One moment you are surrounded be screaming crowds and bright lights, and the next you find yourself in a bare stone room as the game mages transport you to the predetermined dungeon along with three other rival gladiator teams. Your task is simple: outwit, ourfight, and outsurvive your opponents to claim the gold crown and earn the name of champion.
Once again Perry finds himself drawn to the Gladiatorium, this time however, was not for money. He had more than he'd ever need. Already having spent some of his winnings on finer clothes and properly crafted equipment, he was living a better life than he thought imaginable. With much left to spare.
The return visit this time around was to join his previous compatriots in the ring to defend their title and crown. A task Perry thought more than possible as they had already worked together before as the Blood Sharks and won. This would be no different.
Appearing in the bare room, Perry smiles as he reaches for his lute and pulls a few strings. "The champions once known as the Blood Sharks return to defend their crown. But things are much different for the seasoned fighters this time around. Where once they were babes unsure of each other. Now they've formed Chimera arms in arms and brother to brother"
The monk would throw the lute over his back and produce a potion with a clear liquid that floats at the top of its container and has cloudy white impurities drifting in it.
Upon materializing in the bare stone room, a slow, malicious smile begins to form across the tusked visage of Dagon gro-Malog. The half-orc marauder suddenly, dramatically, throws his head back and howls a primal war cry that rings with the promise of savage brutality and remorseless delight at the prospect of shedding blood once more. The warrior laughs once his roar is expended but it is a dark sound, more full of menace than mirth, then he turns his dark eyes upon the familiar figures of his companions.
"Pack mates..." The half-orc begins, his grim smile still adorning his visage, "It is good to hunt with you again. We four beasts, united into a common monstrosity, are the embodiment of the Chimera itself. Let the ancestors of our foes weep and wail to their weak Gods for mercy, for our prey will find none of this plane of existence."
As Dagon speaks his team can see that while the marauder looks very much as he did before, his hulking form adorned with rugged furs and skins and grizzly bone trophies, the same tribal warpaint tattoo'd to the flesh of his face, neck arms and hands and his heavy mantle of black hair worn in chunky braids and dreadlocks, there are a few minor differences as well. His black eyes are rimmed with kohl, making them seem to stand out even more dramatically against his grey/green flesh. In addition to his familiar enormous greataxe, the warrior now carries a quiver of javelins across his back, and a satchel at his side jingles with the sound of traps, caltrops, and other assorted tools of hunting and killing.
As Kic flies around the room getting a lay of the land, Dagon lifts his head and sniffs the air in his animalistic manner. Still smiling he turns to his companions, "Do you smell that, pack mates? I do. It is uncertainty, it is desperation, it is the smell of those who know the alpha stalks at their heels. It is fear." The half-orc chuckles ominously, "It smells delicious."
This time, Humphry wasn't so startled as he was transported in a flash into the dungeon. A euphoric confidence had encompassed his being. How he had increased his abilities, and gained wealth unlike anything he had ever seen from his team's previous foray, and that same end in this latest challenge was no less than predetermined. From his pack, the gnome puled out a small piece of leather, and, with a flourish of arcane gestures, he slapped the leather to his chest casting Mage Armor. A shimmering silhouette of magical energy emanated from the spell component and rapidly surrounded his tiny frame. With another sweeping gesture, an additional dim aura suddenly apparated around him but faded away within a few seconds. The gnome's affinity with abjuration had apparently allowed him to channel a residual portion of his magic into an arcane ward. Putting the leather back into his component pouch, Humphry turned to face the rest of his party, and with a grim simile, a gravelly inflection returned to his voice, "Well. Shall we?" (Mage Armor as a non concentration spell sets Humphry's AC to 16, and his arcane ward gives him 9 temp hit points until his next long rest)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Chugging back the potion of flying Perry would start to float just an inch off the ground. The empty glass vial going back into his pack before grabbing the long bow, smile still plastered to his face. "Kic, Dagon, Humphry! Let us." A glance given about the room.
You stand in a small, square stone room. A wooden portcullis in the north wall is the only exit, and above it someone or something has scrawled "ran out of swords" in blood. Spirals of black stones cover the floor.
The Dungeon: The dungeon was created centuries ago by dwarven miners, who later abandoned it under mysterious circumstances. The walls are made of smooth stone, and the floors were once beautifully crafted of flagstone but are now cracked. There is very little natural illumination, requiring either darkvision or a light source.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Following Kic over to the portcullis, Dagon will glance at the strange scrawling on the wall and frown darkly, snorting under his breath. "Ran out of swords? Written in blood. A lament? A warning? A fool's poor choice of last words, perhaps?"
While his Aarakocra companion continues his investigating of the portcullis, the half-orc will do some inspecting of his own regarding that strange message. He looks around the cracked flagstone floor for any signs of a battle; scuff marks on the stone, dried blood, bits of fabric or material that might have been sheared off. The marauder also takes a closer look at the blood itself, hoping to discern by it's color and dryness how long ago it might have been written.
Perception Check, looking for signs of a recent fight and how fresh the blood on the wall is:24
A glance would be given to Humphry as the gnome begins to focus a spell. "Seems he needs a moment." Perry gestures then makes his way over toward the portcullis, ready to help Dagon lift it if the help is needed.
The half-orc spends a moment looking at the portcullis, remembering from their last bout just how heavy these contraptions constructed by the civilized stone-dwellers actually were. The marauder frowns and mutters in his pigeon language beneath his breath, but seeing Perry come to his aid in forcing the barrier open elicits a grateful grunt and a nod of appreciation from Dagon. The hulking warrior cracks his knuckles loudly, flexes his fingers a few times, then squats down and gets a good grip on the portcullis itself. He lowers his chin, whispers a quiet plea to his ancestors for strength, and then with a rumbling growl that sounds like boulders crashing against each other the half-orc begins to lift. The muscles of his thighs and arms bulge tremendously with the effort, but still growling and snarling like a feral predator, Dagon refuses to relent and heaves with all his might.
Strength Check:16
Didn't know if I should do Strength or Athletics, so I figured I'd play it safe and assume the lower modifier. Athletics is +5 and Strength is +3.
Dagon and Humphry's combined strength is enough to push the door up just enough to jam a loose rock beneath, creating an opening barely two feet in height.
Perry pushes his weapons under the portcullis and follows behind Humphry as he crawls under. Once through, he'd take a moment to dust off his expensive clothing and rearm himself as he glances around.
Perception: 3
"Bring that light forward Kic, I can't see a thing..."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Dagon wastes no time in following his companions, tucking and sliding beneath the raised portcullis as quickly as he can. He gives the barricade a dark side-eye'd glance once on the other side, and just for good measure, he hawks a glob of phlegm on the obstruction. "Stone-dwellers and their cursed contraptions..." The half-orc mutters to himself before trailing off into a quiet litany of curses in Giant.
Seeing his pack mates already busily checking out the room in which they now find themselves however, Dagon will likewise begin investigating their new environment. He lifts his nose and begins sniffing the air aggressively, and he steadies his breathing in order to try and listen very carefully to anything that might catch his attention.
Perception Check, attempting to smell or hear anything besides Dagon's party members:11
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
It does not take an expert hunter to realize that there is a low, heavy breathing sound coming from the room across from you. When the creature rears it's majestic head, you recognize it for what it is. A silver dragon wyrmling.
One moment you are surrounded be screaming crowds and bright lights, and the next you find yourself in a bare stone room as the game mages transport you to the predetermined dungeon along with three other rival gladiator teams. Your task is simple: outwit, ourfight, and outsurvive your opponents to claim the gold crown and earn the name of champion.
These usurpers will not take your crown.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Kic will fly up and around searching the room. Perception: 19
"Time to defend the crown gents."
Once again Perry finds himself drawn to the Gladiatorium, this time however, was not for money. He had more than he'd ever need. Already having spent some of his winnings on finer clothes and properly crafted equipment, he was living a better life than he thought imaginable. With much left to spare.
The return visit this time around was to join his previous compatriots in the ring to defend their title and crown. A task Perry thought more than possible as they had already worked together before as the Blood Sharks and won. This would be no different.
Appearing in the bare room, Perry smiles as he reaches for his lute and pulls a few strings. "The champions once known as the Blood Sharks return to defend their crown. But things are much different for the seasoned fighters this time around. Where once they were babes unsure of each other. Now they've formed Chimera arms in arms and brother to brother"
The monk would throw the lute over his back and produce a potion with a clear liquid that floats at the top of its container and has cloudy white impurities drifting in it.
Upon materializing in the bare stone room, a slow, malicious smile begins to form across the tusked visage of Dagon gro-Malog. The half-orc marauder suddenly, dramatically, throws his head back and howls a primal war cry that rings with the promise of savage brutality and remorseless delight at the prospect of shedding blood once more. The warrior laughs once his roar is expended but it is a dark sound, more full of menace than mirth, then he turns his dark eyes upon the familiar figures of his companions.
"Pack mates..." The half-orc begins, his grim smile still adorning his visage, "It is good to hunt with you again. We four beasts, united into a common monstrosity, are the embodiment of the Chimera itself. Let the ancestors of our foes weep and wail to their weak Gods for mercy, for our prey will find none of this plane of existence."
As Dagon speaks his team can see that while the marauder looks very much as he did before, his hulking form adorned with rugged furs and skins and grizzly bone trophies, the same tribal warpaint tattoo'd to the flesh of his face, neck arms and hands and his heavy mantle of black hair worn in chunky braids and dreadlocks, there are a few minor differences as well. His black eyes are rimmed with kohl, making them seem to stand out even more dramatically against his grey/green flesh. In addition to his familiar enormous greataxe, the warrior now carries a quiver of javelins across his back, and a satchel at his side jingles with the sound of traps, caltrops, and other assorted tools of hunting and killing.
As Kic flies around the room getting a lay of the land, Dagon lifts his head and sniffs the air in his animalistic manner. Still smiling he turns to his companions, "Do you smell that, pack mates? I do. It is uncertainty, it is desperation, it is the smell of those who know the alpha stalks at their heels. It is fear." The half-orc chuckles ominously, "It smells delicious."
This time, Humphry wasn't so startled as he was transported in a flash into the dungeon. A euphoric confidence had encompassed his being. How he had increased his abilities, and gained wealth unlike anything he had ever seen from his team's previous foray, and that same end in this latest challenge was no less than predetermined. From his pack, the gnome puled out a small piece of leather, and, with a flourish of arcane gestures, he slapped the leather to his chest casting Mage Armor. A shimmering silhouette of magical energy emanated from the spell component and rapidly surrounded his tiny frame. With another sweeping gesture, an additional dim aura suddenly apparated around him but faded away within a few seconds. The gnome's affinity with abjuration had apparently allowed him to channel a residual portion of his magic into an arcane ward. Putting the leather back into his component pouch, Humphry turned to face the rest of his party, and with a grim simile, a gravelly inflection returned to his voice, "Well. Shall we?" (Mage Armor as a non concentration spell sets Humphry's AC to 16, and his arcane ward gives him 9 temp hit points until his next long rest)
Chugging back the potion of flying Perry would start to float just an inch off the ground. The empty glass vial going back into his pack before grabbing the long bow, smile still plastered to his face. "Kic, Dagon, Humphry! Let us." A glance given about the room.
Perception: 17
You stand in a small, square stone room. A wooden portcullis in the north wall is the only exit, and above it someone or something has scrawled "ran out of swords" in blood. Spirals of black stones cover the floor.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
The Dungeon: The dungeon was created centuries ago by dwarven miners, who later abandoned it under mysterious circumstances. The walls are made of smooth stone, and the floors were once beautifully crafted of flagstone but are now cracked. There is very little natural illumination, requiring either darkvision or a light source.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Kic will produce the flame on the end of his staff as usual and head over to the portcullis looking for a mechanism to lift it or traps.
Perception: 23
Following Kic over to the portcullis, Dagon will glance at the strange scrawling on the wall and frown darkly, snorting under his breath. "Ran out of swords? Written in blood. A lament? A warning? A fool's poor choice of last words, perhaps?"
While his Aarakocra companion continues his investigating of the portcullis, the half-orc will do some inspecting of his own regarding that strange message. He looks around the cracked flagstone floor for any signs of a battle; scuff marks on the stone, dried blood, bits of fabric or material that might have been sheared off. The marauder also takes a closer look at the blood itself, hoping to discern by it's color and dryness how long ago it might have been written.
Perception Check, looking for signs of a recent fight and how fresh the blood on the wall is: 24
While his teammates are searching around, Humphry will begin casting Detect Magic as a ritual, taking 10 minutes.
Kic is unable to find any mechanism which would aid in the raising of the portcullis. As it was last year, it will come down to brute strength.
Dagon determines that the blood is years old, and it peels off the wall in faded brown flecks at a touch.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
A glance would be given to Humphry as the gnome begins to focus a spell. "Seems he needs a moment." Perry gestures then makes his way over toward the portcullis, ready to help Dagon lift it if the help is needed.
The half-orc spends a moment looking at the portcullis, remembering from their last bout just how heavy these contraptions constructed by the civilized stone-dwellers actually were. The marauder frowns and mutters in his pigeon language beneath his breath, but seeing Perry come to his aid in forcing the barrier open elicits a grateful grunt and a nod of appreciation from Dagon. The hulking warrior cracks his knuckles loudly, flexes his fingers a few times, then squats down and gets a good grip on the portcullis itself. He lowers his chin, whispers a quiet plea to his ancestors for strength, and then with a rumbling growl that sounds like boulders crashing against each other the half-orc begins to lift. The muscles of his thighs and arms bulge tremendously with the effort, but still growling and snarling like a feral predator, Dagon refuses to relent and heaves with all his might.
Strength Check: 16
Didn't know if I should do Strength or Athletics, so I figured I'd play it safe and assume the lower modifier. Athletics is +5 and Strength is +3.
Dagon and Humphry's combined strength is enough to push the door up just enough to jam a loose rock beneath, creating an opening barely two feet in height.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Humphry scuttles under the door after successfully casting Detect Magic, and scans the area beyond the portcullis. Perception 10
Perry pushes his weapons under the portcullis and follows behind Humphry as he crawls under. Once through, he'd take a moment to dust off his expensive clothing and rearm himself as he glances around.
Perception: 3
"Bring that light forward Kic, I can't see a thing..."
Kic will swoop under the portcullis and fly around the new area trying to take in the room.
Perception: 18
Dagon wastes no time in following his companions, tucking and sliding beneath the raised portcullis as quickly as he can. He gives the barricade a dark side-eye'd glance once on the other side, and just for good measure, he hawks a glob of phlegm on the obstruction. "Stone-dwellers and their cursed contraptions..." The half-orc mutters to himself before trailing off into a quiet litany of curses in Giant.
Seeing his pack mates already busily checking out the room in which they now find themselves however, Dagon will likewise begin investigating their new environment. He lifts his nose and begins sniffing the air aggressively, and he steadies his breathing in order to try and listen very carefully to anything that might catch his attention.
Perception Check, attempting to smell or hear anything besides Dagon's party members: 11
It does not take an expert hunter to realize that there is a low, heavy breathing sound coming from the room across from you. When the creature rears it's majestic head, you recognize it for what it is. A silver dragon wyrmling.
Initiative: 8
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash