[Game Thread] Pranks and Pitfalls

[Fragmaster01]

The sun shines vaguely through the treetops of another autumn afternoon in the Woodlands. Birds give their usual cries of "I'm here, come have sex already!" to each other, as those more nocturnal creatures wish they would just shut up for once in their lives. It's almost noon, and they're still at it, jeesh.

 

It was nary a week ago when you received the visitors. A man, dressed in the overly ornate green garb of the elven high council, and his two under-dressed guardians. Showoffs.

Still, they informed you that the oracles had spoken: dire times were soon to be afoot, and it would be best for the Elves to be prepared. For that, you were to go to the Woodheart Shrine, claim an ancestral weapon, and take it to Seer's Point, in the mountains far to the north. Only by doing such would the threat be laid bare, so more competent people could deal with it, and you could go back to your hut.

 

It was a little over a week ago when the bossmen came down to your chambers. Granted, it took them a while to get in through all the doodads and bobbits that you'd carefully arranged into a maze of sorts at the door, but they did find you. Blast.

They informed you that the oracles had spoken: dire times were soon to be afoot, and it would be best for the Goblins to be prepared. For that, you were to go to the Woodheart Shrine, claim an ancestral weapon, and take it to Seer's Point, in the mountains far to the north. Only by doing such would the threat be laid bare, so more competent people could deal with it, and you could go back to your cave and do... whatever it is you do in here. They're not really sure.

 

It was nary a week ago when you received the visions. One of the head psions of the order, speaking to you in your dreams, ensuring that you'd either take down the message, or not get any sleep for a week. Psions were mean that way.

Still, she informed you that the oracles had spoken: dire times were soon to be afoot, and it would be best for the Ormu to be prepared. For that, you were to go to the Woodheart Shrine, claim an ancestral weapon, and take it to Seer's Point, in the mountains far to the north. Only by doing such would the threat be laid bare, so more competent people could deal with it, and you could go back to sleep.

 

It was nary a week ago when you received the visitor. Oh dear, you recognized this woman, she managed to get food poisoning at the last shindig. Not your fault she demanded to have the liverliver(a strange concoction involving a liver digested by another animal, then you serve the second animal's liver) completely uncooked.

Still, she informed you that the oracles had spoken: dire times were soon to be afoot, and it would be best for the Gnoll to be prepared. For that, you were to go to the Woodheart Shrine, claim an ancestral weapon, and take it to Seer's Point, in the mountains far to the north. Only by doing such would the threat be laid bare, so more competent people could deal with it, and she wouldn't tell anyone that you're a horrible chef(an outright lie, if you do say so yourself, but such was the prerogative of authority figures).

 

It was nary a week ago when you received the visitors. A rather handsome looking satyr, though already taken with a batch of men and women goats alike. Shame.

They informed you that the oracles had spoken in a moment of sober clarity: dire times were soon to be afoot, and it would be best for the Satyri to be prepared. For that, you were to go to the Woodheart Shrine, claim an ancestral weapon, and take it to Seer's Point, in the mountains far to the north. Only by doing such would the threat be laid bare, so more competent people could deal with it, and you could return home a hero or something. They promised free booze, at least, so there's that incentive.

 

You recieved no such dramatic visit as the others. Instead, you'd been chasing an immense boar through the woods for the past few hours. Stupid little thing didn't want to be eaten. I mean really, what a jerk.

Hmm, now this is an interesting place. Nice yellow stone lookout, over-viewing a massive temple complex in the valley below(or what you can see of it in-between the trees). And looky there, there's a small plinth in the middle of a circular region, with a glowing shield of purple energy swirling around it, almost as if it were keeping goodies inside. Clearly, this is the Woodheart Shrine, and you've come across the first object of(most of you guy's) quests: The Vault of the Ages. Now we just need to head on up and claim...

Wait. Who are these jokers? Why are there so many people here today? Gah. Now you're going to have to do that thing where you pretend to make eye contact, but are really looking somewhere else to avoid having to be sociable. You hate that.

OOC Intro yourself! Physical description, what you do upon approaching the vault, and so on.

[JonnyGulliver]

Eek!

[Fragmaster01]

OOC Roll Perception. If you get a 15+, you notice something Goblin sized sneaking around in the grass at the edge of the overlook.

[Frogman]

OoC Just assume that this happens when some people are out on the outcrop. Otherwise this makes no sense.

Look Corvus, an irritated female voice was an exasperated horde of barbarians at having found a walled city in the very last place they looked, I'm not walking through the forest with my hood up while my lantern follows me eerily though the fog because it's sunny and hot and there's nobody around to impress!

A elvish woman emerges from the undergrowth onto a yellow stone outcrop overlooking what had to be the Woodheart Shrine. Her red hair was tied back in a long thick braid that disappeared somewhere beneath a cloak that resembled a pile of crows fluffed up in irritation. She had on a sensible green vest/white shirt/brown pants and boots combination and appeared to be in a heated argument with a large raven, at present perched on her shoulder.

Against all sense and decency the raven answered her in elvish, It's all about appearances dearie. Your job is about 70 parts per hundred looking the part and cultivating your aura of mystique. When you're out you have to stay in character.

I know. You've been droning about that for the past hour- she stopped suddenly having just noticed that not only had she stepped out onto a cliff but she had been having an animated argument in front of strangers of various species. She quickly pulled her hood up over the face her mother had told her was "pretty and why didn't she go out and find a nice young male elf so I could have grandchildren?" and Perception:

Dice Roll:

1d20+4

(16)+4

Total = 20

looked about, slowly because who knows what else she missed?

Er...Carrion birds flock to corpses abandoned by the wolves, she said in an off balance attempt to get into character.

[DeepFriedWyzard]

Even half-ton piles of muscle had their limits, and Skög had reached his. The Ogre's pursuit of the largest boar he had ever seen had turned into a tired, slow motion stroll through the woods. "Bacon... Bacon..." He would quietly chant to himself. He was hungry enough to eat anything at this point, even fruit.

Before committing to such a crazy plan, he heard voices. They spoke weird languages full of complicated little flourishes. Skög knew if he just bounded out into the clearing, he would either have a fight on his hands or they would flee. Neither option would lead to a meal, so he decided to stay back for the time being.

[Still_Pond]

The afternoon is lovely. Colorful birds flutter about, the age-old dance of reproduction. The yellow feathers; the green forest; the hints of blue sky breaking through the patchwork autumn leaves above; all of these things instill a sense of peace on the reptilian humanoid slithering over the undergrowth. The peace is disrupted, not by some goblin in the bushes. No, it is disrupted by his overlook having other creatures on it! Maybe they'll just leave if I wait long enough he thinks to himself. No, they may take the ancestral cloak if I let them just paw around the temple unchecked.

He takes a moment to slick back his 'hair' and to center his mind. Focusing his mental powers is such a pain, he'd rather just relax and enjoy the lascivious birds. He(Conceal Thoughts) builds a mental wall around his mind and dons a relaxed and friendly look. In a side-winding gate the snake-man slithers out into the open.

Sunlight glistens off his wet looking body and scales all as black as coal. An elegant pattern of slightly blacker spots covering his long snake-like body could just be made out for those who could also spot goblins in bushes, thanks to the golden sunlight streaming down upon him. His dense and slightly scintillating hair hangs in a mat of thick tapered cords quite snake-like in appearance themselves. He is a large Ormu but his shifting flesh is clearly on the squishy side rather than the hard side as he moves his bulk through the fallen leaves. His eyes are like white little pearls with blue centers, and they balance his handsome face perfectly. A light crossbow is slung over one shoulder and a short-spear is tucked back there as well on the other side. He wears only a backpack and a smile.

He nods to those gathered, and projects an inviting and friendly attitude. He hopes they do the same, or he'll probably have to flee for his life.

[sammichweasel]

A snorting, snuffling gnoll, complete with mangy patchwork brown n' black fur, sidles into the clear. He stops sniffing at the ground and raises his broad, muscular jaw to the air as he sniffs at the air. He glances briefly towards the bushes, but shakes his head, ignoring whatever that might be for what's in front of him.

He rises from his hunched position, a stuffed backpack rattling with an iron cookpot and an array of utensils. A fairly well-kept belt pouch hangs loosely off his narrow hips, stuffed to the brim with what looks like sprigs of some plant or another. His beady, narrow-set eyes appear secondary to that wide, constantly sniffing nose. It crinkles up in confusion. His mouth opens, and out comes a grating mess of gnollish. He looks at the elf, sniffs deeply, and begins coughing.

[Still_Pond]

Despite the elf and the mangy

Dice Knowldege nature/local to identify the dog-man:

1d20+8

(4)+8

Total = 12

werewolf standing in the open, the Ormu can't help but feel like they are being watched. He considers linking minds with the canine creature, but it just seems unclean. He doesn't want a dirty mind. He says something in a reptilian Anyone speak Draconic?language. His voice is smooth and languid with long drawn out Sssss sounds.

"Fekiikiri. coi ornla annish sssi mi ti loaw persssvek sia tisofarshin ranmon piksessss."

[Frogman]

The woman peers out from under her hood at the hissing...giant...snake person...and notices the little...green...thing in the bushes. She was about to open her mouth again before the snake person started hissing at the...monster...herbalist thing...

She tossed off her hood again and her pinched the bridge of her nose with the expression of a retail clerk who had a customer who didn't understand the question "debit or credit?". The elf turned her head toward the raven on her shoulder and "Do you understand anything they're saying? I don't. Should I just go ahead go to the shrine? You know what? I'm just going to go to the shrine"started saying something.

The elf begins to carefully make her way back into the woods, keeping her eyes on the other assorted creatures.

[DeepFriedWyzard]

Hunger had overtaken his better judgement. The ogre slowly steps forward with his arms down, to show no intention for a fight... The very idea felt ludicrous in his head, but he knew ideas like this would make him a good leader.

"Vara lugn..." is what anyone nearby would hear, in a low rumbling voice. He steps into the clearing, for a moment mesmerized by the temple below. He knew what magic was, but had never seen anything like it before.

"Jag menar inte skada. Jag är Skög. Har ni några livsmedel?" As he states his name, Skog pats his chest in self-identifaction. As he states the last sentence, he points to his belly, and then at his here's hoping no one thinks Im trying to eat them...open mouth.

[sammichweasel]

The gnoll screws up his face as everyone around him begins rambling incoherb... incarp... incoheed... stupid-like, but the ogre's gestures make just so much sense. He nods, pats his chest and spits out a raspy "Garr." He then reaches into his backpack, fishes for a moment, and pells out a juicy, squeaking rat. He holds it up by the tail, then *thwap*s it on the stone before him, killing it instantly. He pulls out a delicately curved blade of clearly elven make, balanced for deadly precision and maximum efficiency in combat... and deftly skins the rat before wiping off the blood and sliding it back into the fur he's using as a sheath and shoves it back in his backpack. He pulls a variety of herbs from his belt pouch (a bit of rosemary and thyme, along with some belladonna, if anyone is interested) and rubs them deftly into the muscle of the plump rodent before pulling a short stick and a flask from his stuffed pack.

He flicks the end of the stick, sparking it to a flickering flame, then takes a swallow of the flask. He places the seasoned rat on a rock, holds the stick before his face, and exhales the liquid through the flame. A gout of painfully hot fire erupts forth, lightly searing the rat, just enough to keep the juices in.

He picks the rat up by the now somewhat stiff tail and hands it to Skog.

 

Taking 20 on the roll, seeing as he is taking all the time in the world. That's a 30.

[Frogman]

Just as she was about to hit the treeline the elf woman stops with a jump and backs up slowly as what might have been an ogre lumbers out into the clearing. The woman keeps backing up glancing over her shoulder...yep the cliff is still there.
She watches the massive stranger, watches his huge lips form foreign words and his finger point to his stomach...

Eisi o' celia? "Are you hungry?"she says carefully while reaching into a bag formerly hidden under her cloak. She produces a piece of salted meat and holds it up to the creature.

Air'm thyr, It's food...I'm not food.she says, Ai't byt thyr,

With her free hand she points to her face, Soilir, she points to the ogre, Os basti "Jag ar?"

OoC Oh snap! You beat me to it. I'll just add in a reaction.

She hadn't noticed the hairy herbalist's reaction to the giant until the smell of smoke and delicious rat hit her. She watched as the hairy herbalist cook creature went about his business mesmerized by the surreal scene before coming appearing to have just realized something.
Garr? She says pointing at the cook?

[Still_Pond]

The elf walks away a few steps and out pops a...a..

Dice knowledge local/nature to identify the ogre.:

1d20+8

(6)+8

Total = 14

what? Whatever it is it doesn't look clean or all that intelligent. The ormu points to the raven as a suggestion that it might be good to eat if the ogre wants something to eat.

The ormu turns to watch the elf go and shrugs. He considers introducing himself but why bother. He follows her, at a safe distance. He doesn't get far, because she stops short.

It would appear there are meals being prepared. Proper meals no less, not the vile salted strip of leather the elf was offering. The gentle smile never leaves the ormu's face. One at a time, he mentally sends a message to (minus the unseen goblin)each of these creatures, assuming they are willing to receive the link. He makes eye contact with each in turn, making sure they know it is him who is 'speaking'.

"Greetingsss. Do not be alarmed, I mean no harm. I sssuspect we have all come for the sssame artifact, yesss?"

[Caput]

Vell strolls into the clearing as though she owns it and this whole scenario is perfectly normal. If these critters want a fight, they'll get more than they bargained for, but I'll let them make the first move. Maybe, she thinks, they'll all just shuffle off when they notice how awesome I'm looking today.

She clanks past the others in her heavy black armour, nothing showing beneath her cloak and the layers of mail, save for the piecing eyes which gaze out from her shadowy helm. She leaves a trail of cuts behind where her armoured hooves dig into the ground.
Her hands stay well away from the brutally oversized flail on her back. She occupies them instead by giving the ogre and the ormu each a disinterested wave, then walks right up to the plinth and looks for some sign of what's expected of her.

Ok girl, stay calm and listen up for the sound of a blade being drawn behind you.

[JonnyGulliver]

The goblin freezes in its tracks when he hears the language of the ancients spoken by one of the strangers, and turns to see the commotion. The strangers are all gathered now, socializing rather then killing each other, which was the opposite of what he was hoping for. Why they could even tolerate each others presence was beyond him, as racial enmities run deep among normal creatures.

Maybe this is why I've been considered. Who's to say they haven't also been chosen as well. "The right ones for the job?"

He's definately got a headstart on the goal, and he could probably make it before the others, but there is now this intriguing... odor? Unlike anything he's ever smelled before. It... draws... him.

And so child-like curiousity trumps golbin survival instincts, and the kid finds himself heading back to the gathering place where some gourmet rat is being prepared. He a hideous, snot-nosed little thing that seems to be covered in garbage and small gibblets of rust metal. His crop of short greasy black hair forms a natural pompador, and he sports a pair of obsidian goggles of his own hack design on his forehead for day-travel. Right now his eyes are saucers, having caught sight of the roast rat as it is devoured by the ogre. Small tears seem to pool as hel looks pleadingly at the chef gnoll, and he makes pantimime motions to his mouth and belly going "Uuuuugh! Uuuugh!"