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  #781  
Old 02-20-2019, 03:44 PM
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Hector Grimm
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The first thing Hector did, once his sanity realigned to this new world of burning disgust, was to disband his connection with the Etheral world. Dreamwalking cleric gnolls and boy kings that never appeared to him be damned, the hazy sight inot the other realm also greatly enhanced Scent abilityhis ability to smell, which was a curse more than a benefit now. He slid low and into a broad stance, with Dragonwing half raised over his shoulder. There was a mad, pained look in his eyes. He did not want to answer Abd and his stupid pleading - knowing too well that if he opened his mouth, he would spew vomit all over the place.

Instead, Hector moved to the entrance to the tunnel, braced himself for the worst experience he had had since he decided to continue this tirade and end the evil beneath the Pale Mountain with these folks.

His light spilled inside and he took the first step in, motioning the others to follow.



 


 


 




Last edited by Dressedtojazz; 02-20-2019 at 03:44 PM.
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Old 02-20-2019, 07:24 PM
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Drusilla Vanadici
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Drusilla remains doubled over, retching again and again and again, even though she has long since purged all the contents of her stomach. Only now does she realize just how foul the spawn of Rovagug can be—the horrors of Kelmarane are nothing compared to this. Still she has the presence of mind to slowly stagger back to the secret door and, with a truly herculean effort to suppress her gag reflex, pushes the door shut—after all, they are trying to hide their presence from the gnolls.

Eventually she becomes more accustomed to the stench, at least enough so that she is no longer dry heaving. She glances over at Gark, taking some small consolation in the fact that even a goblin could not bear the disgusting smell, then follows the others into the wide tunnel.

“Fandrik, Gark: lead.” The warrior motions to the two smaller members of the party to scout ahead in the dark. Hector might be a great warrior, but his light is announcing their position to everybody.

 
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Old 02-21-2019, 09:09 PM
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Fandrik
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Fandrik silently wished to still be cleaning up blood in the hall instead of vomit around the secret door. His magic worked smoothly as he dry heaved on Abd's boots. It wouldn't do to leave marks of themselves just outside a door that was supposed to be secret. And if they tracked by scent, then at least there was something else here to mask them. "I rather enjoyed that bit of dried bread," he lamented as with a motion the stomach-emptying remains were swept up next to the tunnel of nastiness.

It took the halfling a moment of staring at the tunnel to steel himself for the descent. A hand smoothed his hair back and replaced the hat, the other twirled the 'stache before the rapier slid into his hand and he nodded to Dru. "What I wouldn't give for some rum at the moment - HA!" The halfling head shook in exaggerated denial before he plunged into the darkness ahead like a charge to his smelly demise.

 

 

 
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Old 02-21-2019, 11:33 PM
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DM Summary
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House of the Beast: Day 2
Gozran 13 4710 – Moonday

Sunrise 6:30AM | 8:00PM Sunset
(07:04AM)

Light Bearers
Dullen, Holy Symbol (20' normal / 40' shadows)
Abd, Fandrik's Stone (20' normal / 40' shadows)

Darkvision
Grak'ark (60')
Remkah'ar (60')
Fandrik (60')
Gark-the-Goblin (60')




House of the Beast: The Middle Temple
[DiCE]
Nil

13a: The Hallway



The goblin is obviously embarrassed by looking weak in front of the fellow (and much more powerful) worshiper of their Mother but Grak'ark's words are like from the mouth of the goddess her self. The growl and grumble from the dog's mouth sounds sorta sick in the ears of the humans, partly demonic, but to the goblin it feels him with confidence to move on. Gark-the-Goblin hesitates and gives a half-measured bow to the dog. "I do as you say. Thank you reminding way of Mother. I do..." he chokes back more influx "best can be." The goblin stumbles toward the tunnel as Drusilla has both Fandrik and Gark lead the way. A hand smoothed Fan's hair back as he replaces his hat, the other twirling the 'stache before the rapier slides into his hand. He nods to Dru and tells us some joke. Brave as ever, this one.

Dullen and Abd make sure their light is unobscured as the two small ones vanish down the black hole for some thirty seconds. They follow down. Into that stinking, threatening, squirming darkness.

Fandrik's darkvision kicks in as he leaves the light of the humans. His heritage is strange, halflings don't have darkvision or facial hair from what he knows, only he does. He contributes it to his great incredibleness, but some theories have circled his head while he grew older. The largest theory goes back to the age of ten when he was tutored by a gnome by the name of Lokas "The Green" Kasziver. Lokas was a wise-cracking, sharp, and mischief gnome that took his job half-seriously and took great interest in Fandrik's own interests. Fanrik loved the funny guy with his full beard but soon noticed how much time the gnome spent with his mother. Lokas was an old friend of his mother while she was still married to his father. Then... one day, Lokas was fired by Fan's father. Just like that. Rumors of a fight reached his ears that Lokas had a problem of bedding married women and Fandrik's father caught them together. The servants tried to prevent these words from reaching Fandrik's attentive ears but he was much too smart even for his age. Fandrik grew older and when he was alone with his personal servant, once his nanny when he was young, he asked if the gnome Lokas was his real father. She laughed nervously and rubbed her halfling furry feet together in anticipation. "Halflings and gnomes can't procreate, Fandrik. You know that. 'Half-with-the-half makes a whole- never more' is the saying, remember?" Fandrik does know that saying. Only certain races can mix and halflings can't breed with other races other than their own... But it's not an exact science. For years Fandrik has wondered if he carries gnome blood in him- he's such a mix of both when you come to think about it. But we may never know.

Does this matter as he steps down into this tunnel? Perhaps not. But perhaps so. Gark gutters a wicked remark of inspiration: "Do not get goblin killed, halfman." and steps through. Fandrik's eyes flash purple as he follows through and sees the gray pigments come through as the light vanishes and his darkvision flowers.

The two humanoids find steps going downward in a steep drop. The stairs are rough and uneven, obviously made out of convenience. The House of the Beast is such a strange mix of carefully crafted hallways VS carved hewed short cuts.

After about four minutes of crawling downward (it must be about 50' of slow descent deeper into Pale Mountain like a maggot squirming to it's heart) and their ears pop a bit from the rise in pressure of air. With the pressure comes an increase of stench, condensed like a decaying skull mashed between a metal vice. The stairs end and flatten to a tunnel that continues eastward. They follow it for a moment.

Then they see the source of this incredible stench.

For the love of Zon-Kuthon, God of Murder, he would be proud in the reckless symptoms of Rovagug. The tunnel ends a 5x5 wall and at the end a small opening is cracked through the earth. From there pours dozens of rotten corpses, like tomatoes squeezed through a clench.

The dead bodies are in different degrees of decay and range from gnolls, humans, pigs, halfling, goats, mountain cats, and snakes. Mostly it's humans and halflings but a second close are gnolls. Third are the many animals included. Puss pops from creases and red foam bubbles from bone. Eye balls stare at Fandrik while more others are rotted sockets. Bugs crawl in and out of guts or broken fingers, feedings on the throw-aways of the Carrion Tribe. A skull of a half-eaten meat stares back at Fandrik as maggots crawl out, shivering his back as he thinks about the rat with the insect in it's neck. Wet meat shivers as worms feed within, a forearm of flesh, muscle, and bone resting on stone. Maggots are revealed in everything, squirming in flesh in a ton of rotted meat.

But ruling over all are, from Fandrik's eyes, loads of centipedes that squirm on the walls of this hallway. They feast on the rot of vegetation that grows from this mess and some of the garbage it's self. The magical light from the Dullen and Hector come up from behind and then Fandrik sees that the centipedes are bright orange, enjoying their buffet. Gark takes another step and the centipedes begin to draw their attention to these living intruders to their wonderful feast.

One last thing to mention is that the dead bodies are pouring out of a triangular opening in L28-M28 and flickering firelight is peeking through the gaps of all the dead bodies from somewhere else. Two bright beams of light cascade through and shine on the walls in this horrific, inhumane scene like the absent promise of a god of good. Somewhere with light is beyond this portal!

An orange centipede falls onto a dead arm and begins to feed on the flesh like ripe apples. Scissor like cutters open and lose to pull the waxy flesh into it's mouth. Fandrik communicates what he sees to the group through the whisper as Gark giggles next to him. Why is he giggling? Only a goblin knows.

What do they do next?



Drusilla 100 XP
Strategy: Closing the Door

Grak'ark 100 XP
Strategy: Covering their Scent

Grak'ark 150 XP
Skill Check: Diplomacy with Gark


DM Notes
left-aligned image
  • Drusilla, Hector, and Fandrik are all sickened



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Last edited by PIG; 02-25-2019 at 09:33 PM.
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  #785  
Old 02-21-2019, 11:34 PM
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Last edited by PIG; 02-22-2019 at 03:45 PM.
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Old 02-21-2019, 11:34 PM
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Last edited by Squeak; 02-22-2019 at 12:20 PM.
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Old 02-21-2019, 11:34 PM
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Old 02-22-2019, 04:42 PM
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Hector Grimm
The old man was stumbling through the poorly lit darkness. Not as much because of the dark as the wretched stench that grew in intensity with every step downwards. What is wrong with choosing freedom, you poor fool? He even found that he would have been better off, if he had aided Remkah’ar in escorting the salamanders to their plane, although the heat in their prison below the mountain was a tough enough reminder about how their home was like.

When they came upon the pile of rotten bodies, Hector doubled over again and spat bile on the cave ground. When he stood again and had wiped the vomit from his chin with the back of his hand, he uttered the first words since they entered the chambers of Hellish stench, There is another way. Let us head back. Even if we get through this, we will be squeezing through into what death trap might await us inside, one by one. His eyes sought everyone else and nodded to Abd, that he would translate once they had settled on an opinion on the matter. He could see the same revolt play out in the mind of the fisherman’s son.


 


 


 



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Old 02-22-2019, 10:45 PM
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Drusilla Vanadici
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Upon seeing the mound of rotten corpses, Drusilla has to once again suppress the urge to vomit. Fortunately the sight is nowhere near as disgusting as the smell, a small consolation which aptly demonstrates just how vile the stench is. She glances over at Hector when he suggests retreating, responding with an ever so slight shake of the head. The maggot-infested flesh is indeed revolting, but this daughter of Asmodeus has not braved curses and gnolls and death, just to be turned back by a queasy stomach.

“Doubt they expect us to come this way—that door hasn’t been opened in ages.” she whispers. “Trap is unlikely.” Nonetheless she pauses, a bit wary of the flickering light—on the one hand the warm glow indicates that this is not a dead end, but on the other hand, gnolls don’t need light to see. Then again, the great dome was filled with seemingly superfluous firepits—perhaps the gnolls are cultivating flames, and the light is simply an unnecessary side effect.

“Poisonous?” she asks Grak’ark, her attention now focused on the horde of orange centipedes in their way. “Can you talk with them, like the spider?” The warrior doubts it very much—what language could such vermin have?—so her mind continues to turn, attacking this problem from different angles. She cautiously shifts closer to Fandrik—a small part of her marvels at how impeccably clean his clothes are after having recently thrown up. Clean! An image pops into her mind, of the halfling cleaning up vomit and blood with the aid of a cantrip, and thus an idea is born.

“Fandrik—can you ‘clean’ the corpses, so no longer appeal to the centipedes? Make them taste ‘bad’ somehow?”

 
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Old 02-24-2019, 10:46 PM
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Dullen adjusts to the hostile smells but realizes it was nothing compared to the smell coming from the river Styx that he dealt with recently. He moves with the group and sees the macabre scene. The centipedes don’t bother Dullen, now if it was snakes, it would be a different story. He listens to Drusilla’s words and think they are sound.

“If those ideas don’t work, I can summon the substance of life. 10 gallons all at once should dispurse them somewhat. After multiple times, they may be driven away. Could be more quiet as well.”

Dullen looks around for Perception roll
Dice Roll:
1d20+10 (2)+10 Total = 12
Wis 6+1 Rank+3 Class skill
anything that may help get them through this situation.

 


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Last edited by ShinobiMaster123; 02-24-2019 at 11:35 PM.
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Old 02-25-2019, 12:49 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Drusilla
“Can you talk with them, like the spider?”
Grak'Ark
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"No." the cooshie barks in response, not bothering to explain the technicalities of his magical abilities to the vomiting Drusilla.

"And putting a bit of your prrrrayer water over the bodies will be of little help." he growls at Dullen.

"If we sit herrrre and talk about it, nothing well get done. We do not have time to wait." the mutated Cooshie growls, remembering the words from his childhood. A good plan violently executed today is better than a perfect plan next week.

Like the feral beast he was transformed into, Grak'Ark launches himself at the top of the wall, putting his ample weight behind it. He lands firmly and pushes down on it with superhuman strength, his claws tearing at the wall of death and decay.

 


 
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Old 02-27-2019, 06:57 AM
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DM Summary
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House of the Beast: Day 2
Gozran 13 4710 – Moonday

Sunrise 6:30AM | 8:00PM Sunset
(07:08AM)

Light Bearers
Dullen, Holy Symbol (20' normal / 40' shadows)
Abd, Fandrik's Stone (20' normal / 40' shadows)

Darkvision
Grak'ark (60')
Remkah'ar (60')
Fandrik (60')
Gark-the-Goblin (60')




House of the Beast: The Middle Temple
[DiCE]
Nil

13a: The Hallway

"Zzziak' monsters pu-ta!!!" Gark-the-Goblin, concerned with his more powerful tribe-member, CLW: 9hptickles the dog's leg with his claws and it's open wound mends. Grak growls at the goblin but allows it to happen.

This goblin knows how to get things done. Just do it, as soon as possible, and use force as much as possible. Not this crew. The dog squints his eyes at them and growls again.


Frothing at the mouth, Grak'ark comes up to the wall of the dead.

Fandrik starts casting his spells and the rot begins to shrink in a minimal way, but the centipedes remain at the hole in the wall in a built up brick wall. Not much happens so they start to fall through their options. "I could pour water over the centipedes..." suggests Dullen. Drusilla considers the situation, those wrenching wheels turning. She turns back to the cleric. "Is there anything else in your perception with your god that could perhaps give us other hints?" More orange centipedes crawls across the surface and search around, eating garbage and meat. "Maybe a certain knowledge can come to mind that will help?"

Grak'ark shakes his head. It's just a wall of the dead!!! Why wait?!?! Spittle flies from his mouth. "No.. And putting a bit of your prrrrayer water over the bodies will be of little help." the mutated Cooshie growls at Dullen. "If we sit herrrre and talk about it, nothing well get done. We do not have time to wait."

The shapeshifted gnoll pushes through Drusilla, Fandrik, and Dullen in their malcontent debate. Just tear it down and go through to the other side. The source of this scent, some mere dozen corpses, must be rid of to get to the other side.... The group has seen much worse in their past.


Pharast 13 4709 – Wealday
The Lions' Rampant, Drusilla's old adventure group before being adopted to our current group, navigate the Katapesh city streets like foreign tourists, overtaken by the explosive levels of senses that the city presents. Simply remarkable and incomparable to their past experiences to any other major city they have visited. Every sound, smell, and sight can reach their body as hundreds of merchants try to push their wares on them. Drusilla keeps back with the elven wizard, Lucilla, to keep most of the prying hands off of her. Lucilla, bright blond hair pulled in a pony tail and that beautiful face crafted in a laughing smile, grasping Dru's strong arm and talking only to her. "Wait. What is that smell?"

Dru shakes her head, a small secret smile on her lips as Lucilla's delicate fingers grasp her biceps. She's the only one who understands elven in the group, her knack for language helping, so Lucilla is easily attracted to speaking the language to Dru. The warrior shakes her head. "Let's move. Don't listen." Her clipped voice is commanding but somewhat happy. This is long before everything that happened in the Brazen Peaks and perhaps unique to the time. We are all our selves but, through time, different at every state. Then that scent catches Drusilla's nose too. It really is glorious.

The two women look around and see a rather large and fat man with pastries in his tent from where the smell drifts. The experienced tradesman does not understand elven but he is expert in reading faces. "Yes!! Come, come! Smell these delicious treats." His lashes are covered black in mascara as his light brown eyes smile back.

Lucilla draws Drsuilla toward the stall and asks what the pastries are. They are simple folded, crispy bows of breads fashioned in neat and complex ties. They seem simple and Lucilla's brow is crinkled with curiosity. The merchant laughs. "Yes!! Nothing more from what you see. But I have them baked to contain what is within. Do you smell the scent?"

The elf takes two fingers and brings the pastry to her nose. The simple bread has something special and powerful under the crust walls. Something not in sight. "Yes, I do. What is it?" He laughs and gently takes the little morsel from her fingers and sets it on the table. "Not is all what it seems with scent, my elven beauty. Watch." He takes out a curved knife as Drusilla curls her fingers over her own hilt. The blade cuts the pasty in half and a delicate, heavenly cream oozes out of the baked good onto the table and the source of the smell of the pastry climbs in the electric air of the already busy space of Katapesh. "You see? The smell is in the source. But break the crust and you have the source. Yes?" The central scent comes out and she buys a dozen for her self. "The scent is in the core- not the crust, my fair elf maiden." He winks those pretty, combed lashes.


Gozran 10 4710 – Moonday

Grak'ark launches his self onto the wall and tears it down with great strength. The orange centipedes crawl towards him like an invert ripple. What appeared to be a mere wall turns out to be a dam holding back tons of wasted and rotted. Decades of it push back and tumble the dog backward as the centipedes all rush at the druid as one.

They've all seen and smelled dead bodies, all of them, but nothing of this nature. If it was just a few dead bodies they could have handled the scent. A great belch of black liquid splashes onto Grak with liquefied organs pouring down his throat. A soft skull of a halfling lightly hits the ground near Dullen's feet and it splashes apart, sending an eyeball so decomposed it's just white jelly, rolling past Fandrik. Drusilla braces her self for a threat and sees movement. At first she doesn't know what it is but then realizes that it's millions of maggots. It's like looking at prairie on a windy day, she could unfocus and see all the blades wither in the breeze as one. Dead rats rolled up like sick buns, fall dead in between the bodies. One of the rats shivers and a million red worms blossom out of it from the exposure and instantly die (that one is for jarl!) in the air.

A whaff of heat hits all of them. That's almost the worst thing- this rot has it's own heat!!

They call for Grak and he suddenly emerges, climbing (swimming) out of the liquid graveyard. His dog ears are slick against his head and his thin body easily slides past the wet bodies. Bits of slobbery pieces lace his fur and he has to shake the mess off. Something (who knows what) the size of a tangerine flies off and splats against the wall.

Out emerges the caterpillars in a full rage of this disturbance. They are blindly drawn to Grak's squirming body and cover him in a withering wave- no mind the maggots (they don't mind and go about their natural duty). In unison they all bite down on his skin, squirming into his fur, clinging to flesh with scissor mandibles in the thousands.

Dullen shakes his head and is in action. Grak has the most far reaching ideas sometimes but his haste is harmful, to the point that it can get them all killed! The monk chants and a blue glow washes over the pouring rot, streaming water over the swarm. It has some effect, dribbling with other wastes and turning into slime very quickly, but can only hinder the swarm from approaching him rather than dispersing them. He looks for anything that might help (perception check) but sees nothing in paticular.

Grak'ark shakes about angrily, trying to get them off, but he is stuck with them. His hate and rage burns as hot as Hector's at this moment.

Drusilla assesses the situation (perception check) but also sees nothing new. The wall of dead has shifted but has not changed, it's still there and many more is behind it. So much more, the source of the stench of the temple. Watching Grak'ark, both Dru and Dullen see that they can climb or swim through the dead to get to the other side.

Grak is in trouble. What do they do now?





DM Notes
left-aligned image


  • Drusilla, Hector, and Fandrik are all sickened


  • Corpses: Dead pile, requires climb (DC18) or swim (DC15) check to move across.


  • Swarm: Centipedes. Automatic damage and poison chance.



Combat Modifiers
 

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Last edited by PIG; 02-27-2019 at 06:26 PM.
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Old 02-27-2019, 06:57 AM
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Last edited by PIG; 03-02-2019 at 07:38 AM.
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