Richard Rawen said:
Loving it, as always. Been a bit distracted of late, but seriously enjoying the action. Your experiences with the younger generation are inspiring, rather impressive to me as... I've not the patience
[sblock=hijack] sblocked because it rambled and I didn't want to thread-hijack
My kids did play when they were younger, more for curiosity sake than anything I believe. We were all a bit younger, by 10 years, and I ran "Horror on the Hill", a classic in my book.
All went smoothly until they routed a small camp of goblins and hobgoblins. That went well actually with the exception of a survivor... the one that got away. So the somewhat banged up group decides that they should leave the area, and head up a nearby hill.
And gather a large bonfire's worth of wood.
And light it... I'm sad to say I did mention that the night air was a bit chill.
The idea of the bonfire appealed to them on some youthful-pyromania level I suppose... so much so that the increasingly blatant warnings by INT and WIS rolls, and finally a gift from the DM - 'that's a big fire up here on the hill.'
It's all met with bad rolls, worse interpretation of warnings and finally a complete ignoring of that idiotic Dad of theirs,
of course it's a big fire, that's the point!
So the goblish army crept up the hill, and . . . well lets just say that if you ask any of them about camp-fires they will quickly either change the subject or demand that you not do so on a hill.
[/sblock]Looking forward to the conclusion, Merry Christmas!
My lot do the same sort of thing, then roll half-a-dozen naturals and clear the decks, before asking what's for afters.
And so we press on to the climax...
Turn 7.4: Bert’s bad.
“Bert don’t fail me now.” Saradomin whispers.
The Bugbear is less than ten feet away from him as he brings his crossbow up to aim.
The towering creature increases its pace; it’s only a few feet away when…
THWONG
Saradomin’s crossbow bolt smashes into its forehead, about half the length of the bolt juts from the creature’s skull, the rest… well.
The Bugbear stands there, swaying slightly, drops its scythe, smiles, scratch that- grins, claps its hands together in glee, and then capers a little.
Aleso stops his stumbling, straightens up- having spotted an enemy he feels he can deal with, he clanks towards the lumbering Goblinoid who has clearly lost all sense of occasion.
The Paladin spots something en route; turns back to stare at the now open doorway, emerging from the chamber are a knot of Skeletons, actually three of them.
“The Aleso.” Aleso shrieks and scampers off, leaving Saradomin on his own.
The Priest of St. Cuthbert tuts, places his crossbow on the floor, and unleashes his heavy mace.
WHUMP
The Bugbear ceases its little dance and takes to lying very still on the floor and bleeding profusely.
Which brings the Skeletons into view.
The three bonies clack towards Saradomin armed with swords and axes, they clearly mean business.
DMs Interlude, you’ll remember I keep referring back to Initiative rolls, in previous combat sections, well for the record- the initiative roll for the Skeletons was, adjusted- after all Skeletons have +5 Initiative, to… 6. Can anyone see a pattern forming yet?
“I don’t know.” Saradomin shakes his head, while tucking away his mace and reaching for his Holy Symbol.
“Bert, and I hope you can hear me,
Send down your holy aura,
And spread these Skeletons around like Flora.”
BOOOOOOOOM
A bright white light engulfs the three Skeletons, it lasts for but the blink of an eye, then the Undead liberally redistribute themselves around the area- smashed to splinters of bone.
Saradomin waits a while.
Aleso stops running, heads back to the battlefield, sheepish.
Just in time to take in the show.
“Who’s bad?
Bert’s bad.
I said who’s bad?
Bert’s bad.”
Saradomin moonwalks and struts while repeating his little rhyme.
Mostly in Aleso’s face.
The Paladin looks unamused, then amazed, and then unamused again; eventually amazement gets the better of him.
“That was…” He begins.
Saradomin finishes his little dance by wetting his finger in his mouth, and then applying said finger to his wiggling backside.
“TSSSS.”
Is the sound he makes.
Saradomin’s backside ceases wiggling, still pointing in Aleso’s direction.
“I’m bad.” Saradomin concludes. Then adds, “let’s go help the others.”
And rushes off.
Aleso, and a gurning Bernard, follow after.
“Yessth Marthter.”
The three-some stumble into the eastern chamber.
When we left the fracas Dartamor was hauling in the corpse of the Goblin he had killed with his lasso- reason unknown, Grand Alf was having an electric fit on the floor- ostensibly doing the worst ever rendition of a dying swan, and Jerky was being menaced by two Goblins and a Bugbear.
Well things have changed somewhat.
Grand Alf is puffed out, his floorshow now comes in fits and starts, between hacking coughing fits and bouts of heavy breathing, this dying malarkey will be the death of him.
Jerky has a broken arm.
It’s the one hanging by his side- useless.
On the positive side he is still being menaced by two Goblins, and an arm-breaking, Bugbear.
So that’s ok then.
However Dartamor is now in action, like a mad shot-putter he spins around with the Goblin corpse whirling out in front of him, like some lunatic carousel.
“Hang on, I’ll…”
Dartamor begins.
DUNK
Jerky gets lucky, one of the Goblins menacing him over-reaches and the Gnome brains him, the Goblin flops to the floor unmoving.
The Bugbear however is having none of it, it strides forward, shoves the last of the Goblins aside, towers over Jerky, raises his shovel high- about to flatten the Gnome.
WHUMP
When the huge Goblinoid is struck in the face by a whirling Goblin- I wonder where that came from?
The Bugbear drops its weapon and stumbles hard right, clearly disorientated, blood gushes from its broken nose, it also seems to have lost some teeth in the collision.
It trips and sprawls, lies still for a moment before Aleso and Saradomin- who share a look.
“Surren…” Is all that Aleso manages.
Saradomin shrugs and then smashes his heavy mace down on the Bugbear which is attempting to get back up.
The things skull is caved in- dead.
“Uz gi’ i’.”
In translation-
“Me give in.”
The remaining Goblin flings away its shortsword and abases itself before Jerky.
“That’s a bit more like it.”
Grand Alf is up and over to the creature, a miracle cure, he shoves Jerky aside so that the Goblin is sprawled before him.
“Your mine now.”
Grand Alf states, and grins down at the Goblin, who has no idea what the Sorcerer is saying.
“Uz tell theur everythin’. Uz gran' Goblin. Uz nem is ‘Alan.”
In translation-
“Me tell you everything. Me good Goblin. My name is ‘Alan.’”
“You’d better be a good Goblin or I’ll set him on you.”
Grand Alf points at Saradomin, who smacks the head of his mace hard into his open palm, then straight away wishes he hadn’t.
“Now tell us everything.” Grand Alf finishes.
The Priest of St. Cuthbert turns away to suck and blow his hand- it stings; there are tears in his eyes.
Dartamor is on the scene, puts his foot on the Goblin presses him down into the dirt and fungi, the Rogue grabs and ties the creature’s hands behind its back.
Hog-tied the Goblin is levered into a sitting position, the interrogation begins in earnest.
“Ask him if he wants to be my servant?” Grand Alf barks at Dartamor.
“Ask him if there’s a toilet near by?” Aleso states, while hoping from foot to foot.
“Ask him if he’s ever heard of St. Cuthbert and his marvellous works?” Saradomin states and bends down to the Goblin, the Priest has a pamphlet in hand, the title reads in bold, ‘St. Cuthbert- Wine, Women & Strong”, it looks to be hand-written.
“Ask him why we bother?” Jerky mooches off back out of the chamber, “I’ll stand out here shall I? On guard. Shout if you need me… Not that you will… I don’t know, call yourself adventurers…” He mumbles on.
“Wheear are t' Adventurers?” Dartamor enquires.
In translation-
“Where are the Adventurers?”
The Goblin brightens up, at last something he can understand, “Wi' t' Ahtcast, int' Twileight Grove.”
In translation-
“With the Outcast, in the Twilight Grove.”
The Goblin nods vigorously, “Can ah nip on naw?”
In translation-
“Can I go now?”
Dartamor translates.
“The ‘Twilight Grove’, that sounds nice.” Grand Alf states.
The Goblin shrugs uncomprehending.
“Ask him if he wants to be my servant?” Grand Alf barks again at Dartamor.
“Ahem… toilet?” Aleso whines.
“St. Cuthbert offers the one true path to enlightenment?” Saradomin proffers the pamphlet again; the Goblin indicates he has no hands to spare. “Ah, I see.” Saradomin finds two stones to hold the pamphlet open on the floor before the Goblin, so that the creature can read the wise words contained within, a foolproof plan, except for the fact that the Goblin does not understand the Common tongue, and he can’t read, not even Goblin. The Goblin nods vigorously, seemingly enjoying the tale.
“Scratch that- ask him why I bother?” Jerky pops his head around the door, only for a moment, and then disappears back out of sight.
“Adventurers…Ha. I said, ‘Ha.’ Bunch of mad men more like.” The Gnome mutters on whilst standing guard outside the chamber.
The Lost Boys are not offended by Jerky’s comment however, having unanimously, and individually, previously taken the decision to ignore anything the Gnome says.
DMs Interlude- at least that’s what it feels like to me.
“What’s defendin 'em? Int' Grove?” Dartamor asks.
In translation-
“What’s defending them? In the Grove?”
“Chief Durnn. 'N Priestess. ‘N um Goblins.” The Goblin nods, vigorously- of course, and grins, a helpful little Goblin.
In translation-
“Chief Durnn. And Priestess. And some Goblins.”
“Wha' else is theear?” Dartamor continues.
In translation-
“What else is there?”
“Look will you just ask him if he wants to be my servant, the pay’s lousy, as are the conditions, but I will teach him mighty magics, like how to make tea, and toast and sandwiches. Ask him- go on. Have you asked him?” Grand Alf nudges the Rogue, tugs at his shoulder.
“I’ve asked him, he’s said no, he’s a little busy- tied up, Grand Alf; he appreciates the offer and all that, don’t you?”
Dartamor nods at the Goblin, the Goblin nods back, only with more vigour.
“But alas he has to decline, don’t you?”
Daratamor nods at the Goblin, who… guess?
“Tell him that’s a shame. A SHAME.” Grand Alf leers over the Goblin screaming in the creature’s face, then grins.
The Sorcerer pats the creature on the back of its head, wipes his hand and then wanders off, “a real shame.”
“Toy-aaaaaaaarrrrr-let?” Aleso clutches his unmentionable area.
“Nope.” Dartamor states.
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa-t?”
“The nearest toilet is some distance away, and is out of order, isn’t it”
Dartamor nods at the Goblin, who parrots the manoeuvre.
“He says it is also out of soap, and the towels are dirty.”
The Paladin nods, his face a rictus grin, then suddenly he smiles, lifts his left leg off the floor and half-limps, half-hops away, shaking the offending leg en route.
“No matter.” He calls back.
“St. Cuthbert?” Saradomin grins at the Goblin, holds out a bottle of rotgut Goblin ale, the one he stole previously, he nods at the Goblin and shakes the bottle, the Goblin nods back- vigorously.
“PRAISE BE… FOR I HAVE SAVED HIS SOUL.” Saradomin jerks the Goblin to its feet, slaps the creature on its back, almost flattening it again, and then with a wink shoves the neck of the bottle into the Goblins mouth and upends it for a second.
The Goblin is soon glassy eyed and grinning.
And nodding, vigorously.
“Sent Guth-Butt.”
The Goblin nods and grins some more.
“Release him Dartamor, he has seen the fight- St. Cuthbert has blessed him, he shall join our holy alliance in our struggle against the dark forces of tyranny that seek to bring wan grass and scratchy stick insects to bear on the world of enlightenment.”
Dartamor’s jaw hits the floor.
The Priest of St. Cuthbert continues, shaking the Goblin’s shoulders to emphasise his points.
“St. Guth Butt is inside you young lad, inside here”, Saradomin taps the spot on the Goblin normally reserved for the liver; he failed Basic Anatomy, “he’s mighty strong, able to dish out a lot of punishment. He’s a soldier, lad, a fighter, not a quitter”, Saradomin’s gaze finds out Aleso, “a fighter lad, inside, here.” Saradomin aims for the Liver and finds the Spleen.
“Let him go Dartamor, for he is bound to me, to St. Cuth Butt now. I shall call him… Jeff.”
“He said his name’s Alan.” Dartamor tries to help.
“Well he’s not Alan anymore, Alan was his Goblin name, tell him he’s Jeff now, Jeff St. Cuthbert- go on tell him.” Saradomin continues to shake the Goblin formerly known as Alan AKA Jeff St. Cuthbert, “tell him then”, Saradomin nods at Dartamor.
Who nods back, vigorously, smiling- “he says your name is Jeff…”
“Uz name’s Alan it wor uz mother’s na…”
In translation-
“My name’s Alan it was my mother’s na…”
“Thy name’s Jeff naw, if theur want ta stay ali', Jeff St. Cuthbert.”
In translation-
“Your name’s Jeff now, if you want to stay alive, Jeff St. Cuthbert.”
Dartamor nods vigorously, at the Goblin and Saradomin, in turns. The Goblin catches on- nods his entire head, body and soul in Saradomin’s direction.
The Priest unhooks his mace, wanders over to the Goblin, his grin slightly lopsided, “what’s your name?” There’s an air of menace in his voice.
“Deaf Sent Gutt Butt.”
Saradomin scowls, and moves closer in to the Goblin, in its face.
“Your name again soldier?”
“DEAF SENT GUTT BUTT.” The Goblin screams back and stamps his feet to attention.
“Ahhh, he’s so cute.” Saradomin pats the creatures head, and then wipes his hand.
Dartamor shakes his head, meets Jerky’s gaze, the Gnome leans around the door making a whirling motion to the side of his head, clearly signalling that Saradomin is mad. Dartamor nods back, vigorously.
“Good that’s settled.” Saradomin states, now we sing.
Aleso returns to the fold, “did I miss anything?”
Saradomin begins to sing/bellow, a bit of both actually, mostly bellow though, simultaneously thumping out the tune on the top of Jeff’s head.
“Onward Cuthbert’s soldiers,
Marching as to war,
With the carafe of Cuthbert,
Going on before…”
The Goblin winces and opens and closes his mouth in time to the words- nearly.
“I don’t know this one- is it a carol?” Aleso grins and attempts to join in.
Next Turn: I spy.
Slow and steady, that's the style; and it gets worse before it gets better, you'll see...
