Gwin whistles under her breath when she sees Rixton's arrows hit their target. She takes the short bow in hand and blows the wisps of black hair out of her face. Inhaling upon draw, and exhaling upon release, the little cleric lets her arrows fly one-by-one.
1. 9 2. 13 3. 25 4. 23 5. 23 6. 12 7. 25
Gwin winks in the direction of Rixton and says, Sometimes I let my arrows do the talking for me.
You will make three rolls: Athletics, Acrobatics, and CON (which reflects your character's ability to handle the alcohol). Be sure to include any modifiers.
Add the results of all three rolls together; then subtract that total from 100.
For those of you who prefer mathematical language, the process looks like this
100 – (Athletics check + Acrobatics check + CON check) = seconds to complete obstacle course (but I haven't figured out how to do this w/ the dice roller, unfortunately
Any two players or NPC’s who are tied and finish in the top three will compete again to break the tie.
Let's give this a try: 66
I wrote [ roll ] 100-(3d20+6) [ /roll ] where the +6 was equal to my three modifiers: +1, +1, and +4.
Gwin whistles under her breath when she sees Rixton's arrows hit their target. She takes the short bow in hand and blows the wisps of black hair out of her face. Inhaling upon draw, and exhaling upon release, the little cleric lets her arrows fly one-by-one.
1. 9 2. 13 3. 25 4. 23 5. 23 6. 12 7. 25
Gwin winks in the direction of Rixton and says, Sometimes I let my arrows do the talking for me.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Mola grins as the rules of the drunkard's run are explained to him. "Oh! Where I'm from we call thatSuneday!" He eagerly takes part, draining first the brandy glass with a bemused expression and then the pint glass. He then chats amiably with his fellow contestants, trying to follow the songs for the next ten minutes. Then it's time for the race, and he crouches down and nearly shifts into a horse, but thinks better of it and stays human. He tries to run straight but has some trouble with the obstacles.
Using MD's code: 47
Seeing Rixton and Gwin having fun with the archery and axe throwing contest, he tosses his hat in the ring, a bit wobbly.
Archery:
1. 19 2. 22 3. 17 4. 17 5. 16 6. 17 7. 24
Not performing at his peak, Mola decides that the worst that could happen in the axe throwing contest is that he gets to throw a few axes. One at each target, from scarecrow to apple.
Scarecrow: 16 Bale of hay: 12 Pumpkin: 12 Apple: 22
After the drinking, the running, the shooting, and the chucking, Mola catches his breath and also catches the eye of Rixton. "This could be going better. I think at this point I've got to try throwing a stone. I don't really want to catch the greased pig, but I sort of have to. Poor thing's probably terrified. Confused about why it's covered in grease and chased by lunatics."
He'll try the stone throwing, more out of curiousity, and also the pig catching. Before trying the last contest, he'll find a peaceful corner and ritually cast speak with animals and then approach, ready to convince the pig to come over to him for a nice big hug.
Look, all I mean is that it's annoying. Why is everyone so far up their own asses about keeping secrets?
The man ordered, as directed, a Moonshae Stout, but was disappointed at the news that others had already scattered and left. This man looked a terribly strange sight with his dark-blue shirt, brimmed hat, a set of the strangest ruby lenses hung on his nose, and an averly conspicuous owl perched on his shoulder. At the now-vacant table, he threw a few gold coins down for food and a steady stream of drinks to occupy the next hour or so. A few very concerned glances shot his way when he seemed to be carrying on a conversation with the owl while it shared liquor and ale in a small, extra cup.
"Look, I understand, I really do. We've seen enough to know why they have to have a secret handshake and favorite drink, but honestly... right, that was different though....well, if you hadn't squawked so damn loud, I wouldn't be short an earlobe..." The nonsensical conversations carried on for just over two hours, all the while this man gave friendly waves to those who stared long enough and matter-of-factly statements to those whose looks turned concerned
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Gwin hangs her head as she watches two contestants beat her impressive score. The first halfling twin and the silver-haired elf will face each other in a tie-breaker.
Jheric's night passed without too much incident, mostly a lot of odd stares. Luckily, he was at least given names and descriptions of the fellow Harpers he was tasked to work with. The following morning, he ate a bit of food from the inn, then made his way into the festival grounds. Despite his generally care-free demeanor among the celebrants, his eye was always looking out for his co-agents. On one hip, a large pouch carried a thick spellbook. On the other, a thin pouch with a fold-over flap. Within, he kept a small journal. All the most brilliant minds of the world could never retain everything that cross pass through their attention, and Jheric learned long ago that things worth remembering were worth writing down, no matter how well they clung to his memory.
Ah yes, Axe-Throwing; a barbarous pursuit, but very cathartic for physical gratification. It was never something Jheric enjoyed watching, but he enjoyed the sport of it. When the winners were announced, he immediately went to his notebook. Sure enough, description and name matched. Looks to be he found his first contact. He moved through the crowd, closer and closer to where winners were called and prizes given. "Excuse me, Rixton, was it? Do you have a moment for a question or two?"
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Ah well, Gwin thinks to herself, nothing ventured, nothing sprained.
Not interested in any of the other contests, she heads over to a busy tavern near the competition field where she happily enjoys a few ales and spirited conversation with the other onlookers (being sure to mention her adventuring group's pursuit of the Pikes as soon as Shieldmeet ends).
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The festive and, at times raucous atmosphere in and around the Imp's Delight continues as the day wears on. You can't help but wonder how much gold has been spent on strong drink and how much has been won and lost. For many who attend Shieldmeet, wagering on winners and losers seems to be the true sport.
The crowd smashes in on itself to gather around 40' by 40' enclosure that will host the greased pig catching event. As expected, the individual who catches the pig in the shortest amount of time will be declared the winner. There's a great deal of laughter from the crowd as contestants make fools of themselves by falling in the mud, crashing into the fence, and repeatedly coming up empty-handed.
Dice-rolling mechanics for the pig catching contest:
Using the script provided by MD (thank you!), you will determine how many seconds it takes to catch the pig. Inside the Unable to parse dice roll. tags, you'll put the following: 100-(3d20+X), where X = the sum of your three bonuses for stealth, acrobatics, and animal handling
The following brave souls step into the enclosure and chase the elusive porcine through the mud...
Wee gnome: 49
Halfling: 66
Happy half-orc: 80
Human teen: 68
Red-haired dwarf: 51
Silver-haired dwarf: 77
The wee gnome bows dramatically, hamming it up for the crowd that cheers and applauds loudly.
Rixtonstudies the man who approaches him. He appears to be a magic caster of some type, probably a wizard. His gaze at the man borders on the impolite. At length, he nods. "Certainly."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
High on his win from the axe-throwing competition but feeling the need to prove himself after a poor showing at the archery contest, Rixtondecides to enter the pig-catching contest. He strips down to a bare chest and his trousers. With a wicked smile, he begins the chase.
Rixton'stime: 56
Rixtontakes a different tack to many, approaching the pig slowly and quietly, staying out of its peripheral vision. The pig stays content in the corner for a long time before Rixtonsprings on it, latching his hands around its neck and left foreleg. In under a minute, he has secured the pig, putting himself in a tied spot for the lead.
Jheric smiles, his rosy lenses twinkling in the afternoon sun, "Excellent. First off, I understand you also enjoy Moonshae Stouts, is that correct? Such an rare drink, but it carries some strange undertones that are only known to the most refined tastes. As a fellow connoisseur I was sent to an inn nearby that happens to keep a special reserve. Secondly, what brings you to here? I know the Shieldmeet is a fascinating time, but I can say that if I found you by intention, it wasn't because we favor games and goddesses of chance." Jheric was a man of small frame but tall stature. His skin was a darker complexion, indicative of much hotter climates, and his short, black hair was slashed with traces of gray set in too early for his age. His dark-blue shirt was accented by a very conspicuous, rough-hewn crystal hung around his neck. His owl, though it drew more attention than one would like, never left his shoulder and he regarded it as normally as any other clothing.
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Jheric smiles, his rosy lenses twinkling in the afternoon sun, "Excellent. First off, I understand you also enjoy Moonshae Stouts, is that correct? Such an rare drink, but it carries some strange undertones that are only known to the most refined tastes. As a fellow connoisseur I was sent to an inn nearby that happens to keep a special reserve. Secondly, what brings you to here? I know the Shieldmeet is a fascinating time, but I can say that if I found you by intention, it wasn't because we favor games and goddesses of chance." Jheric was a man of small frame but tall stature. His skin was a darker complexion, indicative of much hotter climates, and his short, black hair was slashed with traces of gray set in too early for his age. His dark-blue shirt was accented by a very conspicuous, rough-hewn crystal hung around his neck. His owl, though it drew more attention than one would like, never left his shoulder and he regarded it as normally as any other clothing.
"Yes, you've found your man," Rixton says, still feeling full of himself from his axe-throwing win. "Have you a name? As for my intent, I've met a few such as yourself and we are forming a team. We have a lead on a possible rescue mission with which we might make a name for ourselves beyond a win or two at Shieldmeet."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
(Mola had also wanted to enter the stone throwing contest and the pig catching contest per my last post, if that's possible? He wanted to try casting speak with animals beforehand in an attempt to get it to want a hug. Happy to just roll straight (64) or if there's any other bonus from trying to talk to it, that's of course the DM's discretion!)
"Of course, where are my manners?" Jheric lays a hand on his chest, over the hung crystal, "I am called Jheric the Investigator. If there are more like us, I think it would be best to find a quiet place to speak. It's a bit too noisy here."
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Mola, a few minutes before he steps into the pig enclosure, softly utters a few words and makes a barely perceptible movement with his hand, casting Speak with Animals. The pig is released and begins to scurry about the pen, and Mola makes a bit of a show at trying to catch the little squealer before using his bit of divination to communicate with the beast. Moments later, Mola lifts the pig, (which seemed strangely compliant anyone to who was watching) high over his head.
Amid the cheers and applause, there were a few folks scratching their heads, but none suspected what had really happened. With a time of 39, Mola wins the contest!
The warmth of the day begins to dissipate slightly, and only a few hours of daylight remain when the stone-throwing contest begins. As is customary, the children participate first, much to the amusement of all in attendance. The contest is simple enough: each participant heaves three round, smooth stones of differing weights as far as possible. The distance of all three throws are added together to determine the winner.
Dice-rolling mechanics for the stone-throwing contest:
Your character's Strength (no modifiers) is used as a base score for each throw.
For the 1st throw, with the small stone, the distance is calculated as follows: (STR x 3) + Athletics check
For the 2nd throw, with the medium stone, the distance is calculated as follows: (STR x 2) + Athletics check
And for the final throw, with the largest of the stones: STR + Athletics check
You're welcome to make three different roles, and add suspense and commentary as you see fit, but I'll do only one roll for the NPC's, which I'm setting up like this, for example, for an NPC with Strength 13 and Athletics +1: [roll ]78+(3d20+3)[/ roll]
Bald-headed dwarf: 125
Happy half-orc: 129
Burly human #1: 129
Burly human #2: 115
Halfling twin #2: 102
Red-headed dwarf: 89
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Gwin whistles under her breath when she sees Rixton's arrows hit their target. She takes the short bow in hand and blows the wisps of black hair out of her face. Inhaling upon draw, and exhaling upon release, the little cleric lets her arrows fly one-by-one.
1. 9
2. 13
3. 25
4. 23
5. 23
6. 12
7. 25
Gwin winks in the direction of Rixton and says, Sometimes I let my arrows do the talking for me.
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
Let's give this a try: 66
I wrote [ roll ] 100-(3d20+6) [ /roll ] where the +6 was equal to my three modifiers: +1, +1, and +4.
Wow!
Edit: I count 63 points. Just edged out Rixton.
Mola grins as the rules of the drunkard's run are explained to him. "Oh! Where I'm from we call that Suneday!" He eagerly takes part, draining first the brandy glass with a bemused expression and then the pint glass. He then chats amiably with his fellow contestants, trying to follow the songs for the next ten minutes. Then it's time for the race, and he crouches down and nearly shifts into a horse, but thinks better of it and stays human. He tries to run straight but has some trouble with the obstacles.
Using MD's code: 47
Seeing Rixton and Gwin having fun with the archery and axe throwing contest, he tosses his hat in the ring, a bit wobbly.
Archery:
1. 19
2. 22
3. 17
4. 17
5. 16
6. 17
7. 24
Not performing at his peak, Mola decides that the worst that could happen in the axe throwing contest is that he gets to throw a few axes. One at each target, from scarecrow to apple.
Scarecrow: 16
Bale of hay: 12
Pumpkin: 12
Apple: 22
After the drinking, the running, the shooting, and the chucking, Mola catches his breath and also catches the eye of Rixton. "This could be going better. I think at this point I've got to try throwing a stone. I don't really want to catch the greased pig, but I sort of have to. Poor thing's probably terrified. Confused about why it's covered in grease and chased by lunatics."
He'll try the stone throwing, more out of curiousity, and also the pig catching. Before trying the last contest, he'll find a peaceful corner and ritually cast speak with animals and then approach, ready to convince the pig to come over to him for a nice big hug.
60 points for Mola, tying Rixton?
Look, all I mean is that it's annoying. Why is everyone so far up their own asses about keeping secrets?
The man ordered, as directed, a Moonshae Stout, but was disappointed at the news that others had already scattered and left. This man looked a terribly strange sight with his dark-blue shirt, brimmed hat, a set of the strangest ruby lenses hung on his nose, and an averly conspicuous owl perched on his shoulder. At the now-vacant table, he threw a few gold coins down for food and a steady stream of drinks to occupy the next hour or so. A few very concerned glances shot his way when he seemed to be carrying on a conversation with the owl while it shared liquor and ale in a small, extra cup.
"Look, I understand, I really do. We've seen enough to know why they have to have a secret handshake and favorite drink, but honestly... right, that was different though....well, if you hadn't squawked so damn loud, I wouldn't be short an earlobe..." The nonsensical conversations carried on for just over two hours, all the while this man gave friendly waves to those who stared long enough and matter-of-factly statements to those whose looks turned concerned
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
And for the axe-throwing contest...
Rixton wins this one handily
And for the drunkard's run, which seems to be overly represented by dwarves...
The happy half-orc, despite being a bit unsteady on his legs, grins ear to ear as he crosses the finish line first.
And for the archery contest...
Gwin hangs her head as she watches two contestants beat her impressive score. The first halfling twin and the silver-haired elf will face each other in a tie-breaker.
Jheric's night passed without too much incident, mostly a lot of odd stares. Luckily, he was at least given names and descriptions of the fellow Harpers he was tasked to work with. The following morning, he ate a bit of food from the inn, then made his way into the festival grounds. Despite his generally care-free demeanor among the celebrants, his eye was always looking out for his co-agents. On one hip, a large pouch carried a thick spellbook. On the other, a thin pouch with a fold-over flap. Within, he kept a small journal. All the most brilliant minds of the world could never retain everything that cross pass through their attention, and Jheric learned long ago that things worth remembering were worth writing down, no matter how well they clung to his memory.
Ah yes, Axe-Throwing; a barbarous pursuit, but very cathartic for physical gratification. It was never something Jheric enjoyed watching, but he enjoyed the sport of it. When the winners were announced, he immediately went to his notebook. Sure enough, description and name matched. Looks to be he found his first contact. He moved through the crowd, closer and closer to where winners were called and prizes given. "Excuse me, Rixton, was it? Do you have a moment for a question or two?"
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Ah well, Gwin thinks to herself, nothing ventured, nothing sprained.
Not interested in any of the other contests, she heads over to a busy tavern near the competition field where she happily enjoys a few ales and spirited conversation with the other onlookers (being sure to mention her adventuring group's pursuit of the Pikes as soon as Shieldmeet ends).
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
The festive and, at times raucous atmosphere in and around the Imp's Delight continues as the day wears on. You can't help but wonder how much gold has been spent on strong drink and how much has been won and lost. For many who attend Shieldmeet, wagering on winners and losers seems to be the true sport.
The crowd smashes in on itself to gather around 40' by 40' enclosure that will host the greased pig catching event. As expected, the individual who catches the pig in the shortest amount of time will be declared the winner. There's a great deal of laughter from the crowd as contestants make fools of themselves by falling in the mud, crashing into the fence, and repeatedly coming up empty-handed.
Dice-rolling mechanics for the pig catching contest:
The following brave souls step into the enclosure and chase the elusive porcine through the mud...
The wee gnome bows dramatically, hamming it up for the crowd that cheers and applauds loudly.
Rixton studies the man who approaches him. He appears to be a magic caster of some type, probably a wizard. His gaze at the man borders on the impolite. At length, he nods. "Certainly."
High on his win from the axe-throwing competition but feeling the need to prove himself after a poor showing at the archery contest, Rixton decides to enter the pig-catching contest. He strips down to a bare chest and his trousers. With a wicked smile, he begins the chase.
Rixton's time: 56
Rixton takes a different tack to many, approaching the pig slowly and quietly, staying out of its peripheral vision. The pig stays content in the corner for a long time before Rixton springs on it, latching his hands around its neck and left foreleg. In under a minute, he has secured the pig, putting himself in a tied spot for the lead.
Jheric smiles, his rosy lenses twinkling in the afternoon sun, "Excellent. First off, I understand you also enjoy Moonshae Stouts, is that correct? Such an rare drink, but it carries some strange undertones that are only known to the most refined tastes. As a fellow connoisseur I was sent to an inn nearby that happens to keep a special reserve. Secondly, what brings you to here? I know the Shieldmeet is a fascinating time, but I can say that if I found you by intention, it wasn't because we favor games and goddesses of chance." Jheric was a man of small frame but tall stature. His skin was a darker complexion, indicative of much hotter climates, and his short, black hair was slashed with traces of gray set in too early for his age. His dark-blue shirt was accented by a very conspicuous, rough-hewn crystal hung around his neck. His owl, though it drew more attention than one would like, never left his shoulder and he regarded it as normally as any other clothing.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"Yes, you've found your man," Rixton says, still feeling full of himself from his axe-throwing win. "Have you a name? As for my intent, I've met a few such as yourself and we are forming a team. We have a lead on a possible rescue mission with which we might make a name for ourselves beyond a win or two at Shieldmeet."
(Mola had also wanted to enter the stone throwing contest and the pig catching contest per my last post, if that's possible? He wanted to try casting speak with animals beforehand in an attempt to get it to want a hug. Happy to just roll straight (64) or if there's any other bonus from trying to talk to it, that's of course the DM's discretion!)
"Of course, where are my manners?" Jheric lays a hand on his chest, over the hung crystal, "I am called Jheric the Investigator. If there are more like us, I think it would be best to find a quiet place to speak. It's a bit too noisy here."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Stealth: 24
Mola, a few minutes before he steps into the pig enclosure, softly utters a few words and makes a barely perceptible movement with his hand, casting Speak with Animals. The pig is released and begins to scurry about the pen, and Mola makes a bit of a show at trying to catch the little squealer before using his bit of divination to communicate with the beast. Moments later, Mola lifts the pig, (which seemed strangely compliant anyone to who was watching) high over his head.
Amid the cheers and applause, there were a few folks scratching their heads, but none suspected what had really happened. With a time of 39, Mola wins the contest!
The warmth of the day begins to dissipate slightly, and only a few hours of daylight remain when the stone-throwing contest begins. As is customary, the children participate first, much to the amusement of all in attendance. The contest is simple enough: each participant heaves three round, smooth stones of differing weights as far as possible. The distance of all three throws are added together to determine the winner.
Dice-rolling mechanics for the stone-throwing contest: