To Seek the Stars
WHEN LAST WE MET, our glorious party; Gregory Morrow the Boy Wonder Druid Apprentice and Hoxton – Just Hoxton – Paladin of the Bird-Beaked Wonder Himself, Horus, were summoned before the local priest of Horus and confronted with tales of DARK and HORRIBLE happenings in the forests outside Rorik. FEARING the WORST, the priests and druids agreed to mount a joint investigation.
Alex (Hoxton): No. You can play Dispatch.
Alex (Hoxton): You can spot the messes for Morgan and I
Hoxton: CSI: Dark and Horrible!
Our valiant and heroic heroes-to-be set out to the lumber camp, there to meet Selene Zhefir, a Daltrithaar pathfinder who had been sent out to conduct preliminary investigations. Unfortunately, when our heroes arrived they found out that they had missed their contact by a scant 24 hours. Fortunately, SAXTUS HORWELL, one of the lumberjacks, set them on the right path to follow their future friend.
HORRORS and SUSPENSE abounded on the trails, as our heroes found signs of recently buried lumbermen outside the camp and ventured into the DARK and SHADOWY forest of GLOOM. Several miles out, they found a marked tree and, after Hoxton the Not-Quite-As-Observant-As-The-Hawk-He-Worships found out when he fell on his face, tracks led into the brush.
After hours of walking, during which our party discovered that the trail they were following was actually the route of an old road, they arrived at an old ruined settlement, the walls and buildings crumbling with age. It was here that they finally met up with Selene, their erstwhile contact, and she showed them something HORRIBLE and TERRIFYING…….
SAXTUS HORWELL… is dead.
And has been for two years.
Chapter Two: Uhm, Sir, We Been Had!
Alex (Hoxton): …I like your recaps much better than mine.
Kiergath: Did I cover everything?
Kiergath: Are there questions?
Wolf Companion: “I rove you!”
Kiergath: And also, I don’t, yours are easier on my fingers. :p
Alex (Hoxton): lol
There you stood, gathered around the recently disturbed grave of Saxtus Horwell, beloved father, noble lumberman and treacherous, black-hearted adulterer.
Gregory had proposed unearthing the grave, to prove that indeed there was an unregulation shortage of 1 (one) Dead Body. Hoxton objected on religious grounds.
Gregory Morrow: “Selene, you suggested we search these ruins for those who may be upturning these graves yes?”
Hoxton: “…I don’t think anyone is upturning the graves, Gregory. This has the feeling of wrongness imprinted on it. We must search and expel the evil from this ground.”
Selene: “It seems likely whoever it is would still be here; I doubt they’d go far from their source of materials. Judging by Saxtus, these undead are more than capable of operating away from home… he’d have no need to leave himself.”
Selene: “Or she, I suppose.. but I can’t imagine. I’ve never heard of a female mage of any worth among your people.”
Hoxton: “Surely a female would never do such a thing anyway. They tend towards fragility.”
Selene: “Having been in your country for over a year, I have a hard time faulting your logic.”
Gregory Morrow: “This will be fun! Lets go!”
Selene: “I have a hard time equating ‘hunting a necromancer’ with fun, but I admire your youthful enthusiasm.”
Gregory Morrow: “Just trying to keep spirits high.”
Hoxton: “He is nothing if not enthusiastic. Let us hope these wights do not afright your soul, little one. It is well to feel fear at your age. Come, let us exponge this land of its’ woes.”
Gregory Morrow: “Lead on Sir Hoxton!”
And so, full of GLORIOUS THOUGHTS of PURGATION and CLEANSING FIRE, you prepare to seek out the vile sorcerer responsible for these affronts.
Nick (Gregory Morrow): god my brain isnt awake sorry
I don’t think anyone’s quite is.
Gregory Morrow whispers to his friend, “Go now and be free, Ill call for you later.”
Your noble wolf darts quickly and silently into the underbrush, with its tail between its legs, after giving you a final farewell lick.
Gregory Morrow: “Ok lets go.”
Hoxton sets about finding the root of all evil in the area.
You begin prowling through the ruins, searching the remaining buildings.
As you go and darkness finishes setting in, you find more grave sites, but none seem to have been unearthed recently.
And finally, after poking through a seemingly endless mass of ancient rubble, you come to a building in relative repair. It has four walls and, perhaps even a roof – though you cannot tell from this angle.
You do however notice it has a door; a wrought-iron barred gate, actually.
Hoxton: “It appears we have found the dwelling of our necromancer… come, faithful child and woman, let us do good!”
Hoxton attempts to open the gate, and if he is unsuccessful, attempts to kick it in.
Gregory, will save. Hoxton, will save at – 3.
Gregory Morrow: Will save [1d20+2 = 3]
Gregory Morrow: Will save [AUTOMATIC FAILURE]
Gregory Morrow: well at least my wolf suvived
Hoxton: Will save [1d20+1 = 16]
Alex (Hoxton): so…-3 to that
Gregory, Hoxton’s enthusiasm and confidence is infectious, you find yourself steeled against the dangers that await. You have a +2 Circumstance bonus against Compulsion and Fear effects for the duration of this Dungeon.
This is kind’ve sad, because even Hoxton wasn’t dumb enough, deep down, to fall for his own pep talk.
Alex (Hoxton): HUZZAH!
Alex (Hoxton): …damn
Hoxton trundles into the building, warmace gripped before him.
Hoxton trots into the gate, mace first, and it buckles before the savage onslaught.
Gregory Morrow follows in looking around
Within you find yourselves in what has the look of a crypt. Alcoves line the walls three high, filled with the slumbering forms of the long dead, still wrapped in their shrouds, swords clutched peacefully to their breasts.
Its too dark to see much else, though.
The little moonlight filtering in through the door barely sheds any light.
Gregory Morrow: Spell [Light] – > Object shines like a torch.
Hoxton’s warmace begins to glow with a holy gleam, shedding light over all you survey.
Hoxton: If any of the forms seems to have sleep apnea, cure it permanently.
The light reveals armor stands, in sets of three, by each set of alcoves.
Each stand bears the weight of its ancient armor with stoic silence; dust and cobwebs stand in mute testimony to the age of the dead.
Gregory Morrow: check the floor for traps or tracks.
You may roll your search check.
Alex (Hoxton): …probably smarter than my original plan…
Gregory Morrow: Skill [Search] [1d20 = 16]
Verily, you spot no traps.
You may roll survival, now, to seek for tracks in the dust.
Gregory Morrow: Skill [Survival] [1d20+6 = 25]
But ’lo, what is that I see in the dust?! They are boot prints, and they scream in that quiet way tracks always do to master trackers and gifted amateurs, “Someone has been here within the last few hours!”
Gregory Morrow: Are these corpses wearing boots?
Would you like to rip the shroud and wrappings off one of them to find out?
Gregory Morrow: No I would not.
Oh. Darn. You’re reasonably sure the tracks don’t lead to one of the alcoves though. They seem to lead farther into the crypt.
Gregory Morrow: “Tracks lead that way.”
Hoxton, you turn around in time to see which direction Gregory is pointing.
Hoxton: “Excellent, young one! You are learning from Horus yet!”
Hoxton marches off, mace at the ready.
Gregory Morrow is delighted at the praise and follows.
Selene mutters from behind you both, “Meryt must hate me.”
Hoxton: “Is that the one whom sent you on the scouting mission? Does Meryt have some military rank?”
You march off, deeper into the dusty old crypt. You see torches in sconces periodically, and it doesn’t take a master tracker or even an amateur to recognize that they have been lit recently; some of them are even new.
Selene: “Meryt. Consort of Bast. Patron of huntresses and assassins. Goddess of vengeance and justifiable manslaughter.”
Gregory, spot check?
Gregory Morrow: Skill [Spot] [1d20+4 = 13]
Hoxton: “Ah! I believe the name is familiar now. I think lore stated she was one of Horus’ guardians. I would be loathe to understand why she would hate you.”
You notice with some trepidation that, in addition to the alcoves lining the walls, there are sarcophagi set into the floor itself, graced with names such as “Marik the Undefeated” and “Gordok the Wrathful” and also “Fluffy”
That last one makes your heart quail with fear.
Selene snorts in amusement, “A guardian of Horus? Meryt? Certainly not. That up-tight little peaco—-erm, look, a stairway leading down.”
Kiergath: The notice above was just Gregory, by the way.
Gregory Morrow: The tracks lead down the stairs dont they.
Yes, they do!
Hoxton: “Down, then, into the heart of darkness!”
Hoxton tromps down the stairs, mace held high.
Gregory Morrow: “Be careful Sir Hoxton!, so as you do not fall into a pit or worse!”
Sir Hoxton the Not-Quite-Eagle-Eyed tromps down the stairs, rolling three reflex saves as he goes.
Hoxton: “A pit in a crypt? You have been listening to too many stories, boy!”
Hoxton: Reflex save [1d20 = 19]
Hoxton: Reflex save [1d20 = 14]
Hoxton: Reflex save [1d20 = 13]
Sir Hoxton the Graceful tromps down the stairs. His first step depresses a pressure plate, setting off the dart traps in the walls. They go off a moment before he takes his next carefully measured, stompy step, whistling behind him. Scarcely four steps further a tripwire snaps, sending long dead adders and venemous spiders plunging from the ceiling to fall with disappointing “thumps” and “splats” around him. One slides slowly off his helmet, but Sir Hoxton does not dignify it with a response. Four steps later he reaches the landing, depressing a final pressure plate just as he stops to pose dramatically, a pit trap opening two feet infront of him.
Hoxton: “You see young Gregory? Faith protects!”
Selene: “What was that about pits?”
Hoxton: “Hush, woman. That is merely a test for the unfaithful. Come, help me across.”
Gregory Morrow: Can the pit be jumped?
Gregory Morrow: Or even walked around
I don’t know, roll a jump check; lets find out.
You can indeed walk around it, as the pit is infact simply a sarcophagus, cracked open with age by the mighty stomps of Hoxton’s armored sabotons.
Gregory Morrow: How deep is it and is there anything inside?
An ancient body, covered in dust and fresh rubble. You notice the name, “Ukla the Inevitable” on a ruined marker stone just before Ukla’s Inevitable and Less Than Amused form rises from the bottom in a shower of debris, glowing red flames flickering in his long-dead eyesockets, one tusk protruding from what remains of his skeletal face.
His Undying and Unamused gaze falls upon Hoxton as he clamors up from the remains of his resting place.
As he rises to his feet on the edge, gleaming ancient warhammer held high, he gives the ancient Orcish salute involving repeated suggestive gestures towards his genitalia to Hoxton, and you may roll initiatives.
Hoxton: Initiative [1d20 = 20]
Alex (Hoxton): Yes.
Gregory Morrow: Initiative [1d20+2 = 9]
Hoxton: “We meet at last, Abomination to Horus! Your bones will be as brittle ice against the fury Horus channels through me!”
Hoxton: Power attack, – 1 (Mod after the fact)
Hoxton! The brutish UNDEAD ORC stands before you, warhammer raised, its surface pitted with age and smeared with the brains of countless creatures.
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Attack 1) [1d20+4 = 9]
With a dramatic roar, you pummel the ground before you!
Alex (Hoxton): …fortunately, I have no brains to smear!
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Damage) [1d12+4 = 12]
Hoxton: + 2
A crack runs forth from your warhammer towards Ukla the Inevitable, stopping at his bare dessicated feet.
Gregory Morrow: Delay delay delay till end of turn.
Gregory Morrow: “Get him Sir Hoxton!”
With a ROAR of BLIND, UNDEAD FURY, Ukla swings his warhammer in a blindingly fast arc.
Noble Sir Hoxton’s life flashes before his eyes for several agonizing moments before he notices the warhammer whistling harmlessly past his head to crash into the floor.
Gregory, act or lose your move.
Gregory Morrow: Ill act.
Gregory Morrow: Transmute spell to Call woodland being.
Gregory Morrow: Spell [Entangle] – > Plants entangle everyone in 40-ft.-radius circle.
Gregory Morrow: Summon Wolf.
#1 Summoned Wolf: Bite (Attack 1) [1d20+4 = 15]
#1 Summoned Wolf: Bite (Damage) [1d6+3 = 4]
With a savage growl, the Wolf does what Sir Hoxton could not, and takes a vicious chomp out of Ukla’s left gluteus.
SIR HOXTON, it is now your move FOR REELZ
Hoxton: Power attack, – 1
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Attack 1) [1d20+4 = 19]
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Damage) [1d12+4 = 14]
Hoxton: + 2
Ukla the Inevitable explodes in a shower of powdered gore! Dust and other less savory particles rain down dryly upon you!
His warhammer falls to the floor with a clang, forcing Hoxton to roll a Reflex save.
Hoxton: Reflex save [1d20 = 1]
Hoxton: Reflex save [AUTOMATIC FAILURE]
Alex (Hoxton): Oh dear. this could be fun.
The warhammer falls upon one of Sir Hoxton’s Apparently Not-As-Armored-As-We-Thought sabotons, bludgeoning one of his poor toes. He hops about for several seconds, though he manages to make the whole thing look like a rather dignified, prayer-filled chicken dance to his Hawk-like patron.
You may both take a hundred experience.
Hoxton: “Curses be on that foul thing!”
The warhammer lays on the floor, mocking you silently. It’s a very nice warhammer.
Gregory Morrow: “Was that the source of the evil?” Look about to see if the bootprints end here.
Hoxton: “Just a symptom, I fear, dear Gregory.”
Hoxton: “This place is still tainted.”
The prints do not. Nor was your victim wearing boots.
The prints go around the former sarcophagus.
Selene finally comes down the stairs, securing a pouch on her belt.
Gregory Morrow: “First kill goes to us Miss Selene!”
Selene: “Oh? Congratulations! I was just collecting teeth from all those adders Hoxton dropped on the floor..”
Hoxton: “Strange habit, that. Although I suppose they could make good needles.”
Hoxton marches onward, mace at the ready.
Selene: “Dart tips. They’ve already got perfectly good venom ducts.”
You stomp forward, mace held high and features set into a stoic grimace, eyes gleaming with the Light of Holy Fervor and a Love of All that is Good, Just and In Line with Your Teachings.
Gregory Morrow: Follow looking ahead for any more tripwires/pressure plates/ect.
Gregory Morrow: Skill [Search] [1d20 = 14]
You don’t see any, nor does Hoxton set any off. About forty feet from the stairs, you come to a heavy wooden door.
Light flickers from beyond, shedding a faint yellow glow around the door.
Gregory Morrow whispers to Sir Hoxton, “Do you hear anything on the other side?”
Hoxton, roll a listen check!
Hoxton: Skill [Listen] [1d20+1 = 8]
All Hoxton hears is the blood pounding in his ears and his eager heart beating in his chest, eager to do the Right Thing.
Hoxton: “The source of corruption! Be strong young Gregory. Our faith will see us prevail! Let us see what is beyond this portal and Set Things Right!”
Hoxton attempts to open the door, first by hand, then by boot.
An intelligence check, dear Hoxton?!
Hoxton: Intelligence check [1d20-1 = 18]
Alex (Hoxton): BOOYAH
Nick (Gregory Morrow): Flash of Insight!
Unfortunately, you wanted to fail. Hoxton remembers to use the hand not clutching his mace and, as a result, does not bludgeon the door from its rusty old hinges.
The DM gains another bonus point for managing to soak off another of Hoxton’s High Rolls.
Hoxton: I only have like, two left.
The Door resists your best attempts to open it via knob, and you step back to deliver a Mighty Foot of Justice worthy of Duke Nukem before he sucked. The rotten door shatters inward with a wet thump as the wood disintegrates before your Holy Wrath.
Hoxton: “BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE, FOUL DEMON! I HEREBY CAST YOU OUT!”
You find yourself looking at a 20 by 20 foot room; a small campfire sits in the middle, and a small miserable looking imp-like creature – with long pointed nose, drooping ears and short horns – perches upon a rusty helmet. He has a long stick in his hands, with a sausage impaled on the end, sticking over the fire.
Hoxton: “Behold, Gregory, the evil behind this place!”
The creature has wings like a bat and flames flicker across his form, miraculously not setting the stick alight.
He looks as confused to see you as you are thrilled to see such an Obvious Bastion of Evil.
Gregory Morrow squeezes past Hoxton to look at the creature and then gains a dejected look at the let down of the scene.
Gregory Morrow: “That thing?”
Hoxton: “Demon, will you leave peacefully, or must I bring the Holiest Wrath upon you?”
The pitiful looking imp looks at you before pointing hopefully at a row of helmets along the wall and a basket next to it and squeeking out, hopefully, “Uhm.. wanna sausage?”
Hoxton shrinks back against the door. “Take Care, Gregory! He means to steal your soul away by bargaining! Accept nothing from this creature!”
Kiergath: ouch, low blow
Gregory Morrow: “Is he trying to tempt us with unholy meats?”
Hoxton: “The unholiest! Carved from the flesh of man! These beings are the lowest of their Minions… Base creatures, and full of trickery. Where is your master, Demon?!”
He blinks rapidly at you, his sausage beginning to get overdone before he pulls it from the fire with a start. The smell wafting towards you makes your stomachs – empty and unfed since you began your trip – rumble with desire. “Um.. master? Whuzzat? I’m lost. What you talkin’ about?”
Hoxton: “Enough of your lies, fiend! I will not have you turn this young mind with your treachery! Cast aside your devil-meat and reveal the true evil of this place, or I shall smite you with all of Horus’ Wrath!”
Gregory Morrow: Check the ground, do tracks lead forward from this door?
“Wait, wait, hold the Wrath, you don’t want me, you got the wrong guy, do I look like True Evil? I’m not True Evil, I’m just small time evil; pickpocketting and stuff. The guy you want is further in and plays with dead people and makes them walk and sometimes dance in suggestive clothes and ohgodspleasedonthurtme”
the tracks keep on going, Gregory, but there’s no way this little creature could have made them.. he has big feet, but not that big.
There’s a door across the room, though.
Hoxton: “…if what you speak is true, Demon, repent! Take up the cause of Horus, live in his name, and I will spare you a most agonizing death!”
The creature looks at Hoxton, then at Hoxton’s Mace and hurls his hotdog – and the picnic basket – into the fire, leaping to his feet and yelling at his most convincingest, “Praise Horus! I accept the Light! I AM SAVED! HALLELULIA! DON’T BEAT ME”
You’re not sure how, but somehow he managed to throw himself forward while yelling and wrap himself around Hoxton’s left leg.
Gregory Morrow: “The tracks lead that way!”
Selene: “Then why are we playing with the imp? He’s not exactly threatening…”
Hoxton: releases one hand from the mace, planting it firmly on the thing’s skull. “BEGONE EVIL! You, now sworn to Horus, are forbade all evil actions. Flee this place and get thee to a Temple of Horus and become of the cloth. If you take an evil action from this moment hence, I will know, and you will face my wrath.”
Hoxton releases one hand from the mace, planting it firmly on the thing’s skull. “BEGONE EVIL! You, now sworn to Horus, are forbade all evil actions. Flee this place and get thee to a Temple of Horus and become of the cloth. If you take an evil action from this moment hence, I will know, and you will face my wrath.”
Hoxton strides towards the door on the other end of the room.
The creature rolls around on the floor, screaming hallelulias and “glory be”s before getting up and scampering after Hoxton at a ten foot distance.
The door at the far end is also heavy wood, similar to the last.
From somewhere or other, you’re not quite sure where, the little red creature found a plain brown pilgrim’s robe and a large backpack, draping himself in pouches and satchels.
Actually, you’re reasonably sure a puff of white smoke and an angelic chorus was involved.
Hoxton feels faith swelling from within him.
Hoxton bashes the door inwards with his mace, striding through before the debris has cleared.
Can I get a damage roll?
Selene: “So – Gregory, was it? Do you know this Hoxton fellow very well? Is he always like this?”
Gregory Morrow follows, observing the imp as humorous.
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Damage) [1d12+4 = 15]
Gregory Morrow: “No, I only have seen him in town from time to time. I can only presume he is a grand and powerful warrior and disciple. I consider myself lucky to be paired with one of so much experience.”
The door cracks and your warmace rebounds, but the portal still stands.
Would you still like to stride through it?
Gregory Morrow: “Thus far nothing I have seen can stop him.”
Hoxton: Stride on!
Hoxton: Strength check [1d20+3 = 10]
Alex (Hoxton): Damn.
Knowledge (Religion) using wisdom and your intel penalty as a bonus?
Hoxton: Skill [Knowledge (Religion)] [1d20+1 = 3]
Hoxton: + 1!
Sir Hoxton may have blown it in Sunday School, but he makes up for it in fervor; his blind, unwavering fanaticism tells him that No Door May Stand against the Might of His Undying Light, and this one is no exception. It falls on contact with his beak-like nose.
Beyond, a hallway, lined with an endless number of alcoves
Torches cast a faint light up and down the hall.
They supplement the Unholy Glow coming from the eye sockets of several lumbering figures.
GM: ROLL FOR INITIATIVE [1d20 = 8]
y’all maybe want to roll initiatives, or can I just go first?
Hoxton: “We grow close, Gregory. Is your will steeled?”
Hoxton: Initiative [1d20 = 8]
Gregory Morrow: “More creatures of evil?”
Gregory Morrow: Initiative [1d20+2 = 6]
Hoxton: “Indeed… old compatriots of our reformed demon, no doubt.”
Acting first, the Imp gazes across the hall with the fires of fanaticism blazing in his eyes, standing feet apart and staff raised in one hand like Moses at the Red Sea, bellowing out in his squeeky voice, “HORUS ORDERS THEE BACK TO YOUR GRAVES! And you’d best STEP if you don’t want my friend to crush your skulls like grapes!”
One of the skeletons turns and flees away down the hallway.
Five more lumber forward, fortunately only three can get at noble Hoxton.
Hoxton: “A bit unorthodox, friend demon, but effective nonetheless.”
Gregory Morrow: “Smash them to pieces, Sir Hoxton!”
One of them lashes out with a bony hand, attempting to force his digits up Hoxton’s nose, seeking out his brains only to be very, very disappointed. It still hurts, though.
Hoxton, you have two skeletons in melee range; one of them has its fingers buried to the second joint in your nostrils.
Hoxton: POWER ATTACK! – 1
Hoxton: “HORUS’ LIGHT!”
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Attack 1) [1d20+4 = 18]
I’m willing to consider this one to be “flat footed”.
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Damage) [1d12+4 = 16]
Hoxton: + 2
Hoxton: …I’d be willing to consider it “flat”
Its fingers are still there, though.
Hoxton: A necessary sacrafice for Horus.
Selene can’t get at anything to hit.
Gregory Morrow is spurred on by the courage of Sir Hoxton and swings his staff at one of the undead!
Gregory Morrow: Quarterstaff (Attack 1) [1d20 = 18]
Gregory Morrow: Quarterstaff (Damage) [1d6 = 2]
Gregory’s childlike exhuberance and youthful size allows him to squeeze through and land a mighty hit!
Unfortunately, the skeleton remains, though no longer intent on striking Hoxton.
Hoxton: “A valient strike, young Morrow! Horus acts through you as well!”
Brandishing his quarterstaff, the Mephit screams an inarticulate battle cry to the heavens and lashes out at a skeleton
He misses. Fortunately he also misses Hoxton.
Alex (Hoxton): …damn straight.
The Skeletons lurch to the attack!
Alex (Hoxton): New initiates can still be smashed for the cause.
Alex (Hoxton): Also, Gotta run after this combat.
One strikes Gregory, latching on to his skull and attempting to eat his brains.
Fortunately, it doesn’t have any teeth left.
The other two attack Hoxton!
One misses, but the last lashes out with a bony fist, striking the bony digits still lodged in Hoxton’s nostrils!
Hoxton howls in religious fervor, and pain!
Hoxton: POWER ATTACK – 1!
Hoxton: “GET BACK, EVIL!”
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Attack 1) [1d20+4 = 11]
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Damage) [1d12+4 = 6]
Alex (Hoxton): – 1 Hit, + 2 Damage.
A hit, but no kill.
A silvery sword flicks out from behind Hoxton, striking the damaged skeleton and laying it low.
Alex (Hoxton): Yeah, it was one of my weaker invocations…
Gregory, you have a lone Skeleton upon you, gumming your skull through your hood.
Gregory Morrow grunts and then tries to smash his quarterstaff into the skeleton’s kneecap.
Gregory Morrow: Quarterstaff (Attack 1) [1d20 = 14]
A fine hit!
Gregory Morrow: Quarterstaff (Damage) [1d6 = 1]
Or maybe not.
With a bloodcurling whimper that would frighten a small child – but not much else – the Mephit raises his staff over his head and brings it crushing down into a skeleton!
Miraculously, he even succeeds somewhere other than his own imagination.
Unfortunately, it did alot more damage in his imagination.
Hoxton: “Horus is with us! Press on! Send them back to their graves!”
The skeleton still on Hoxton attacks in maddening silence!
The skeleton on Gregory attacks!
It falls off his head and fails to gum him further!
Hoxton: Power attack, – 1
Hoxton: “LIGHT AND FURY!”
Hoxton: Skeleton on Gregory.
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Attack 1) [1d20+4 = 6]
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Damage) [1d12+4 = 7]
Hoxton: Or Gregory, apparently
With a roll like that, you’re lucky you didn’t hit Gregory; if he was older – and grown up – you would have.
As it is, you bury your mace in the stonework over his head.
Hoxton: …A bit too much fury, not enough divine guidance, I fear.
Selene’s sword lashes out another, chipping the skeleton on Gregory but not much more!
Gregory Morrow: “Attack!”
Gregory Morrow: Quarterstaff (Attack 1) [1d20 = 17]
Gregory Morrow: Quarterstaff (Damage) [1d6 = 3]
Gregory lays his skeleton low!
The Mephit lunges forward at the final skeleton!
Howling obscenities and inarticulate warbling, he leaps upon its fleshless back, pummeling it mercilessly about the head and shoulders – somewhat awkwardly- with his staff!
This no doubt contributes to why the skeleton misses Hoxton.
SIR HOXTON, there is one last skeleton upon you!
Hoxton: “Now I lay you to rest!”
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Attack 1) [1d20+4 = 21]
Hoxton: Warmace (2h) + 1.5 Str (Damage) [1d12+4 = 13]
You strike, narrowly missing your convert, and drive the skeleton into the ground!
Gregory Morrow: “Is everyone ok?”
Blood streams from Hoxton, mostly from his nose – where you can still see boney fingers protruding – and you were scraped slightly, but no-one else seems the worse for wear.
Gregory Morrow: “I can try to heal your wounds with a prayer to the earth if you will let me.”
125 ex pee!
Hoxton pulls the fingers from his nose, casting it aside.
Gregory Morrow: “Spirits of earth, heal this body made of your foundings, mend the flesh and stow the blood that is the river of life.”
Gregory Morrow: Spell [Cure Light Wounds] → Cures 1d8 damage +1/level (max +5).
Hoxton: “If you think it will help – if Horus wills it, it may work.”
Gregory Morrow: [1d8 = 3]
Blood streams faster from Hoxton’s nose as he rips the wounds open further!
Hoxton! You feel better!
Nick (Gregory Morrow): +1 for level right
You don’t feel too much worse than you routinely do from walking into doors, now.
Hoxton! You can have an extra 50 XP for being the DM’s punching bag!
Alex (Hoxton): Huzzah!
Did anyone take the hammer of Ukla the Inevitable, by the way?
Hoxton: Alright.. now I gotta run to sleeps, and I did not touch that vile thing.