[Game Thread] We Be Goblins!

[Avelestar]

On the Varisian coast lies peaceful trading village of Sandpoint, the final port for ships that have traveled upriver to Magnimar before they head north across the Varisian Gulf to trade their wares. A little way to the south lies Brinestump Marsh, the closer parts of which have many well-walked trails heading to popular fishing spots. Deeper within the marsh away from prying eyes is a ramshackle village, most of the houses are little more than large pieces of bark placed together to form a roof. This is the Licktoad village, home to a small tribe of rather violent and noisy goblins. They have been quiet in recent years, but it was only a decade ago that a group of brave goblins set out to burn down the human town of Sandpoint. They managed to burn down half a bakery and eat some sweetrolls before they were slaughtered by the town guard, a great success! But it seems that your little tribe is set to clash with Sandpoint once again in days soon to come.

Yesterday, your tribe discovered that one of your own had been using forbidden arts and was engaged in one of the greatest of taboos—writing things down. In fact, rumor holds that what he was writing was a history of your tribe! There’s no swifter way to bring about bad luck than stealing words out of your mind by writing them down, and so your tribe had no choice. You branded the goblin’s face with letters to punish him, which is why everyone calls him Scribbleface now, and then you ran him out of town, took all of his stuff, and burned down his hut.

That’s where things got interesting, because before you all burned down his hut, Chief Gutwad found a weird box within the building. Inside was a map and a lot of fireworks—fireworks that immediately came to use in burning the hut down. Then, this morning, Gutwad announced that tonight there would be a feast in order to drive out any lingering bad luck from Scribbleface’s poor decisions. But perhaps even more exciting, all of you have been secretly invited to meet at Chief Gutwad’s Moot House. Why would the chief want to speak to you? It can only mean that he’s got an important mission for you all... one that the other goblins of the tribe couldn’t pull off. This could be your chance to go down in Licktoad history!

As the sun begins to set in the sky you make your way to the Moot House, home of His Mighty Girthness Chief Rendwattle Gutwad. None of you have ever had the honour of being called to the Moot House, and in the corner of your eye you can see goblins staring at you as they prepare tonights feast, tongues are already wagging. The Moot House is the only building in the village that is up off the muck of the swamp floor, the floor of warped, rotting planks taken from raided caravans raised half a meter on a number of stone blocks, said by goblin legends to be left here by giants in times long past, but in reality are the remains of an old watchtower that sunk into the swamp centuries ago.

Each of you stand outside the Moot House waiting to be called inside by Slorb, Gutwad’s Advisor and Speaker. Slorb is an overdressed, pompous goblin with a high nasaly voice that makes your ears hurt, but he is the only one that can hear Gutwad’s words without losing the words in his head. The Chief’s words are so mighty that any normal goblin to hear them will lose all the words in his head, every memory of ever being a goblin, fighting in the baby cages, killing his first thing, playing stack things on Lazy Gork. All of you are excited but fearful of being invited to the Moot House. It means you have been recognised as a strong goblin, but what if Gutwad speaks in your presence? You would lose all the words in your head! But all you can do is wait and hope, and whilst you do so you can hear goblins singing in the background as they prepare feast and fire for tonight.

We be Licktoads! We make raid!
Put the Longshanks to the blade!
Burn them up from feet to head,
Make them hurt, then make them dead!

Cut the parents into ham,
Smush the babies into jam,
All the rest in pot get stewed,
We be Licktoads - You be food!

OOC: Every character knows every other character as they have grown up in the same village, but you players may not know each others characters yet. So what I want everyone to do with their first post is describe their character visually and perhaps a small part of their personality too. Once everyone has posted in this thread at least once we will move on.

[GrimDarkOtter]

Cooky stands near the back of the group, cleaning the fresh blood off his cleaver, having just come from the roasting pits. He is concerned to leave the preparations of such an important feast in the hands of his apprentices, but the Chief's word is law. Cooky stands out from the others by wearing his dingy white hat and apron, both stolen from an erstwhile victim a few years ago. The hat alone adds another half-a-foot to Cooky's height, and combined with his respectable paunch (a perk of being head chef) he seems rather larger than the average goblin. On his back he carries around a rattling case half-full of spices and otherwise used as a convenient container for snacks, tools and keepsakes. Fussy, for a goblin, anyways, Cooky is always talking about improving "his craft" and is a fair hand at hunting. Unfortunately, many think his fancy outfit and vaunted position are giving him airs, but Cooky deigns to simply ignore them. He is, after all, an artisan, and need not trouble himself with uncultured fools. By goblin standards, anyways.....

[Muggins]

Squicky looked timid - abnormally timid, in fact. The average goblin was a bit on the jumpy side, Squicky especially, but tonight was a special occasion. Aside from the extravagant feast that was being prepared behind her back, with more sharpened pigsticks being added to the pile with every moment in a click-clack of sharp, pointy objects, there was the fact that she was standing meters from the hut of the Great Chief Gutwad. It was frightening to think that her attentiveness could ruin all recollection of her precious goblin past, from her learning of mixing ills and boons to stabbing dogs in gangs as a gobling. Squicky was deeply hoping that she would not have the misfortune of suffering such a terrible fate - especially not before the eyes of her goblin kin. She could feel their prying eyes on her darkly-coloured robes and hood, pieced together from the shreds of many a tabard, but they could not see the true fear in her face - rather, a mask stood firmly in place, a bulwark of pride and, indeed, all that could remain of her past self if this were to go badly.

Everyone knew of Squicky's mask; it's painted, ragged grin reaching from ear to ear, giving a devious appearance only greatened by its pair of broken horns and similarly-matched eyes. It was a symbolic piece of her work, passed between some of the most noteworthy goblin alchemists around. Squicky had inherited it by force - and of skill.

That was why, or so Squicky had decided, she was awaiting her potential doom before the door of her Chief. The other goblins stood beside her, each having taken some of her worry into account and letting little shivers trail down their spines. Squicky was usually quite the brave goblin, and quite capable - but now she wasn't sure if she should be either. She turned her head to the right, towards the other goblins, and a bit back so that she could see the one trailing behind. She stood on the left side of the group, for some reason that she had now forgotten - what mattered now was more the fact that they were outside the Chief's home. "This be gettin' twitchy," she whispered to the other goblins, in just a loud enough voice to hopefully be heard by all four of them. "Squicky's not fond of waiting, you know," she continued, "makes thoughts creep into her head."

[Friend]

Pure excitement caused Eyeball to want to burst into song. But he knew his songs were amazing, the amazingest. He always took great care not to sing around Chief Gutwad's hut. What if the chief heard and could not help but join in at the chorus?

Though he seemed taller when hopping from foot to foot, and a little height always boosted a lot of Eyeball's ego, he still recognized that he was in the company of class. These were some of the meanest and wildest goblins in the tribe. What could Gutwad have in mind?

[BloodyDove]

Knicky was impatient and made no attempt to hide it. The average sized goblin, clad in a tacky abortion of a dress that she'd crudely made from the mothbitten remains of a human's red leather longcoat, had an ugly-looking scowl on her just as ugly face. Why the chief had called them there, she didn't particularly care. Why waste time standing around like dead lizards when there was so many other things she could be doing to... entertain herself? Or even something useful, like skinning the fresh kills the hunters had brought in?

Grumbling, she pulled out Stabba and almost carelessly began to toss it back in forth between her hands, trying to make as many flips as possible in a single toss while admiring the reflection of the cooking fires on the blade.

[L~Spine]

Grimlac leaned against the side of the Moot House with the same grinning, bulged-eyed look upon his face as he had for all eternity; the goblin held one of his daggers in hand, figgiting against the sharpness of it with a roughened, grayish palm. Being only of about three feet and two inches in height, the rogue only looked all the more shorter from his current stance. He wiped the blade swiftly against his patchwork leather garb as he brought himself upright once more. The matter before him dawned little upon Grimlac at the moment for he led a simple, and somewhat dull-minded, lifestyle both carefree and oblivous to anything but the present. In his mind, the goblin was often a blank slate regardless of what Chief Gutwad's words might add to- or take from- an already preestablished state of being.

Gathering himself and his few belongings, Grimlac moved himself closer in proximity to the others. "I'd thinkz this be no different than beforez.", the goblin said aloud to the others, but mostly back towards a timid Squicky whom had taken to what seemed like dread. "I done delivered quite a few messages for da Cheif, through Slorb of course...Should not prove much more troubling, I'd sayz."

[Avelestar]

Soon an overweight goblin dressed in an dirty old bedsheet vaguely resembling a toga shuffles out of the Moot House, a look of self-satisfaction on his face. "Chief Gutwad is waiting, move your short arses." he whines with his nasally voice. He shuffles his fat frame back inside, the steps of the Moot House creaking under his weight. The interior of the Moot House is the nicest thing you have ever seen, there is a full wooden floor and many interesting looking things line the shelves. But what takes your attention is Gutwad atop the Teeter Chair, a 5ft tall chair built to sustain the chief's impressive weight, in which His Mighty Girthness is always seen, usually carried by four lucky goblins. Did he squish chair-goblins again? you think with a gulp, it's a great honour to be a chair-goblin but also very risky.

Slorb clambers up the Teeter Chair, hanging off one side and pointing at the floor infront of him. "You may sit infront of Chief Gutwad." What an honour! As soon as the five of you are settled, but not without some pushing and jostling to be the one directly infront the chief, Gutwad himself speaks to you. Some of you immediately clamp your hands over your ears, others accept their fate with a brave face, but after a few seconds it's evident that you aren't losing your words!

"You all be heroes. Each of you. You are best Licktoads but for me. And maybe but for Slorb. That you aren’t fleeing in terror from mighty sound of my voice is all the proof you should need. Yet soon, all Licktoad goblins will know your might, for I have picked you for a dangerous mission." He begins with a deep booming voice, spittle flying from his gob every third word or so.

The chief is obviously excited, raising his hands in the air as he talks, causing the Teeter Chair to squeak ominously. “You know about fireworks and map we found in Scribbleface’s hut. Fireworks were fun. But map is more fun. It shows a route to a place near the coast where Scribbleface found fireworks. And it says there are more fireworks there!"

“I want them for Licktoads. You all go get them tomorrow. Tonight we have big bonfire to burn bad luck away from you, and we play many games. Much fun. Tomorrow you fetch me fireworks. If you meet men, you make them dead. If you meet dogs, you make them dead. If you meet horses, you make them dead. If you meet Lotslegs Eat Goblin Babies Many, you maybe should run. And if you not find fireworks, you not come back or we feed you to Squealy Nord!”

There is no discussion, the chief has given you an order and you must do it or be killed. The fat old goblin pushes Slorb off the chair and he lands face down on the floor. "Get map stoopid, it's feast time!" grunts the chief with a cruel laugh. Slorb quickly scampers over to one of the shelves, retrieving a piece of dog leather and handing it to you. On this leather a map is scribbled with charcoal, showing the way to the fireworks stash. "Out!" grunts Gutwad, pointing towards the door and you all scamper to do so, thankful to be given this task...and leave the Moot House alive.

The sun has set now, and the five of you go your own separate ways until the feast starts. After half an hour or so Chief Gutwad is carried from the Moot House by his chair-goblins and placed infront the largest stack of wood. He lights the fire with a firework and the festivities begin! There is much dancing, singing and eating but most exciting is that Gutwad orders (through Slorb) the cider apples to be brought out. A few barrels of half-rotten apples are quickly produced, a goblin favourite for getting drunk and having fun!

As the night goes on and all the bad luck is burned away from you by the fires goblins begin coming up and asking why Gutwad wanted to see you. Word spreads quickly and soon every goblin is asking you questions or questioning your strength! It's not long before the screams of "DARE! DARE! DARE!" start up.

"Knicky you smallest, I Dare you to crawl through the Rusty Earbiter!" "THE EAR BITER!" yells the crowd excitedly, and a curled length of rusty looking wire is brought out, a number of pieces of wood, bent swords and fishing hooks tied to it. Think like a coil of barbed wire, but suitable goblin-like.

"Cooky you good with animals, I Dare you to dance with Squealy Nord!" "DANCE WITH THE PIGGY!" You are pushed over to Squealy Nord's pit and look down at a very hyperactive piglet racing around (but he's still almost as tall as you). Dancing with Squealing Nord means to ride him like a bucking bull.

"Grimlac you best runner and hider! Play Hide or Get Clubbed with us!" "CLUB! CLUB!" This is a local favourite, a goblin take on Hide and Seek. One goblin runs as fast as he can and hides, whilst all the others try to find him. If they find him, he gets clubbed on the head!

"Squicky you spend all time with slugs and snakes, I Dare you to eat a bag of bullslugs real quick!" "GOOEY!" Bullslugs are black, wriggling slugs the size of sausages. They are particularly foul-tasting and exude large amounts of slime, making them hard to chew.

"EyeballEata you good at flips, I Dare you to climb babycages and get birdy nest!" "BIRDY EGGS, YUM! The babycages house all the goblin spawn, vile little creatures that grab and bite everything that comes near. Recently a raven has made its nest atop an empty cage, but that happens to be four cages high in the air. You're going to have to make some tricky jumps to reach it, all whilst dodging the grabbing arms of the goblin babies.

OOC Make a Knowledge (Local) check to know what Lotslegs Eats Goblin Babies Many is, or a Diplomacy check to ask around town. For sake of time, we are going to run all the Dares simultaneously. They actually happen one at a time and you get to watch and laugh at (or join in Hide or Get Clubbed) the other four. I will try and post as often as I can so we can have some semblance of a timeline.

[Friend]

"Knicky creeps and crawls
avoids cutty slicey mess.
Knicky probly makes it through
but will she keep her dress?

Cooky does bloody great
when on the cutting board.
Will the piggy bear his weight
when riding Squealy Nord?

Grimlac's not the swiftest
nor too full of pride,
but damned if you'll catch Grimlac
when Grimlac wants to hide.

Everyone loves Squicky,
she'll do just as you ask.
So I sure hope for Squicky's sake
she don't puke in her mask.

I'm gonna get the birdies
and eat their babies: crunch.
Gooey yummy runny eggies
Eata's getting lunch."

Eyeball approaches the cages with a swagger in his step. What can little runt babies do to stop a goblin who has recently heard the words of Gutwad? No quick climb is gonna stop a master entertainer like Eyeball from maximizing his moment in the bonfire light.

After a brief pause for dramatic effect, Eyeball launches himself up the side of the pens.

The magnificent Eyeball easily scrambles up the four stories of cages between himself and the precious nest. Reaching for the prize, with a gleam in his eyes and a triumphant squeal on his lips, Eyeball forgets the first rule of climbing: hold on. He tumbles from the tottering tower and his landing leaves him bent into a heap.

Lucky for the spry bard, the heap isn't a shattered and broken one.

[Avelestar]

After his amazing and inspiring song Eyeball charges off to the baby cages, nearly the entire village behind him. "COME ON EYEBALL!" they scream and pride swells in the bard's chest. He scrambles up the first few baby cages, leaping from one stack to another with ease. All that stood between him and glory was one more jump and a quick climb. Crushing baby hands as he ran the bard leaps once more, easily clearing the gap between stacks and grabbing onto the side of the empty cage. The prize was in reach...but then he slipped on bird poo and fell off. With an "Oof" he hits the floor, but lands in something soft and squishy so isn't hurt.

"LOSER!" screams the crowd as Eyeball runs around for another go. Having wiped off the bird poo with his body the bard easily makes it this time, managing to grab hold of the nest before he fell off once again. Many of the babies were squealing and nursing stomped on hands, but Eyeball didn't care, he had a nest of tasty eggs and the tribe's love.

Gutwad turns to Slorb and whispers something in his ear, the Advisor quickly scrambling over to you. "His Mighty Girthness is impressed with your skill and song, he wishes to give you a present." he wheezes in that annoying, nasally voice. Reaching into his robe the fat, old goblin pulls out a black whip. This is a whip of fine construction, obviously not made from dog or horse, it's tough but supple and has a cruel looking spike attached to the end.

OOC: Congratulations, the chief has given you a Masterwork Scorpion Whip! Unlike normal whips this one deals lethal damage and can do so through any amount of armour, also it deals 1d3 damage. You automatically gain proficiency with this item, it is no different to using a normal whip.

[BloodyDove]

Spikey spikey spikey spikey
No spike's been made that can spike me!
Knicky was in a much better mood now. The chief had selected them for a special mission for FIREWORKS. For sure she'd get a chance to cut up some nasty humans or elves or sneaky, sneaky, too damned sneaky halflings. Unlike some of the dunderheads with her, she even knew what the Lotslegs Eat Goblin Babies Many was... not that she wanted to run into of it, of course. She may be knife crazy and bloodthirsty, but she's not stupid. Anyway, she had a leg up on some of the rest of them, and that always made her feel better.

Then the feast began, with roasting meat and lots of singing. And the dares... Knicky laughed like a mad loon with her distinctive high-pitched tittering (so loud the nearest goblins were actually forced to cover their ears) as that braggart Eata made a total ass out of himself. Too bad he had to go get the eggs after all. And then that whip from the chief... maybe Knicky would get a nice thing too?

As Eata scuttered off with his prizes, Knicky shoved through the crowd to the center bonfire. "This one be going next, heeheehee! The crowd of goblins parted before her as she approached the Ear Biter with almost careless ease. And why not? She'd been crawling through it so many times since spawnhood that she could do it blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back. Giving the crowd a mocking gesture, she took off at a run, diving and curling into a ball at the last second and missing the wires on either side and above by inches. Uncurling, she rolled on her stomach and began to push herself along with her feet while methodically counting in her head the distance before reaching the hidden sickle blade that appeared at the last second without warning (which she had the scar to prove from an much earlier attempt at a younger age to prove).

She casually ducked under it, rolled slightly to the left to avoid some sword blades that were rigged to swing down, and crawled a few feet further back down. Then (and she'd worked this last part out after much trial and error), much to the amazement of the crowd, she actually stood up and began to cartwheel through the remainder of the course, using a non-obvious gap running parallel between two rows of wire in front and behind her. With a final flourish, she exited the Biter to a roar of approval from the gathered goblins. "See, I tells you I does it, I does it. Dem spikes too scared to stick little old Knicky Knacky, heeheehee!"

[Avelestar]

Knicky set a new tribe record, blasting her way past a number of bloody, desicated ears left by previous Darees. The tale of Knicky The Quicky would be past down for generations as the only goblin not to get pricked even once by the Earbiter. Chief Gutwad found this even more exciting than Eyeballs efforts on the babycages, he even managed to pry his eyes away from the nest of tasty eggs the bard was holding to watch! Once again he whispered something to Slorb, but this time he unhooked the sword at his belt and the handed it to the Advisor. Shuffling over to the rogue, Slorb presents the sword to you, the chief's very own dogslicer! "Boss Gutwad has decided to loan you Gorge of Gluttons for a day, just one day mind you! If you break it or don't bring it back we'll shut you in the baby cages and then feed you to Squealy Nord, got it?"

OOC You have been lent a +1, horsebane dogslicer. +1 to hit and damage compared to a normal dogslicer, but is +3 to hit/damage vs horses and does an extra 2d6 points of damage. If you return this weapon with even the tiniest chip in it you're dead. So dead that the story of your death will be more famous than the story of Knicky the Quicky and the Earbiter.

[Muggins]

The goblins gathered around Squicky. The eyes were on her, most of them anyway - those that were not rested on the shifting, squirming bag she held in her hands, filled to the brim with slimy Bullslugs. Squicky giggled behind her mask, taking it off with one swoop of her hand and stashing it in her robes. "You wants to watch Squicky eat?" she spoke to the crowd, smiling wide and proud - she leaned in as she turned her face, watching them all with unbridled glee. The excellent cheer that followed this pronouncement sent little shivers down Squicky's spine, almost making her drop the bag she held in her right hand.

"Then Squisky eats Bullslugs! Hah!" She plucked the string of the bag and released the twisting forms of the Bullslugs, holding the bag closed with her left hand. She had two options, really - eat one and be careful with it, or eat them all and be darned with it. And what kind of goblin had the foresight to think of the consequences, anyway?

So Squicky released the lip of the bag in her hands and brought it to her mouth, tilting all of her body back to allow clean passage between the bag and her mouth for the Bullslugs. She crunched and she chewed, mouth open more often than not, as she gave the gathered goblins a sight to behold. The slugs were difficult to chew, the sliminess filled her mouth before the slugs could, but she didn't let that stop her. One after the other slipped down her throat, always little more than a battered, bloody mess of a slug. She grinned widely and threw the bag to the ground, pronouncing her open, empty mouth to the clan in victory. "Slugs be gone! Squishy showed them boss!" She cheered, joining her kin in raucous laughter even as the slugs began to bubble in her tummy. The mask would stay off, just for tonight - now was time for dares and eats, not for hiding!

[Avelestar]

The slugs writhed and made large amounts of slime as you chewed on them, not a very tasty meal. But you chew them up enough to get them all down in under a minute! They leave a horrible taste like vomit in your mouth, and your stomach is threatening to make the taste real vomit. You feel very sick and hope it won't affect your performance tomorrow.

But forget about that, you did it! What marvelous and exciting prize does the chief have for you? Gutwad whispers to Slorb and the advisor shakes his head and his jaw drops. Grunting angrily the chief punches Slorb and he falls off the Teeter Chair into the muck with a splat. A look of anger and shame in his eyes Slorb walks over to Squicky and takes off his robe, throwing it at you with the words "You get this for one day, you rip it and you're dead." Thankfully Slorb is wearing a tunic underneath the robe and he shuffles off to stand next to the chief again, hatred in his eyes. You have been given Chief's Personal Very Useful Robe That Is Useful! Slorb gets to wear it because Gutwad wants it around at all time, it is very useful afterall, but it doesn't fit over his massive frame.

OOC: You have been lent a Robe of Useful Items, however it only has four patches left: a ladder, a three-legged turtle, a horseshoe and a bullhorn. You tear off a patch at any time to gain the item shown on it, you never know when a three-legged turtle might come in handy! As you rifle through the pockets you also find two small vials, which with your alchemical skills you instantly know as potions of Cure Light Wounds, shhh don't tell Slorb! Also you must make one more fortitude save because you swallowed so many poison sacs!

[GrimDarkOtter]

Cooky calmy stands in front of Squealy Nord's pen, glaring at the dirty pink blob. Very calmly, he lifts the chef's toque from his head and hands it to a waiting assistant, then untying and folding his apron to hand to another. Cooky has a history with this wee beastie. How many times did he ask Chief to spit it? How many recipes in his head? Opening the wicker gate, Cooky starts reciting them under his breath, stalking forward towards the sleeping pig.

"Piggie wit' stuff grubbins," he mutters, "Piggie wit' shroomie rolls, piggie wit' glowworm glaze, piggie git ROAST!" With the last Cooky leaps forward and lands square on Squealy's back, waking up the piglet and sending it careening around the pen. The tenacious chef holds on quite easily for the first several circuits until Squealy takes a sudden jink with Cooky leaning the wrong way, sending the chef off its back and slamming into the wood fence to the jeers of the onlookers. Getting to his feet, Cooky roars at the beast, looks to the Chief and shouts "LEMME KILL THE FRAZZT GIT-THING!"

[Avelestar]

All the goblins watching giggle with laughter, people getting hurt it hilarious! But in answer to Cooky's question Slorb just says with a self righteous grin "You not good enough to kill Squealy Nord, maybe if you had danced better..." Glaring at the fat old brownnoser Cooky scrambles his way up the side of the pit, pushing past the jeering goblins. They quickly forget about Cooky when the cheers of "HIDE OR GET CLUBBED!" start up and a circle forms around Grimlac.

OOC: The curse of the natural one! You take 2 points of damage, which means after a night of rest you will regain 1 and be 11/12 HP for the adventure tomorrow.