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(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 3908249" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>The building, though at first glance abandoned, is clearly some kind of theater. There is a large stage, with props scattered about here and there. Rows of seats face the stage. The curtains are closed. Ropes and rigging dangle from the darkness above. The smell of corruption is as strong inside the building as it is outside.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly- dramatically- the curtains rise, and mocking laughter rings out through the theater. </p><p></p><p>“They look as tasty as the dead- and as stupid and slow!”</p><p></p><p>The voice rings out in the local tongue, but its tone is plain even to those of our heroes who cannot understand it. It comes from the shadows above. <em>Somewhere in the rigging,</em> thinks Dahlia. </p><p></p><p>Four figures, shambling, grey-skinned ghouls, emerge onto the stage, wheezing laughter. They are costumed brightly in a morbid parody of the theater they are in.</p><p></p><p>“Ghouls!” she shouts. “Watch out!” She casts <em>barkskin</em> on herself. The ghouls start to creep forward, and then the stench hits Dahlia and she wants to gag.</p><p></p><p>Sir Colder springs forward, stabbing violently at the closest undead with his longspear. He hits it in the chest, and it staggers back- and laughs. The stink assails him, as well; it makes his gorge rise. <em>What foulness is this?</em> he groans to himself. Behind him, Lord Cedric and Sir Fwaigo move in together, and suddenly the crash of battle is in full swing as our heroes and the hideously odiferous ghouls collide in a shower of violence. Our heroes have grown mighty, and- at least for now- none of them succumb to the paralysis threatened by every small wound the ghouls cause. And the stink! It is ghastly!</p><p></p><p>Cedric grins as he reaches the ghouls. “By the power of Clymorian!” he cries. “Turn away, foul creatureth!” With that, he channels positive energy, and the nearest pair of the undead cower back away from him. One of them turns to flee, and he cuts it down with his mighty sword, and a glad cry escapes his lips.</p><p></p><p>The voice cries down from above. “Witch-woman!” it sneers, “You with the tangled hair!” Dahlia stiffens. “You look as though your association with nature is as shallow as your veneer of civilization. I am surprised that you can cast a spell!” She gasps, somehow wounded by his barbed remarks. She bites her lip and gazes resentfully into the shadows.</p><p></p><p><em>Where is he?</em> she wonders. She peers... is that a shape? Yes! In the rigging...</p><p></p><p>But he is too quick. Suddenly <em>silence</em> drops around her. She grimaces and takes a few steps away, until she can hear the battle again. “You want to see me cast a spell?” she yells, and hits him with a <em>flame strike</em>. The ropes he is hanging in burn up in a flash, and the figure- another ghoul, dressed in more fancy costume, drops from the rigging. But, to Dahlia’s surprise, he twists his body and hits the wall, then catches himself and clings to it.</p><p></p><p>Simultaneously, with the ropes that tied it back burnt away, a heavy bean bag swings out across the stage. Sir Colder dives down and it passes over him, narrowly missing his head. Lord Cedric, Sir Fwaigo and Sir Percival (Me) continue to duel the undead. Cedric slays one with a mighty blow of his blade; Me crushes another with his flail. Finally, he finishes the last one as well.</p><p></p><p>Cedric growls and hops off of the stage, striking a ready stance. “Thpread out tho that the varlet may not eathily catth uth all in a thpell!” he commands.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, the disparager- the last undead facing our heroes- titters and leaps into more of the rigging. Sir Colder shakes his head in disbelief. </p><p></p><p>“Fools! Welcome to the show!” the figure above them cries. “I am Xerthos, player of many parts, and I will feast on you all!”</p><p></p><p>“We have already thlain your lackeyth,” Lord Cedric points out, “and we thall thlay you nektht.”</p><p></p><p>With that, Dahlia casts another <em>flame strike</em> on Xerthos. The flames engulf the ghoul and the ropes holding him. This time, rather than twisting towards the wall, Xerthos gives a rabid scream and dives directly at Dahlia.</p><p></p><p>The stench hits her an instant before the bite. She vomits uncontrollably, staggering back; and if it weren’t for Me, she would probably be dead. But Sir Percival steps in, striking at the foul-smelling ghoul with his magical flail. He roars a challenge while Dahlia staggers away, gagging. The stench is horrific near Xerthos, making even Me fight a bout of strong nausea. But, though it is difficult in the extreme to effectively attack the ghoul in melee because of the strong odor, our heroes do manage to deal a significant amount of damage, and then Kyle finally kills Xerthos with a <em>magic missile.</em></p><p></p><p>“That guy was a jerk!” exclaims Dahlia. </p><p></p><p>“Yeah, he kept spouting off mean stuff,” Sir Colder nods.*</p><p></p><p>Though the playhouse stinks of death and has a number of bodies in it, our heroes decide that it is as good of a place to rest as any. They clean a dressing room up enough that it doesn’t reek of carrion and proceed to get a few precious hours of sleep, banishing fatigue, at least for the moment.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“What we need,” Otis muses as they move along, “is a bank.”</p><p></p><p>“A bank, master?” Kyle is intrigued.</p><p></p><p>“Yes. Benito and Adelle have told us that we will need a great deal of money to take this ‘Shadow Train’. This city is probably not going to have a much better place to look for money than a bank.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s a very good point!” Kyle agrees. </p><p></p><p>All around them, rubble, debris, the dead. Destruction, ruin, craters, broken buildings, battered roads. Here and there a few scavengers. The maroon sky.</p><p></p><p>Colder shudders. <em>What a terrible, terrible place,</em> he thinks. <em>What a terrible time. I hope we can really escape it. I would hate to be stranded here for the rest of my life...</em></p><p></p><p>The heroes find themselves paralleling a stinking canal full of fetid, foul water. This canal runs alongside the metal tracks that they is following. They continue along. After fifteen minutes or so, as they clamber along a large jumbled pile of rocks, several of them spot a figure hiding. They approach, and force a man out into the open. He is slender- scrawny, even- with shaggy brown hair. He has no shirt nor shoes. The only accoutrement he seems to have is a pair of tattered purple pants. </p><p></p><p>“Who are you?” demands Sir Fwaigo.</p><p></p><p>“My name is Banner,” the man replies sadly. “Please do not make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”</p><p></p><p>“We can handle ourselves just fine, thank you,” snorts Goer. “What are you doing here?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m... surviving. I’m a survivor of the war.” As he says this, he seems very sad. </p><p></p><p>“What’s up with you?” the perceptive Dahlia demands. “You seem... guilty.”</p><p></p><p>He looks at her. His eyes are green and as deep as the sea. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he says, “This is all my fault.”</p><p></p><p>“What is?”</p><p></p><p>“This.” He gestures around at the ruin around them. “The death. The war. All of it.”</p><p></p><p>“How so?” asks Sir Porthos. </p><p></p><p>“I invented the gamma bomb,” Banner replies.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Our heroes recruit- the Hulk!!</p><p></p><p></p><p>*Xerthos was a disparager- a prestige class, pretty much for bards, that gives them to ability to inflict penalties on their enemies by calling them names and such. Oh, and for the record, these were actually ghasts, not ghouls per se. Xerthos was a ghast bard 4/disparager 5.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 3908249, member: 1210"] The building, though at first glance abandoned, is clearly some kind of theater. There is a large stage, with props scattered about here and there. Rows of seats face the stage. The curtains are closed. Ropes and rigging dangle from the darkness above. The smell of corruption is as strong inside the building as it is outside. Suddenly- dramatically- the curtains rise, and mocking laughter rings out through the theater. “They look as tasty as the dead- and as stupid and slow!” The voice rings out in the local tongue, but its tone is plain even to those of our heroes who cannot understand it. It comes from the shadows above. [i]Somewhere in the rigging,[/i] thinks Dahlia. Four figures, shambling, grey-skinned ghouls, emerge onto the stage, wheezing laughter. They are costumed brightly in a morbid parody of the theater they are in. “Ghouls!” she shouts. “Watch out!” She casts [i]barkskin[/i] on herself. The ghouls start to creep forward, and then the stench hits Dahlia and she wants to gag. Sir Colder springs forward, stabbing violently at the closest undead with his longspear. He hits it in the chest, and it staggers back- and laughs. The stink assails him, as well; it makes his gorge rise. [i]What foulness is this?[/i] he groans to himself. Behind him, Lord Cedric and Sir Fwaigo move in together, and suddenly the crash of battle is in full swing as our heroes and the hideously odiferous ghouls collide in a shower of violence. Our heroes have grown mighty, and- at least for now- none of them succumb to the paralysis threatened by every small wound the ghouls cause. And the stink! It is ghastly! Cedric grins as he reaches the ghouls. “By the power of Clymorian!” he cries. “Turn away, foul creatureth!” With that, he channels positive energy, and the nearest pair of the undead cower back away from him. One of them turns to flee, and he cuts it down with his mighty sword, and a glad cry escapes his lips. The voice cries down from above. “Witch-woman!” it sneers, “You with the tangled hair!” Dahlia stiffens. “You look as though your association with nature is as shallow as your veneer of civilization. I am surprised that you can cast a spell!” She gasps, somehow wounded by his barbed remarks. She bites her lip and gazes resentfully into the shadows. [i]Where is he?[/i] she wonders. She peers... is that a shape? Yes! In the rigging... But he is too quick. Suddenly [i]silence[/i] drops around her. She grimaces and takes a few steps away, until she can hear the battle again. “You want to see me cast a spell?” she yells, and hits him with a [i]flame strike[/i]. The ropes he is hanging in burn up in a flash, and the figure- another ghoul, dressed in more fancy costume, drops from the rigging. But, to Dahlia’s surprise, he twists his body and hits the wall, then catches himself and clings to it. Simultaneously, with the ropes that tied it back burnt away, a heavy bean bag swings out across the stage. Sir Colder dives down and it passes over him, narrowly missing his head. Lord Cedric, Sir Fwaigo and Sir Percival (Me) continue to duel the undead. Cedric slays one with a mighty blow of his blade; Me crushes another with his flail. Finally, he finishes the last one as well. Cedric growls and hops off of the stage, striking a ready stance. “Thpread out tho that the varlet may not eathily catth uth all in a thpell!” he commands. Meanwhile, the disparager- the last undead facing our heroes- titters and leaps into more of the rigging. Sir Colder shakes his head in disbelief. “Fools! Welcome to the show!” the figure above them cries. “I am Xerthos, player of many parts, and I will feast on you all!” “We have already thlain your lackeyth,” Lord Cedric points out, “and we thall thlay you nektht.” With that, Dahlia casts another [i]flame strike[/i] on Xerthos. The flames engulf the ghoul and the ropes holding him. This time, rather than twisting towards the wall, Xerthos gives a rabid scream and dives directly at Dahlia. The stench hits her an instant before the bite. She vomits uncontrollably, staggering back; and if it weren’t for Me, she would probably be dead. But Sir Percival steps in, striking at the foul-smelling ghoul with his magical flail. He roars a challenge while Dahlia staggers away, gagging. The stench is horrific near Xerthos, making even Me fight a bout of strong nausea. But, though it is difficult in the extreme to effectively attack the ghoul in melee because of the strong odor, our heroes do manage to deal a significant amount of damage, and then Kyle finally kills Xerthos with a [i]magic missile.[/i] “That guy was a jerk!” exclaims Dahlia. “Yeah, he kept spouting off mean stuff,” Sir Colder nods.* Though the playhouse stinks of death and has a number of bodies in it, our heroes decide that it is as good of a place to rest as any. They clean a dressing room up enough that it doesn’t reek of carrion and proceed to get a few precious hours of sleep, banishing fatigue, at least for the moment. *** “What we need,” Otis muses as they move along, “is a bank.” “A bank, master?” Kyle is intrigued. “Yes. Benito and Adelle have told us that we will need a great deal of money to take this ‘Shadow Train’. This city is probably not going to have a much better place to look for money than a bank.” “That’s a very good point!” Kyle agrees. All around them, rubble, debris, the dead. Destruction, ruin, craters, broken buildings, battered roads. Here and there a few scavengers. The maroon sky. Colder shudders. [i]What a terrible, terrible place,[/i] he thinks. [i]What a terrible time. I hope we can really escape it. I would hate to be stranded here for the rest of my life...[/i] The heroes find themselves paralleling a stinking canal full of fetid, foul water. This canal runs alongside the metal tracks that they is following. They continue along. After fifteen minutes or so, as they clamber along a large jumbled pile of rocks, several of them spot a figure hiding. They approach, and force a man out into the open. He is slender- scrawny, even- with shaggy brown hair. He has no shirt nor shoes. The only accoutrement he seems to have is a pair of tattered purple pants. “Who are you?” demands Sir Fwaigo. “My name is Banner,” the man replies sadly. “Please do not make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” “We can handle ourselves just fine, thank you,” snorts Goer. “What are you doing here?” “I’m... surviving. I’m a survivor of the war.” As he says this, he seems very sad. “What’s up with you?” the perceptive Dahlia demands. “You seem... guilty.” He looks at her. His eyes are green and as deep as the sea. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he says, “This is all my fault.” “What is?” “This.” He gestures around at the ruin around them. “The death. The war. All of it.” “How so?” asks Sir Porthos. “I invented the gamma bomb,” Banner replies. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Our heroes recruit- the Hulk!! *Xerthos was a disparager- a prestige class, pretty much for bards, that gives them to ability to inflict penalties on their enemies by calling them names and such. Oh, and for the record, these were actually ghasts, not ghouls per se. Xerthos was a ghast bard 4/disparager 5. [/QUOTE]
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