The new forums will be named Coin Return (based on the most recent vote)! You can check on the status and timeline of the transition to the new forums here.
The Guiding Principles and New Rules document is now in effect.
[D&D 4e PbP] The Scarlet Brigade • Prologue: The Dragonborn Wars (IC)
Gideon
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
A Dungeons and Dragons Fourth Edition Campaign:
Hello, guys. I'm your DM. You may remember me from such adventures as "The horse is talking!" and "What was the dead hooker's name again?"
Before we officially start the story of the Scarlet Brigade, there are a few guidelines I'd like us to follow, for the sake of clarity and legibility.
First:
Second:
Third:
Any other stuff we'll work out when it comes up.
Dramatis Personæ:
Joseph Rochester:
A low-ranking officer in the Scarlet Brigade. Honourable, loyal, and ever-so-slightly out of his depth.
Malcolm Blackvein:
Plunderer of dungeons and maidens alike, drunkard and reprobate, the Scarlet Brigade's most powerful and least reliable magician.
Gracchus:
Volunteered when most were conscripted and has already built a reputation for brutality and pious devotion in equal measure.
Quest List:
Helpful Notes:
Hello, guys. I'm your DM. You may remember me from such adventures as "The horse is talking!" and "What was the dead hooker's name again?"
Before we officially start the story of the Scarlet Brigade, there are a few guidelines I'd like us to follow, for the sake of clarity and legibility.
First:
When I am speaking in-character as a DM (describing what you see, hear, feel) I will use standard white text. When I am giving you out-of-character instructions (like "Roll initiative now." or "You may need to use one or more of your skills when speaking with Lord Marwood.") I will do so in grey or in spoiler tags.
However, when I am speaking to you as an NPC, I will pick a colour and bold it, so you can easily tell when a character is talking. I suggest you do the same. For example:
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" No-one replies, but the Joker continues, "My father was a drunk, and a fiend..."
Sometimes both, like this!
However, when I am speaking to you as an NPC, I will pick a colour and bold it, so you can easily tell when a character is talking. I suggest you do the same. For example:
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" No-one replies, but the Joker continues, "My father was a drunk, and a fiend..."
Second:
If you want to ask about the difficulty (what you'd have to roll) of something you're considering, do it in the chat thread. Or, you know, on Facebook or by texting me or whatever. Point is, not in this thread. And if you guys want to strategize together out-of-character (I know quite often your characters won't be exactly a well-oiled machine of a team, but still...) it's not for this thread.
Third:
In combat I will provide the monsters' defenses (so you know whether you hit or not) but not their health. Equally, I won't show you your current health. Of course, you can add up the damage numbers yourself if you like, but I'll be using in-character description to give you information about the current status of your characters and of who-/whatever you're fighting. In addition, I'll be using "bloodied" (half hitpoints) and another thing I just made up, "battered" (quarter hit points) to let you know out-of-character how you're going.
Also, I'll be copying TiamatZ's layout for combat posts. It goes like this:
After you've described what's happened in-character, in spoiler tags, you should declare (out-of-character) what actions you are taking in orange text. The rolls should be in red bold text and linked to the Orokos roll. At the bottom of the post you should post who is up next, in brackets and size 3 font that is lime, and who is on deck. This is what your combat post might look like:
Also, I'll be copying TiamatZ's layout for combat posts. It goes like this:
After you've described what's happened in-character, in spoiler tags, you should declare (out-of-character) what actions you are taking in orange text. The rolls should be in red bold text and linked to the Orokos roll. At the bottom of the post you should post who is up next, in brackets and size 3 font that is lime, and who is on deck. This is what your combat post might look like:
"You seriously did what?" Larry Gopnik swings hard at Sy Ableman, connecting solidly with his jaw. "Fuck! My fucking hand!"
[Up Next: Reuben Cogburn] [On Deck: The Dude](or red for enemies)
Standard Action: Melee Basic Attack.
--> Attack Roll 1d20 + 4 = 20 + 4 = 24
--> Damage Roll 1d8 + 1 = 3 +1 = 4
Free Action: Yell about adultery, swear.
Move Action: Stand there.
--> Attack Roll 1d20 + 4 = 20 + 4 = 24
--> Damage Roll 1d8 + 1 = 3 +1 = 4
Free Action: Yell about adultery, swear.
Move Action: Stand there.
[Up Next: Reuben Cogburn] [On Deck: The Dude](or red for enemies)
Any other stuff we'll work out when it comes up.
Dramatis Personæ:
Joseph Rochester:
A low-ranking officer in the Scarlet Brigade. Honourable, loyal, and ever-so-slightly out of his depth.
Malcolm Blackvein:
Plunderer of dungeons and maidens alike, drunkard and reprobate, the Scarlet Brigade's most powerful and least reliable magician.
Gracchus:
Volunteered when most were conscripted and has already built a reputation for brutality and pious devotion in equal measure.
Quest List:
Current Quests:
Completed Quests:
None Yet.
Completed Quests:
None Yet.
Helpful Notes:
None yet.
Gideon on
0
Posts
An army is a city on the march.
During the months of this campaign the five thousand-strong column of Marshal Bartholomew and Brother Harbridge's army has swelled to double its original size and continues to grow. Now for every ten soldiers there is a blacksmith, a quartermaster, a priest, a serf, two peddlers, three whores, and a child. Another army of carters and merchants -- separate from the city-army and fighting their own battles (against bandits and creatures much stranger) -- bring the soldiers alone fifteen thousand pounds (over five hundred bushels) of wheat every day. One thousand pounds of barley the carters bring for the cavalrymen's horses. And then of course their horses need to be fed...
Initially ignored by command, the camp followers drew raids from roving Dragonborn warbands. Eventually the number of massacres visited upon civilians was deemed too large, and the Scarlet Brigade were ordered to provide cavalry support on the flanks of the baggage train. Since the army has begun in earnest to raze Dragonborn colonies and outposts, the raids have slowed and stopped.
As the army advances now toward the final fortress of the Dragonborn, marching order has broken down entirely. A feeling of jubilation and inevitable triumph pervades the column. Conscripts, volunteers, and the elite Scarlet Brigade alike all share in ecstatic celebration by day and by bright night, when the Light of the army's four-horsed obelisk throws down sharp shadows of every debauch and brawl.
As dawn creeps through the obelisk-lit sky, you three find yourselves toward the rear of the massive army-city. Soldiers and civilians are waking and packing their tents onto mules and wagons and their own backs, making ready for the day's march. Others have already begun, and move past the sluggardly and slothful, following the Light's glow as it crests the hill to the west. As they go, they sing marching-songs to the rhythm of cart-wheel and hammer and drum. Trumpets blare at the front of the column, where some of the Scarlet Brigade are still making a valiant attempt at formation. A man stabbed in the night screams at those passing, and the whores shush their babies, who cry as they go by.
It's going to be a long day.
OOC:
"Hair of the dog I suppose"
Malcolm swallows down his usual breakfast. He is about to get up, when he realises that something is missing.
"Patricia! Come here!"
Patricia, an almost too-young girl enters his magically enhanced tent. Malcolm pats his crotch.
"Here. Hop on. I've got soldiering to do today, so I am not getting out of bed until I've fucked someone."
In an instant, the light of the obelisk flashes across the mirrors cracked surface and into Joseph's eyes. He flinches and twists his head out of reflex, only to be met by a sharp pain as the blade catches his skin.
Swearing under his breath he splashes some the freezing water from the bucket at his feet across his face, the blood runs but he disregards it, cleaning instead the stains from the razor itself. He folds it carefully, and places it back in his pack where it belongs.
Around him the rabble of conscripts and mercanaries carelessly cram the last of their tents into their packs. Many depart without even quenching the still-glowing embers of their campfires. They stagger slowly up the western hill, many still drunk from the night before.
He looks at them with concern, it wasn't always like this.
"Keep an eye on them for me Joseph." the captain had said.
"Wear the Scarlet with pride, and even the worst of them will be proud to follow you."
Across from the tent a group of conscripts snigger at the drying blood on his neck.
He pretends to not notice, pulling his pack over his shoulder, ready to leave.
Not that this was a particulary rare occurance.
The evils of logistics had only become apparent to Gracchus when the sounds of his fellow crusaders rutting with unclean women like base animals filtered into his tent each night.
Ever a practical man, Gracchus sought a solution to this problem. Two broken wrists and one shattered nose had ensured the other soldiers kept a healthy distance from where he decided to make camp, and the filth ran their trade far his ears. But still he could feel the sin around him in his bones, and he woke each night with his knuckles white with unreleased rage.
He rose from his Spartan bedding, and removed a meticulously well preserved parchment from his pack. He recited the litany of cleansing, which the merchant assured him was indeed written there - willing himself to feel the lights unmitigated glory.
It had little effect. The sins of the world still followed him here, and had tainted the purity of his mission.
Gracchus began to ready himself for war. He badly needed to kill something.
"Keep the tent. I'll conjure up another."
He left without another word. The sun shone brightly, much to his disgruntle. The company was on the move. Malcolm stroked his horse tenderly. The air still smelt of the liqour and jubilation of the prior evening. He took a sip from his flask before spotting a knight templar nearby, readying his war horse. He had seen the man before, garbed in bruised yet thick steel.
"You there, tell me your name. I've downright forgotten it."
The name 'Blackvien' was one that few had not heard - and Gracchus had more reason that most to listen to the tales. The soceror of casual briliance, with power enough to reshape the world if only he had the ambition. A seductive rogue who called no man master.
The tales however never mentioned his apathy, disregard for others, or his substance abuse - a perpetual miasma of alcoholic vapour that heralded the weakness in the mans soul.
Not for the first time, Gracchus took solace in the fact that he bore little resemblance to the wielder of the Blackvein legacy.
"I am not surprised. The name my mother gave to me is Gracchus. You would do well to remember it."
Malcolm offers his flask to Gracchus.
"Let's drink to zealotry shall we?"
But he was right - he did take pride in his work. And it impressed him greatly that Malcolm had recognised the magnitude of his holy work.
"The mishapen beast taught me many things that night. I had no interest in hearing its heresy, and the body never lies. They feel pain as we do."
Gracchus took the flask from Malcolms hand.
"To duty."
Impossibly, the liquor tasted like strawberries.
The massive area of the campsite reeked of urine, alcohol and vomit. The scents that as a young man had typically heralded the coming of a morning spent waking up slowly, the dull pain of his hungover mind numbed by the warmth of a beautiful woman nestled soundly in the crook of his arm.
As the years had passed however, the dull pains gave way to sharp throbbing that lasted to the early hours of the evening, the company of each morning became more and more sporadic, until eventually the cost of the dawn far outweighed any enjoyment that an evening of dampened senses could possibly afford him.
Today it simply meant that he spent the morning rousing others from their groggy slumber. Throwing pails of icy water over heads of what he was told passed for a soldier these days. Dealing with their surly and often incomprehensible abuse.
All part of the job now, he supposed.
One last brisk gallop around the area that was his charge revealed only two stragglers, he recognised each by reputation alone.
The man in the obnoxious purple hat had swiftly developed a rapport with the common soldiers, different rumors circled the campfires each night. Many said the wizard had three different women in each town, none of them on a payroll of any description. Others said he could turn water into wine.
Of the steel clad templar they no longer spoke.
Joseph swallowed as he approached them.
"We're the last of them."
He forced a nervous smile, arms on his hips.
"What's say we catch up with the others?"
"Malcolm!... Mal-- sir, Mister Blackvein... It's you, isn't it? Please..."
Gritting his teeth, the man attempts to beckon Malcolm over.
"Im sorry. We have not met. Keep your calamities to yourself."
He had seen the man earlier on his rounds, but dismissed him as nothing more than a drunkard, the likes of which the army would not suffer by the loss of.
"By the light man, show some pity!"
Joseph jumps down from the back of his horse and falls to his knees beside the wounded man, carefully inspecting the wound.
Joseph:
To get more information about the wounds severity and/or to try to treat it, the Heal skill would be needed.
Joseph grabs the edge of his scarlet cape and tears it slowly down the side so as to make create a makeshift bandage.
"Now let's see what we can do about dressing that wound."
He grits his teeth and makes a silent prayer to the light. Another death on his conscience is something he could do without.
"Th-- that sonofabitch that, that fucker. Say the wizard'll kill the bastard who did it to me, please say... Say he'll, sir, say he'll kill the fucker, say he will please. Please."
Joseph:
You have successfully stabilised the dying man, but he is still sitting at 0HP and can't do much but lie there. In order to get him up and about, he'd need to receive healing from a power or a potion. Something that restores hit points.
"That asshole, he's from my unit. Scouts... y'know? Two of us, him an' me... we cleared out a guard post a couple days ago. We were dousing the inside-- I know we an't supposed to come into contact with 'em but..." He sighs and winces, "Course I had a look 'round... found one of 'em had gold pendants, like big flat tags. Gold! But then, then, last night, I saw him take 'em. Increasingly agitated, the stabbed man gestures violently and ineffectually with his left arm, causing blood to once again seep through his bandage. Noticing, Joseph catches his arm and calms him quickly.
"I tell him... I say leave them be and I'll pretend I an't seen him and we can be as before." The man takes a measured breath and closes his eyes. "He just looks at me like I'm not even-- like I'm nothing, like I'm one of them. Before I know it he's gone and I'm bleeding and the knife is in and out already too late. He never said a fucking word."
"Don't remember me, Malcolm, sir? I don't mind. Why should you remember when you meet everyone, 'cause everyone wants to meet you. But please do this for me... I want it to be you that does it. If it's you then him dying will mean something. People will remember. And please make 'em remember why."
"This war will make savages of us all it seems. Tell us where to find this rogue and I will make sure that he roasts for his crimes."
This is a suprisingly compassionate act for the wizard. The fact that solid gold pendants were said to be on the perpetrator's person surely has nothing to do with it...
With the effort of his plea and his explanation now behind him, the stabbed man finally lapses into unconsciousness in Joseph's arms. He is exhausted from blood loss, but breathes deep and even.
Gracchus looks at the wounded soldier with genuine compassion and camaraderie, seeing in him a martyr who had risked all in an attempt to protect the purity of the Brigade. His words are kind, and their softness adds a sinister edge to his promise of violence
"The unclean may find absolution in death, but for the heretic there can be no forgiveness, no salvation. You have acted to uphold the light, and seek holy vengeance. I will see your wishes done. I will watch this man burn."
Knowing that the light will allow the unconscious soldier to hear his vow, Gracchus inspects his weapons for the second time that day.
Slowly, Joseph stands and walks to his horse, rummaging through the saddle bag. He stops, his hand finding what it was searching for.
He returns to the man. Pity in his gaze, resting his head on his knees.
In a single swift motion Joseph flicks open his razor and slits the mans throat.
"We must move swiftly. I sincerely doubt brother Harbridge will be waiting for us."
Blood spurts from the severed artery in sickening, rhythmic bursts. The ground surrounding the wound is already stained a deep crimson, and the scent of blood is thick in the air. The hideous things that lurk at the edge of vision will not leave the body un-desecrated for long.
With his eyes fixed firmly on the lifeless body, Gracchus addresses Joseph's statement.
"Brother Harbridge is renowned for his relentlessness, not his speed. We have time to honour this man's sacrifice before the chaos claims his flesh."
To invoke the Light one must be capable of an exceptional level of single-mindedness. It requires extraordinary discipline to bar all thoughts but one from your mind, to focus all your will behind a single thought - a single concept, and to harness that immaterial power through the sheer force of your convictions. Doubt is poison to this process, and none is permitted among those who do the Light's work.
It is a talent to which Gracchus is singularly suited.
Standing above the body, and giving the oozing blood a respectful distance, Gracchus raises his hand. Gracchus had never learned the ancient tongue required to give last rights, and perhaps was incapable of doing so. But he was more than capable of dedicating his entire mind to the deceased, to guiding their ascension, to purifying their body - and to wielding that will as a corporeal force.
Light begins to emanate from Gracchus' hand. Softly at first, but growing brighter into a luminous ray of pure white light. He begins to speak, both a focusing aid and an ideological statement.
"Your actions, your blood have consecrated this place." Light begins to seep into the scout's body, gradually turning his skin to the colour of fresh milk. "May you be judged fairly for your actions." With a blinding flash, but no sound or heat, the body bursts into bright yellow flame. It takes only a short time to burn down, leaving no trace of the body. Only the blood remains.
Lowering his hand, Gracchus turns to Joseph.
"Let's go."
"Shit Joseph! I didn't know you had it in you."
His eyes betrayed this flippancy though with a twinge of sadness. The boy could have lived. His wounds were grave yes, but hardly fatal. The mechanical dispassion with which Joseph flicked the blade was more chilling to him than the ensuing gore. The wizard had killed many, but always in the name of gain or self preservation. This...This was just a waste.
Blackvein would never voice such things to any, except for perhaps one or two of his best whores. He did not like to think of such things. He euthanized the thoughts with a hefty swig from his flask...
"After you gentlemen."
Joseph sighs, weighing the dripping blade in his hand before finally discarding it with a toss.
"So we heal this man, be it through means magical or medicinal. He staggers alongside of us as we pursue the army caravan. He lives a while longer. We rejoin the Army, we refer him to those skilled enough to put him in a state of strength enough to fight, to defend himself. This I had hoped for."
He lifts himself to his feet
"But consider my position. The man was asking you to find and kill another soldier. So he rejoins the army and takes you to this man, Felix, what then? Surely a man who would kill another for his treasure is not going to admit his crimes to Harbridge himself? So are we to then administer some form of vigilante justice upon the bastard, with nothing but this poor fellows accusations to ride upon?"
There was a time when Joseph would have done just this, he is disgusted by his own words.
This man is asking you, Malcolm, to walk into a city of heavily fortified soldiers and fight this man to the death. He said himself he would only be satisfied with it happening one way, in front of the eyes of every soldier and mercenary! There would be riots amongst the soldiers. It would not be one man that would die. He would be condeming each of us, along with himself, to be executed by Harbridge's hand for treason! As a Scarlet officer I must uphold my duty. I cannot let that happen."
This man was dead before long before any of us found him. If you're going to kill the one responsible truly responsible, I ask that you do it quietly."
"Yes. He did ask that of me. And I will see it done."
Malcolm mounts his horse, drawing a cigarello and lighting it with a click of his fingers.
"So far this war has not been nearly as amusing as I thought. Let's find the bastard."
"Justice does not slink about shamefully like some crib house whore!" He screams at Joseph, his face alight with barely suppressed fury. "If this man will not confess his sin, then i will draw the truth from him."
Turning his back on Joseph Gracchus begins to move up the column, his footsteps laden with murderous intent.
"He will regret his crimes before the end."
Just ahead, you see that a quarry has been cut into the side of the hill. At its edge, a knot of people forms and doesn't disperse. As you watch, the group grows from a dozen to twenty, thirty, more.
Seeing you apporach -- a scarlet-clad officer, a legendary magician, and Gracchus -- the crowd widens to afford you a view of the show.
A heavyset man is speaking to a young woman, who looks up at him with one eye bruised shut, her face streaked with blood. "Why would I want to pay you, slut? You were goddamn lucky to have me!" He turns to the crowd, smiling wide. "Am I right? Poor thing just looked so lonely I had to give her a little..." the smile grows, "Company."
"Am I right?"
There are laughs and catcalls from the crowd, but some look uncomfortable. Even more look guiltily toward the three of you.
The man notices you. "Good morning, gentlemen! I hope you weren't looking for this one, I can't exactly recommend her." He turns back to the girl and grabs the front of her dress, pulling her to her feet. She stifles a sob.
"Besides, she seems to be a bit... broken. Not good for much now, really." With grinning ceremony, he drags the girl to the quarry and dangles her over the edge. The drop is sheer. "Perhaps we should just throw her away. Hm?"
"I mean, when all's said and done, gentlemen, she's just a little slut."
Miles back, the stabbed man's blood is lost to the dust and the sun, and things hunger and yowl as they approach.
The creature who held her was brutish, vile, drunk. Blackvein had almost gotten used to this bitter surge of hatred and disgust that threatened to overpower him. His father had taught him well in that regard.
He would have to simmer this, just for a time. Dismounting his horse he approaches the scene, taking some leisurely drags from his cigarello. His own words were to taste like poison to him.
"Surely friend there is more fun to be had! She looks good for a few cocks worth at least!"
Many in the crowd laugh. Malcolm swallows his fury.
"I think it's time the mighty Blackvein gave her a go. Pass her back this way. The slut still needs to earn her keep."
Roll:http://4e.orokos.com/roll/37807
Result: 1d20+8 = 21
"Malcolm Blackvein and his mighty wand!" He waits for the laughter to die down. "Or perhaps by now it's a staff? Believe me, I know how it is when all that magic is just bursting its way out of you, and the dirtiest little tramp..." He jerks the girl roughly back from the edge "...will do."
He drags the girl towards Malcolm, and stops several paces from the wizard. Surveying him, the man recognizes a fellow entertainer, a joker. A partner in performance.
"Malcolm, I am Varro, and it is a pleasure to meet you. As a token of my regard, I have a gift for you. Sadly, it's a little broken and I can't remember its name..." --someone shouts "Metella!"-- "...Marcella, right! But, poor as I am, I can give nothing more."
With that, he kisses the girl hard, and through scarlet lips mock-whispers, "I'm so sorry to part, my dear..." With a careless push, he throws her at Malcolm's feet.
As the girl lies shaking on the ground, finally safe enough to cry, Varro turns once again to the appreciative crowd. He bows a little.
He stands before Metella. She closes her eyes, her tears exhausted. Malcolm kneels down before her and softly takes her hand. Raising the girl to her feet, he gives her a single, tender kiss on the cheek. Varro and his followers look on, increasingly bewildered. Malcolm steps in front of the girl, shielding her and meeting her captor straight on.
"You...You're an animal who thinks it's a man."
Malcolm grabs Varro round the throat, his hands wreathed in blue flame.
"Fucking burn!"
With blazing, molten hands, Blackvein starts to choke the life out of him.
Roll:http://4e.orokos.com/roll/37871
Result: 1d20+7 = 15
Attack hits!
Damage: 12 (http://4e.orokos.com/roll/37875)
"Aagh, what the fuck?! What the hell, man?" Varro twists free of the wizard's scalding grip, the skin of his neck blistering and already turning black. He backs slowly away from Malcolm, teeth clenched, wary.
"What is she to you, anyway?"
A couple of thugs step out from the crowd. They'd been enjoying the show so far, and do not appreciate this cameo.
"A man who beats on a woman aint worthy of being called one. I'm going to roast you like the swine you are."
He addresses the crowd.
"You came here for sport?! To jest? Know now that Master Blackvein does not take violence towards the fairer sex lightly. If anyone finds themself opposed to this, kindly wait in line to die."
He draws his wand from its holster...
Gracchus remembered those lonely, destitute sobs. The black eye, the broken spirit and the irredeemable soul. Malcolms actions had brought them all to an honourable woman. There had been no desire to protect then, to champion the downtrodden. Malcolm had left without even the decency to clean up his own mess. The more he looked at her, the stronger the resemblance became. With every breath Gracchus could feel her bones snapping within his hands, and was appalled at how hard he had become.
The sluts sobs sent shivers down Gracchus' spine. By the light how he wished she would be silent...
Malcolm kisses the whore with a softness that physically sickens Gracchus, and absently he notes that parts of the crowd are turning hostile.
The weight of his hammer whispers promises of security and freedom from fear to Gracchus. And he is so very glad to have it by his side.
He had taken the wizard to be brash, impulsive, he now discarded these first impressions. This was a man who knew how to play his cards.
He suppresses a smirk as Malcolm strangles Varro and feels a twinge of something he hadn't felt for a recruit for some time.
Respect.
He looks upon the girl with pity. Poverty, a factor that Joseph had known only too well in his adolescent years, had taken it's toll. Necessity had caused her to forsake pride. He dismounts.
She was no lady, but men of scarlet had a strong tradition to uphold in such matters.
And so Joseph strides forward and bows to the girl on bended knee as he takes her hand in his.
"Milady. I am Joseph Rochester. Officer of the Scarlet Brigade, and it will be my honour to fight for you this day."
He stands and draws his halberd with a flourish.
There would be hell to pay for this, of that he was sure. Soldier of duty though he was, first and foremost, he was a soldier of the Scarlet Brigade.
And reputations must be upheld.
Results 1d20+3: 20 [1d20=17]
Thugs' average initiative: 11
"I heard you liked a good time, Malcolm? I thought everybody knew that! 'The fairer sex' -- hah! I suppose I expected the famous Malcolm Blackvein to be more than just a girly little spoilsport." He nods to the crowd, "I'm glad we're all here to witness the end of a legend."
"With three against two, this shouldn't be too difficult."
The charred skin on his neck has begun to peel off.
With a snarl, Varro strides back towards the wizard. Now it is he who grabs Malcolm, gripping the front of the tattered robes with his left hand.
"It's a nice trick you got. But I'll bet you never choked a man to death with those skinny hands."
He grunts, and with his right hand sends a punch deep into the wizard's gut. Malcolm groans and retches.
Enemy Actions:
Minor Action: Brutal Grab
--> Attack roll: 22 HIT!
--> Malcolm is grabbed! Escape DC 13 (Acrobatics or Athletics check).
Standard Action: Brawler's Punch
--> Attacks roll: 25 HIT!
--> Damage roll: 16 damage. Malcolm is bloodied!
Map (Round One):
Interesting Information:
The Vegetation: Squares of vegetation are difficult terrain (you cannot shift into one, and moving into one costs two squares of movement). They also offer cover against attacks from outside the vegetation.
The Quarry: The drop to the bottom of the quarry is 30 feet (20 cubits, in-game), and anyone falling down there will take 3d10 damage unless they are trained in Acrobatics. If someone is pushed over the edge, they get a saving throw to grab on before going over (in-game, they fall prone next to the edge). At squares I8-I9, a ladder was once cut into the rock face. Time has largely worn it away, though, so climbing up or down it requires a DC 10 Athletics check.
Status:
(G6) Joseph Rochester: AC 20; Fort 17, Reflex 13, Will 14; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(H5) Malcolm Blackvein: AC 15; Fort 12, Reflex 16, Will 16; Speed 6; Action Points 1.
-- Grabbed: Malcolm cannot move until he makes a DC 13 Acrobatics or Athletics check as a move action.
-- Bloodied!
(E7) Gracchus: AC 19; Fort 18, Reflex 13, Will 16; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(J6) Thug 1: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(K4) Thug 2: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(XX) Bystanders: AC 17; Fort 15, Reflex 13, Will 13; Speed 6.
-- Mob Rule: When two other Bystanders are within five squares, the Bystander gets a +2 bonus to all defenses
[Up Next: Joseph Rochester] [On Deck: Malcolm Blackvein]
Joseph marches up to Varro and brings the blunt end of his Halberd down across the man's neck.
Minor: Assume Hammer Hands Stance
Standard: Melee basic attack on Varro, instead of sending him back a space as per hammer hands rules, instead attempt to smack him to the ground in an effort to break his grip on Malcolm.
Results: 1d20+8 14 1d10+4 6
"Not making a very convincing case. If I drop him, how will I snap his skinny neck?"
Status:
(G6) Joseph Rochester: AC 20; Fort 17, Reflex 13, Will 14; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(H5) Malcolm Blackvein: AC 15; Fort 12, Reflex 16, Will 16; Speed 6; Action Points 1.
-- Grabbed: Malcolm cannot move until he makes a DC 13 Acrobatics or Athletics check as a move action.
-- Bloodied!
(E7) Gracchus: AC 19; Fort 18, Reflex 13, Will 16; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(J6) Thug 1: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(K4) Thug 2: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(XX) Bystanders: AC 17; Fort 15, Reflex 13, Will 13; Speed 6.
-- Mob Rule: When two other Bystanders are within five squares, the Bystander gets a +2 bonus to all defenses
[Up Next: Malcolm Balckvein, Gracchus] [On Deck: Thug 1, Thug 2]
The wizard was lean yes, but not quite the scrawny thing Varro described. His formative years as a petty thief and part-time brawler had given him a strength and toughness his foes were often blind to. Malcolm grabs the thug's arm and bites down hard. Biting down on the brute he attempts to writhe out of his grasp and instantly draw a flask this time filled with a potent medicinal potion (mixed with bourbon).
Actions:
Roll:15 (http://4e.orokos.com/roll/38215)
Result: Success! (Needed 13)
Minor action: Draw a healing potion
Minor action: Drink healing potion
Result: 10 hit points regained
Status:
(G6) Joseph Rochester: AC 20; Fort 17, Reflex 13, Will 14; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(H5) Malcolm Blackvein: AC 15; Fort 12, Reflex 16, Will 16; Speed 6; Action Points 1.
-- No longer grabbed! Passed 13 acrobatics check with a roll of 15
-- No longer bloodied! Healing potion +10 hit points
(E7) Gracchus: AC 19; Fort 18, Reflex 13, Will 16; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(J6) Thug 1: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(K4) Thug 2: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(XX) Bystanders: AC 17; Fort 15, Reflex 13, Will 13; Speed 6.
-- Mob Rule: When two other Bystanders are within five squares, the Bystander gets a +2 bonus to all defenses
Slowly, and with grave purpose he moves towards the nearest clump of bystanders. A hulking behemoth of steal with the composure of a predator animal about to strike.
“Faithless filthy fucking scum!” He screams at the knot of soldiers, staring down each in turn. “Do you not see the obelisk that we march under? The physical embodiment of our manifest destiny?! We march to purge the darkness and you rut with these fucking whores in the dirt!” His voice reaches a roaring crescendo now “You take joy in this Varro’s blatant sin!”
Gracchus is visibly shaking with rage and hate, and voice becomes a menacing whisper.
“Redeem yourselves now. End this man’s blasphemous existence, or I will send you to a swift judgement.”
Actions:
Minor Action: Religion to aid Intimidate roll:
Results: 1d20+5: 24 [1d20=19] (http://4e.orokos.com/roll/38219)
Success! Add 2 to intimidate check
Minor Action: Use intimidate to bring the crowd to our side
Results: 1d20+10: 20 [1d20=10] (http://4e.orokos.com/roll/38220)
(Gah shold have just used religion to convince them! :P)
As for results to this I’ll have to wait for plozza to tell me how our good friends the bystanders react to Gracchus and his serious issues)
Status:
(I6) Joseph Rochester: AC 20; Fort 17, Reflex 13, Will 14; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(H5) Malcolm Blackvein: AC 15; Fort 12, Reflex 16, Will 16; Speed 6; Action Points 1.
(G7) Gracchus: AC 19; Fort 18, Reflex 13, Will 16; Speed 5; Action Points 1.
(J6) Thug 1: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(K4) Thug 2: AC 16; Fort 12, Reflex 14, Will 12; Speed 6.
(XX) Bystanders: AC 17; Fort 15, Reflex 13, Will 13; Speed 6.
-- Mob Rule: When two other Bystanders are within five squares, the Bystander gets a +2 bonus to all defences
[Up Next: Thug 1, Thug 2] [On Deck: Varro]