el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
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Session #101 (part v)
Balem, the 5th of Syet – 561 H.E.
This clearing was familiar to Bastian, yet the light through the trees seemed wrong for the time of autumn it had been when he entered Hurgun’s Maze. He wondered if he had ever been in this place in the woods at this particular time of year. Yes, there was at least one time. The leaves crunched under his boots and he startled himself and stood straight up and looked around.
“N’kron?” he called mentally for his familiar, but there was no reply. He could not sense his familiar anywhere around for a mile or more.
“What is going on?” Bastian asked aloud, and suddenly a dark figured stepped out of the autumnal foliage and answered, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
It was a tall man, with thick black hair tight back on his head in nappy locks not unlike Ratchis’. He wore a chain shirt over his black clothes, and was covered in a black and green travel-stained cloak, made misshapen by a long bastard sword at his side. He held a long bow in his calloused hands. The man’s face betrayed something feral and dangerous. The cut of his chin was too sharp, and his eyes were narrow and dark. His skin had a yellow pallor that no pureblood human could ever have. And yet, it was not that he was ugly. There was a handsomeness to his savage look.
It was Scartesh. (1)
“How did you change your clothes and armor?” the half-orc asked, his eyes narrowing.
“What do you…? Scartesh! How did I get here? Do you know what is happening?” Bastian asked, sputtering.
“I am asking you what is happening,” Scartesh’s voice had a scratchy accent that came through more as he spoke. His face grew a bit flush. “I was watching you and you suddenly changed. You even look… thinner… Even your smell has changed a bit… What kind of trick is this?”
“Am I dreaming?” Bastian asked, aloud stepping forward. Scartesh took a step back and his hand went instinctively to the pommel of his sword. “Am I dead? The last thing I remember was the stone golem attacking… How did I get here?” Bastian looked up at Scartesh bewildered. He scratched under his beard, perturbed.
Scartesh’s wrinkled brow furrowed some more, and he made a guttural sound in the back of his throat.
Bastian put his hands up. “Look. I am just as surprised at this turn of events as your are,” he said. “You are just going to have to trust me. Okay, Scartesh? You trusted me before. You are going to have to trust me now…”
The half-orc left his hand on the hilt of his sword, but visibly settled, after looking to his left and to his right.
“Now,” Bastian continued. “If you would be so kind as to tell me what time this is that we have met…”
“What?” Scartesh growled.
“Um, I am just trying to figure out what is happening with me,” Bastian said. “I think I have been thrown back in time… Somehow, and yet not bodily or else I would be here with me, and I am the only me here right now…”
“You make no sense,” Scartesh replied.
Bastian paused and cleared his throat, placing his hand on the back of his neck and rubbing it hard. He blinked rapidly, took a deep breath and started again in his normal even quiet tone. “You are right. This makes no sense. Perhaps it is best if we stick to the matter at hand and take advantage of this opportunity my being here affords us.”
There was a long pause.
“You see… I now know that our plan does not work,” Bastian said.
“What plan?” Scartesh asked.
“For me to talk the Gothanian militia out of the attack on the Fir Harge in return for you bringing them away from here peacably.”
“We discussed the likelihood and unlikihood of it,” Scartesh said. His face seemed to grow more civilized the calmer he got, as if his erudition changed with his expression. “But there was no plan… I thought that was what we were meeting to discuss the possibility of… So you are now convinced that it won’t work?”
“I was not convinced before, but I am now, because now I know it doesn’t work,” Bastian replied.
“Then it seems I have no choice then,” Scartesh replied. “We will have to fight.”
“There has to be another solution,” Bastian said. “I also know that the war will not help anyone and will make everything worse for everyone in the long run.”
“On that we are agreed,” Scartesh replied. “Unless… Well, if it is one thing I have learned, it is that almost anything can be used as a means of survival. You just have to look at it the right way. But still, if your people insist on fighting, we have no choice but to defend ourselves.”
“No, there has to be another solution,” Bastian said again.
“So you came here to tell me the plan won’t work, and expect me to stand by and let my people get killed?” Scartesh’s eyes narrowed again. “I am starting to think you humans are craftier than I gave you credit for. Is this part of some elaborate ruse?” He drew his sword and looked around nervously again. Once again he made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, and then repeated it more loudly.
“I already told you, war will not work!” Bastian grew flustered.
“Suggest an alternative,” Scartesh replied.
Bastian rubbed his neck again and stepped back, his head drooping a bit. He hemmed and hawed and then looked up again. “I really don’t know yet,” he finally said. “I need time to think about it.”
“And while you think I am supposed to wait just long enough for your allies to launch an assault on the Fir-Hragre?”
“What allies? No… You have this all wrong,” Bastian replied. “I am here alone.”
“Hello!” A voice came from the woods. “What in the name of Horus’ Hairy Balls is going on around here? This makes no sense.” Gunthar came blundering into the clearing, sword in hand.
“Beardy! Just a few minutes ago I was back in the Honeycombe fighting sh*t-bears with my old crew,” Gunthar said. “And suddenly, some crazy ape with a glowing brain showed up and started killing people!” (2)
“I knew it! It is a trick!” Scartesh snarled, and raising his sword he let out a short roar. Suddenly, a large figure stood up in the brush and charged into the clearing. The figure was over eight feet high and was heavily armored and bore a heavy shield. Its helmet’s nose-guard seemed to cut into its yellow-orange face. It was an ogre, and it wielded a large morningstar with black iron spines.
Gunthar was slammed back by the force of the blow, barely able to raise his longsword to keep the spines on the morningstar from skewering his neck. He landed on his ass, but quickly rolled back to his feet drawing Hornet in his off-hand.
“I didn’t want to fight!” Bastian grunted as his warhammer made contact with the ogre’s knee, crunching the metal of the thing’s greave. Bastian winced as he felt a sharp burning on his left arm, and turned towards it, swinging his hammer in a wide arc to keep his opponents at bay. Scartesh had moved in close with little effort. A deep cut on Bastian’s upper arm burned as blood oozed from it.
“This can stop,” Bastian said. “There is still time to figure something out… Fighting is not the answer!”
“Dumashg, finish the other one,” Scartesh said to his hench-ogre. “I will deal with our friend.”
The ogre drove into Gunthar again, ignoring the deep wounds the Neergaardian scored on it. Bastian moved to aid his companion, but Scartesh’s bastard sword slipped in the space between the bearded warrior’s legs and tried to trip him. Bastian stumbled, but kept his balance, skipping awkwardly over the blade. He slammed the ogre in the hip, but as it spun around to smash him in return, Bastian had withdrawn again.
The ogre roared as Gunthar stabbed it repeatedly in the outer thigh with his magical short sword of speed. It brought the morningstar down, but the blond warrior stepped into the blow, feeling the heavy weight of the weapon’s handle and the fists around it, but not the spines.
Bastian spun around Scartesh and sprung in towards the ogre once again, and once again he scored a hit and withdrew.
With a wise grunt, Scartesh hustled over and slashed at Gunthar viciously, who was too busy avoiding being pummeled by the ogre to notice until it was almost too late. He felt heavy bruises begin to swell up under his chain shirt, as he gave a little ground.
“I could use a little help over here, Beardy!” Gunthar complained. “If ya done dancing, there’s fighting to do.”
Dumashg began to huff and puff, his chest expanding as spittle flew from the corner of his raw red lips and jagged teeth. The fight moved under the trees, as Gunthar tried to use the foliage to gain cover from the rampaging ogre, but his wounds were severe and a solid blow sent him to the ground, torrents of blood soaking into the dry grass.
Bastian slammed the ogre’s knee again, but when he moved to withdraw, Scartesh blocked his way. There was a ringing blow, as Bastian’s basinet went flying off. His ear rungs, and he could feel a shiner developing. There was a long gash where his helm has been dragged across his face. (3)
Bastian looked up and a blow from the ogre sent him flying back, skidding through the growing pool of Gunthar’s blood. He got up to one knee and shook his head, and looking up he noticed a black robed figure in sandals standing silently at the edge of the clearing, watching the melee.
“Are you ready to surrender now, or does your friend have to die first? Because I don’t care either way,” Scartesh said holding his sword out at Bastian.
“There is something else going on…,” Bastian stammered. “Something bigger! There is a monk here and…”
“Natan-Ahb, grant me the endurance of the sleeping bear so that I might last through these many battles!” Kazrack’s chant came out of the trees, and suddenly the dwarf was charging at the ogre. He had his flail over his head, and his shield up in front of him. The dwarf sidestepped a ponderous downward blow and turned away, slamming his flail against the monster’s side.
“Surrender!” Scartesh said, again, bringing the tip of his sword closer to Bastian who stood, and took a step back. His warhammer was as his side. Scartesh risked a look away and yelled to Dumashg to kill Kazrack quickly. As if in immediate obeisance, the ogre’s spike cudgel slammed into Kazrack’s shield. The dwarf’s armor crunched and squealed in protest. When Scartesh looked back, Bastian had withdrawn even more and had his shield raised.
“I guess both of your friends are going to have to die then,” Scartesh tisked. “It’s a shame, too. I mean, I don’t care about a grubber (4), but I am half-man, too…” He gestured at Gunthar’s crumpled bleeding form.
Kazrack looked up and was startled. Suddenly Adder was flanking him, sending a quivering blow just past the dwarf’s head. Kazrack stepped out of the way and Adder had to leap back to avoid the morningstar of the frothing ogre. The monk did not leap fast enough, and one of the spines clipped his shaved head, drawing blood. Adder hurried past Kazrack, and the ogre turned to follow, as Kazrack was moving in that direction as well to check on Gunthar.
Bastian had had a similar idea, and was backing around a large tree to get back to Gunthar with Scartesh slowly following him, but ended up crossing the ogre’s path.
There was a crunch, and the bearded warrior was bleeding out as well.
Seeing the ogre was momentarily distracted, Adder ran at Kazrack, driving the dwarf back with a flurry of blows. “Why do you persist?!?” Kazrack growled.
“They are coming out of everywhere!” Wonder crept into Scartesh’s voice, as he pointed towards Ratchis, who was hurrying through the brush towards the fight.
The friar of Nephthys stopped a few feet from the other half-orc and they looked each other up and down and snorted.
“You! You are Darksh?” (5) Scartesh asked after a moment.
Ratchis nodded.
“You are friends with him?” he pointed at Bastian.
Ratchis nodded again. “You I’ll talk to,” Scartesh smiled. “Go help the grubber. I won’t stop you…”
Ratchis turned in time to see Adder stumble awkwardly as a kick he landed on Kazrack’s shield skidded off at strange angle. The monk’s ankle twisted, and he had to hop and hobble to keep from falling. (6) In that half a moment, Kazrack’s magic flail slammed the monk twice in the ribs. Bones crunched, and Adder clutched his side, and looking near unconsciousness.
Kazrack bellowed as his next blow was knocked astray by a devastating blow that punctured holes in on the right side of his breast plate. Dumashg the ogre was not to be forgotten, the rune-thrower slid through the grass on his side, feeling his wounds burn. (7)
Ratchis was calling to Nephthys for a healing spell for his dwarven companion, when the ogre noticed the new foe and slammed him on the hip, disrupting his spell. But the distraction was enough for Kazrack to withdraw and cast his own spell to close some of his wounds, but by no means all. He looked up to see Adder closing again, and felt those heavy calloused fists pummel the side of his head.
There was a hiss and snarl in a tree above them and they both looked up to see Roland in panther-form preparing to pounce from a low bough.
End of Session #101
----------------------------
Notes:
(1) Scartesh was first mentioned in the story hour in Session #88. However, he makes an appearance in the Story of Ratchis.
(2) The second time the party ever met Gunthar was in the Honeycombe fighting quaggoths, back in Sessions #23 and 24.
(3) DM’s Note: Scartesh scored a critical hit: Helm Cleaved Off, Apply Crit Multiplier to Total Damage, Save vs. Knockdown.
(4) In Aquerra, ‘Grubber’ is a derogatory term for dwarf.
(5) ‘Darksh’ is the name of Ratchis’ tribe. See the Zedarius’ Logistics of the Necropolis, and of course, the Story of Ratchis.
(6) DM’s Note: Adder rolled the dreaded ‘double fumble’ by rolling a ‘99’ on the fumble result chart: “Roll Twice. Any saves at +5 to the DC. Ignore rolls of 99 or 00.” Amazingly, I rolled ‘00’ for one of those rolls, but the second was “Twist Ankle. Speed halved for 10 rounds.”
(7) DM’s Note: Yep, another crit. This one was: Apply Crit Multiplier to Total Damage (and armor DP damage)
Session #101 (part v)
Balem, the 5th of Syet – 561 H.E.
This clearing was familiar to Bastian, yet the light through the trees seemed wrong for the time of autumn it had been when he entered Hurgun’s Maze. He wondered if he had ever been in this place in the woods at this particular time of year. Yes, there was at least one time. The leaves crunched under his boots and he startled himself and stood straight up and looked around.
“N’kron?” he called mentally for his familiar, but there was no reply. He could not sense his familiar anywhere around for a mile or more.
“What is going on?” Bastian asked aloud, and suddenly a dark figured stepped out of the autumnal foliage and answered, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
It was a tall man, with thick black hair tight back on his head in nappy locks not unlike Ratchis’. He wore a chain shirt over his black clothes, and was covered in a black and green travel-stained cloak, made misshapen by a long bastard sword at his side. He held a long bow in his calloused hands. The man’s face betrayed something feral and dangerous. The cut of his chin was too sharp, and his eyes were narrow and dark. His skin had a yellow pallor that no pureblood human could ever have. And yet, it was not that he was ugly. There was a handsomeness to his savage look.
It was Scartesh. (1)
“How did you change your clothes and armor?” the half-orc asked, his eyes narrowing.
“What do you…? Scartesh! How did I get here? Do you know what is happening?” Bastian asked, sputtering.
“I am asking you what is happening,” Scartesh’s voice had a scratchy accent that came through more as he spoke. His face grew a bit flush. “I was watching you and you suddenly changed. You even look… thinner… Even your smell has changed a bit… What kind of trick is this?”
“Am I dreaming?” Bastian asked, aloud stepping forward. Scartesh took a step back and his hand went instinctively to the pommel of his sword. “Am I dead? The last thing I remember was the stone golem attacking… How did I get here?” Bastian looked up at Scartesh bewildered. He scratched under his beard, perturbed.
Scartesh’s wrinkled brow furrowed some more, and he made a guttural sound in the back of his throat.
Bastian put his hands up. “Look. I am just as surprised at this turn of events as your are,” he said. “You are just going to have to trust me. Okay, Scartesh? You trusted me before. You are going to have to trust me now…”
The half-orc left his hand on the hilt of his sword, but visibly settled, after looking to his left and to his right.
“Now,” Bastian continued. “If you would be so kind as to tell me what time this is that we have met…”
“What?” Scartesh growled.
“Um, I am just trying to figure out what is happening with me,” Bastian said. “I think I have been thrown back in time… Somehow, and yet not bodily or else I would be here with me, and I am the only me here right now…”
“You make no sense,” Scartesh replied.
Bastian paused and cleared his throat, placing his hand on the back of his neck and rubbing it hard. He blinked rapidly, took a deep breath and started again in his normal even quiet tone. “You are right. This makes no sense. Perhaps it is best if we stick to the matter at hand and take advantage of this opportunity my being here affords us.”
There was a long pause.
“You see… I now know that our plan does not work,” Bastian said.
“What plan?” Scartesh asked.
“For me to talk the Gothanian militia out of the attack on the Fir Harge in return for you bringing them away from here peacably.”
“We discussed the likelihood and unlikihood of it,” Scartesh said. His face seemed to grow more civilized the calmer he got, as if his erudition changed with his expression. “But there was no plan… I thought that was what we were meeting to discuss the possibility of… So you are now convinced that it won’t work?”
“I was not convinced before, but I am now, because now I know it doesn’t work,” Bastian replied.
“Then it seems I have no choice then,” Scartesh replied. “We will have to fight.”
“There has to be another solution,” Bastian said. “I also know that the war will not help anyone and will make everything worse for everyone in the long run.”
“On that we are agreed,” Scartesh replied. “Unless… Well, if it is one thing I have learned, it is that almost anything can be used as a means of survival. You just have to look at it the right way. But still, if your people insist on fighting, we have no choice but to defend ourselves.”
“No, there has to be another solution,” Bastian said again.
“So you came here to tell me the plan won’t work, and expect me to stand by and let my people get killed?” Scartesh’s eyes narrowed again. “I am starting to think you humans are craftier than I gave you credit for. Is this part of some elaborate ruse?” He drew his sword and looked around nervously again. Once again he made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, and then repeated it more loudly.
“I already told you, war will not work!” Bastian grew flustered.
“Suggest an alternative,” Scartesh replied.
Bastian rubbed his neck again and stepped back, his head drooping a bit. He hemmed and hawed and then looked up again. “I really don’t know yet,” he finally said. “I need time to think about it.”
“And while you think I am supposed to wait just long enough for your allies to launch an assault on the Fir-Hragre?”
“What allies? No… You have this all wrong,” Bastian replied. “I am here alone.”
“Hello!” A voice came from the woods. “What in the name of Horus’ Hairy Balls is going on around here? This makes no sense.” Gunthar came blundering into the clearing, sword in hand.
“Beardy! Just a few minutes ago I was back in the Honeycombe fighting sh*t-bears with my old crew,” Gunthar said. “And suddenly, some crazy ape with a glowing brain showed up and started killing people!” (2)
“I knew it! It is a trick!” Scartesh snarled, and raising his sword he let out a short roar. Suddenly, a large figure stood up in the brush and charged into the clearing. The figure was over eight feet high and was heavily armored and bore a heavy shield. Its helmet’s nose-guard seemed to cut into its yellow-orange face. It was an ogre, and it wielded a large morningstar with black iron spines.
Gunthar was slammed back by the force of the blow, barely able to raise his longsword to keep the spines on the morningstar from skewering his neck. He landed on his ass, but quickly rolled back to his feet drawing Hornet in his off-hand.
“I didn’t want to fight!” Bastian grunted as his warhammer made contact with the ogre’s knee, crunching the metal of the thing’s greave. Bastian winced as he felt a sharp burning on his left arm, and turned towards it, swinging his hammer in a wide arc to keep his opponents at bay. Scartesh had moved in close with little effort. A deep cut on Bastian’s upper arm burned as blood oozed from it.
“This can stop,” Bastian said. “There is still time to figure something out… Fighting is not the answer!”
“Dumashg, finish the other one,” Scartesh said to his hench-ogre. “I will deal with our friend.”
The ogre drove into Gunthar again, ignoring the deep wounds the Neergaardian scored on it. Bastian moved to aid his companion, but Scartesh’s bastard sword slipped in the space between the bearded warrior’s legs and tried to trip him. Bastian stumbled, but kept his balance, skipping awkwardly over the blade. He slammed the ogre in the hip, but as it spun around to smash him in return, Bastian had withdrawn again.
The ogre roared as Gunthar stabbed it repeatedly in the outer thigh with his magical short sword of speed. It brought the morningstar down, but the blond warrior stepped into the blow, feeling the heavy weight of the weapon’s handle and the fists around it, but not the spines.
Bastian spun around Scartesh and sprung in towards the ogre once again, and once again he scored a hit and withdrew.
With a wise grunt, Scartesh hustled over and slashed at Gunthar viciously, who was too busy avoiding being pummeled by the ogre to notice until it was almost too late. He felt heavy bruises begin to swell up under his chain shirt, as he gave a little ground.
“I could use a little help over here, Beardy!” Gunthar complained. “If ya done dancing, there’s fighting to do.”
Dumashg began to huff and puff, his chest expanding as spittle flew from the corner of his raw red lips and jagged teeth. The fight moved under the trees, as Gunthar tried to use the foliage to gain cover from the rampaging ogre, but his wounds were severe and a solid blow sent him to the ground, torrents of blood soaking into the dry grass.
Bastian slammed the ogre’s knee again, but when he moved to withdraw, Scartesh blocked his way. There was a ringing blow, as Bastian’s basinet went flying off. His ear rungs, and he could feel a shiner developing. There was a long gash where his helm has been dragged across his face. (3)
Bastian looked up and a blow from the ogre sent him flying back, skidding through the growing pool of Gunthar’s blood. He got up to one knee and shook his head, and looking up he noticed a black robed figure in sandals standing silently at the edge of the clearing, watching the melee.
“Are you ready to surrender now, or does your friend have to die first? Because I don’t care either way,” Scartesh said holding his sword out at Bastian.
“There is something else going on…,” Bastian stammered. “Something bigger! There is a monk here and…”
“Natan-Ahb, grant me the endurance of the sleeping bear so that I might last through these many battles!” Kazrack’s chant came out of the trees, and suddenly the dwarf was charging at the ogre. He had his flail over his head, and his shield up in front of him. The dwarf sidestepped a ponderous downward blow and turned away, slamming his flail against the monster’s side.
“Surrender!” Scartesh said, again, bringing the tip of his sword closer to Bastian who stood, and took a step back. His warhammer was as his side. Scartesh risked a look away and yelled to Dumashg to kill Kazrack quickly. As if in immediate obeisance, the ogre’s spike cudgel slammed into Kazrack’s shield. The dwarf’s armor crunched and squealed in protest. When Scartesh looked back, Bastian had withdrawn even more and had his shield raised.
“I guess both of your friends are going to have to die then,” Scartesh tisked. “It’s a shame, too. I mean, I don’t care about a grubber (4), but I am half-man, too…” He gestured at Gunthar’s crumpled bleeding form.
Kazrack looked up and was startled. Suddenly Adder was flanking him, sending a quivering blow just past the dwarf’s head. Kazrack stepped out of the way and Adder had to leap back to avoid the morningstar of the frothing ogre. The monk did not leap fast enough, and one of the spines clipped his shaved head, drawing blood. Adder hurried past Kazrack, and the ogre turned to follow, as Kazrack was moving in that direction as well to check on Gunthar.
Bastian had had a similar idea, and was backing around a large tree to get back to Gunthar with Scartesh slowly following him, but ended up crossing the ogre’s path.
There was a crunch, and the bearded warrior was bleeding out as well.
Seeing the ogre was momentarily distracted, Adder ran at Kazrack, driving the dwarf back with a flurry of blows. “Why do you persist?!?” Kazrack growled.
“They are coming out of everywhere!” Wonder crept into Scartesh’s voice, as he pointed towards Ratchis, who was hurrying through the brush towards the fight.
The friar of Nephthys stopped a few feet from the other half-orc and they looked each other up and down and snorted.
“You! You are Darksh?” (5) Scartesh asked after a moment.
Ratchis nodded.
“You are friends with him?” he pointed at Bastian.
Ratchis nodded again. “You I’ll talk to,” Scartesh smiled. “Go help the grubber. I won’t stop you…”
Ratchis turned in time to see Adder stumble awkwardly as a kick he landed on Kazrack’s shield skidded off at strange angle. The monk’s ankle twisted, and he had to hop and hobble to keep from falling. (6) In that half a moment, Kazrack’s magic flail slammed the monk twice in the ribs. Bones crunched, and Adder clutched his side, and looking near unconsciousness.
Kazrack bellowed as his next blow was knocked astray by a devastating blow that punctured holes in on the right side of his breast plate. Dumashg the ogre was not to be forgotten, the rune-thrower slid through the grass on his side, feeling his wounds burn. (7)
Ratchis was calling to Nephthys for a healing spell for his dwarven companion, when the ogre noticed the new foe and slammed him on the hip, disrupting his spell. But the distraction was enough for Kazrack to withdraw and cast his own spell to close some of his wounds, but by no means all. He looked up to see Adder closing again, and felt those heavy calloused fists pummel the side of his head.
There was a hiss and snarl in a tree above them and they both looked up to see Roland in panther-form preparing to pounce from a low bough.
End of Session #101
----------------------------
Notes:
(1) Scartesh was first mentioned in the story hour in Session #88. However, he makes an appearance in the Story of Ratchis.
(2) The second time the party ever met Gunthar was in the Honeycombe fighting quaggoths, back in Sessions #23 and 24.
(3) DM’s Note: Scartesh scored a critical hit: Helm Cleaved Off, Apply Crit Multiplier to Total Damage, Save vs. Knockdown.
(4) In Aquerra, ‘Grubber’ is a derogatory term for dwarf.
(5) ‘Darksh’ is the name of Ratchis’ tribe. See the Zedarius’ Logistics of the Necropolis, and of course, the Story of Ratchis.
(6) DM’s Note: Adder rolled the dreaded ‘double fumble’ by rolling a ‘99’ on the fumble result chart: “Roll Twice. Any saves at +5 to the DC. Ignore rolls of 99 or 00.” Amazingly, I rolled ‘00’ for one of those rolls, but the second was “Twist Ankle. Speed halved for 10 rounds.”
(7) DM’s Note: Yep, another crit. This one was: Apply Crit Multiplier to Total Damage (and armor DP damage)
