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[Game On] Planescape
Goumindong
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
Take a litle walk to the edge of town
Go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you're never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with
a red right hand
You'll see him in your nightmares,
you'll see him in your dreams
He'll appear out of nowhere but
he ain't what he seems
You'll see him in your head,
on the TV screen
And hey buddy, I'm warning
you to turn it off
He's a ghost, he's a god,
he's a man, he's a guru
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
his red right hand
--Heard on the Streets of Sharn, two days before the Thrane invaded Karrnath over the Rekkenmark.
In Khorvaire, the elites in society have always been insulated from the horror and pressure of war. Responsibility is a mantle taken up only by the poor and the good. The Last War came to a close two years ago, yet even with such devastation so recent on the horison, talks of war, expansion, "aggressive negotiations" were spreading between the powers that moved the states. The Silver Flame was the first to strike, claiming the Karrnathi undead armies were not only an abomination upon the earth, but a threat to the security of the world that no longer has the indentured might of the warforged to fallback on.
Before the light, in the early morning on Mol, the third day of Zarantur of the 998th year since the founding of the Kingdom, a number mages stand at the ready at a bridge once the symbol of peace and cooperation, murmuring incantations. Walls of stone spring from the ground, filling the gap, returning the structure to working order. Hidden by illusionary terrain a brigade of the nations finest Paladins mounted on magebread warhorses charges accross the gap, overunning the few gaurds on duty. Ten dismount at the small barracks housing the garrison and quickly slaughter the men inside. No message is sent, no call given, the operation has been a complete success. General Infantry start moving accross the bridge to make camp and begin the march to the entirely unprepared city that is waking up as any other day. Today, there is an army descending upon it. The city is seized without a fight, though not before word is sent via signal to Karth of the assault. Kaius III, orders his forces in the south mobilized to protect the capital, the battalion at Vulyar does not heed the call.
Elsewhere, a halfling is discovering that not all of the dragons in the Boneyard are dead, a Gnome, head of the great Library at Korranberg is being murdered, and three Raksasha scheme around the broken table of Hjjthur in Ashtakala. Strapped to the table is a hapless man, caught in his lust for the riches of the Demon Wastes. His limbs have been branded with the names of the four remaining kingdoms, Breeland, Karrnath, Thrane, and Aundiar. The largest of the Rakhsasha stands and draws a long concave blade. The blade falls and Breeland is severed from the man. "Itsss mine" he purrs as the man screams, the magic of the table keeping him alive and concious. "Fine" another replies, "I will take Aundair". In Sharn, a high ranking member of the house Cannith looses a valuable heirloom in a game of cards that had worked its way through the night and into the morning. And deep in a cave along the southern border of Karrnath, waste deep in zombies, two men, one beast, and one machine face down the Lord of the Blades.
The cave had been constructed to hold the Karranthi zombies while not needed, though none of them remain in undeath anymore. What were finely constructed and cared for barracks complete with reck rooms, parlors, gambling halls, armories, and libraries were now a crumbling husk, waiting for the fires to burn through the rest of the supports and collapse the structure. In the main hall, standing beside a roulette table which sits in front of the pit cage, stood the Lord, a seven foot tall behemoeth adorned with adamantine spikes and a single rune atop his forehead, which read 3 in the common tongue, a strange occurance for the golem men created in the last war. In his right hand, he held a glittering double bladed sword covered in the gore of zombies and the thick black blood that sits stagnant in their veins. Chain to the table is an old man, obviously sedated. He is wearing a simple brown smock and has no hair upon his body. The left side of his forehead has been caved in, the skin and bone long healed over.
"Its time brother" The thrid speaks as you approach through the bodies, "we will be recognized and marked", and moves in front of the table. He is about 50 feet from the group, and the terrain counts as difficult with non-restricting obstacles in every other square [balance DC 20 to ignore the obstacle movement penalty, you may only attempt after moving over one obstacle]
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"It's going to take me forever to get across this room if this comes to a fight." He mutters the words to Jorgan as quietly as he can.
Flames spread and lick across the blade of the guisarme.
The horn must be three feet tall and, if it were spread lengthwize, at least 10 feet long. It wraps around his arm making him seem like a one man band. The horn is red and ridged in an ovular shape, most strangly for such an instrument. He blows a deep sonorous note.
And the man on the table wakes up, as the warforged labeled three steps in front of the table.
That doesn't seem right at all.
"At all." He rather surprises himself by speaking aloud.
"Not right at all."
Crushmetal charges forward -- and realizes that he's moving about as fast as oil flowing uphill in midwinter.
You only get a suprise round before battle starts, so one attack.
The arrow flies true, and hits, with a dull thud, into the woodwork of the newcomer, who seems entirely unphased despite the obvious damage. [P.S. roll Damage whenever you do rolls, makes it easier for me]
Roll iniative.
(( This will be the only time I roll a higher initiative than jdark over the course of this game.
The warforged in the back raises the horn filled with blood above his head and then blows. The Blood inside bubbles and pops, spilling over the edges. Despite the mess, the horn still manages to resonate with a beautifully haunting and concordant sound.
Crushmetal/Joran/Warforged= Order from now on[the forged have taken their actions this turn.
Newcomer has full cover, you can attack the spikey guy with the double bladed sword if you wish at the same numbers though.
The warforged begins to advance, kicking the bodies of those zombies he had defeated earlier out of the way like flotsom.
[He is 15 feet from the two of you now]
The newcomer, continues to blow the horn. He turns the dagger around in his hand so that it now sticks up with his thumb.
5 ft from you.
Attack Roll: 26
Damage Roll: 4 + 7 = 11 ((<-- forgot to add in the strength & weapon damage bonus to the rolls. Dur.))
A chunck of the warforged is ripped clean off by Crushmetals attack, it falls to the ground, inert clay as arrows rip past his head, one striking the newcomer under the left shoulder and the other streaking between the bars of the Pit.
The warforged stands at the ready, his double blade drawn back visciously while the newcomer jams the bone knife into the bubbling horn. A crack appears in the horn, and the blood begins to flow over the horn and the warforged in an intricate purple red hue that seems to sparke.
Attack roll = 27
Damage roll = 10 + 5(fire)
Opposed Trip: DC 16
The arrows released by Jorgan streak wildly at the newcomer as the ornate lines dance about his body. And he stands fully in awe of the transformation taking place
At about the same time, the body of the alter begins to change. All life having passed out of it, the typical shapeshifter transformation has started to occur. The body grows dull red scales and expands in size to that of a large cow or hippogrif. Wings and talons form, tearing the facade away and revealing the ever growing body of a red dragon.
"Umm -- should we even be fighting these guys, Jorgan? I mean ... they just killed a Dragon."
Crushmetal brings his guisarme around, ready to attack if the warforged moves again.
((EDIT: Fixed! Cancelled the attack, but went through with the trip. Crushmetal is ready to attack if there's a hostile action from the nearby warforged -- who may or may not be prone, pending the results of the counter-trip.))
As the arrows streak towards the newcomer, he dissapears in a tacky two dimensional television fade out. Leaving a grey-white blob where he was standing.
The grey-white blob begins to expand and engulf the now fully transformed dragon, which also dissapears in a tack two dimensional television fade out. You find yourself anchored to the spot, and then, as the blob gets towards you, you feel a tug on the inside of your guts[if you happen to have guts that is]. Everything goes black as the ground falls out from underneath you, and then you are squeezed quite uncomortably though something of undeterminable size and complexion.
When you come to, however long it might have been, you can see a steel sky above you, and a long flat steel expanse below you, that you seen to be floating on. If you stood, you would notice the ground below you was certianly not visible, and the horision was a flat line.
Not far from you stands three men, each dressed in a robe, one green and earthy, one red and dull, and one blue and silvery. They are standing around and looking down into the steel expance below them with their backs to you. The red one turns towards the blue one with his hand extended and the blue one responds, "I guess you were right Mortimer, here you go, one copper piece".
As the piece falls from his hand to the awaiting red, the green and earthy man steals it out of the air(? Is it air?) with great speed and agility, then points towards you two. "Its not over yet, there still is a hope for the divine hand"
The two turn and look at you, their eyes seem catlike and peircing. "Really?" they say in unison, one with hope, and one with disgust. They look expectant.
Crushmetal's head swung slowly back and forth between the empty space where the enemy Warforged had been lying to the hooded newcomers.
There had been, if he remembered correctly, a Dragon somewhere around here. Somewhere.
He said the most constructive thing that came to mind: "Errrrmmm...."
On second thought, Jorgan seemed to have things well in hand. Crushmetal shut his giant metal mouth and moved toward his friend.