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  #826  
Old 03-13-2019, 04:34 AM
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Start Ro1

--------Character--------Init010203
Fandrik17x--
Gark-the-Goblin16x--
Dullen14x--
Drusilla14x--
Grak'ark14x--
Hector13x--
Abd al Bari12x--
Rraelliarh16o--
The Carrion King10o--
Thkot-Tal08o--
Carrion Guards07o--
Carrion Initiates05o--
Elven Slaves05o--
o = open to post
- = don't post yet
x = posted already

DM Summary
left-aligned image

House of the Beast: Day 2
Gozran 13 4710 – Moonday

Sunrise 6:30AM | 8:00PM Sunset
(07:09AM)

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 Lower Temple
[DiCE]


Drusilla Dungeoneering Knowledge Check (DC-): Rolled 12
Drusilla Climb Check: Rolled 15
Grak'ark Swim Check (DC15): Rolled 13
Hector Swim Check (DC15): Rolled 12
Hector Swim Check (DC15): Rolled 8
Fandrik Aid Another (DC10): Rolled 2
Abd Swim Check (DC15): Rolled 12
Abd Swim Check (DC15): Rolled 9
Rok Swim Check (DC10): Rolled 10

Room 2: The Maggot Throne


It's as if Lamashtu gave birth. Drusilla, hair slick with slime and a chopped arm in the nook of her elbow, she is given to the world of the Maggot Throne as she wrenches her self free from the maggot squirming mass of the dead. Torch light greets her and she instantly beings climbing the wall of the pool. A glance over her shoulder shows one of her targets.

The Carrion King, a massive and violent looking gnoll, yanks the hair of the fair maiden before him to block the pathway between the two. A nice flesh wall to block any attack. Drusilla reaches up and finds the sculptured tentacle of a squid to pull her self higher. Her other hand finds the penis of an erect devil and she pulls her self higher. Slime and death drips off of Drusilla as she rolls onto the walkway and stands up, brown and green in sight.

Drusilla looks around and sees more now. The Witch has moved away to the south, calling for reinforcements. Columns to the south hide hidden gnolls, more to come it seems. She casts her grey eyes to the evil to dispose all around her.

right-aligned image


Out plucks others.

A dog harnessed by a halfling is next to come out of the dead. Token FGrak'ark rattles his fur and maggots plus innards slash the surroundings and Token FFandrik braces his neck, clean no more. The halfling's mustache is squeezed to his face like a drawing charbroiled to his cheeks. "Ha- euuuuuuuuu...ha... HaHA!" chokes the halfling, looking around. Token GA goblin is quick to follow, pointed ears clinging to gunk like arrows through meat, as the dog draws his self on top of the torso of a troglodyte.

Hector and Abd tries to follow as they are still in the sea of the dead, like the memory of Dullen, the River of Styx. Hector, in his anger, sees a great bulge in his way and tears his old fingers into the flesh blocking the way. He doesn't realize but he opening the stomach of Lazrul and it's contents pours both over Hector and Abd. Lizards, bones, and bile pour over them as they try and progress past Lazrul's rotted corpse collected by the Carrion Tribe.

Poor, poor, Lazrul pouring over Hector but the old man does not give up. The rot slides by and Hector does not let this stop the both of them.

Dullen passes both of them, swimming, and rises past the dead. The symbol of Irori glows brightly in the darkness.

left-aligned image
"Dullen!!!" The monk jerks his head, hearing kelish but not recognizing the voice, and looks past the Maggot Throne to Token 11the only human to be seen among the King. There stands his Trevis, leering at him. And, oh, what the state he is in. It takes Dullen seconds to even recognize him. His face has been contorted into a mask of horror. His muscles bulge in impossible masses that have never matched his narrow frame from before. Pins, shafts, rings, spikes, braces, metal, chains and any combination of either/or just mentioned- they all decorate as much of his body as possible. But nothing can compare to that permanent grin torn into his face, scars running up his cheeks and chest. What horrible surgery is this? "Brother!!!" cries the only man of the enemy. "I expected this to be, it was told. Irori is false." He slowly slides his sword out, dead piles before him and a gnoll to either side, behind. "I will show you thus. Our father was right."

right-aligned image






DM Notes
left-aligned image


  • Drusilla, Hector, and Fandrik are all sickened
    The character takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.


  • Corpses:
    - Depth is 10 feet.
    - Swim (DC15, full or move action) check required to wade through the dead.
    - PCs require a move action to reach the surface.
    - Climb (DC15, move action) is need to climb the wall out of the surface of the dead. The wall is 10'.
    - Moving normally on top of the dead is considered rough terrain.


  • Darkness:
    In an area of dim light, a character can see somewhat. Creatures within this area have concealment (20% miss chance in combat) from those without darkvision or the ability to see in darkness.



Combat Modifiers
 

Maps
 
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  #827  
Old 03-14-2019, 01:29 PM
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Carrion King
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As the corpses in the pit wiggled and writhed and gave birth to strange and puny creatures, the gigantic gnoll inhabiting the throne in the centre of the room rose to his feet and let out something between a snarl and a laugh.

He was immense in size, with thick coarse fur matted in dried blood and filth. A heavy armor made up of bits and pieces stitched together to fit his large frame helped to bulk him out even further. In one massive paw he carried a masterfully crafted massive axe with a very lifelike depiction of a human skull. His other hand was firmly clasped around one of the naked elven slaves, slowly but steadily choking the life out of her and making her twitch and wet herself at his feet.

"Welcome, pafe!" he roared, his voice guttural and booming in the large throneroom. "Welcome to the Maggot Throne! Seldom does sacrificial lambs present themselves so eagerly before the altar!"

He glanced around at he gnolls - his minions - surrounding the pit and gave a short nod in the direction of the emerging intruders.

"Kill them. Break them. Snap of their legs and feed them to the pit bit by bit. Leave their bodies last, so they can see their spindly legs and arms tumble and join the others below before they bleed out."

Huffing at the prospect of amusement, the large gnoll tilted his head back and called out.

"Unmaker! Your champion demands your favor! Your tribute will be delivered shortly!"

At first, nothing happened. Then whisps of dark smoky energy, like maggots or worms, wriggled out of the Carrion King's fur and coalesced around the large form. Rovagug had heeded the prayer and was infusing his unholy warrior with added strength.




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  #828  
Old 03-14-2019, 02:16 PM
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Ekk-Lakk
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A hulking figure pauses to prepare himself for the new food-beings that have invaded the King's lair. It is rare that the next meal presents itself so willingly, but Ekk-Lakk is not one to complain. Service to the Carrion King has its perks, but there is rarely as much to eat as Ekk-Lakk would like.

Speaking of things Ekk-Lakk would like to eat, the food-being Trevis—the pafe who the Carrion King tolerated for some reason—attracted the attention of one of the invaders from his hiding place. This was good, and perhaps it was why the Carrion King did tolerate Trevis. Better for the invaders to swarm him than for a gnoll to die at the hand of something that didn't know enough to lie face-down on the floor and let itself be eaten.

His mouth watering at the soft flesh presenting itself, the gnoll wipes his mouth with an arm, smearing the paint that covered both. Ekk-Lakk reached into a pocket and pulled out a vial, downing the contents before letting the vial crash to the floor with an eerily cheerful soft tinkle that had almost certainly been drowned out by Trevis's yelling. Jerking his head at the kick from the potion beginning its workings, Ekk-Lakk prepared to move.

Even better, the King himself ordered the minions to attack. This would soften up the food-beings, and then Ekk-Lakk could simply pick one or two off at his convenience. And if the unthinkable should happen and one of his fellow gnolls should fall, that was just an extra meal.

Yes, Ekk-Lakk would eat well today.

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  #829  
Old 03-15-2019, 12:14 PM
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Thkot-Tal
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Movement?

Movement.

The sea of bodies moves reflexively, waves moving in the ocean of rot as they find their way into it. The meal below munched, discarded, forgotten, with a new body replacing it. There are never enough bodies. There are too many bodies. Hunger. Hunger.

Fresh food is always best food.

The dorsal fin emerges first, a purple thing of terror, marred with gore and guts and dried blood and the goo of decay, but something more, a secretion that stems from each point of the fins. Then another fin, another, and another. There is a pinching, the skittering of many clawed, taloned legs.

You should never swim in a sea of dead bodies. You never know what they're there for.

Gark will find out now.

Bodies are thrown as it emerges, the gargantuan centipede, each segment covered in a plated spike, a deadly spike that flashes and slashes and lashes out with each blow. If Gark does not move, he will have no choice but to deal with them. But for now, the centipede, called Thkot-tal, lets out a screech, almost enough to shatter glass, as it brings its pincers down on the swimming Goblin.

And it bites, hard.

Fresh meat is a gift never denied.
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  #830  
Old 03-19-2019, 07:34 PM
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Start Ro2

Token--------Character--------Init010203
(F)Fandrik17xo-
(D)Dullen14xo-
(V)Drusilla14xo-
(G)Grak'ark14xo-
(B)Gark-the-Goblin14xo-
(H)Hector13xo-
(01)Abd al Bari12xo-
(16)Rraelliarh16x--
(Crown)The Carrion King10x--
(Centipede)Thkot-Tal08x--
(11)Trevis08x--
(14-15)Carrion Guards07x--
(17)Ekk-Lakk05x--
(18)Rohekk Woundsong05---
(01-05)(12-13)Carrion Initiates05x--
(06-10)Elven Slaves05x--
o = open to post
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x = posted already

DM Summary
left-aligned image

House of the Beast: Day 2
Gozran 13 4710 – Moonday

Sunrise 6:30AM | 8:00PM Sunset
(07:09AM)

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 Lower Temple
[DiCE]
Nil


 



Room 2: The Maggot Throne



For decades, so many gnoll generations, he has sat upon the Maggot Throne and the Carrion King had faced adversary after adversary. He met them on the field and filled the soil of Pale Mountain with blood. He sought out betrayers in his own tribe and, with Rokova’s aid of magical sight , he smashed their collection to bits as an example to anyone else that might question his rule. His kingdom grew and expanded, the howl of the Carrion King getting reports from the far ends of the Brazen Peaks, and enemies grew less and less with his rise. All the tribes were under his foot. He grew bored. Collected riches became ash on his tongue and elven prisoners that interested him as much as a shaved rat put on the spit. The fury, fire, and blood is gone. The wind has dropped from his sails.

Ghartok, his real name forgotten as the persona of the Carrion King taking over his identity, had no reason to live for so long~ five times longer than any normal gnoll life span. Then he was challenged when outsider pafe destroyed the Kulldis Tribe. Something was coming but he smiled. They hit him so now he’ll hit back. In reaction, grown fat with power, he sent his forces to the distant pafe city of Solku to sack and conquer after so many ages of gnolls running red into their high walls. Rokova encouraged it, he said it could be done, and he was never wrong before. But where has he been in the last months since the onslaught? Ghartok, the King, did not know as he withdrew to his sloppy comforts of spoiled meat and torture. In his hidden depression, with such distant matters, he really didn’t care. He would kill a hundred of his gnolls to feel Rovagug's pleasure on his life again. He would kill a thousand to feel rage again. He would kill a million to actually feel good. He would kill a million to feel like he once did when he once felt the Beast bless him with his great body of power.

That is the love of Rovagug. When you drink deeply from that cup it never ends, you grow thirsty the more you drink. Destruction borns destruction, and that cup will never end my friends. The bible of the Dawnflower told us as much but it was ignored by so many. You needn't even the Dawnlflower to tell you as much, it’s common sense, but that’s the way of life sometimes. You destroy and destroy to end it all but that cup keeps getting deeper. If any of us didn’t know this already, it certainly wasn’t the Carrion King as he sat in his own soiled mess and disillusion. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Then this happens.



Never has the enemy got so close to him, born from the own pool of his own rot before the throne. In his own resident?! How deceitful? How rapine? How… wonderful?

He grabs an elven maiden by her hair and she stifles a scream from the pain. If she wasn't regularly forced to smoke pesh she wouldn't have been able to keep it back.

Gray smoke pours from his fur as he prays to Rovagug, feeling the God of Gods touch his spirit again after so very, very, very long. It’s like a lost deity finding their worthwhile attention upon you. His skin burns as smoke raises from his fur (Divine Favor). Finally he feels God upon his flesh and it is glorious.

His breath quickens as he looks across the elf flesh shield at these new comers. Pleasure is sweet in his throat. ”Welcome, pafe! Welcome to the Maggot Throne! Seldom does sacrificial lambs present themselves so eagerly before the altar!"

His voices changes and it roars with fury, spittle splashing from his maul. ”Kill them. Break them. Snap of their legs and feed them to the pit bit by bit. Leave their bodies last, so they can see their spindly legs and arms tumble and join the others below before they bleed out."

Huffing at the prospect of amusement, the large gnoll tilted his head back and calls out to the Unmaker of Unmakers.

"Unmaker! Your champion demands your favor! Your tribute will be delivered shortly!"

right-aligned image
Trevis: Personal Guard to the King (Token 11)
#11Trevis, now devote to Rovagug, laughs long and hard without humor. The laughter ends abruptly, dying as if never there, as he pulls out an unlit torch from his processions. He holds it to the metal bins lighting the room for slaves. Hit torch flares alight as he looks back to his brother, speaking to the tribe in Gnoll. “Douse the flames. Arrows on the bitch that challenges the King.”

right-aligned image
14-15The Carrion Guards, used to this pafe giving orders, move into position and knock their arrows, pointing them as DDrusilla as the slop slaps the ground at her feet. Getting into new positions, they let loose and she ducks the first one, snapping against the wall, but the other finds her hip and bites deep. She hisses in pain and knows, being that this is the House of the Beast, that the arrowhead is poisoned. Sure enough, numbness flows into her muscles and makes the sea of dead go double. The warrior strains and collects her self, refocusing on the enemies in the distance. Chanting accompanies the bodyguard as he turns his wicked grin upon them, 12-13two initiates praying to Rovagug. "Praise the Lord, shield us from infidels," their voices twine in unison and purple light flashes before them like strange lightening as Rovagug answers them. They both kick over the northern fire pits, sparks flying into the air. Some drift to the table of skulls in the back and hiss out of existence.

BBlogbok-the-Goblin wipes the thick fluid in eyes, stinging and he makes the complaint heard. The bodies shift underneath and he wobbles his arms, almost grabbing G, underneath F (Fandrik)Grak'ark in the process, and a great whirlpool of busted heads, chewed arms, dead rats, and maggots funnels around and a mighty centipede as large as a caravan rises with a great arch.

left-aligned image
Bodies are thrown as it emerges, the gargantuan centipede, each segment covered in a plated spike, a deadly spike that flashes and slashes and lashes out with each blow. If Gark does not move, he will have no choice but to deal with them. But for now, the centipede, called Thkot-tal, lets out a screech, almost enough to shatter glass, as it brings its pincers down on the swimming Goblin.


EEEEEEeeeeeeeEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

And it bites, hard and rips his already torn armor into shreds. His scream can't be heard over monster's screech and his intestines spill out, joining the spoilage below like spilling water into the sea. The goblin clutches his body, eyes wide, not thinking it would go this way. Did he travel this far just to die? Did he fail already?

right-aligned image
Rraelliarh: Witch to the King (Token 16)
16The Witch, Rraelliarch, squeals her wrenched voice for more reinforcements. "The enemy is already here! Come!" The gnolls are slow to react at first. They were stationed to the south, expecting the enemy to fight their way in- not sneak in like they did.

One however, answers the call as he was already near. 17Ekk-Lakk moves towards the towering pillars as 01-05five masked priests join him. He downs a potion as one of the priests touches his blood encrusted axe, "May the Beast aid your hunger" and the metal tingles in his hand with additional power. Indeed, Ekk-Lakk will eat flesh today. He drops the potion and drools. The screech of the mighty Thkot-tal rips the air and he screams with it.
EEEEEEeeeeeeeEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!
A new class of insanity is in this one.


The priests funnel through the center pillars instead of filtering through randomly. One kicks over one of the southern fire pits followed by more sparks and a huff of smoke. One by one the lights are going out in the room to hinder our heroes.

What do they do?




DM Notes
left-aligned image


  • Drusilla, Hector, and Fandrik are all sickened
    The character takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.


  • Corpses:
    - Depth is 10 feet.
    - Swim (DC15, full or move action) check required to wade through the dead.
    - PCs require a move action to reach the surface.
    - Climb (DC15, move action) is need to climb the wall out of the surface of the dead. The wall is 10'.
    - Moving normally on top of the dead is considered rough terrain.


  • Darkness:
    In an area of dim light, a character can see somewhat. Creatures within this area have concealment (20% miss chance in combat) from those without darkvision or the ability to see in darkness.



Combat Modifiers
 

Maps
 

Last edited by PIG; 03-23-2019 at 08:35 PM.
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  #831  
Old 03-19-2019, 07:54 PM
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Last edited by PIG; 03-20-2019 at 09:23 AM.
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Old 03-19-2019, 07:54 PM
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Old 03-19-2019, 07:54 PM
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  #834  
Old 03-20-2019, 07:51 PM
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Dullen is conflicted with emotion as he hears his brother’s voice. He was told by several witnesses that a huge Dust Digger devoured Trevis and dragged him down into the sand. The people who told him were trustworthy and he had heard nothing else about his brother, so he resolved to the fact he was dead. Alive. Trevis Alive.

He was filled with elation until he heard the orders he barked out to the gnolls and in their native tongue. The transformation into this scarred resemblance of once was the most charismatic of our family. This is why we looked to him as leader even though, Dullen is 7 years his senior. During Trevis’s pesh filled addiction he was useless in the attack against Kelmarane as 3 of his family fell in the onslaught. Brotis tried, but wasn’t the leader his brother was and the tactics used caused his family members to fall. The worst loss was that of the youngest, Yesper, their only sister. She was the one bright spot in Trevis’s life. Maybe this is what pushed him over the edge and abandon Kelmarane and his family. Dullen never got the chance to ask. Trevis was just gone.

Snapping back to reality, it is a wonder on what can go through his mind in a scant moment of memory. Irori is truly great.

Dullen commands the rope to anchor itself to one of the statues nearby. The rope unwraps around Dullen’s waist and slithers like a snake wrapping itself around it, simultaneously the rope forms knots every 5 or so feet. Dullen uses the rope and climbs out with Climb check DC5 (knotted rope against a wall 0, -5 for slippery since he is covered in gel of the dead - min roll 1+4 STR = 5 .. no failure)ease, the added strength from his God making it child’s play. As he climbs he speaks out to his brother, “It fills me with elation to hear your voice brother, for you are blood and as we always said, blood is thicker that water. Also dispair as you are venturing the same path as our father and siding with the forces of evil. Also in your pesh addicted state, you were not able to help our family against your friends when they attacked Kelmarane. Kallien, Utarchus and Yeper died. Brotis said she was calling out for you in her dying breaths. Not that you care.”

Stepping onto the k31landing the gel is frozen on his armor as Dullen strikes his chest grabbing his holy symbol and most of it shatters off.

His body turns to the side making himself a smaller Snake Stance AC. .. 24 or
Dice Roll:
1d20+15 (8)+15 Total = 23
target, as he becomes Snake Stance style.. - swift actionready for the combat ahead. ”You say Irori is false, but yet witness the power he bestows. How can you call this false?”. A large radiant blue Channel Energy.. heals 18 hit points to Dru, Gark and Grakhand wafts out in an expanding circle going out 20 feet from his body. As the hand passes through, Drusilla, it completely heals the wound she just took, the arrow falling to the ground. It passes through Grak as the bites and scrapes from the swarm dissipates. The wound that Gark just received all but vanishes. This is Irori’s gift and Dullen’s power.



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Last edited by ShinobiMaster123; 03-21-2019 at 02:00 AM.
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  #835  
Old 03-21-2019, 12:55 AM
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Drusilla Vanadici
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With a practiced eye Drusilla's stern gaze sweeps across the battlefield, noting every detail and filing each in its appropriate place. She all but ignores Dullen's brother, save for his strategy of extinguishing the lights and activating his archers; the witch and her call for reinforcements earns a similarly small mental note. The Carrion King's use of magic garners a small exclamation point in her mind, but she doesn't bother wasting her breath to respond to his empty words. Nor does she even acknowledge the poor choking slave—tactically, the elf doesn't matter. Not yet. No, she is primarily focused on the closest and most immediate threat to her and her newly surfaced allies: Thkot-tal. The gigantic centipede's devastating attack on the goblin has earned her attention.

She does spare a grateful glance for the nimble priest and his much needed healing power—her flesh is now magically whole, as if the deadly arrow had never been, though her muscles remain fatigued by the still present poison infecting her blood. “Wait,” she urges the others below her, hoping that somehow she can protect them from the enormous centipede. Ignoring the sluggish feeling in her body, she yanks up her rope, twirling the sledgehammer attached to one end in fast, tight circles. What matters now is buying some time for her allies to escape the monstrous vermin, so she flings the hammer at a particularly bloated body right next to the beast. The impact results in a small explosion, a blinding spray of guts and gore, but the centipede is too large and accustomed to the rotting pit to be distracted by her maneuver.

Drusilla silently curses herself, but is not terribly surprised—it was a desperate ploy in desperate times. Time for Plan B. With a hissed whisper under her breath, she gathers back her rope and shifts to make room for her companions.

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  #836  
Old 03-22-2019, 01:24 PM
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Hector Grimm, Abd and Rok
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there are times in life where you do what you can to make a living go by with as little turmoil, chaos, failure as possible; times when you welcome at least the chaos and accept minor setbacks, because the future ahead looks bright. Hector had had plenty of all that during his rotten life of unluck and dark-veiled
mysteries, plots and corruption.

In this forsaken pit he had been trodden upon, had been weakened and tortured. He had felt his life ebb out under the gnoll whippers’ constant lashes and the endless toil.

But in this forsaken pit, he had found a way out, found freedom. Then he too had found a reason for turning back, however much he regretted that decision now, and now he felt the need to accomplish what he set out for.

There are times where you need to put that extra effort into your deeds, to make them matter. Now was such a time.

Hector grasped for the rope that should be there. He found ...something and put it to good use, hauling himself forwards, finding new purchase for his slippery, knobbly fingers and getting out into a faster flowing sea of goo. He could feel something stir behind him, wriggled around to remove it and found that it was alive. That it was Al Dari. Together, arms grasping for the other like too-drunk lovers, they worked their way upwards until their heads came up, sucking the warm, pungent air in with greedy gasps.

The sight was nothing to emerge to. Surely, they had made it to the King’s quarters and somehow it seemed so very awe-inspiring in a very gnoll-like way. Still... it had to be torn to the ground and the council of the king brought to their knees, blood painting the damn Pale Mountain a scarlet shade of pale.

Rok was above. Circling ever higher and getting a full view of the scene of the battle.






Last edited by Dressedtojazz; 03-22-2019 at 01:25 PM.
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  #837  
Old 03-22-2019, 11:56 PM
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Gark
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Pain, delicious pain. The bite of the giant worm had nearly torn the goblin in half and he felt the icy jaws of death closing in on him. He was unbothered by the pain of his wound and oblivious to the threat of imminent death that awaited him. But the thought of failure terrified him, for the chosen vessel of Lamashtu knew the eternal punishment that awaited those that failed the goddess. His left foot twists as he prepares to turn and flee, but he stops as the newest of the human’s sent forth a wave of healing.

The pleasure of the healing magic was nothing compared to the realization that had struck him at that moment, The healing had shown him the reality he had not considered, one that showed him that the goddess had not deserted him. I am not alone. he realized.

The goddess knew the power of teamwork and had created her servants in groups. Harpies she put together as a coven, Medusa shared the companionship of others in their nest, Gnoll’s were gifted with their packs. The greatest of these she gave to the goblins, a collection so large and so powerful that none oouod resist - she gave them the horde.

These pale skins are my horde. he says to himself, the shocking discovery sending a jolt down his body,

A flood of hope flowed through the goblin as he literally leaps into action. Reaching out, he is able to grab the knoted rope placed out by his allies and quickly scampers up it.

As he reaches the top he turns a withering look at the one he had come so far to kill. Ghartok, the Carrion King waited - and Gark wanted so send fear into his heart.. He spits his words at the unnatural beast, making sure he knew that death awaited him.

"The horde come!" he says with a shrill laugh, knowing that with Lamashtu’s help, the Carrion King and his allies would soon perish.

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  #838  
Old 03-23-2019, 10:53 AM
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Fandrik, the little beast
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"Fate is fickle as a woman." It was something Fandrik had heard said a lifetime ago. Fate. You never know what is in store for you until the very end. The sailor that said those words wasn't even that drunk but he had had all his teeth and a way with the ladies that had impressed the young halfling. He had always wondered if the man meant that he also had his way with fate as he did with women, or if you just never knew what was around the corner since you couldn't comprehend either women or fate.

One could survive a hundred battles only to fall ill and perish after sheltering a sick traveler. Fate. The Great Dreamer has plans that we cannot understand, we cannot see, nor can we know the mind of a goddess. Fandrik had survived countless stunts, storms on the open sea, a raid by slavers, being sold to gnolls and forced to work in the belly of this rotten ruin - and Lady Luck had brought him here. To this moment.

The horror of feeling Hector pull at his soul with dark magic had stunned the halfling so much so that when the cooshie pulled him through the pool of dead, the impact of all the vile rot and death had not fully manifested. After pulling themselves to the surface to breath and look around, Fandrik's brain began to comprehend. It wasn't fear he felt. The halfling didn't seem to feel fear like perhaps he should. The clench in his upset stomach was still there yet a new bile had risen in the back of his throat. Disgust. Anger. A pure rejection of everything the gnolls stood for.

Dullen dashed by, quick as ever to clamber up the statute decorated wall and out of the pool. Gark the goblin slid from the muck next to Fan as a massive, gaping maw opened from the pool of death and tore into the green-skin. The maw raised up, a huge centipede with plates and spikes. A creature born of the vile beast. One that could reach his allies on the walkway, most likely. A cool detachment joined anger as a purple butterfly fluttered just out of his sight. Desna had brought Fandrik here to protect these good people who struggled against the Carrion King. This worm was a threat.

Fandrik released the cooshie's neck and slid to the pool surface to land in his defensive posture instinctively. The fancy rapier appeared in hand testing the stench of the air with its tip. Gore and sludge from the dead clung to the halfling yet for possibly the first time he did not care about it. Hector and Abd were still under the pool. Everyone needed time to get clear or ready themselves.

The cooshie leaped and clawed his way from the surface to the walkway, scrambling easily from stone decor to small statuette. Smoke and mist began filling the area, it would masking those up top from Fandrik in but another moment.

Little feet pattered against the stone wall as Fandrik dashed up and into a short flip, twisting to strike out at the worm's head with his flashing rapier. A shrill, confident and mocking voice called out to garner the creature's attention.

"Have at you, worm! Ha-HA! I have something for you to chew on! Hahaha-HA"

Desna was a god and a woman who happened to control luck and fate. Who could comprehend her reasons? She was fickle indeed.

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Last edited by Jarl11; 03-23-2019 at 01:13 PM. Reason: Words
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Old 03-24-2019, 05:14 PM
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Start Ro2

Token--------Character--------Init010203
(F)Fandrik17xx-
(D)Dullen14xx-
(B)Gark-the-Goblin14xx-
(V)Drusilla14xx-
(G)Grak'ark14xx-
(H)Hector13xx-
(01)Abd al Bari12xx-
(16)Rraelliarh16xx-
(19)Rokova16xx-
(Crown)The Carrion King10xo-
(Centipede)Thkot-Tal08xo-
(11)Trevis08xo-
(14-15)Carrion Guards07xo-
(17)Ekk-Lakk05xo-
(18)Rohekk Woundsong05-o-
(01-05)(12-13)Carrion Initiates05xo-
(06-10)Elven Slaves05xo-
o = open to post
- = don't post yet
x = posted already

DM Summary
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House of the Beast: Day 2
Gozran 13 4710 – Moonday

Sunrise 6:30AM | 8:00PM Sunset
(07:09AM)

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 Lower Temple
[DiCE]
Fandrik Nature Knowledge (DC18) to identify centipede: Rolled 11


 



Room 2: The Maggot Throne

Between the defensive walls of Solku to the desolate temple of the House of the Beast, you can't say there is no braver soul than Fandrik Ergyle Nar'danglestump. The halfling unmounts from his dog and slides onto the sea of dead. Thkot-Tal sends bodies rolling and Fan leaps over them, getting closer, rapier flashing. "Have at you, worm! Ha-HA! I have something for you to chew on! Hahaha-HA" His blade strikes between the plates, to hit that jelly meat, but the centipede shifts and the tip slides off of it. Then the centipede squeezes it's body in instinctive reaction to the attack and the spines strike out like spears. It rattles it's huge body and screams that glass shattering shrill again. Fan's eyes grow wide for a moment and is quick enough to duck before the spikes lance him. "he...Ha-HA!" Lady Fate let him live again and now he has the creature's attention. All the while he keeps the others in perspective, moving towards or away from them as long as he stands between this Rovagug beast and fellow allies. Maggots and bugs pop out from the pool of dead under his boots.

He grins. Again: never anyone braver. His slime-slicked dog leaps upon the wall and begins to awkwardly climb with four legs to where the female warrior stands.

Blogbog (Gark-the-Goblin) catches one end of his intestines and squeezes it before it slides from his grasp, like a fish in a pond. Something lumpy and brown pops out and he nearly laughs as painful tears pour down his face. He looks to the Carrion King upon his throne, an elf's hair in his claw. As Grak'ark knows, he isn't afraid of death, but afraid of failing killing this enemy of the Mother of Monsters. He holds for a moment, not sure what to do, hands shaking. He can feel the size of Thkot-Tal as pool of dead shifts around from it's motions.

Dullen sees the halfling take his own stance, learned from long experience on ship decks and survival during his short-term adventures, and can only respect him for it. Desna be damned, Irori could teach this one so much!

The monk utters a command and waves his hand. The rope tied around his waist unties on it's own and shoots upward to the platform like a snake, knotting along the way in a series of sharp jerks. He leaps onto the floating, magical, rope and climbs to Drusilla as fast as possible. Thkot-Tal screeches and reaches down with strong maxillipeds as it AoOsees Dullen in a vulnerable position. Fandrik pokes at the centipede again to Blundering Defense feat (Dullen gets a +3AC bonus from Fan)distract it and warns Dullen. "It's coming for you!" The claws mouth closes around his ice-armor in ear piercing CRUNCH. White flakes go everywhere. Cracks web along his back as the powerful creature snaps tighter but holds tight, pouring out rotten juices that collected from that warm swim a moment ago. The centipede withdraws, snapping, mandibles letting go freezing cold.

right-aligned image
Dullen reaches the platform and the monk, turban still firm on his head and absolutely filthy, the gems losing their usual glow. He holds up his symbol of Irori, the splayed hand, and it's radiates white-hot light that sparkle off of his ice armor.

He addresses Trevis across the stinking pit. “It fills me with elation to hear your voice brother, for you are blood and as we always said, blood is thicker that water. Also dispair as you are venturing the same path as our father and siding with the forces of evil. Also in your pesh addicted state, you were not able to help our family against your friends when they attacked Kelmarane. Kallien, Utarchus and Yeper died. Brotis said she was calling out for you in her dying breaths. Not that you care.”

The gel is frozen on his armor as Dullen strikes his chest grabbing his holy symbol and most of it shatters off.

His body turns to the side making himself a smaller target, as he becomes ready for the combat ahead. ”You say Irori is false, but yet witness the power he bestows. How can you call this false?” A large radiant blue hand wafts out in an expanding circle going out 20 feet from his body. As the hand passes through, Drusilla, it completely heals the wound she just took, the arrow falling to the ground. It passes through Grak as the bites and scrapes from the swarm dissipates. The wound that Gark just received all but vanishes.

This is Irori’s gift and Dullen’s power.

Blogbog looks down at his bloodied hands and only sees a small opening in his stomach from where Thkot-Tal disemboweled him. He doesn't waste any time. He shakes a finger at the Carrion King and threatens him in goblin. "I come up and kill you. You can't hide behind big big bugs!!!" With Fandrik, the daring halfling, covering him from behind the goblin scampers up the rope wildly, hand over hand, and reaches the top (little lungs huffing) just when the halfling's dog reaches the top, Drusilla grabbing the dog by the scruff and yanking him the rest of the way. “Wait,” urges steel faced woman to the others below her, hoping that somehow she can protect them from the enormous centipede. Ignoring the sluggish feeling in her body, she yanks up her rope, twirling the sledgehammer attached to one end in fast, tight circles. What matters now is buying some time for her allies to escape the monstrous vermin, so she flings the hammer at a particularly bloated body right next to the beast. The impact results in a small explosion, a blinding spray of guts and gore, but the centipede is too large and accustomed to the rotting pit to be distracted by her maneuver.

The goblin gets excited. "Wow. You blow up bodies good. You see that?" he asks the dog. The dog is growling a chant and ignores the goblin it's voice grows louder, sounding foul- sounding like this creature belongs in the black heart of this temple. "...- take from them sight.... .. ..grraaant it to the fatara... blessed this dark day..."

Drusilla recollects the sledgehammer by quickly looping the rope around her hand and elbow in a blur.

The gnolls close in from all sides when, like silent thunder, a bloom of white cloud as pure as emperor's cotton expands outward to hide the intruders. "Not again" mutters Rraelliarh as she snaps her head over her shoulder to the south. "Ekk-Lakk...Rohekk... get in here you maggots!!!"

The black raven continues to circle 50' over the throne.







DM Notes
left-aligned image

  • Drusilla, Hector, and Fandrik are all sickened
    The character takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.


  • Corpses:
    - Depth is 10 feet.
    - Swim (DC15, full or move action) check required to wade through the dead.
    - PCs require a move action to reach the surface.
    - Climb (DC15, move action) is need to climb the wall out of the surface of the dead. The wall is 10'.
    - Moving normally on top of the dead is considered rough terrain.


  • Darkness:
    In an area of dim light, a character can see somewhat. Creatures within this area have concealment (20% miss chance in combat) from those without darkvision or the ability to see in darkness.



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Old 03-24-2019, 05:14 PM
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