and drink ‘til you mess yourselves. Come find me the day after tomorrow.”
Almost vibrating with joy, the trio head toward the heaving bar. Festi lifts her mug to her lips.
“They look very young, do you think it’s wise to…?”
“Don’t worry about it Burt. If they’re travelling with me, they’ll need to get used to living for the moment.”
(Ludo stinks. He has Int: 5, Wis: 6, Con: 4 but he also has a charisma of 15. He’ll be a challenge to ‘role-play’, but he’ll probably be dead in a day anyway).
“I am terribly sorry for your loss,” Sister Sarah coos, her eyes moist and lips turned down at the edges, “but their sacrifice has potentially uncovered a dire threat.”
Sister Sarah snaps her fingers. A shaven-headed priest in ochre robes rushes to her side. The woman whispers in his ear. The initiate bows and disappears out of the small shrine.
“As to your malady,” she says, eyes fixed on the dirty black bruise scarring Festi’s neck, “my connection to the Sacred is not strong enough to aid you. I could send another runner to the mother temple if you desire?”
Lips peeled back over her teeth, Festi scoffs.
“Forget about it. I don’t have enough friends left alive to do you another favour.”
She struts out to the small mining town. Rage in her blood, she barely notices the new structures dotting the settlement. Her attention is fixed on the creaking sign of a dancing badger.
“Where are we going?” Burt asks, struggling to keep up.
“To the badger,” she says, hunching her shoulders and lengthening her stride as best she can, “we’re going to get cess-pit drunk.”
She’s sloshed six pints in to her half-pint frame when she scrambles onto the table.
“Barnabus Cloth,” she bellows.
Haggard, exhausted miners sip their drinks, ignoring the short woman.
“Fess?” Burt rasps, tugging on the hem of her scale coat.
“Nerva Quintus. Astra the brain witch.”
Voices fall to silence. Eyes turn to the young halfling and her heavily cloaked friend.
“Ezra Kantoom. Pluvia Stardew. Mancho Boracho,”
Festoonia sobs, takes a long pull of her flagon and drops it on the table.
“Arn Brass Tounge,” she chokes.
“Tonight, we’re drinking in memory of my dead friends. None of you’re leaving until this purse is empty.”
She pulls a large leather pouch from her belt, hurls over-hand to the ostler. He plucks it from the air, swoons when he peeks in side.
“Food and drink are on the lady,” he shouts.
The patrons cheer. Pipes and drums strike up a jaunty tune. Festoonia belches, waves her flagon in the air and slumps face-down onto the table.
(Adventurers in the tavern? 4, yes. How many 3/d4. Any demi-humans? 2, no.)
“Excuse me?”
Festi peers out from under her sweat-matted hair. A trio of young humans lurk around the table. The speaker, strikingly handsome even for a big person, stares at her with the most intense pair of eyes she’s ever seen. A woman, her plain features rendered ugly beside her companion, stands slightly behind him. Dressed in fine heavy armour, she wears a knotted wooden club at her hip. The last is a slender man dressed in simple travelling gear. Intelligence burns in his eyes.
“Go get a drink, pretty boy.”
Their leader waves his flagon, pulls over a recently-vacated chair and sits beside her. He smells as good as he looks, though up close she can see there’s something not-quite-right about his stare.
“I am Ludo Pitts. That’s Rhonda Valerian. This,” he gestures to the man in travelling garb, “is Arturo Fitch, a powerful wizard.”
Fess belches, wipes her mouth on her sleeve and studies his eyes further. There’s definitely something missing there and she’s not sure she likes it.
“Don’t take it the wrong way, but why should I care?”
“We’ve heard minstrels sing your name, Festoonia Chipway. We want to help you get revenge, gold, and glory.”
Festi snorts, waves to a beer-laden wench to divest her load, and turns to her heavily-cloaked friend.
“You hear that Burt? They want to be the next fools to fall in with my curse. Should we let them join us?”
“I… I don’t__”
“Great. I have some business at the smith tomorrow. Meet us at cock’s crow by the hole in the ground the day after.”
Smiles stretch across young faces. Their leader, Ludo, inhales as if readying himself to speak.
“That’s enough talk. Go eat and drink ‘til you mess yourselves. Come find me the day after tomorrow.”
Almost vibrating with joy, the trio head toward the heaving bar. Festi lifts her mug to her lips.
“They look very young, do you think it’s wise to…?”
“Don’t worry about it Burt. If they’re travelling with me, they’ll need to get used to living for the moment.”
(Ludo stinks. He has Int: 5, Wis: 6, Con: 4 but he also has a charisma of 15. He’ll be a challenge to ‘role-play’, but he’ll probably be dead in a day anyway).
-
JimboJimbo
- Posts: 467
- Joined: Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:59 am
Re: Core Competencies
(Really long one today. I smooshed parts 20 & 21 together because, well, you’ll see why).
A quick refresh of today’s pit-pounders:
Festoonia Chipway, halfling scrappy lass, level 2 (f)
Burt, Mongrel Man Cleric, level 1 (m)
Ludo Pitts, Human fighting man, level 1 (m)
Rhonda Valerian, human fighting woman, level 1 (f)
Arturo Fitch, human magic user, level 1 (m)
The heavy plates strapped to her body keep the anxiety at bay. Burt’s armour, specifically and expensively customised to fit his unusual frame, fills her with a sense of relief. The armourer she’d sent for did a good job in customising the suits in such short order. The blackened steel is a nice touch, though she it cost her enough.
“Miss Chipway!”
Ludo Pitts strides toward the open mine. His ringed armour clinks with each step. His loaded crossbow rests on his shoulder. A quiver of bolts rattles at his hip. A second is tied to the back of his pack. The other two humans follow close behind, annoyed expressions clear on their features.
“You guys ready?” Festi asks, drawing her twin swords.
“Where ever you go, we’re with you,” Ludo says, raising his crossbow in salute.
“Right, come on Burt.”
Festoonia ducks into the earth, nods with approval as the wizard takes a moment to light his lantern. The air is this with an acid tang that wafts from beyond the secret door. Burt brushes his claw against Festi’s armoured shoulder, tilts his furry round ear toward the portal.
“Can’t hear anything,” he shrugs.
The big human woman strides up to Festi’s empty flank. She tips the halfling a nod then raises her club. Together, they cross the threshold.
(Surprise: Spades: 1, surprised. Beastie: 3, no surprise)
Armoured spikes beat a tattoo against chiselled stone slabs. Chitin flashes in Arturo’s lamplight. A plated, snake-like body rears from the shadows, dozens of slender legs claw at the air. The creature lurches forward, its venom-coated fangs scything at Festi’s armoured chest.
(13 vs AC 17, miss)
Festi staggers under the weight’s blow, grunts as sabatons shriek against ancient stone. Blackened steel does its job, standing strong against envenomed fangs.
(Spades win initiative 5:2)
[Round 1]
(Festi; 15 vs AC 13, hit. 3 vs 14hp)
Festi batters away claws and limbs with the edge of her blade, finds a join in its armoured abdomen with the tip of her blade.
(Rhonda; 12 vs AC 13, miss)
The human woman moves fast, slamming her peasant’s club into the creature’s back. Nature’s plate foils her strike.
(Burt, 9 vs AC 13, miss)
Claw raised, Burt dives forward. A flurry of spiked feet hammer at his face. He ducks behind his shield.
(Ludo; 16 vs AC 15, hit. 4 vs 11 hp)
Ludo snaps his crossbow into his shoulder, draws a bead on elongated mandibles snapping over Festoonia’s helmet. He exhales, releases the trigger. His bolt flies true.
“Watch where you point that thing,” the halfling squeaks.
(I know, I know. Firing into melee. Can’t pick a target. Blah. Blah. Blah. I’ve played that rule a lot and I don’t like it. It leaves the back row inactive, so I’m going to ignore it. Enemies in melee receive a +2 cover bonus to AC. Friendly units are only hit on a 1, but take full weapon damage & a roll on a critical hit table)
Arturo’s voice rings in the close confines. Mystic syllables fall from his lips. Light flares around the man-sized insect’s head.
(Save 19 vs 16. Success).
The beast rears up, shaking its fanged head clawing with its limbs. Its torchlight corona fails to nothing.
(Giant Centipede, 9 vs ac 17. Miss)
The centipede rears, slashing at Festoonia with slime-coated fangs. Its teeth grate like coffin nails against her hand-forged carapace.
[Round 2]
(Festi: Nat 1, fail. Fumble table: 14, rams head into something. Stunned 3/d6 rounds)
Blades spinning in a murderous web, Festi charges forward as the monster slams its weight down. Clubbed by the 6-foot creature’s body, Fess staggers back, fighting to right her skewed helmet.
(Rhonda: 3 vs Ac 13, miss.)
Rhonda Valerian sees an opening, swings the lump of branch in a wide arc. Bodyweight behind the blow, she feels vibrations rip through her arms. Oiled and sun-dried, her club loses splinters as it impacts against the beast’s natural armour.
(Burt, 14 vs AC13, hit. 2 vs 7 hp)
Drawing on the power of his clockwork leg, Burt lunges low. He snaps his armoured claw, feels chitin and flesh give beneath his vice-like grip. He ducks back, a grin on his lips and a trio of legs still hanging from his unnatural fist.
(Ludo: 18 vs AC 15, hit. 4 vs 5hp)
Bolt glinting in the body of his bow, Ludo hammers his trigger. His dart flies high, buries itself in the writhing monster’s eye.
(Arturo, 8,2,9, each miss)
Shame burning his cheeks, Arturo snatches darts from his belt pouch. A flick his wrist sends them flying. They arc high, clattering behind the insectoid behemoth.
“Damnation,” he curses.
(Centipede, 19 vs AC 17, hit, damage 2 vs 7hp)
Flailing wild, the centipede lashes out. Acid-stinking fangs seek its own flesh, striking Burt’s claw. Scything incisors slash his wrist.
(Burt [chosen with a randon roll) save @+6 [weak poison] roll: 7 [13] vs 15. Fail).
Mismatched eyes bug from the mutant’s skull. He casts aside his shield, reaches for the amulet at his throat. His lips move in silent prayer, the flesh turning blue. Eyes closed, the mongrel man cleric collapses to the ground.
[Round 3]
(Festi, stunned)
(Rhonda, 19 vs Ac 13, hit. Dam 3 vs 1HP).
The strange little creature gasps, hits the ground hard. Eyes wide, guts a knot of despair, Rhonda Valerian feels a jolt of war fire rip through her veins. Bludgeon gripped double-handed, she throws herself at the writhing abomination. Her full weight behind the club, she hammers it down between the creature’s bug eyes. Chitin shatters under the blow. Ichor and brain spray from the wound. It slumps to the ground. Dead, its filament-thin legs twitch and buck.
“Hey,” Rhonda barks, tossing her weapon aside and sliding to her knees beside the little man, “hey, wake up.”
She rips off his helmet. The way his head flops to one side makes her taste bile.
“Wake up!” She screams, shaking his shoulders.
“Wake up!”
Her slap on his cheek resounds in the tight space. The funny little creature does not respond.
*
Helmet clutched under her arm, Festoonia stares at the mongrel man’s body.
“We bury him,” she says, voice and features impassive, “now.”
Sheathing her weapons, she slides her hands under his arms. Rhonda takes his feet, her back bent awkwardly while she bears the burden.
At the graveyard, Festi takes care of the spade-work. She clambers out with Arturo’s help, dusts mud from her bleeding hands without making eye contact with the others.
“Rhonda, take his shield but leave his armour on. He only had a blanket when I met him. The least I can do is send him to his gods with his armour.”
Festoonia loads dirt onto the her crab-handed friend.
“Tomorrow we go back in, find out who set this place up. Then we kill them.”
The humans nod in agreement and head to the tavern. Festoonia stays by the graveside.
*
The following morning the Spades re-enter the tomb. Cowed by their tiny leader, they pass where the cleric died, follow a curving passage and head
toward a shadowed stairway.
(Wandering monster: 1/d6, yes. Psionic? 6/d6, yes. Subterranean table: 1/d20. Oh dear! Reaction roll: 4/2d6, unfavourable).
Sulphur & ozone burn throats. Blinding purple light flashes bright. Space-time’s fabric is ripped asunder.
Something blocks the stairway. Festoonia can see his physical body; a muscular tanned man with deep black eyes, white hair and beard. She can also see his fifty-foot presence, his shimmering aura of eternal power and alien origin. His mere proximity drains life from her bones, weighs on her soul heavier than the deaths of her friends.
“Which,” the man with the giant aura booms, his voice rattling mortar from between ancient blocks, “of you pathetic vermin called me from slumber?”
Festi tries to speak but the words are stuck in her throat. This man-sized giant’s presence is too great, too oppressive for her brain to generate thoughts.
“Answer me!”
“I don’t…” Fess manages, clearing her throat and willing her tongue to flap, “I don’t know you.”
(reaction roll snake eyes, immediate attack
)
Booming laughter rattles the tunnel. Foot-thick blocks are shaken from the wall and smash against the floor, obliterating tile into a thousand pieces.
“You know not of Lepetus, foolish bug? Allow me to introduce myself and my domain.”
The bearded man-giant raises his hand, thumb pressed against middle finger. Festoonia sees him beneath the earth, king of a cthonic palace. He wears a toga and laurels, drinks wine from a gilded cup.
Snapping fingers drag Festoonia awake. Sparks rage across the man-giant’s fingertips. Lightning crackles as it bursts from his hand. It seeks her blackened steel breastplate.
(Lightning bolt: 65/17d6 [even rolling to save is pointless] )
Searing pain rips through Festoonia’s chest, dies before it can become a scream. Charred skeletons and the stink of burning flesh are all that remain of the Spades.
(Bit of an anticlimax, that one. Psionics, eh? With great power comes great … uh … wandering monster tables).
A quick refresh of today’s pit-pounders:
Festoonia Chipway, halfling scrappy lass, level 2 (f)
Burt, Mongrel Man Cleric, level 1 (m)
Ludo Pitts, Human fighting man, level 1 (m)
Rhonda Valerian, human fighting woman, level 1 (f)
Arturo Fitch, human magic user, level 1 (m)
The heavy plates strapped to her body keep the anxiety at bay. Burt’s armour, specifically and expensively customised to fit his unusual frame, fills her with a sense of relief. The armourer she’d sent for did a good job in customising the suits in such short order. The blackened steel is a nice touch, though she it cost her enough.
“Miss Chipway!”
Ludo Pitts strides toward the open mine. His ringed armour clinks with each step. His loaded crossbow rests on his shoulder. A quiver of bolts rattles at his hip. A second is tied to the back of his pack. The other two humans follow close behind, annoyed expressions clear on their features.
“You guys ready?” Festi asks, drawing her twin swords.
“Where ever you go, we’re with you,” Ludo says, raising his crossbow in salute.
“Right, come on Burt.”
Festoonia ducks into the earth, nods with approval as the wizard takes a moment to light his lantern. The air is this with an acid tang that wafts from beyond the secret door. Burt brushes his claw against Festi’s armoured shoulder, tilts his furry round ear toward the portal.
“Can’t hear anything,” he shrugs.
The big human woman strides up to Festi’s empty flank. She tips the halfling a nod then raises her club. Together, they cross the threshold.
(Surprise: Spades: 1, surprised. Beastie: 3, no surprise)
Armoured spikes beat a tattoo against chiselled stone slabs. Chitin flashes in Arturo’s lamplight. A plated, snake-like body rears from the shadows, dozens of slender legs claw at the air. The creature lurches forward, its venom-coated fangs scything at Festi’s armoured chest.
(13 vs AC 17, miss)
Festi staggers under the weight’s blow, grunts as sabatons shriek against ancient stone. Blackened steel does its job, standing strong against envenomed fangs.
(Spades win initiative 5:2)
[Round 1]
(Festi; 15 vs AC 13, hit. 3 vs 14hp)
Festi batters away claws and limbs with the edge of her blade, finds a join in its armoured abdomen with the tip of her blade.
(Rhonda; 12 vs AC 13, miss)
The human woman moves fast, slamming her peasant’s club into the creature’s back. Nature’s plate foils her strike.
(Burt, 9 vs AC 13, miss)
Claw raised, Burt dives forward. A flurry of spiked feet hammer at his face. He ducks behind his shield.
(Ludo; 16 vs AC 15, hit. 4 vs 11 hp)
Ludo snaps his crossbow into his shoulder, draws a bead on elongated mandibles snapping over Festoonia’s helmet. He exhales, releases the trigger. His bolt flies true.
“Watch where you point that thing,” the halfling squeaks.
(I know, I know. Firing into melee. Can’t pick a target. Blah. Blah. Blah. I’ve played that rule a lot and I don’t like it. It leaves the back row inactive, so I’m going to ignore it. Enemies in melee receive a +2 cover bonus to AC. Friendly units are only hit on a 1, but take full weapon damage & a roll on a critical hit table)
Arturo’s voice rings in the close confines. Mystic syllables fall from his lips. Light flares around the man-sized insect’s head.
(Save 19 vs 16. Success).
The beast rears up, shaking its fanged head clawing with its limbs. Its torchlight corona fails to nothing.
(Giant Centipede, 9 vs ac 17. Miss)
The centipede rears, slashing at Festoonia with slime-coated fangs. Its teeth grate like coffin nails against her hand-forged carapace.
[Round 2]
(Festi: Nat 1, fail. Fumble table: 14, rams head into something. Stunned 3/d6 rounds)
Blades spinning in a murderous web, Festi charges forward as the monster slams its weight down. Clubbed by the 6-foot creature’s body, Fess staggers back, fighting to right her skewed helmet.
(Rhonda: 3 vs Ac 13, miss.)
Rhonda Valerian sees an opening, swings the lump of branch in a wide arc. Bodyweight behind the blow, she feels vibrations rip through her arms. Oiled and sun-dried, her club loses splinters as it impacts against the beast’s natural armour.
(Burt, 14 vs AC13, hit. 2 vs 7 hp)
Drawing on the power of his clockwork leg, Burt lunges low. He snaps his armoured claw, feels chitin and flesh give beneath his vice-like grip. He ducks back, a grin on his lips and a trio of legs still hanging from his unnatural fist.
(Ludo: 18 vs AC 15, hit. 4 vs 5hp)
Bolt glinting in the body of his bow, Ludo hammers his trigger. His dart flies high, buries itself in the writhing monster’s eye.
(Arturo, 8,2,9, each miss)
Shame burning his cheeks, Arturo snatches darts from his belt pouch. A flick his wrist sends them flying. They arc high, clattering behind the insectoid behemoth.
“Damnation,” he curses.
(Centipede, 19 vs AC 17, hit, damage 2 vs 7hp)
Flailing wild, the centipede lashes out. Acid-stinking fangs seek its own flesh, striking Burt’s claw. Scything incisors slash his wrist.
(Burt [chosen with a randon roll) save @+6 [weak poison] roll: 7 [13] vs 15. Fail).
Mismatched eyes bug from the mutant’s skull. He casts aside his shield, reaches for the amulet at his throat. His lips move in silent prayer, the flesh turning blue. Eyes closed, the mongrel man cleric collapses to the ground.
[Round 3]
(Festi, stunned)
(Rhonda, 19 vs Ac 13, hit. Dam 3 vs 1HP).
The strange little creature gasps, hits the ground hard. Eyes wide, guts a knot of despair, Rhonda Valerian feels a jolt of war fire rip through her veins. Bludgeon gripped double-handed, she throws herself at the writhing abomination. Her full weight behind the club, she hammers it down between the creature’s bug eyes. Chitin shatters under the blow. Ichor and brain spray from the wound. It slumps to the ground. Dead, its filament-thin legs twitch and buck.
“Hey,” Rhonda barks, tossing her weapon aside and sliding to her knees beside the little man, “hey, wake up.”
She rips off his helmet. The way his head flops to one side makes her taste bile.
“Wake up!” She screams, shaking his shoulders.
“Wake up!”
Her slap on his cheek resounds in the tight space. The funny little creature does not respond.
*
Helmet clutched under her arm, Festoonia stares at the mongrel man’s body.
“We bury him,” she says, voice and features impassive, “now.”
Sheathing her weapons, she slides her hands under his arms. Rhonda takes his feet, her back bent awkwardly while she bears the burden.
At the graveyard, Festi takes care of the spade-work. She clambers out with Arturo’s help, dusts mud from her bleeding hands without making eye contact with the others.
“Rhonda, take his shield but leave his armour on. He only had a blanket when I met him. The least I can do is send him to his gods with his armour.”
Festoonia loads dirt onto the her crab-handed friend.
“Tomorrow we go back in, find out who set this place up. Then we kill them.”
The humans nod in agreement and head to the tavern. Festoonia stays by the graveside.
*
The following morning the Spades re-enter the tomb. Cowed by their tiny leader, they pass where the cleric died, follow a curving passage and head
toward a shadowed stairway.
(Wandering monster: 1/d6, yes. Psionic? 6/d6, yes. Subterranean table: 1/d20. Oh dear! Reaction roll: 4/2d6, unfavourable).
Sulphur & ozone burn throats. Blinding purple light flashes bright. Space-time’s fabric is ripped asunder.
Something blocks the stairway. Festoonia can see his physical body; a muscular tanned man with deep black eyes, white hair and beard. She can also see his fifty-foot presence, his shimmering aura of eternal power and alien origin. His mere proximity drains life from her bones, weighs on her soul heavier than the deaths of her friends.
“Which,” the man with the giant aura booms, his voice rattling mortar from between ancient blocks, “of you pathetic vermin called me from slumber?”
Festi tries to speak but the words are stuck in her throat. This man-sized giant’s presence is too great, too oppressive for her brain to generate thoughts.
“Answer me!”
“I don’t…” Fess manages, clearing her throat and willing her tongue to flap, “I don’t know you.”
(reaction roll snake eyes, immediate attack
)Booming laughter rattles the tunnel. Foot-thick blocks are shaken from the wall and smash against the floor, obliterating tile into a thousand pieces.
“You know not of Lepetus, foolish bug? Allow me to introduce myself and my domain.”
The bearded man-giant raises his hand, thumb pressed against middle finger. Festoonia sees him beneath the earth, king of a cthonic palace. He wears a toga and laurels, drinks wine from a gilded cup.
Snapping fingers drag Festoonia awake. Sparks rage across the man-giant’s fingertips. Lightning crackles as it bursts from his hand. It seeks her blackened steel breastplate.
(Lightning bolt: 65/17d6 [even rolling to save is pointless] )
Searing pain rips through Festoonia’s chest, dies before it can become a scream. Charred skeletons and the stink of burning flesh are all that remain of the Spades.
(Bit of an anticlimax, that one. Psionics, eh? With great power comes great … uh … wandering monster tables).
Re: Core Competencies
TPK! We knew it was only a matter of time 
What a way to go!
I have softened a bit on missiles into melee of late also, I like +2 to AC for each person between the target and shooter, allowing those with bows or crossbows to choose some tactical positioning to keep the penalty low. Then as with your rule, on a natural 1 an ally is hit. You can also tweak the penalty based on target size vs. the other combatants, like how thrown oil is handled in Holmes. I'd probably allow no penalty at all if a party was fighting a dragon or giant.
What a way to go!I have softened a bit on missiles into melee of late also, I like +2 to AC for each person between the target and shooter, allowing those with bows or crossbows to choose some tactical positioning to keep the penalty low. Then as with your rule, on a natural 1 an ally is hit. You can also tweak the penalty based on target size vs. the other combatants, like how thrown oil is handled in Holmes. I'd probably allow no penalty at all if a party was fighting a dragon or giant.
-
JimboJimbo
- Posts: 467
- Joined: Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:59 am
Re: Core Competencies
Yep, in all my days of soloing, having a party splashed by an angry Titan is probably the best one yet. I like to think it's a deserving end for our favourite half-pint hero!
Re firing into melee, glad you like the adjustment. I have to admit it's not mine, I saw it on a B/X campaign journal over on Dragon's Foot recently and figured I'd try it out.
Re firing into melee, glad you like the adjustment. I have to admit it's not mine, I saw it on a B/X campaign journal over on Dragon's Foot recently and figured I'd try it out.