With a sigh, Barnaby will drop the flaming sphere to cast protection from good and evil on Fope. Attacks against him will have disadvantage, and he has advantage on saves. Well, for undead anyway.
I had intended to post that she looks like she's starting to come apart. She may not last much longer.
Feel free to do this, if you want, but you may reconsider in light of this new information. Up to you.
You miss with the firebolt, but she only has 3 hp left. No need for her to roll to save for half damage: She's dead!
The contents of the chest include the following: a folded cloak, a small wooden coffer (unlocked) containing four potions, a chain shirt, a mess kit, a flask of another potion, a bullseye lantern, a set of thieves’ tools, and a spellbook with a yellow leather cover containing the following wizard spells:
1st level: disguise self, identify, mage armor, magic missile, protection from evil and good 2nd level: darkvision, hold person, invisibility, magic weapon
If you take a short rest, you can heal up to your max minus 5. If that's 21, then that's 21. Your max, for now, is 21.
Mrs. Durst collapsed on the bed. She was real enough to be hit by a magic axe, and would have taken some damage from normal weapons, if any had hit her. She was not completely incorporeal, as you seem to be imagining. Her body is gaunt and dry and slowly disintegrating into dust, as you take your rest. Even now, as she slowly disintegrates into ash, she is grinning.
Barnaby is mesmerized by the spell book and starts to get lost in it immediately. With a bit of annoyed distraction he looks away from it at the other stack of items and does his best to sort out what sort of magical properties each item has.
Barnaby will explain what, if anything, he is able to figure out about these items and then go back to intently studying the spell book for the remainder of the hour, completely forgetting that he could be getting his second level spell slot back. When he gets to the dark vision spell, he perks up...Fope! I've been trying to work this one out for your benefit. I see now that I had this tricky bit with the beetle paste wrong, but other than that I was on the right track. I'll need several hours to get it figured out completely.
The cloak does appear to have magic properties, though you are unable to discern what they are. Despite your poor roll, you recognize the the set of 4 potions as potions of healing, like the ones you've already seen. The remaining flask contains a fluid you know as "alchemist's fire."
Nothing else appears to have any magical properties, though obviously some of these mundane items might be of use to you.
Occasionally, one of you might become lost in thought. You might be remembering a thing that happened, or you might be having a dream or a vision. When I'm relating one of these private moments, it will be in dark green, like this. Please respond in this color (or close to it; doesn't matter).
These private moments can carry on alongside the party taking action. So if, for instance, Barnaby had a flashback here - examining the lantern reminded him of something, say - I could have that exchange with him, even as the party finished its short rest and carried on.
Kif, as Fope recovers from his injuries and Barnaby looks at all the loot, sits with his back to the wall and examines, for posterity's sake, his old axe.
As you run your finger along the blade you are reminded of a particularly bloody battle from several years earlier. Your mind wanders.
Citadel Felbarr was thought to be impregnable. Tens of thousands of dwarves lived within its spacious keep and in the mountain behind it. And yet, it had been breached in the Battle of Arrows.
Kif had been there, on that day. The main gate torn down with siege equipment; it groaned and split open, giving way to some battering ram that none inside the keep ever even saw coming. The forecourt, inside the gate, was already littered with bodies and boulders, and scorched with flame. The remnants of fumes and gas clouds - magic and otherwise - still clung to the wasted earth, as hundreds of orcs began climbing over the walls and pouring through the ravaged gate.
Deep in the underground, dwarven scouts are trying to lead survivors to safety through the bowels of the mountain. The paths are not safe, or fast, and it is slow going. They need time.
In the forecourt of the keep, four dozen dwarves hide in the wreckage, hoping to slow the progress of the orc invaders. It is the only way to protect those fleeing below.
Kif grips his axe tight. The noxious fumes of a lingering poison cloud, harmless but still irritating to the eyes, hang in the air. A gash above his ear is still oozing blood, and his legs and shoulders ache from the strain of two days of fighting from the castle walls. The orcs are coming.
Kif looks at the nicked edge of the old ax, scared from battle protecting his family and friends. Ahh my friend, we had some good times and you served well, and may yet serve again. As he stares off into the distance beyond the blade he remembers the last bits of fear fading away, replaced by a grim determination that, no matter what may come he will do his best to buy the folks below time to get away. As he waited for the moment to go he remembers seeing across the courtyard a young cousin, Fozoc, crushed under some fallen masonry, lifeless eyes looking forever into the sky. He promises himself the attacking orcs will pay dearly. He isn't sure how he survived the following attack, but the memory of the heaps of orcs and other vermin cut down on dwarf blades until they were fighting standing on the bodies of their green skinned foes will forever be there
As the vision clears and he returns to the basement room he sees, for a fleeting moment, the face of Føpé blends with the face of Fozoc. He shakes his head a bit, realizing that this party, for better or worse, is becoming closer than a group of adventurers and he's really starting to care for these folks.
He puts the old ax aside with reverence and inspects the blade of the new ax, Reejarim. Well done, new friend, let see if we can carve our way out of this shithouse and get Ireena where she needs to go
Kif chuckles to himself and with a few passes of the sharpening stone brings the edge of his new ax to a murderous shine
So, Føpé, that chain shirt anything you can use? Gives you a nice edge I might like to carry one of those healing potions...a little bactine goes a long way sometimes, and a lantern might be handy, does it have fuel in it...might be better than a candle on the forehead
Ireena, how are you doing...I don't thing any of us expected this sort of delay but it's hard to resist the call for help from children
Sure, the party members can carry on with their short rest, including you. And you can even talk to them, as you are, so that the group's story may go on.
But you are also here with me until I say otherwise.
Now, Kif. I ask you again. The smoke is swirling around you; the acrid fumes of poisonous fog still fill the air. You and four dozen of your comrades hide in this ruined battlefield, just trying to buy a little bit of time for the survivors down below to escape - maybe - into the Underdark, and hopefully come out the other side. Two hundred orcs, maybe more, are penetrating the forecourt; climbing over the walls and streaming through the broken gate.
You are bleeding and sore. You have spent one and a half days in this courtyard and on that breached wall defending this place.
What, Kif, is going through your mind, as you crouch behind this boulder?
What's happening here is I am capturing a vision he had - in this case, a flashback - before he came back to himself to check in with Fope and Ireena. The group's story can carry on independently from these little vision quests, but I do want to keep them moving in case something happens in the vision that effects game play. So if I tag you, please try to respond as soon as you reasonably can.
As he stares off into the distance beyond the blade he remembers the last bits of fear fading away, replaced by a grim determination that, no matter what may come he will do his best to buy the folks below time to get away. As he waited for the moment to go he remembers seeing across the courtyard a young cousin, Fozoc, crushed under some fallen masonry, lifeless eyes looking forever into the sky. He promises himself the attacking orcs will pay dearly. He isn't sure how he survived the following attack, but the memory of the heaps of orcs and other vermin cut down on dwarf blades until they were fighting standing on the bodies of their green skinned foes will forever be there
Sorry, I overlooked that this was mixed in with the rest. This is what I was looking for, pretty much.
The pounding of armored feet comes closer. The gate is also getting torn down; Kif can hear it.
The orcs come pouring across the forecourt. With the blast of a warhorn, the dwarven commander - a young dwarf with a patchy black beard, named Rindenhar - signals it's time to fight. Kif, with the vision of Fozoc seared into his eyes, comes rushing out from behind the boulder with this same axe. Two, three, four, five orcs go down beneath him! He is fighting like a champion; his aches and pains forgotten. He is awash in blood; some of it his, some of it his enemies'. The iron smell of it fuels his spirit.
There are too many, though. Simply too many orcs. As Kif stands on the path between the gate and the keep, he sees the orcs have pulled open the gate far enough that they have gotten some kind of battle wagon through it. The keep walls behind him, and the keep's own gate, will surely fall sooner if this covered wagon gets through. Kif stands, waiting for the goblin slaves pulling the wagon to begin their approach. They do.
Kif swiftly circles around the boulder where he had been hiding, moments earlier. He rubs the sweat and blood from his eyes and waits. Once the wagon is close enough, he sprints the long way around the boulder and comes up behind it. He goes underneath the wagon, smashing at the rear axle until it finally cracks. The enormous underside gives way and collapses, faster than Kif expected, and he is not able to get out. The broken timbers groan and break all around him as he crouches and hopes for the best. Something snaps nearby, a crate from inside the cart tips over, and he is knocked unconscious inside the wreckage.
Hours later - after the keep has fallen; after some dwarves have escaped (perhaps) into the Underdark; after the orcs have already scoured the battlefield, and apparently overlooked him - Kif wakes up. He climbs out of the wreckage and slips through the shadows, still clinging to the axe, and he creeps away into the nearby hills. It was a terrible day, though what haunts him through that night, as he climbs over the ridges and down through the valleys, is something he has never disclosed to anyone since: Just at the last, under that cart, in the blink of an eye as he felt the blow that would knock him unconscious, he had a vision. In a field of charcoal gray smoke, two yellow eyes - catlike, maybe serpentlike; definitely not orcish or familiar from anywhere else - opened, and stared right into his soul.
Kif finds himself back in the room occupied by his companions and the erstwhile former Mr. Elisabeth Durst.
Thank you for being an excellent guinea pig. I knew you would do it justice. Who knows when you may have another little moment, or perhaps one of your colleagues will.
Each of the three of you take one potion. That leaves one healing potion, the flask, the chain shirt, the cloak, the lantern, and odds and ends. Someone sort it all out and you guys can tweak as needed.
I had intended to post that she looks like she's starting to come apart. She may not last much longer.
Feel free to do this, if you want, but you may reconsider in light of this new information. Up to you.
Ok, then rinse and repeat last turn.
Fire bolt: to hit 7 + 1, damage 3
Dex save to halve flaming sphere: damage 6
You miss with the firebolt, but she only has 3 hp left. No need for her to roll to save for half damage: She's dead!
The contents of the chest include the following: a folded cloak, a small wooden coffer (unlocked) containing four potions, a chain shirt, a mess kit, a flask of another potion, a bullseye lantern, a set of thieves’ tools, and a spellbook with a yellow leather cover containing the following wizard spells:
1st level: disguise self, identify, mage armor, magic missile, protection from evil and good
2nd level: darkvision, hold person, invisibility, magic weapon
Might be a good time to have a short rest, let Fope pull himself back together
Makes sense.
Barnaby's Detect Magic dropped when he cast Flaming Sphere. What are you going to do with all of these goodies from the chest?
Føpé finished gathering up the items in the chest. I thought she'd be tougher and we'd need to make a run for it.
He'll search the chest for hidden compartments, and then proceed to the rest of the room. Investigation:12
Will a short rest let Føpé return to full HP? Or is 21 his new max?
Also, is there a body? What happens to the ghost when she "dies"?
You don't find anything else in the chest.
If you take a short rest, you can heal up to your max minus 5. If that's 21, then that's 21. Your max, for now, is 21.
Mrs. Durst collapsed on the bed. She was real enough to be hit by a magic axe, and would have taken some damage from normal weapons, if any had hit her. She was not completely incorporeal, as you seem to be imagining. Her body is gaunt and dry and slowly disintegrating into dust, as you take your rest. Even now, as she slowly disintegrates into ash, she is grinning.
Well, at least it looks like she enjoyed being taken out of this world
Barnaby is mesmerized by the spell book and starts to get lost in it immediately. With a bit of annoyed distraction he looks away from it at the other stack of items and does his best to sort out what sort of magical properties each item has.
Arcana checks: Cloak - 18, Chain Shirt - 14, 4 Potions - 12, other potion - 20, lantern (why not?) - 19
Barnaby will explain what, if anything, he is able to figure out about these items and then go back to intently studying the spell book for the remainder of the hour, completely forgetting that he could be getting his second level spell slot back. When he gets to the dark vision spell, he perks up...Fope! I've been trying to work this one out for your benefit. I see now that I had this tricky bit with the beetle paste wrong, but other than that I was on the right track. I'll need several hours to get it figured out completely.
The cloak does appear to have magic properties, though you are unable to discern what they are. Despite your poor roll, you recognize the the set of 4 potions as potions of healing, like the ones you've already seen. The remaining flask contains a fluid you know as "alchemist's fire."
Nothing else appears to have any magical properties, though obviously some of these mundane items might be of use to you.
Occasionally, one of you might become lost in thought. You might be remembering a thing that happened, or you might be having a dream or a vision. When I'm relating one of these private moments, it will be in dark green, like this. Please respond in this color (or close to it; doesn't matter).
These private moments can carry on alongside the party taking action. So if, for instance, Barnaby had a flashback here - examining the lantern reminded him of something, say - I could have that exchange with him, even as the party finished its short rest and carried on.
Kif, as Fope recovers from his injuries and Barnaby looks at all the loot, sits with his back to the wall and examines, for posterity's sake, his old axe.
As you run your finger along the blade you are reminded of a particularly bloody battle from several years earlier. Your mind wanders.
Citadel Felbarr was thought to be impregnable. Tens of thousands of dwarves lived within its spacious keep and in the mountain behind it. And yet, it had been breached in the Battle of Arrows.
Kif had been there, on that day. The main gate torn down with siege equipment; it groaned and split open, giving way to some battering ram that none inside the keep ever even saw coming. The forecourt, inside the gate, was already littered with bodies and boulders, and scorched with flame. The remnants of fumes and gas clouds - magic and otherwise - still clung to the wasted earth, as hundreds of orcs began climbing over the walls and pouring through the ravaged gate.
Deep in the underground, dwarven scouts are trying to lead survivors to safety through the bowels of the mountain. The paths are not safe, or fast, and it is slow going. They need time.
In the forecourt of the keep, four dozen dwarves hide in the wreckage, hoping to slow the progress of the orc invaders. It is the only way to protect those fleeing below.
Kif grips his axe tight. The noxious fumes of a lingering poison cloud, harmless but still irritating to the eyes, hang in the air. A gash above his ear is still oozing blood, and his legs and shoulders ache from the strain of two days of fighting from the castle walls. The orcs are coming.
Kif, what's going through your mind?
Kif looks at the nicked edge of the old ax, scared from battle protecting his family and friends. Ahh my friend, we had some good times and you served well, and may yet serve again. As he stares off into the distance beyond the blade he remembers the last bits of fear fading away, replaced by a grim determination that, no matter what may come he will do his best to buy the folks below time to get away. As he waited for the moment to go he remembers seeing across the courtyard a young cousin, Fozoc, crushed under some fallen masonry, lifeless eyes looking forever into the sky. He promises himself the attacking orcs will pay dearly. He isn't sure how he survived the following attack, but the memory of the heaps of orcs and other vermin cut down on dwarf blades until they were fighting standing on the bodies of their green skinned foes will forever be there
As the vision clears and he returns to the basement room he sees, for a fleeting moment, the face of Føpé blends with the face of Fozoc. He shakes his head a bit, realizing that this party, for better or worse, is becoming closer than a group of adventurers and he's really starting to care for these folks.
He puts the old ax aside with reverence and inspects the blade of the new ax, Reejarim. Well done, new friend, let see if we can carve our way out of this shithouse and get Ireena where she needs to go
Kif chuckles to himself and with a few passes of the sharpening stone brings the edge of his new ax to a murderous shine
So, Føpé, that chain shirt anything you can use? Gives you a nice edge I might like to carry one of those healing potions...a little bactine goes a long way sometimes, and a lantern might be handy, does it have fuel in it...might be better than a candle on the forehead
Ireena, how are you doing...I don't thing any of us expected this sort of delay but it's hard to resist the call for help from children
No, no. That was close, but not quite it.
Sure, the party members can carry on with their short rest, including you. And you can even talk to them, as you are, so that the group's story may go on.
But you are also here with me until I say otherwise.
Now, Kif. I ask you again. The smoke is swirling around you; the acrid fumes of poisonous fog still fill the air. You and four dozen of your comrades hide in this ruined battlefield, just trying to buy a little bit of time for the survivors down below to escape - maybe - into the Underdark, and hopefully come out the other side. Two hundred orcs, maybe more, are penetrating the forecourt; climbing over the walls and streaming through the broken gate.
You are bleeding and sore. You have spent one and a half days in this courtyard and on that breached wall defending this place.
What, Kif, is going through your mind, as you crouch behind this boulder?
Fope, you are free to respond to Kif.
What's happening here is I am capturing a vision he had - in this case, a flashback - before he came back to himself to check in with Fope and Ireena. The group's story can carry on independently from these little vision quests, but I do want to keep them moving in case something happens in the vision that effects game play. So if I tag you, please try to respond as soon as you reasonably can.
Also, while Kif and I narrate his flashback, you guys should be figuring out how to split up the goodies from the chest.
Sorry, I overlooked that this was mixed in with the rest. This is what I was looking for, pretty much.
The pounding of armored feet comes closer. The gate is also getting torn down; Kif can hear it.
The orcs come pouring across the forecourt. With the blast of a warhorn, the dwarven commander - a young dwarf with a patchy black beard, named Rindenhar - signals it's time to fight. Kif, with the vision of Fozoc seared into his eyes, comes rushing out from behind the boulder with this same axe. Two, three, four, five orcs go down beneath him! He is fighting like a champion; his aches and pains forgotten. He is awash in blood; some of it his, some of it his enemies'. The iron smell of it fuels his spirit.
There are too many, though. Simply too many orcs. As Kif stands on the path between the gate and the keep, he sees the orcs have pulled open the gate far enough that they have gotten some kind of battle wagon through it. The keep walls behind him, and the keep's own gate, will surely fall sooner if this covered wagon gets through. Kif stands, waiting for the goblin slaves pulling the wagon to begin their approach. They do.
Kif swiftly circles around the boulder where he had been hiding, moments earlier. He rubs the sweat and blood from his eyes and waits. Once the wagon is close enough, he sprints the long way around the boulder and comes up behind it. He goes underneath the wagon, smashing at the rear axle until it finally cracks. The enormous underside gives way and collapses, faster than Kif expected, and he is not able to get out. The broken timbers groan and break all around him as he crouches and hopes for the best. Something snaps nearby, a crate from inside the cart tips over, and he is knocked unconscious inside the wreckage.
Hours later - after the keep has fallen; after some dwarves have escaped (perhaps) into the Underdark; after the orcs have already scoured the battlefield, and apparently overlooked him - Kif wakes up. He climbs out of the wreckage and slips through the shadows, still clinging to the axe, and he creeps away into the nearby hills. It was a terrible day, though what haunts him through that night, as he climbs over the ridges and down through the valleys, is something he has never disclosed to anyone since: Just at the last, under that cart, in the blink of an eye as he felt the blow that would knock him unconscious, he had a vision. In a field of charcoal gray smoke, two yellow eyes - catlike, maybe serpentlike; definitely not orcish or familiar from anywhere else - opened, and stared right into his soul.
Kif finds himself back in the room occupied by his companions and the erstwhile former Mr. Elisabeth Durst.
Nice
So folks, mind if I carry one of those healing potions, I've got one from the travelers already. then I say we should move onward
Thank you for being an excellent guinea pig. I knew you would do it justice. Who knows when you may have another little moment, or perhaps one of your colleagues will.
Each of the three of you take one potion. That leaves one healing potion, the flask, the chain shirt, the cloak, the lantern, and odds and ends. Someone sort it all out and you guys can tweak as needed.
I recommend at least you sort out who is getting the chain shirt, if anyone. Beyond that we can just wing it.