New attempt for something! Small "DM's Notes" will be added, but they will be done in white font. On this pale blue-grey forum they should be unreadable. But if you click-drag over the words, it'll highlight and be readable. Most of these notes are too small for a proper "spoiler" bar to be worth it.
The two Great Goblins let out bellowing roars, echoed quickly by the lesser, regular goblins loitering the camp, cries rending the air. The Ranger quickly declares that certain battles are fought with a better weapon, and disappears into the undergrowth, while the Druid mutters, "My forests need me." and subsequently vanishes.
Krixik the kobold summoner is left alone on the northern edge, tucked in the woodland cover as he takes shots at foes, unfortunately suffering mishap as his crossbow string breaks and he's forced to take time to repair it. By the time he's mobile again, the fight has moved inside, with the archers descended from the wall to make firing lines as the melee goblins rush in. Lek the Dwarven Cleric steps aside to heal himself and his allies with his divine protection before rushing back into battle, while Artael the half-elf barbarian wastes no time swinging his flail so hard as to ram it through a goblin's foot and lodge it in the spongy ground of what was most likely a goblin latrine. Feeling prudent, he retrieves one of his throwing axes, though lightweight it's fair enough for striking down small goblins.
One of the oversized greenskins falls under a lance charge from Gillen the human cavalier as the other (minus a foot) takes prudence to retreat. The lesser goblins fall under lance and axe quickly, and as the way opens the cavalier charges into the fort, sundering the archer ranks in short order as the melee descends on the unsuspecting goblins. The palisade scoured, all goblins lay slain.
Over a dozen small sized armors and weapons of marginal quality are looted off the corpses, along with whatever meager treasures each goblin held (average 5gp coinpurse of bits of precious metal of gem fragments). Moving to the main tent, the party finds the two larger goblins had been holding an old rickety chest with several nice pieces of jewelry and a sack of coins. A literal sack filled with 40 pounds of coins, primarily copper coin stockpiled into a large ugly bag.
A cry from across the yard draws their attention! A goblin had escaped. Temporarily. Crawling into the cavernous cellar area, the party finds iron bars keeping in check a dozen or more kobolds of poor health and feral temperament, terrified of Gillen's torch, along with a pair of humans in poor health. After a quick freeing, the humans explain they're from Littleport, taken as slaves, as goblins are oft to do, along with the multitude of goblins. Unfortunately Artael's lack of charisma lends itself to both humans storming off, and in the distraction the Kobolds escape, a flood of scaly hides rushing out from the slave pit, up a ladder, and over the side of the wall to disappear into the wilderness.
Further into the camp, a smaller tent is set aside. Inside, the party finds 5 sets of glaives and large steel shields, of a size too large for goblin use and nicely crafted, as well as a very well constructed chest, of medium size and tight lock. Lek, being the most magically inclined, is able to determine that Arcane Lock has been placed, making the chest unusually difficult to open. Fortunately that doesn't matter to the barbarian, who braces a glaive against the lock and throws his weight directly into a faceplant and slams his nose against the wooden planks and metal bands. He rolled a natural 1, and I should have been more cruel... On a second attempt, with help from the dwarf, the clasp shatters and the lock, unhurt, escapes from the broken latch. Inside are no less than 50 vials of alchemist's fire, each within a separate padded pocket, much like a jewelry box, along with a crude map of the area that seemed to depict goblins burning down the village of Littleport, and a compass. This is where I really should have punished them. They broke open a box of alchemist's fire, AND rolled a natural 1. It should have exploded and killed them all. But I didn't want to TPK on the first mission... Feeling nice, the party promptly steals EVERYTHING and leaves.
On arrival to Grand South, it's well past sunset, and they discover the Kobold has escaped their party, along with several bits of jewelry.Cthulhu had to excuse himself, and I ensured that he got some loot for the encounter. But feeling they'd lifted enough, they let the pest go without worry. However, being well into the night, the party was only able to afford a decent stay at an inn, stable their animals, and rest.
At this point, all three players subtract 10gp from their pockets. For the next month, they don't have to keep track of any purchase under 1gp. This means they don't have to fetter about every slice of bread they buy or the cost of every inn stay. They've simply 'paid ahead' for the month. In the morning, Lek and Artael take the various piles of loot to the market, while Gillen takes it upon himself (without the brutes) to consult the governor-general of the city. The brutes, for their part, pocket several vials of alchemist's fire each and sell off everything of value (total loot, without kobold's stolen jewelry: 1,550) and take time to acquire heavier armor, as well as repair one of the half-plate suites stolen off one of the larger goblins. Fortunately the smith is a dwarf, and he figures he can do the repairs and resizing easily enough (200gp per armor, total profits down to 950).
Gillen meanwhile makes a diplomatic fool of himself, becoming aggressive with a guard before getting lucky to be allowed in to see the lord. General Constance is an older man, though no less impending in appearance. His grey hair is thick and healthy, his armor light but functional for life inside the walls of a fort, and his attitude one of control and ownership. He easily handles Gillen as the cavalier fumbles to explain they'd wiped out a palisade of goblins, though with all the loot sold and no proof except for the stench of goblins on his armor... Constance luckily has the word of the young Fleet, the boy having traveled to Grand South to alert the guards of the goblins and confirm Gillen's story. Or at least confirm his intentions. Constance still deploys a squad of soldiers to check the palisade, taking a day's ride round trip.
In the meantime, Artael gets drunk off his ass and fails to woo any bar maids.
Lek becomes slightly more productive, and consults the local brawling arena for a few extra coin, and then the church to consult the histories - which in retrospect was likely not the best idea, for a dwarf with bloodied nose and black eye to demand entry to the church's library. However, in proving his ownership of a holy symbol, they grudgingly let him into the archives.
To the north are mountains, making a natural border, and to the east is the sea. Directly south from Grand South is a river, with a trade city built upon it, and everything further south belongs to a different nation. The two nations had been at war, some 70 years past. The north functions on regiment, discipline, and generally becoming a well-oiled war machine, while the south relies more on natural abilities, brutality, and filling in weak spots with magic and rough tactics. Although the north is the larger nation, the natural boundaries make travel more difficult, and eventually both sides just 'wind down' and finish fighting with nothing significant achieved in any way. Although Lek attempts to determine some knowledge off this, he is unable to find any real information about leadership, tactics, or economies of war - primarily because the last battle was over 65 years ago and generations have changed.
With about a week's time until the mercenary call reached its deadline, the party buys a Heavy Horse for Gillen, although untrained the young knight is skillful with animals and intends to save on training cost by doing so himself. After another meeting with General Constance, the party is rewarded with 50gp and a small boon of the court for their efforts against the goblins, as well as mildly disturbed by Constance's collection of goblin ears - only the right ears, only to have him explain it was proof of a successful kill, and rather easier than bringing a whole head back as proof. On questioning about the goblins' missing equipment, the party confesses it was all sold, though Constance seems to encourage them to take their battle spoils as their own. They also confess to finding a box of alchemist's fire, and that it was sold as well. Alarmed by this news, goblins with ready access to fire, he inquires further. The party fails to mention the map and compass, but do tell him it was locked and the goblins couldn't get it. The party also fails to mention the collection of weapons that were the wrong size for goblins. After some discussion the party hands over many of their remaining vials, with the intent for the court's alchemist to examine and determine where they were produced.
Satisfied with a successful goblin extermination, Constance informs the party that the entire mercenary job was to take care of goblins, and commends them on working ahead of schedule! Yet with nothing to do for the rest of the week (and half the group missing) they consult the tavern's wanted board. Aside from being mostly empty, a wounded man stumbles in and sloppily posts a small, stained map. Feeling adventurous, the party sets off for Eversweet Orchards.
Despite the endearing name, the village is built tougher than a fortress. 10 foot high walls line the entire perimeter and the air is so thick with magic it's tangible. A 50 foot tall archway serves as the only entrance, flanked by two guards who offer no challenge. Unlike Grand South, Eversweet Orchards is buzzing with activity in the nighttime, with taverns open and bright, filled with laughter and drink, torches and lanterns keeping the whole of the town square alight and filled with the noise of revelry and the pleasant evening air.
Being adventurers immune to fun, the party immediately approach a guard and asks about the village. The guard, for his part, turns his head, slate grey eyes unstaring and mouth welded shut. An iron golem in full plate armor and polearm offers no information. Proceeding towards the nearest tavern, a single open room with no front wall lets the night air into the warmth of the tavern, ladies in dress and men in suits enjoying an evening of drink and laughter, the high-class crowd hardly pays them any mind. The bartender is disinterested in their goals, but does offer them a drink! Pouring three small glasses of hard cider, the party immediately panics and screams poison and murder at everything within earshot, preparing to draw weapons and run screaming. However after a small coaxing and a taste test by the bartender, they concede it may not be poison, and enjoy a glass of some of the most delicious alcoholic cider any have ever known, crisp flavors and smooth alcohol mingling into a sublime taste.
Encouraged, the bartender does take a closer look. Unfortunately, his upper-crust crowd wouldn't know anything about adventure problems, but he might know something... if only something could job his memory... Oh! Coin. Coin would do it. And after a small bribe, the bartender points to the tavern's bard. The young, thin woman wears a slender suit, small harp at her hip as she strums small tunes and floats between patrons. Gorgeously thick blonde hair falls loose about her shoulders and the sound of her harp fills the room with soft melodies.
As the party approaches, it becomes evident the bard is a man. Probably. His slender form and pristine skin is still GORGEOUS, and his smile sweet and disarming, along with a soft and cheerful voice. Artael and Lek are saddened, although Gillen seems to have been expecting traps - of one sort or another. As Lek checks for magic and Artael... plays with his flail... the bard introduces himself as Charl to Gillen while floating idly above the floor (Lek determines that the braided metal belt is something magic, but then again every single thing in the village is magical to some degree...) and when informed that they'd spoken to the bartender, Charl promptly leads them out of the tavern and towards the orchard.
The small city thrives on orchards of Moon Apples, deeply magical fruit of incredible taste, and price. Selling for around 1,000gp each, the fruit is highly prized, the land heavily defended, and intruders dealt with harshly. While most products are sold in some diluted state, as juice, dried flakes, small slices, or otherwise small portions, very few people do manage to enjoy whole apples. Due to the cost of produce, the village is just as guarded as its caravans. Custom built wagons hang metal sheets off the sides to protect the sides and the wheels, while horses hide under enclosed wooden domes, every segment built with small footholds or entire miniature battlements to support guards standing on top with crossbows. Looking more like war machine than delivery vehicle, they are armored cars of their day, and the village itself is built no less tightly.
Charl draws attention to a vague blur in the shadows, a rustle in the field. The tall trees are more umbrella in shape, thin trunks suddenly giving way to a thin layer of wide leaves, with branches adorned with small glowing bumps and bulbs. Although taken the name Moon Apple, it's clear they're not relatives of domestic apples. Charl seems wary of the shadowy figure, but reaching out shows an invisible wall of force, appearing under his fingers as a misty white glow that responds to anything coming close. However, being able to float freely, the bard easily slips over the wall and drapes a rope over for the adventurers.
The party is immediately set upon by a group of burrowing creatures! The shifting bumps under the thick black loam move towards them, at least until Charl begins strumming deep, resonate chords. The creatures veer aside, then around in circles, before becoming fully disoriented and simply disappearing under the earth. With the bard keeping the creatures at bay, he rambles on as they cross the orchard, until coming to the village's wall. Loose dirt piles up against it in a vague ramp, except for one part where it's been dug down and into a hole.
Promptly descending, Artael continues handling his flail as he makes a charging rush, dealing a massive blow to the beast that lies within. A flurry of fur and teeth whirl around, striking hard back at the barbarian. Lek and Gillen move in, failing to deal significant damage (and failing to take advantage of Flank options on a Large creature) until Gillen draws a tighter grip on his weapon and Artael steps back, promptly getting ripped open and dying bleeding on the ground. After several successful hits, the creature is managing to evade many hits with unusual ease, the dwarf's darksight and the cavalier's torch doing nothing to aid as they deliver unsteady hits, until a lucky hit from Lek drops the beast with one steady swing of the greatsword. This was actually the first hit he EVER landed on an enemy, and it was a critical threat against an enemy that was tearing them to pieces! Finally, with the beast slain, they take their time to make sure Artael isn't totally dead (he lives) and to skin and clean the corpse of the beast.
Lek, making a stunning killing blows, claims for himself the fresh skin of the Dire Badger, as well as some 200 pounds of fresh badger meat, and a large bone. Artael for his part, takes an ear. The Dire Badger had been feasting on Moon Apples and the roots of their trees, taking unusual size and magic, with a magical Haze over itself that made it difficult to determine the exact location or land a steady blow.
Deep into the night by now and exhausted by a grueling fight, Charl leads them back to the village proper and promptly flies off somewhere. However, they quickly find that an inn room had been reserved for them, free of charge, a luxury suite in a heavy 'tourist trap' village...
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Topic: Girlinhat's Pathfinder: Failures of Ability (Read 9014 times)