NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
Bran ducks a punch, then kick-slides off the stalagmite between the legs of a servant.
"Knowing Gisard, he made it up on the spot!" Bran shouts from through the melee.
Another punch dodged, Bran spring-flips over the shoulders of another attacking servant.
"We need to get clear of the mass, here! Gisard's good, but Glamjin's still dangerous, and you still have the stabby bit to finish!"
*cue background blasts of angelfire*
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
When the heavenly cacophony passes Bran turns to see a dagger pointed at him, pommel first. A dagger with no history. The Mortal Blade of Holly Pontoon.
"We will see each other again, Bran Volgut, as long as you live by the blade. I am the ceaseless wheel; know me by my works."
Before he can respond, she tosses the dagger to him and tears away into the tide of aberrant fae. Twin chakrams carve a bloody scene, waves of blood framing a black skeleton rimed by the fires of hell. A skeleton which, to the keen eyes of a thief, no longer bears the sprite's kiss on it's hand.
---
Bran is clear to reach Gisard. I'll roll Last Breath once they're through the portal.
Do not miss this opportunity, go now with the Mortal Blade and aid Gisard!
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
Damnit, Holly!
Bran snatches the dagger out of the air and breaks into a low sprint only a few paces behind the whirlwind of violence that is his friend. When he nears the edge of the crowd and can see open space he leaps on the shoulders of a larger fae, simultaneously jamming the mortal blade into its neck. The rogue drives its head forward, and its natural reaction causes it and Bran to careen out of the croud. As it awkwardly crashes to the ground, Bran leaps off into a run in the direction of Gisard, Hao-Gou, and Glamjin.
The thief's grip on the Mortal Blade tightens into a crushing, white-knuckle vise.
As you race towards the lizard wizard Hao-Gou crosses your path back the way you came. He’s instantly beset by dozens of servants, covering him like bees to a hornet.
Beside Gisard his breach in Glamjin’s domain begins to crumble outwards into the twinkling inky swirling Informe, far more volatile and dynamic than the grey muted sky of Glamjin’s domain. At the edges of his breach tiny somethings pop in and out of existence—inch high unicorns, ribbon snakes, plastic dice and more.
It’s just you and Gisard below the shaky portal that Glamjin hastily crafted to escape. Gisard, when you make your move, you can take Bran with you on a roll of 7+, and Bran can help you if need be.
Gisard is studying Glamjin's portal as Bran approaches. "Oh, good, I don't think I have any way of seriously harming Glamjin myself, but YOU do. We're pretty much back to floating in the void of the Informe now, so let'sss think our way after him." Gisard grabs Bran's non-dagger-wielding hand and attempts to Go through the mad bard's portal.
You slowly lift off, you a foot higher than Bran, as you glide up and through the portal. Behind you objects, and eventually the ground itself begins to cave in and fall out into the wild realm of thought.
But as you pass through the portal, the momentary joy of flight is interrupted by the bitter biting wind of your destination. You’re heading towards the battlements of a keep, a keep on the borderlands.
Gisard, roll+DEX to avoid colliding with the brickwork.
On a 10+, you do it, and land at an advantageous position. Describe it.
On a 7-9, you land clumsily.
On a 6-, you crash, and take light damage.
Bran, you’ll land fine, in fact you’ve already spun yourself to land feet first.
Red dot = Glamjin
Yellow arrow = You guys
Glamjin awaits along the keep’s wall, crowned by the backdrop of a breaking grey sky cracked with the swirling cosmic black of the Informe, not unlike his own cracking pallid skin.
Gone is any trace of showmanship. He looks like a decrepit lanky goblin with matted white hair down to his knees. He’s wearing a hide of bright blue scales and a horned half-helm. In his right hand he holds a rapier, in his left a stately brass staff. A bow is slung on his back. Adventurers gear, not his, but from long, long ago.
Though visibly ancient, he looks coiled, alert, almost animal.
You land hard on your chest, but you weren’t going that fast. Bran softly steps down after you.
“It’s only been forever, not long at all...”, says Glamjin wistfully, “I wont die, not to you. I’ve seen stars fall to ash, you are but a blink of the eye.”
He slams the staff down.
Above the sky brightens a moment—Meteor Storm! That’s a classic, Gisard, you’ve only heard of it in tall tales. Scholars have been attempting to reengineer it from ancient texts for centuries!
Gisard, you’re in range if you’ve a spell of your own to dish out.
Bran, if you race towards Glamjin now, you’ll pass under the meteors before they strike, no roll required.
Endless_Serpents on
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
A stuttering, ragged shade approaches the Black Gates. A woman with a tattoo of a raven tangled in thorns on her left arm reaches out a hand in greeting. Together they look back up at the realm of the living- one wearing a knowing smirk, the other a grim rictus.
"I think they've got this one." she tells the black skeleton, before they cross the threshold hand in hand.
Just as she had foreseen, the machinations of Glamjin had been her end. Yet Death, it has been said, is an adventure unto itself. The many facetted woman, that infamous, that daring Holly Pontoon has gone beyond the Material, to venture into the unknown as all she was, is and will be.
Hao-Gou
“Get. Off. Me!!”, he roars, shaking to and fro, bucking like a bronco, flinging servant’s aside like bowling pins.
He howls at the sight of his fallen friend, “Holly! No! Get away from her!”
It’s not exactly gristly, but bone and glass litters the cavern. The fae things around her have cut open their own fists with their lethal work. Hao-Gou fucking eats them.
With copious, almost sinful amounts of laser fire and giga breaker drills and +5 smite-hammer swings the angels thin the horde down to a cowardly, fleeing remnant of its former strength.
When the cavern is empty, the angels allow Hao-Gou a moment to bury the arcane duelist’s remains.
“This place is falling apart. Yet I must stay to guard her grave. Gods speed, seraphim.”
One of the angels speaks a protective ward into existence, circling a small bit of cavern around the shishi, who stands still as a statue over his friend’s resting place.
Then, the angels (pretty roughed up, one lost a hand) fly straight through the ceiling of the cavern in hopes of finding where within his domain the Monarch of Deceit has escaped.
What of Hao-Gou? Some say he still stands guard on that circle of cavern as it drifts through the Informe, but where he headed and what he learns is another story, for another time.
But sadly Gisard is fresh out of spells! Save for one last backup plan that he was saving in case they were stuck floating in the Informe after they won. For now he's going to just try not to get annihilated by falling stars.
Endless Serpents only:
Specifically the only ace Gisard still has up his wizardly sleeve is Contact Other Plane. Aside from being the last spell powering his arcane wards for some bonus armor, he was planning to use it to try to call the ghost train for a ride between planes in the aftermath if they were stranded, or maybe to see if it could hit Glamjin in a spectacularly goofy "get hit by a train" spell with the place of power ritual. But he eventually decided he would prefer to avoid risking Glamjin hurting his beautiful haunted train demon baby so he opted to call the angels in instead.
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
Bran breaks into an immediate sprint, trusting that his wizard friend can weather the oncoming storm. The thief knows he definitely can't and regardless he has a burning purpose to fulfill.
Mesmerised by the high level spell, you don’t even consider dodging as your vision fills with dozens of meteors of arcane force!
The middle of the wall is blasted apart mere moments after Bran sprints off!
You take the full brunt of the spell, and land far back on the wall. The way to Glamjin is severed. You lose your left eye. It’s just... gone.
Gisard, you take 13 damage.
Bran
Bran, you outpace the blast and arrive in sight of your nemesis, who stands above you on top of a weathered tower. Describe your choice, but know that Glamjin will react accordingly.
- Run through an open door and up a staircase to reach Glamjin on top of the tower. He’ll be waiting, and get the drop on you. He’ll wield his rapier in the final confrontation. Glamjin is many tricks up his sleeve besides, but you think you’re on par with him as a fighter.
- Climb up the brickwork to get to him. He’ll fire arrows at you as you do. The final battle will be with bow in hand. He is a skilled archer, quick and true, but range is of course required.
- Leap off a demon as you summon it (roll 1d18) to get there quicker! Glamjin doesn’t have time to react! Thus he will be forced to remain using the staff against you. The staff is slow, but powerful, with spells you know not what.
Still running, you flick the card out at shoulder height and leap on and off it before it has chance to fully form. You’re propelled by the force of it growing into being, and send it hard into the stone below.
You hear a distant cry of “Cor Blimey Gov’ner!”, but you’re too focused to give a damn.
You have unleashed Roger Dodger.
While Roger is active you get to choose how a new NPC reacts to you. You must choose from the options below.
- Pity.
- Contempt.
- Ignorance.
Roger himself is a pickpocket, and will steal all he can, though he won’t follow any particular order involving it, or anything else.
Roger returns to his card if he gets caught.
————————
Glamjin leaps back like a startled cat, then begins to circle the tower’s top, your arena. The final page of your tale.
“You! Did you know, I hate thieves the most of any heroes? I took his life, and all he meant, last of all. I savoured it. You thieves, how dare you aspire to more when you are derived from such crawling filth!”
Glamjin drops his rapier and grips the staff with both hands. He grins a wide mouthed, black teethed grin. Arcs of occult energy bound across his cracking skin as he races towards you, his voice so unearthly it could make a banshee flee!
Below, two figures, bloodied by battle, each seeking to end the other, face off in a duel to the death.
Above, this domain collapses outwards into a plane of dreams and will, thought and madness. The raw Informe, an endless sea, a bottomless void between all planes.
As the Bard and Thief draw nearer, step by step, continent wide sections of his false world are being thrown out, dissolving, or blending into the bubbling, whirling vortex of possibility beyond.
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
The old Boggart is quick, but the Thief is quicker! Glamjin swings his staff at waist-level, arcane energies crackling, but Bran goes into a deep knee slide. The finest limbo masters of all the realms would be impressed.
Inside his reach, Bran jams the Mortal Blade of Holly Pontoon into Glamjin's ribcage, twists the blade slightly, then rips it out violently. His momentum hardly broken, the rogue kick-spins to stand up, trying to stay inside the reach of his hated foe.
The spirit of Darsdo, the only truly enthusiastic wingman Bran ever knew, pumps a fist somewhere down in the abyss.
[Dealing the full 8 damage, avoiding Glamjin's attack.]
The staff clatters, then rolls harmlessly off the tower.
Glamjin’s stomach bursts open and out pours more disgusting, putrid air. He claws for you wildly, his ancient body contorting, writhing, losing all semblance of man or fae.
He manages to grasp both your arms and wail hatred into your face. His grip tight enough to bruise.
Glamjin lifts you from stone floor, itself cracking just as he is, just as his world is.
Then he is no more. No second form, no parting word; the hero slays the monster and life goes on.
In the end he was nothing but a bully, and he is defeated, as all evil will be in the fullness of time.
Bran, there’s a rapier, a bow, and enough arrows here if you desire them. They have the stats you deem they should. They’re 1 load each.
is meteor storm damage reduced by armor... oh I guess that's moot now :rotate:
Gisard is skeptical that he's really dead. Clutching his badly burned eye socket with one hand, he lifts himself up with some help from his staff and limps over to the gap in the wall, trying to see through the pain and single eyeball if he can spot any sign that Glamjin's still lying in wait somehow.
[OOC: It would be because your armour is mostly magic.]
Glamjin has been slain by a weapon forged by the steel will of the Prince of Blades and imbued with the cold iron that by Unbreakable Truth cuts deep to the soul of any fairy, Glamjin being no exception.
I guess that's a
Geth, roll 2d6+1 for Discern Realities (wis)
What here is not what it appears to be? Who's really in control here?
What should I be on the lookout for?
But probably he's actually dead, Gisard's just paranoid.
Discern Realities (wis):
2d6+19 [2d6=6, 2]
BahamutZERO on
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
Bran, dumbstruck, falls flat onto his rump. He takes a breath. Then another, followed by a long, deep exhalation.
"Huh."
The thief eyes the fae's dropped accoutrement, then realizes there's so little he can trust here. Then he remembers he has a magical friend that can check for hostile magic, and leaps to his feet.
"Gisard, you still alive down there?!?!" Bran frantically shouts down over the battlements.
Though you manage to duck and weave you’re stuck on top of the tower.
“‘Ello mister, don’t suppose you’ve got any spare change?”
It’s a short horned kid. They’re hanging on the side of the tower, flicking a leg around every few seconds to try and roll onto the top.
“Or food? A nibble? A snack? What about the clothes off your back? Warm I think, you’ll”, they drop a bit, then leverage their leg at last, “You’ll feel better for giving to the needy, and I’m very needy. Needy not greedy, that’s me.”
The audience of insane beings forced to watch Glamjin’s games flee out into the multiverse.
Elsewhere
“And then we got married. Bit of a russh, and circumstancesss haven’t been ideal, but believe it or not, this is my longest relationsship ever.”, says Dooli between drags of a cigar.
Dooli, clad in tribal warpaint and a loincloth, directs a group of kobolds to plunk an orb into the slot and awaken the portal. Dooli’s wife is sat on their shoulder.
“Are you sure this’ll work?”, whispers Cindra in Pomme’s mousy ear.
“No. But this place is collapsing, we have to try.”, the ranger takes a long breath, “Okay key, make me a path to my companions.”
They walk towards the portal in a link of held hands. The portal is shaking, dubious, faulty, and there Pomme presses the key to it, and turns—
While This is All Going On
That other party are lost in a hedge maze on the floating island.
“Right. Look. Just stop moaning. We set off first from the train and I know we headed straight towards the tower, so no, again, they’re not going to beat us to Glamjin.”
Sir Krig has his helmet off, and is sat on a marble bench. He’s an animated suit of armour, so there’s no head, but he still manages to look miserable.
At that moment the angels fly overhead, sending a servant’s vessel crash landing nearby after slaying its crew.
Van Lonestar pops up from the bush he was laid under.
“I can pilot that.”, he says, cracking his knuckles in preparation.
But Also
The amulet is... certainly somewhere...
But that is perhaps another adventure, for other adventurers, years from now.
Geth, roll 2d6+3 for Cast a Spell: Contact Other Plane
"Ghost Train! You're picking up passengers at this crumbling keep! And make it quick, we're running on a tight schedule!"
Cast a Spell: Contact Other Plane:
2d6+312 [2d6=3, 6]
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
"Oh, uh, hey kid. I think that old goblin left behind some jink. Might be something valuable in it." Bran points towards Glamjin's belongings, then flips Roger a coin. "Here's a crown for your troubles. Now, I gotta go."
Bran then takes three steps and launches himself off the crumbling facade, hoping to find his void legs. He points himself roughly in Gisard's last known direction, but the mix of Informe and Glamjin's crumbling domain make the physics wonky at best.
"Also there's a really delicious looking iron portcullis here. I was going to give it to you as a snack, but it would be a shame if it were to be unmade before you reached us..."
The train smashes through some distant part of the keep, then rises up and turns, coming to a grinding halt beside you Gisard. There’s a three foot gap you’ll have to hop, but that’s pretty good service. A door opens for you and you are welcomed by the scent of cleanliness and varnish. Looks likes it’s refurbished further since your greatest spell first took shape. This is first class!
As you peer inside, a band of elven minstrels and a singer peer back nervously.
“We don’t actually know how we got here either. Do you, um, want us to write you a song? Little poem? Err...”,
The summoned imp gives you his thanks in some nonsense slang, then dodges their way to the items.
As you rocket into the air part of the keep comes up to meet you! It looks to be half a wall and floor, part of a kitchen, and you’re on a collision course with man-sized ovens and sloshing cauldrons!
Bran, how do you overcome this obstacle to reach the train?
Pomme
There’s a strange sensation, like falling in a dream, but as the ranger looks back to check on their allies they find themselves upright.
Pomme, the adventurers, and many kobolds are stood hand in hand on the train, who whistles in shock.
Behind them a smooth alien vessel rears into view. Sir Krig waves awkwardly from the upper deck.
He calls over to Pomme, “I have been informed we’re running out of ‘juice’. Could we please hitch a ride?”
“Did Bran make it? Did y’all see where those angels went, they were headed this way, then poof! Is everyone okay?”, shouts Paolo, the greatest pretend gunslinger in the West, well, a West.
“I cannot answer, but get off that thing, it’s falling!”, orders the captain*, and they comply.
*Pomme has self-promoted to captain, why not, right?
Endless_Serpents on
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
Why are things never not weird! You'd think I'd be used to this by now!
Bran panics slightly as a smallish cooking pan catches him flat in the shin, sending him into a slow corkscrew. The world around him is melting into a sloppy stew of the objective physics of Glamjin's failing realm and the subjective physics of the Informe, and it's unpredictable to a fault. Then a literal sloppy stewpot clocks him in the shoulder, sending his corkscrew counter-axially bound.
"Oh, to hell with this." The thief bundles himself tight into a tucked ball, then re-launches himself in his original direction feet-first through sheer willpower. As he does, he starts to feel out the seams between gravities and does his best to catwalk, kickflip, or roadie run on any itinerant kitchen objects that get in his way.
"You're alright, get in!" Gisard leans out from a doorway of the ghost train, dangling from the ornately filligreed handhold, holding his way staff out for Bran to grab onto as he nearly careens past just out of reach.
You are clocked on the hand as you descend, and the Mortal Blade flicks off magnetically to a rogue wok.
You manage to grab the staff and are pulled inside.
Everyone is here.
The Party
“This is actually very cosy. There’s definitely a song here, like ‘we all live in...’ what’s one of these?”, says an elven minstrel.
There’s a soft thumping above. The kobolds are already settled in, filling whatever role they make for themselves behind walls and in hidden nooks.
“I have made 125953 calculations in the past minute and replayed all footage of this event, and I conclude that you are all my friends.”, Scout says with a robotic pat of Dooli’s scaly head.
“Where’s... oh. Regrettable. I felt... I will name my next sword after them.”, says the little frogfolk samurai with a bow.
“You did it. You are victorious. My lieges.”
That’s Sir Krig, he is kneeling before you both.
“Can we go home now?”, says The Kid, who’s chubby face is pressed against a window.
Paolo suddenly sits down, missing a chair and ending up on the floor, “I think... I wish... I’m sorry. I promised...”
“It’s doable.”, says Dooli, “Looks like it’s just going to be a bit more manual. Gisard, get this bugger on the move, we’ll deal with the rest of the multiverse when we get there.”
“It can be done Monsieur.”, Pomme agrees.
“You don’t get it! How long, how long will it take to get home?!”
“Not so long.”, says the Goddess of Portals, Amlah, Quariloib-Ur Ashu, Naerfara, Doory.
She puts a giant hand to her breast, and it glows with a warmth like summer love. She has her heart back. You blink, and she’s gone.
All that has changed is the knowledge now, perhaps once she has rested, but very soon indeed, portals are now and for the rest of your days, on your side.
Posts
"Knowing Gisard, he made it up on the spot!" Bran shouts from through the melee.
Another punch dodged, Bran spring-flips over the shoulders of another attacking servant.
"We need to get clear of the mass, here! Gisard's good, but Glamjin's still dangerous, and you still have the stabby bit to finish!"
*cue background blasts of angelfire*
"We will see each other again, Bran Volgut, as long as you live by the blade. I am the ceaseless wheel; know me by my works."
Before he can respond, she tosses the dagger to him and tears away into the tide of aberrant fae. Twin chakrams carve a bloody scene, waves of blood framing a black skeleton rimed by the fires of hell. A skeleton which, to the keen eyes of a thief, no longer bears the sprite's kiss on it's hand.
---
Bran is clear to reach Gisard. I'll roll Last Breath once they're through the portal.
Do not miss this opportunity, go now with the Mortal Blade and aid Gisard!
Bran snatches the dagger out of the air and breaks into a low sprint only a few paces behind the whirlwind of violence that is his friend. When he nears the edge of the crowd and can see open space he leaps on the shoulders of a larger fae, simultaneously jamming the mortal blade into its neck. The rogue drives its head forward, and its natural reaction causes it and Bran to careen out of the croud. As it awkwardly crashes to the ground, Bran leaps off into a run in the direction of Gisard, Hao-Gou, and Glamjin.
The thief's grip on the Mortal Blade tightens into a crushing, white-knuckle vise.
You'll pay with your life for this, old man!
Beside Gisard his breach in Glamjin’s domain begins to crumble outwards into the twinkling inky swirling Informe, far more volatile and dynamic than the grey muted sky of Glamjin’s domain. At the edges of his breach tiny somethings pop in and out of existence—inch high unicorns, ribbon snakes, plastic dice and more.
It’s just you and Gisard below the shaky portal that Glamjin hastily crafted to escape. Gisard, when you make your move, you can take Bran with you on a roll of 7+, and Bran can help you if need be.
Geth, roll 2d6+1 for Traverse the Informe (wis)
But as you pass through the portal, the momentary joy of flight is interrupted by the bitter biting wind of your destination. You’re heading towards the battlements of a keep, a keep on the borderlands.
Gisard, roll+DEX to avoid colliding with the brickwork.
On a 10+, you do it, and land at an advantageous position. Describe it.
On a 7-9, you land clumsily.
On a 6-, you crash, and take light damage.
Bran, you’ll land fine, in fact you’ve already spun yourself to land feet first.
Yellow arrow = You guys
Glamjin awaits along the keep’s wall, crowned by the backdrop of a breaking grey sky cracked with the swirling cosmic black of the Informe, not unlike his own cracking pallid skin.
Gone is any trace of showmanship. He looks like a decrepit lanky goblin with matted white hair down to his knees. He’s wearing a hide of bright blue scales and a horned half-helm. In his right hand he holds a rapier, in his left a stately brass staff. A bow is slung on his back. Adventurers gear, not his, but from long, long ago.
Though visibly ancient, he looks coiled, alert, almost animal.
Damn.
You think you can take him.
Geth, roll 2d6 for Stick the Landing
“It’s only been forever, not long at all...”, says Glamjin wistfully, “I wont die, not to you. I’ve seen stars fall to ash, you are but a blink of the eye.”
He slams the staff down.
Above the sky brightens a moment—Meteor Storm! That’s a classic, Gisard, you’ve only heard of it in tall tales. Scholars have been attempting to reengineer it from ancient texts for centuries!
Gisard, you’re in range if you’ve a spell of your own to dish out.
Bran, if you race towards Glamjin now, you’ll pass under the meteors before they strike, no roll required.
"I think they've got this one." she tells the black skeleton, before they cross the threshold hand in hand.
Hao-Gou
“Get. Off. Me!!”, he roars, shaking to and fro, bucking like a bronco, flinging servant’s aside like bowling pins.
He howls at the sight of his fallen friend, “Holly! No! Get away from her!”
It’s not exactly gristly, but bone and glass litters the cavern. The fae things around her have cut open their own fists with their lethal work. Hao-Gou fucking eats them.
With copious, almost sinful amounts of laser fire and giga breaker drills and +5 smite-hammer swings the angels thin the horde down to a cowardly, fleeing remnant of its former strength.
When the cavern is empty, the angels allow Hao-Gou a moment to bury the arcane duelist’s remains.
“This place is falling apart. Yet I must stay to guard her grave. Gods speed, seraphim.”
One of the angels speaks a protective ward into existence, circling a small bit of cavern around the shishi, who stands still as a statue over his friend’s resting place.
Then, the angels (pretty roughed up, one lost a hand) fly straight through the ceiling of the cavern in hopes of finding where within his domain the Monarch of Deceit has escaped.
What of Hao-Gou? Some say he still stands guard on that circle of cavern as it drifts through the Informe, but where he headed and what he learns is another story, for another time.
But sadly Gisard is fresh out of spells! Save for one last backup plan that he was saving in case they were stuck floating in the Informe after they won. For now he's going to just try not to get annihilated by falling stars.
Endless Serpents only:
Mesmerised by the high level spell, you don’t even consider dodging as your vision fills with dozens of meteors of arcane force!
The middle of the wall is blasted apart mere moments after Bran sprints off!
You take the full brunt of the spell, and land far back on the wall. The way to Glamjin is severed. You lose your left eye. It’s just... gone.
Gisard, you take 13 damage.
Bran
Bran, you outpace the blast and arrive in sight of your nemesis, who stands above you on top of a weathered tower. Describe your choice, but know that Glamjin will react accordingly.
- Run through an open door and up a staircase to reach Glamjin on top of the tower. He’ll be waiting, and get the drop on you. He’ll wield his rapier in the final confrontation. Glamjin is many tricks up his sleeve besides, but you think you’re on par with him as a fighter.
- Climb up the brickwork to get to him. He’ll fire arrows at you as you do. The final battle will be with bow in hand. He is a skilled archer, quick and true, but range is of course required.
- Leap off a demon as you summon it (roll 1d18) to get there quicker! Glamjin doesn’t have time to react! Thus he will be forced to remain using the staff against you. The staff is slow, but powerful, with spells you know not what.
Geth roll 5d4 for Meteor Storm
*flick*
Geth, roll 1d18 for The Nameless Deck
You hear a distant cry of “Cor Blimey Gov’ner!”, but you’re too focused to give a damn.
You have unleashed Roger Dodger.
- Pity.
- Contempt.
- Ignorance.
Roger himself is a pickpocket, and will steal all he can, though he won’t follow any particular order involving it, or anything else.
Roger returns to his card if he gets caught.
————————
Glamjin leaps back like a startled cat, then begins to circle the tower’s top, your arena. The final page of your tale.
“You! Did you know, I hate thieves the most of any heroes? I took his life, and all he meant, last of all. I savoured it. You thieves, how dare you aspire to more when you are derived from such crawling filth!”
Glamjin drops his rapier and grips the staff with both hands. He grins a wide mouthed, black teethed grin. Arcs of occult energy bound across his cracking skin as he races towards you, his voice so unearthly it could make a banshee flee!
Bran the Thief
Hack and Slash.
Below, two figures, bloodied by battle, each seeking to end the other, face off in a duel to the death.
Above, this domain collapses outwards into a plane of dreams and will, thought and madness. The raw Informe, an endless sea, a bottomless void between all planes.
As the Bard and Thief draw nearer, step by step, continent wide sections of his false world are being thrown out, dissolving, or blending into the bubbling, whirling vortex of possibility beyond.
Inside his reach, Bran jams the Mortal Blade of Holly Pontoon into Glamjin's ribcage, twists the blade slightly, then rips it out violently. His momentum hardly broken, the rogue kick-spins to stand up, trying to stay inside the reach of his hated foe.
The spirit of Darsdo, the only truly enthusiastic wingman Bran ever knew, pumps a fist somewhere down in the abyss.
[Dealing the full 8 damage, avoiding Glamjin's attack.]
Geth, roll 2d6 for Hack & Slash (STR)
Glamjin’s stomach bursts open and out pours more disgusting, putrid air. He claws for you wildly, his ancient body contorting, writhing, losing all semblance of man or fae.
He manages to grasp both your arms and wail hatred into your face. His grip tight enough to bruise.
Glamjin lifts you from stone floor, itself cracking just as he is, just as his world is.
Then he is no more. No second form, no parting word; the hero slays the monster and life goes on.
In the end he was nothing but a bully, and he is defeated, as all evil will be in the fullness of time.
Bran, there’s a rapier, a bow, and enough arrows here if you desire them. They have the stats you deem they should. They’re 1 load each.
YOU HAVE SLAIN GLAMJIN!!!!!
Gisard is skeptical that he's really dead. Clutching his badly burned eye socket with one hand, he lifts himself up with some help from his staff and limps over to the gap in the wall, trying to see through the pain and single eyeball if he can spot any sign that Glamjin's still lying in wait somehow.
Glamjin has been slain by a weapon forged by the steel will of the Prince of Blades and imbued with the cold iron that by Unbreakable Truth cuts deep to the soul of any fairy, Glamjin being no exception.
Geth, roll 2d6+1 for Discern Realities (wis)
What here is not what it appears to be?
Who's really in control here?
What should I be on the lookout for?
But probably he's actually dead, Gisard's just paranoid.
"Huh."
The thief eyes the fae's dropped accoutrement, then realizes there's so little he can trust here. Then he remembers he has a magical friend that can check for hostile magic, and leaps to his feet.
"Gisard, you still alive down there?!?!" Bran frantically shouts down over the battlements.
This old keep? Actually not that sturdy. This realm? About to melt into the Informe.
This is a good time to remember that you can fly in the Informe, and make stuff with your mind.
Still, what way you go and if you can even do so successfully is not certain, so some outside help might be in order.
Gisard
The wall you’re stood on is very slowly falling to the right. If you peer over the edge you see there’s no longer any ground for it to fall to!
Better get on that last prepared spell!
Bran
The tower you’re on is crumbling apart brick by brick! Upwards!
Roll to Defy Brick to the Face!
Geth, roll 2d6+3 for Brickface (DEX)
“‘Ello mister, don’t suppose you’ve got any spare change?”
It’s a short horned kid. They’re hanging on the side of the tower, flicking a leg around every few seconds to try and roll onto the top.
“Or food? A nibble? A snack? What about the clothes off your back? Warm I think, you’ll”, they drop a bit, then leverage their leg at last, “You’ll feel better for giving to the needy, and I’m very needy. Needy not greedy, that’s me.”
Is this guy for real? This whole world is ending!
The audience of insane beings forced to watch Glamjin’s games flee out into the multiverse.
Elsewhere
“And then we got married. Bit of a russh, and circumstancesss haven’t been ideal, but believe it or not, this is my longest relationsship ever.”, says Dooli between drags of a cigar.
Dooli, clad in tribal warpaint and a loincloth, directs a group of kobolds to plunk an orb into the slot and awaken the portal. Dooli’s wife is sat on their shoulder.
“Are you sure this’ll work?”, whispers Cindra in Pomme’s mousy ear.
“No. But this place is collapsing, we have to try.”, the ranger takes a long breath, “Okay key, make me a path to my companions.”
They walk towards the portal in a link of held hands. The portal is shaking, dubious, faulty, and there Pomme presses the key to it, and turns—
While This is All Going On
That other party are lost in a hedge maze on the floating island.
“Right. Look. Just stop moaning. We set off first from the train and I know we headed straight towards the tower, so no, again, they’re not going to beat us to Glamjin.”
Sir Krig has his helmet off, and is sat on a marble bench. He’s an animated suit of armour, so there’s no head, but he still manages to look miserable.
At that moment the angels fly overhead, sending a servant’s vessel crash landing nearby after slaying its crew.
Van Lonestar pops up from the bush he was laid under.
“I can pilot that.”, he says, cracking his knuckles in preparation.
But Also
The amulet is... certainly somewhere...
But that is perhaps another adventure, for other adventurers, years from now.
"Ghost Train! You're picking up passengers at this crumbling keep! And make it quick, we're running on a tight schedule!"
Bran then takes three steps and launches himself off the crumbling facade, hoping to find his void legs. He points himself roughly in Gisard's last known direction, but the mix of Informe and Glamjin's crumbling domain make the physics wonky at best.
Geth, roll 2d6+1 for Traverse the Informe
The unmistakable whistle is heard first, then the thunder of wheels on tracks being laid out before at a considerable clip.
The train smashes through some distant part of the keep, then rises up and turns, coming to a grinding halt beside you Gisard. There’s a three foot gap you’ll have to hop, but that’s pretty good service. A door opens for you and you are welcomed by the scent of cleanliness and varnish. Looks likes it’s refurbished further since your greatest spell first took shape. This is first class!
As you peer inside, a band of elven minstrels and a singer peer back nervously.
“We don’t actually know how we got here either. Do you, um, want us to write you a song? Little poem? Err...”,
Bran
The summoned imp gives you his thanks in some nonsense slang, then dodges their way to the items.
As you rocket into the air part of the keep comes up to meet you! It looks to be half a wall and floor, part of a kitchen, and you’re on a collision course with man-sized ovens and sloshing cauldrons!
Bran, how do you overcome this obstacle to reach the train?
Pomme
There’s a strange sensation, like falling in a dream, but as the ranger looks back to check on their allies they find themselves upright.
Pomme, the adventurers, and many kobolds are stood hand in hand on the train, who whistles in shock.
Behind them a smooth alien vessel rears into view. Sir Krig waves awkwardly from the upper deck.
He calls over to Pomme, “I have been informed we’re running out of ‘juice’. Could we please hitch a ride?”
“Did Bran make it? Did y’all see where those angels went, they were headed this way, then poof! Is everyone okay?”, shouts Paolo, the greatest pretend gunslinger in the West, well, a West.
“I cannot answer, but get off that thing, it’s falling!”, orders the captain*, and they comply.
*Pomme has self-promoted to captain, why not, right?
Bran panics slightly as a smallish cooking pan catches him flat in the shin, sending him into a slow corkscrew. The world around him is melting into a sloppy stew of the objective physics of Glamjin's failing realm and the subjective physics of the Informe, and it's unpredictable to a fault. Then a literal sloppy stewpot clocks him in the shoulder, sending his corkscrew counter-axially bound.
"Oh, to hell with this." The thief bundles himself tight into a tucked ball, then re-launches himself in his original direction feet-first through sheer willpower. As he does, he starts to feel out the seams between gravities and does his best to catwalk, kickflip, or roadie run on any itinerant kitchen objects that get in his way.
You are clocked on the hand as you descend, and the Mortal Blade flicks off magnetically to a rogue wok.
You manage to grab the staff and are pulled inside.
Everyone is here.
The Party
“This is actually very cosy. There’s definitely a song here, like ‘we all live in...’ what’s one of these?”, says an elven minstrel.
There’s a soft thumping above. The kobolds are already settled in, filling whatever role they make for themselves behind walls and in hidden nooks.
“I have made 125953 calculations in the past minute and replayed all footage of this event, and I conclude that you are all my friends.”, Scout says with a robotic pat of Dooli’s scaly head.
“Where’s... oh. Regrettable. I felt... I will name my next sword after them.”, says the little frogfolk samurai with a bow.
“You did it. You are victorious. My lieges.”
That’s Sir Krig, he is kneeling before you both.
“Can we go home now?”, says The Kid, who’s chubby face is pressed against a window.
Paolo suddenly sits down, missing a chair and ending up on the floor, “I think... I wish... I’m sorry. I promised...”
“It’s doable.”, says Dooli, “Looks like it’s just going to be a bit more manual. Gisard, get this bugger on the move, we’ll deal with the rest of the multiverse when we get there.”
“It can be done Monsieur.”, Pomme agrees.
“You don’t get it! How long, how long will it take to get home?!”
“Not so long.”, says the Goddess of Portals, Amlah, Quariloib-Ur Ashu, Naerfara, Doory.
She puts a giant hand to her breast, and it glows with a warmth like summer love. She has her heart back. You blink, and she’s gone.
All that has changed is the knowledge now, perhaps once she has rested, but very soon indeed, portals are now and for the rest of your days, on your side.
—
The train rushes on!
The Informe, after all, is just our imagination.
Thank you all for playing.
Roll credits...