Team Ramrod | Krolax | L3 | Human Barbarian | HP 10/24 | AC 1 | XP 0 | DMG D10 | 22 Gold+Gold hand clutching blade
As ancient skulls begin to roll and dust plumes from the mummy's decrepit bodies, a smile breaks on the face of the twirling Krolax. "I feel so alive!" He continues his graceful barrage.
The Grim Company@Nips@saber_of_black@LaserFowl@SalmonMax
Nimue will approach the face demanding her fate, and sighed a little, somewhat spurred on by the bard. She looked at it for a moment or two, gripping her staff tightly in her hand, "I don't believe in fate, everything happens one way or another because that is how life goes on. But if you want me to tell you what I think, I believe we will get through this room, and pass this challenge and through the next one, and the ones after that, until we are victorious."
Team Ramrod | Capt' | L3 | Wizard | HP 12/12 | DMG D4 | AR 2 with spell
As the figure of Ligriv becomes crushed under the mummies fists, a portal erupts!
Misty Blue energy turn the surrounding bodies into dust, and swirl as the arcane gate stabilizes.
Amidst the raving music of the liches, a sailor can be heard to be cuss-canting increasingly louder in volume!
"Where are you, ya lazy louts!
Durgon! You were supposed to keep the Druid alive!
& what is with this terrible music?
It's like a drunk manatee sucking it's own tits!
YAR! I'M TALKING HERE!"
The captain of the Ramrods, Captain Sputlyre arrives, angry and pissed!
Geth roll 2d6+3 to cancel this shitty song (cast dispel magic)
Nimue's words found their way into Lychisma's mouth. He chewed on them before his face scrunched and he shook his head, fog expelling out of his mouth. The faces moved once more, scrutinizing them all.
"Now, one of you may choose a path. But beware, the whims of time are fickle." The faces intoned before their mouths opened wide enough for a person to enter.
The Ramrods
Arngrim charged in heedlessly, which proved to his detriment as a spell struck him. In an explosion of light, a large demonic form appeared, clawing into him before vanishing.
Geth, roll 3d8 Claw, Claw, Bite
As Arngrim fought the demon off, Krolax whirled into place, snatching the crystal from the air. The Liches howled as the power was shunted from the withered forms by the Captain's timely arrival and dispel. Arcane energy rippled through the crystal, striking all the member of the Ramrods as the remaining undead collapsed into dust!
Team Ramrod | Krolax | L3 | Human Barbarian | HP 25/25 | AC 1 | XP 0 | DMG D10 | 22 Gold+Gold hand clutching blade
With a new light about him, seeming to be glowing with arcanic energy still flowing throughout, Krolax catches his bearings. He tosses his sword up on his shoulder and stands by the door to the hallway, awaiting his compatriots to come out of their haze.
Once at the doorway, Krolax hears a faint voice, “You did well, child. You’ve grown to be quite the warrior. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Team Ramrod | Durgon | L34 | Cleric | HP 24/24 | DMG D6 | AR 1
Durgon grunts as they all return back to normal size, but with new power. "Well, that were a surprise." He said little about Lig's demise, and even less to the Captain who was attempting to chastise him.
Instead the Dwarf turned his attention to his pack. He had a scroll that Angrim had given him that reversed transformations, and he was originally saving it for turning whomever was shrunk back to normal. Now that it looked like that was covered, he could instead dig into his curiosity at the horn he had carried. He had already determined that it wasn't gold originally, which meant that he could likely transform it back to it's original state.
Pulling out the scroll and the horn, Durgon focused on the magic the scroll contained to read the spell and use it on the horn.
As Durgon read the scroll, the letters seemed to burn through the page, consuming the scroll before leaping to the arm and horn. The fire dissipated, leaving a bleeding severed hand clutching a horn covered in runes of power. A small pulse issued from it.
The Grim Company
Well she couldn't just back down now after that speech and put someone else in. She closes her eyes, grips her staff, and walks through the foggy mouth she had spoken to.
Nimue walked into Lychisma’s mouth without trepidation. Seconds felt like minutes, and they seemed to drag into minutes which felt like hours. Finally, Nimue walked back out of the mouth, unchanged save for the tattoo of a sundial on her forearm.
The Ramrods
Sputlyre had heard the tales, but to behold the Great Amplifying Horn of Nelga, it was magnificent.
Shape the World Ramrods, whence came the Great Horn? and how was it lost to the ages?
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Team Ramrod | Capt' | L3 | Wizard | HP 12/12 | DMG D4 | AR 2 with spell
"Looks like ya got one of them Nilgai horns there. A really old one at that. I've never seen one so great.
Old Babba would tell me stories of a before time with Nilgai everywhere."
Sputlyre pauses for moment as she reads the puzzled look on her companions faces.
"Think of them like a Minotaur, but more fey and deerlike, from what I've heard.
I don't think anyone has seen one in my lifetime, outside of the usual spooks raving about sprigs and fairies.
That damn old crow told me they gathered magic in their bones and horns as they grew older.
Gave them heightened abilities with age. The oldest were said to be powerful enough to deter gods.
I figured the witch was just trying to instill some respect in my elders until I started seeing relics in the markets."
The Captain raises her hands to mime antlers over her elven eartips.
"You'd think for a near immortal, and magical race of people, these horns would be a blessing.
Word was that mortal folk got jealous and start processing the younger and weaker nilgai for these damn horns.
Ya still see them in wands and in markets here and there...
Looks like someone marked this one's origin as Nelga?
No clue who that is but shit this one has to be worth a duchy outside."
Sputlyre transitions her hands to that of rubbing coin.
Rat, good at making herself forgotten and hidden, emerged next to the druid once she stepped back out. Wiping the back of her own mouth with a tattered sleeve, she spoke in her commoner accent. "Oy, looks like it gave ya some ink."
Grim Company: @Nips@LaserFowl@saber_of_black@SalmonMax
"What? Yes." She looked at the mark on her arm now and put a hand over it awkwardly. "I... don't recommend that face." She said quietly, and went to go look off in the distance by herself for a bit.
0
Options
NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
There was no other reaction from the faces. I will note this should likely be considered a victory since the last time a party member went into a portal they didn't come back.
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Team Ramrod | Krolax | Lvl 4 | Human Barbarian | HP 25/25 | AC 1 | XP 0 | DMG D10 | 22 Gold+Gold hand clutching blade
“Let’s keep moving. Don’t want to waste this surge of energy.” Krolax spout to the party as he walks out of the room, toward the hallway. He steps passed the pile of ash, strewn on the pedestal, and notices the wraith in the mirrored painting, as he rounds the corner.
Vermilion found a chunk of ruddy stone and saw a bit of volcanic glass in the sand. The more sand started pouring through the ceiling, more wind started blowing through the mouths, swirling the sands to obscure vision and crust on the crusaders.
The Ramrods
Is there a particular part of the gallery you're headed towards?
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Team Ramrod | Capt' | L3 | Wizard | HP 12/12 | DMG D4 | AR 2 with spell
The Captain stands outside the door the Fox had scouted, and gives the Fox a nod before entering the scorched shrine.
What do I see?
Is it a shrine that we would recognize? (asking because of Fount of Knowledge)
Who is the shrine dedicated to?
The Captain looks about the room
Geth roll 2d6+3 for "What Bloody Shrine This Be? (spout lore)"
As you entered, you could see this room was a mess. The walls were marred by objects partially phased through them, as well as scorches and missing chunks. The tell-tale signs of spells gone awry. Motes of many colored light danced through the chamber, born aloft on an unfelt wind. Against the East wall, a spellbook that looked to be thousands of pages of length and bound in scales rested upon a pedastal. On the floor next to the book, a long red feather sat next to an empty bottle.
The Captain immediately noticed the pedestal was not inanimate material, but a pair of emaciated, grey skinned undead who bore the enormous book on their crooked shoulders. They were missing their eyes, and their mouths were sewn shut.
The book was massive, almost as big as Fox, clocking in at 4 feet tall, 3 feet wide, and 1 foot thick. Sputlyre recognized the the images of the Ur-Mage and Death on the locked cover. The binding was made of the impenetrable scales of the Tarrasque. This was clearly one the legendary 13 Spellbooks of the Ur-Mage!
Shape the World Crusaders, what rumors abound about the spellbooks? And where was another one found? What Doom did it bring to those who tried to claim it?
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
He shakes his head and brushes as much of the stubborn crust from his sleeve as he can. "A wand, a lantern, and some lovely tales are spoils enough I suppose.... I suppose... Let us be off."
The elf clasps Specter by the shoulder. "Goodly knight, would you do us the honors of lighting the way?"
I’m taking +1d6 damage
and You don’t get into melee with them
as my options on backstab!
I already get +1d6 when I backstab from Cheap Shot.
The bony thief lashes out at the hand holding the large key, slicing across it and up the cyclop’s wrist before deftly flipping backwards and then dashing away.
“Here’s one. Why didn’t the skeleton dance at the town fair?”
Helter’s blade slashed the cyclops, blue ichor issuing from the wound, it’s grip still held the key fast as it roared, lightning arcing across the stones in the room as snow coated the floor in white
The Rogers are Clumsy for as they remain here.
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Helter charged in heedlessly, the Cyclops whirling on him with a speed belying it’s mass as it caught the skeleton with it’s giant key, scooping him up and hurling him into air. The monster lifted the key into the chill air and lightning crashed down to meet it, the bolt passing through Helter before striking the key.
As Helter began to plummet to the earth, they could see the bowl the Cyclops held in it’s other hand was full of shifting, wiggling eyeballs of various types! One particularly sizable one fixed it’s gaze on the bag of bones, a ray firing from it. Helter can see sands whipping around and faces of stone for a brief moment....
Geth, roll 2d6 Lightning Damage, ignores armor.
The Grim Company
Nimue’s gaze was torn from the shifting sands to a tower with a storm raging above it, she fell towards a roaring cyclops holding a key and a bowl of eyes. She jolted from the vision with a start, another voice in her mind...
Helter and Nimue may communicate for each other as long as they wish to maintain contact
Lightning Damage, ignores armor.:
2d64 [2d6=3, 1]
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Ravas unleashes his twin blades as fast as he can in the direction of the Cyclop's bowl holding arm. He tightly grips the chain of one of the blades as it is unleashed, in the hopes he can pull it back quickly. His eyes dart to Helter, even though he is undead, he is extremely worried.
The shell and the magic dice Helter had on their person clatter to the ground by Ravas.
The flames in Helter’s sockets dance as they rest on the ground, their bones sliding towards each other and clicking back into place.
Nimue, a vision is held in your mind:
Only Nimue may read this.
A young woman dressed in blue, with a traveller’s hood. A wedding dress, you think, but you don’t know how you know. She speaks to you in an ancient language, but you can grasp some of it.
“Have you seen mo fhear céile amach anseo? I’ve been looking for him for so long, my grá milis. He’s here, I can feel it, and I do hope to find him.”
Once Ravas feels his blades meet their target, he rips and pulls with all his strength. His eyes notice the dice and shell roll nearby him. He thinks to grab it .
If I do damage, I'll just do damage instead of expose myself to the Cyclops O_O (I'm a coward)
Geth roll 1d10+1 for Damage
Geth roll 1d4 for Merciless
The Cyclops swatted Helter from the air with an arm like tree trunk. The skeleton was launched into the orange prismatic stone, a wave of heat shooting out to cook Helter and Ravas.
Geth, roll 1d12+2d6 Cyclopean smash and heat stone damage.
Helter takes everything, Ravas just takes the 2d6. Add 1 damage for each point of armor you have.
Cyclopean smash and heat stone damage.:
1d12+2d623 [1d12=12] [2d6=6, 5]
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Team Ramrod | Capt' | L3 | Wizard | HP 12/12 | DMG D4 | AR 2 with spell
"Yar, this be terrible!
Couldn't sell that even if I wanted!
Would have Antimagos Monks hunting me from the ends of the earth, if we weren't immediately murdered by whatever horrid machinations the text seeks.
Listen here Ramrods, we only know about the Spellbooks of the Ur-Mage from the Monks of Antimagos.
Yar, It's said that the fate of any of the Ur-Mage's would be apprentices would be tied to these damned 13 books!
It is whispered among the mad, that sufficient knowledge of a book would be enough to be granted an audience with the Ur-Mage.
The monks claim that the mastery of all of the spell books would allow an individual to achieve power of parity of the Ur-Mage, but warn the books themselves are dangerous fiends who crave the souls of brave readers.
Every nation you can sail to, prohibits the use of them. They would not hesitate to move their entire military to contain them. It's a bloody useless thing to try and fence, if you ask me.
Those Monks have dedicated generations of hunters to attempt to destroy or hide these grimoires.
It's said that usage of any of books could cause apocalyptic dangers to nations surrounding them."
The Captain turns to Krolax and Fox.
"Any of you louts heard the tale of those that crewed the The Crooked Turtle?
The madmen carrying it to a supposed guarded sanctuary fell to temptation.
They turned the sea around them to acid, the men to abominations, and created the Great Moving Whirlpool of the West Salts!"[/b]
The Captain spits upon the ground, clearly shaken by experiences traveling across the West Salts Seas.
"When I was a studious lass in academies, the old bones would claim the grimoires were another instrument for the Ur-Mage to cheat death.
Acolytes who master the texts would become the seed of the Ur-Mage's potential rebirth.
Acolytes who fail, merely power the texts themselves.
This is be a grim thing to find."
Posts
As ancient skulls begin to roll and dust plumes from the mummy's decrepit bodies, a smile breaks on the face of the twirling Krolax. "I feel so alive!" He continues his graceful barrage.
Geth, roll 2d6+1 for graceful tornado of death
Geth, roll 2d6+1 to charge through a barrage of magic!
Nimue will approach the face demanding her fate, and sighed a little, somewhat spurred on by the bard. She looked at it for a moment or two, gripping her staff tightly in her hand, "I don't believe in fate, everything happens one way or another because that is how life goes on. But if you want me to tell you what I think, I believe we will get through this room, and pass this challenge and through the next one, and the ones after that, until we are victorious."
As the figure of Ligriv becomes crushed under the mummies fists, a portal erupts!
Misty Blue energy turn the surrounding bodies into dust, and swirl as the arcane gate stabilizes.
Amidst the raving music of the liches, a sailor can be heard to be cuss-canting increasingly louder in volume!
"Where are you, ya lazy louts!
Durgon! You were supposed to keep the Druid alive!
& what is with this terrible music?
It's like a drunk manatee sucking it's own tits!
YAR! I'M TALKING HERE!"
The captain of the Ramrods, Captain Sputlyre arrives, angry and pissed!
Geth roll 2d6+3 to cancel this shitty song (cast dispel magic)
Nimue's words found their way into Lychisma's mouth. He chewed on them before his face scrunched and he shook his head, fog expelling out of his mouth. The faces moved once more, scrutinizing them all.
"Now, one of you may choose a path. But beware, the whims of time are fickle." The faces intoned before their mouths opened wide enough for a person to enter.
The Ramrods
Arngrim charged in heedlessly, which proved to his detriment as a spell struck him. In an explosion of light, a large demonic form appeared, clawing into him before vanishing.
As Arngrim fought the demon off, Krolax whirled into place, snatching the crystal from the air. The Liches howled as the power was shunted from the withered forms by the Captain's timely arrival and dispel. Arcane energy rippled through the crystal, striking all the member of the Ramrods as the remaining undead collapsed into dust!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9yIpv9zlOw
The Pyramid exploded open as the Ramrods returned to their normal size, new power surging and reinvigorating them!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tL_Js_-M0G0
Vermilion whistles idylly as he steers the druid toward the foggy mouth. "Forge our triumphant path, sweet girl."
With a new light about him, seeming to be glowing with arcanic energy still flowing throughout, Krolax catches his bearings. He tosses his sword up on his shoulder and stands by the door to the hallway, awaiting his compatriots to come out of their haze.
Once at the doorway, Krolax hears a faint voice, “You did well, child. You’ve grown to be quite the warrior. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Krolax nods as a calmness washes over him.
Durgon grunts as they all return back to normal size, but with new power. "Well, that were a surprise." He said little about Lig's demise, and even less to the Captain who was attempting to chastise him.
Instead the Dwarf turned his attention to his pack. He had a scroll that Angrim had given him that reversed transformations, and he was originally saving it for turning whomever was shrunk back to normal. Now that it looked like that was covered, he could instead dig into his curiosity at the horn he had carried. He had already determined that it wasn't gold originally, which meant that he could likely transform it back to it's original state.
Pulling out the scroll and the horn, Durgon focused on the magic the scroll contained to read the spell and use it on the horn.
As Durgon read the scroll, the letters seemed to burn through the page, consuming the scroll before leaping to the arm and horn. The fire dissipated, leaving a bleeding severed hand clutching a horn covered in runes of power. A small pulse issued from it.
https://youtu.be/5VRr9NG7RE0
"Krolax, Arngrim, Fox!
I'm happy you fools survived!
Bwahaha!
Durgon's giving me the silent treatment huh?
Ya found some treasure at least."
Geth roll 2d6+3 for "What do You Got Thar (spout lore)"
Well she couldn't just back down now after that speech and put someone else in. She closes her eyes, grips her staff, and walks through the foggy mouth she had spoken to.
Nimue walked into Lychisma’s mouth without trepidation. Seconds felt like minutes, and they seemed to drag into minutes which felt like hours. Finally, Nimue walked back out of the mouth, unchanged save for the tattoo of a sundial on her forearm.
The Ramrods
Sputlyre had heard the tales, but to behold the Great Amplifying Horn of Nelga, it was magnificent.
"Looks like ya got one of them Nilgai horns there. A really old one at that. I've never seen one so great.
Old Babba would tell me stories of a before time with Nilgai everywhere."
Sputlyre pauses for moment as she reads the puzzled look on her companions faces.
"Think of them like a Minotaur, but more fey and deerlike, from what I've heard.
I don't think anyone has seen one in my lifetime, outside of the usual spooks raving about sprigs and fairies.
That damn old crow told me they gathered magic in their bones and horns as they grew older.
Gave them heightened abilities with age. The oldest were said to be powerful enough to deter gods.
I figured the witch was just trying to instill some respect in my elders until I started seeing relics in the markets."
The Captain raises her hands to mime antlers over her elven eartips.
"You'd think for a near immortal, and magical race of people, these horns would be a blessing.
Word was that mortal folk got jealous and start processing the younger and weaker nilgai for these damn horns.
Ya still see them in wands and in markets here and there...
Looks like someone marked this one's origin as Nelga?
No clue who that is but shit this one has to be worth a duchy outside."
Sputlyre transitions her hands to that of rubbing coin.
Rat, good at making herself forgotten and hidden, emerged next to the druid once she stepped back out. Wiping the back of her own mouth with a tattered sleeve, she spoke in her commoner accent. "Oy, looks like it gave ya some ink."
"What? Yes." She looked at the mark on her arm now and put a hand over it awkwardly. "I... don't recommend that face." She said quietly, and went to go look off in the distance by herself for a bit.
"You survived." The elf attempts to muffle his surprise.
Well then, he proceeds to approach the pile of sand and kick a toe around. Anything worth reckoning in the sands?
"We've surely enjoyed a small victory, but how does it all piece together?"
Geth roll 2d6+1 to Discern Realities for trinkets in the sands.
“Let’s keep moving. Don’t want to waste this surge of energy.” Krolax spout to the party as he walks out of the room, toward the hallway. He steps passed the pile of ash, strewn on the pedestal, and notices the wraith in the mirrored painting, as he rounds the corner.
The Captain, follows Krolax and begins pulling out 4 health potions.
"I dipped into our emergency resources this time,
here ya go, one for each of ya.
I figure you folk know your way around at this point, so I'll let ya lead.
If ya want advice, just speak up"
The Captain passes the Wraith, and upon Krolax's acknowledgment of it, ignores it.
Vermilion found a chunk of ruddy stone and saw a bit of volcanic glass in the sand. The more sand started pouring through the ceiling, more wind started blowing through the mouths, swirling the sands to obscure vision and crust on the crusaders.
The Ramrods
The Captain stands outside the door the Fox had scouted, and gives the Fox a nod before entering the scorched shrine.
What do I see?
Is it a shrine that we would recognize? (asking because of Fount of Knowledge)
Who is the shrine dedicated to?
The Captain looks about the room
Geth roll 2d6+3 for "What Bloody Shrine This Be? (spout lore)"
Kestrel shielded her eyes with a hand and went to Vermilion, who was standing right there at ground zero.
"Looks like our welcome's worn out. You see anything in there?"
https://youtu.be/BsHJrTT0NII
As you entered, you could see this room was a mess. The walls were marred by objects partially phased through them, as well as scorches and missing chunks. The tell-tale signs of spells gone awry. Motes of many colored light danced through the chamber, born aloft on an unfelt wind. Against the East wall, a spellbook that looked to be thousands of pages of length and bound in scales rested upon a pedastal. On the floor next to the book, a long red feather sat next to an empty bottle.
The Captain immediately noticed the pedestal was not inanimate material, but a pair of emaciated, grey skinned undead who bore the enormous book on their crooked shoulders. They were missing their eyes, and their mouths were sewn shut.
The book was massive, almost as big as Fox, clocking in at 4 feet tall, 3 feet wide, and 1 foot thick. Sputlyre recognized the the images of the Ur-Mage and Death on the locked cover. The binding was made of the impenetrable scales of the Tarrasque. This was clearly one the legendary 13 Spellbooks of the Ur-Mage!
He shakes his head and brushes as much of the stubborn crust from his sleeve as he can. "A wand, a lantern, and some lovely tales are spoils enough I suppose.... I suppose... Let us be off."
The elf clasps Specter by the shoulder. "Goodly knight, would you do us the honors of lighting the way?"
“Here,” says Helter, “I’ve your payment gentle sir.”
Geth roll 1d8+2d6 for Another Chance
I’m taking +1d6 damage
and
You don’t get into melee with them
as my options on backstab!
I already get +1d6 when I backstab from Cheap Shot.
The bony thief lashes out at the hand holding the large key, slicing across it and up the cyclop’s wrist before deftly flipping backwards and then dashing away.
“Here’s one. Why didn’t the skeleton dance at the town fair?”
“Because they had no body to dance with!”
Helter’s blade slashed the cyclops, blue ichor issuing from the wound, it’s grip still held the key fast as it roared, lightning arcing across the stones in the room as snow coated the floor in white
Geth roll 2d6 for Attack
Geth roll 1d8 for Damage
Helter charged in heedlessly, the Cyclops whirling on him with a speed belying it’s mass as it caught the skeleton with it’s giant key, scooping him up and hurling him into air. The monster lifted the key into the chill air and lightning crashed down to meet it, the bolt passing through Helter before striking the key.
As Helter began to plummet to the earth, they could see the bowl the Cyclops held in it’s other hand was full of shifting, wiggling eyeballs of various types! One particularly sizable one fixed it’s gaze on the bag of bones, a ray firing from it. Helter can see sands whipping around and faces of stone for a brief moment....
The Grim Company
Nimue’s gaze was torn from the shifting sands to a tower with a storm raging above it, she fell towards a roaring cyclops holding a key and a bowl of eyes. She jolted from the vision with a start, another voice in her mind...
Ravas unleashes his twin blades as fast as he can in the direction of the Cyclop's bowl holding arm. He tightly grips the chain of one of the blades as it is unleashed, in the hopes he can pull it back quickly. His eyes dart to Helter, even though he is undead, he is extremely worried.
Geth roll 2d6+3 for Hack and Slash that Cyclops
Helter now has 10/19 HP
The shell and the magic dice Helter had on their person clatter to the ground by Ravas.
The flames in Helter’s sockets dance as they rest on the ground, their bones sliding towards each other and clicking back into place.
Nimue, a vision is held in your mind:
“Have you seen mo fhear céile amach anseo? I’ve been looking for him for so long, my grá milis. He’s here, I can feel it, and I do hope to find him.”
She fades into shadow, but remains.
Once Ravas feels his blades meet their target, he rips and pulls with all his strength. His eyes notice the dice and shell roll nearby him. He thinks to grab it .
Geth roll 1d10+1 for Damage
Geth roll 1d4 for Merciless
“I’ve a bone! To pick! With you!”
Helter leaps towards the cyclops, swinging overhead. And falls short.
They sigh, “It’s always when I try to look heroic.”
Geth roll 1d8 for Damage
The Cyclops swatted Helter from the air with an arm like tree trunk. The skeleton was launched into the orange prismatic stone, a wave of heat shooting out to cook Helter and Ravas.
Helter takes everything, Ravas just takes the 2d6. Add 1 damage for each point of armor you have.
0/19 HP
Geth roll 2d6 for Black Gates of Death
The Captain turns to Krolax and Fox.
The Captain spits upon the ground, clearly shaken by experiences traveling across the West Salts Seas.
Rat starts towards the next exit out of the room to get a look at the next one.