[3.5] No DM. Go!

[Marlowe]

We all meet in a tavern. And we very quickly wish we didn't.

It's not that the food's bad--a little noodly and squirmy and tentacular--but it seems this place, the "Pagoda Hell", is apparently a meeting for every piece of overleveled muscle in the city of Generiton. Place is overrun with sly-looking barmaids that are probably hookers, hookerish-looking types who are probably cutpurses, heavily-muscled, scarred men that look like they walked out of some 80s post-apocalyptic, mysterious cloaked strangers in corners and all the other riff-raff of the adventuring world. A noisy, bustling mess of heroes and villains and those that prey on both.

It was the skinny, redheaded sorceress wolfing down every dish on the menu that started everything though. Or more correctly, it was the random drunk guy who jostled her chair and then made a slighting remark about the size of her chest that started it. Or maybe it was the prevalent culture of boisterous behaviour that created a climate where such things could be considered routine that started it. Well, whatever. Next thing you know Miss Flat-chested sorceress gets a little annoyed and next thing there's flames and screams and explosions everywhere.

We instinctively realize that somebody who opens a tavern brawl with an empowered fireball is not someone you want to be near, so we lit out a side entrance miraculously unharmed (because it would be boring to start with us all dead. That's why).

Although wisdom would dictate, especially in a throughly rotten city is Generiton, that we should put as much distance between ourselves and the lady of contention as possible, some of us have mules. Carrying most of their personal possessions. Which are stabled at the back of the inn. And so, cautiously edging the radius of assured destruction from the irritated sorceress, we work our way along an alley back to the stables.

And there we find a couple of oily-looking individuals, in the chartreuse and vermillion leathers of the Generiton criminal overworld city watch, in the act of liberating our pack animals.

"Well, then." quoth the hairier one, whom we shall call "Tim". "You boys and girls and whatever were in there?" He indicates with his mace the chaos of flying wreckage and weird-coloured flames that the inn is in the process of collapsing into.

"Reckon that, like, makes 'em culpable in this contratemps, like" says the greasier one, who we'll call "Jim", absently toying with his Morning Star (editor's note: Don't absently toy with a morning star. It's not wise). "Reckon the cities got a right t' some, compensation. Like."

"Reckon these animals and their goods should do for a start", says Tim. "Reckon if you don't want to pay more, reckon your boys and girls and things should get on your merry way."

The two look at each other, and smile.

[What SHALL we do? Let them steal our stuff? Talk? Roll Initiative?]

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Kitha

Kitha cocked her head sideways in confusion. "Wha.. get your hand off my ass!" She growls like an angry dog at 'Tim'. Kitha intentional does not go for a weapon, hoping to startle the thieves off and not actually escalate the situation.





Intimidate [roll0]


Init (if required) [roll1]

[planswalker]

Jab pulls out his punching dagger and says, "Listen, fellas, you don't really want to try this on us. We're not easy marks and it'll be far more risk than it's worth to try and 'confiscate' our goods. We outnumber you two to one. There are plenty of easier pickings inside the tavern if you simply must find someone to pin this on."

[Marlowe]

As though the universe is deliberately trying to make Jab look a little silly [editor's note: it is] something back at the inn explodes with a sharp BANG and sends the unconscious body of a heavily-scarred (and now rather singed) post-apocalyptic muscleman splatting onto the stable roof with a comical THUMP.

Whether it's because of this, Kitha and Jab's defiance, the strangely audible ranting about "DARKNESS BEYOND TWILIGHT, CRIMSON BEYOND BLOOD THAT FLOWS" in the sorceress's voice coming from the chaos behind you, Feng abruptly shouting "Stupid ugly Men! Any minute now they say they like girl with spunk!", or possibly just the fact that they're a couple of low-account bully-boys who just rolled terribly on a modified level check, some of the spirit seems to go out of Tim and Jim.

"Oh. Right. You're. Like. Those people. Who are, like, important. For, like some reason..." Jim dribbles.

Tim seems to be made of slightly firmer suet. "Right. If that's the way it's going to be. We'll let you go. And you're lucky we don't charge you for wasting City Watch time."

Clutching their weapons, they back away further down the alley, past the stables, around a corner and out of sight.

[RIGHT: Thanks to my horrible dice that's one encounter very easily defeated BUT that was an Intimidate check SO they'll move from "Unfriendly" to "Hostile" in a very short while AND they're the law around here.

They'll be looking for you. With backup.

Also, it's probably not safe to remain near the remains of the inn.

What do we do?

Also, Kitha has an Ass? And Jab has NO gear at all?]

[Rizban]

Quickly hooking up the cart to his mule, Henry leads the animal out of the stable and goads her into walking as fast and she possibly can away from there.

[Marlowe]

Feng, after brushing a bit of soot off her ludicrously sheer dress (and pulling out her mirror to check her face is all pretty, the little baggage), takes the reins of her own animal and follows Henry down the alley. With the way you came now filled with flaming rubble, the only way out is the same alley that Tim and Jim have just skulked down. As you emerge onto the main street, you can still see them loitering at a corner a block away. Then Tim gives you a scowl heavy with promise and they disappear around the corner.

The street is fill of pencilnecks, rednecks, rubbernecks and just plain neckers all gawping at the flames consuming the inn. Then a massive explosion shatters the Padoga Hell (and most of the stables), throwing a pillar of eerie green flame high into the sky and raining flaming debris over a wide area, and like magic the crowd is gone. Only the stone back wall of the stables has miraculously saved us all from serious injury.

"Ah," says Feng in her abrasive accent; "I think we may get blamed for this, no? Maybe we better leave town? Or find somewhere to hide, yes? Anyone know this town?"

[That's a call for some knowledge rolls, guys. Local or Geography, your call.]

[Actually, know what? None of us have any Knowledges worth a damn yet, so let's say everyone knows this:]

Generiton is built in a bend of the Bendy River. The part of town at the head of the peninsular thus formed is called Central Dogma for reasons that escape us. It is well-built, well-walled, well-garrisoned by a force known as the People's Militia. These wear brown and red livery and don't like to be compared with the City Watch, who goblins tend to think are a bit dodgy. Central Dogma is where what we'll laughingly called the "Best People" live. "Best" in this context means "those with enough money to buy people to beat up other people should there be any question of who the better people are."

Sprawling away eastward (and a bit north and south) of the walls of Dogma is the outer city known as the Hives. A sloppy, semi-anarchic exercise in post-modern fantasy urban decay dominated by the enforcers of various criminal organisations such as the bloated (and technically legal) City Watch, the vicious Red Nails, the frightening League of Little Ladies who Lunch, and the absolutely terrifying Creative Accountants Association. The Hives are divided into the districts of Riverside (to the north), Slump (in the middle) and Cesspool (to the south). Cesspool was formerly known as South Riverside, but it's downstream and...well.

You are right in the middle of Slump. In fact, the corner that Tim and Jim have just disappeared around is the main road leading out of the city to the east. Unfortunately, there's a City Watch lair in that direction. It's POSSIBLE that they're going for backup.

There is an Outer City wall. The Hives have sprawled beyond its gates in places and it's not in very good repair, but various organisations do patrol it.

Beyond the city, to the east is the rival city of Averagistadt, of which nothing is known except the citizens of Generiton hate it, which may be a point in its favour.

To the south is the great Post-Apocalyptic wasteland, full of not-at-all-very-ancient ruins and populated by surly groups of large, violent men with massive sideburns (and, we hope, the women who love them).

To the north are the unpleasant and violent Inconvenient Mountains, a mess of savage humanoids. In some location in the middle of these mountains is the dread fortress of Rustpile (formerly, The Tower of Iron, but reality is not kind to such conceits.), rumoured to be the lair of a Dark Lord of some description. It's a little annoying how people just seem to think that calling somebody a "dark lord" gives you enough information to make an informed decision.

To the west, on the other side of the river, is a peaceful, verdant forest crawling with homicidal Fey.

Downstream is the seaport of Jolly Roger. Let's not speculate on why it's called that.

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Kitha

"I usually stay out of towns to be honest and I don't think I know anything useful about this one - except the Inns are prone to blowing up and they like to deputize scum. Give me a forest full of homicidal fey anyday. Just before the fruckas broke out though someone was mentioning to me that orcs were raiding some farms to the north and stealing children. Maybe a change of scenery is needed" she suggested. Kitha stared off after Tim and Jim and hoped she was long gone before they came back. People tended to get all uppity when giant shapeshifting wolves rip out the throats of city guards.

[planswalker]

yep, just armor and two weapons! He is SO gonna die horribly WIN!

Jab follows his compatriots out of town as quickly as he can.

"Let's get out of here. I think I heard of a cave nearby that's infested with spiders. Seems quite a bit safer than staying here. Hopefully no one ambushes us at the gate and causes us problems getting out of town."

[Marlowe]

Feng looks into the distance, where a worryingly humanoid-looking piece of flaming debris is in the produce of burning through a granary roof. "Chickens. Spiders. Spider-chickens...sound good. Let's go before Hairball and Greaseball come back with more monkeyshiners. We go north, yes?"

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

kitha

"Yes north." Kitha agrees. "So orcs or spiders?" she asks absently as they travel along northward.

[Marlowe]

"We see, maybe, when we get out of town? Yes?" shrills Feng, as a group of armed individuals in the distinctive leather-and-studs-and-fishnets-and-nothing-else livery of the Little Ladies Who Lunch hustle past you carrying buckets of water and expressions of grim purpose. "I wonder, why they called Fire brigades? Would not be better to use water?"

Fengs confusion notwithstanding, you have little difficulty wending through the streets of the city as behind you, the wreck of the Pagoda Hell subsides to a sullen glow, smaller fires spring up in various places where the wreckage has fallen, and a granary explodes cheerfully.

The Riverside gate has long since stopped becoming a serious issue to entering or leaving the city, what with the state of the walls. Yet it is still a post of some symbolic importance, and you find it garrisoned by four members of the City Watch. Twice that number of Red Nails gang-members hang about, just coincidentally, in the nearby vicinity, lazily polishing their red-enameled extremities, brushing soot from their lace and bright silks, and running combs through their long, flowing locks. And the girls are worse.

As you approach, the oldest of the Watchmen comes stumping up on his peg-leg, and raises a hook-hand in a gesture of greeting. "Morning, gents! And Ladies! And Dwarves!" he says, then politely spits off in a random direction that isn't yours.

"Leaving town are we? Don't blame you. Fires. Explosions. Street crime. None of it a patch on the violence and depravity of MY day, why--" he scratches under his eye-patch with his hook. "Why I could tell you-"

One of the more aggressively androgynous Red Nails sidles up to him and gives him a gentle frilly elbow in the ribs.

"Ow. Not so damn hard, woman. Oh, yes. Sorry to bother you, Ladies and Gentlemen and Dwarves. We've had a message, you see. Something about those that started this fire. Need to ask you if you've seen--" His remaining eye rolls back into his head, as though remembering something.

"If you've seen "Two really fat, ugly, Gnomes, one with a blue glow. A slanticular chick in a bathrobe, and a guy wearing nothing but a mail shirt." His eye returns to traveling across the four of you. "Not seen anyone like that, then?"

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

"No I don't think I had. " Kitha offered. She pauses for a moment to think and adds "Aren't all gnomes fat and ugly?? Doesn't really narrow it down any."

[Marlowe]

"I agree. Pretty vague." nods the old Guardsman. "But it's the best we got given". He leans forward and taps his hook against the side of his head. "Some of those boys over in Slump, well, just between you and me, they ain't that bright."

[planswalker]

"Well, I'm sorry, we didn't pass anyone fitting those descriptions on our way north. Perhaps they went to the east? Maybe they tried to lay low until things get quiet?"

[Rizban]

Henry nods in agreement with Jab.
"Oh, yes, I think I saw a pair that could be described as particularly fat and ugly heading east in a hurry earlier. I can't say I saw either of the other two though..."

[Marlowe]

"Aye. Ayup. Izzat so?", quoth the old guardsman stereotypically. "Be passin' that along. Well I see you DO have a bloke wearing nothing but a chain shirt". His bleary eye steadfastly refuses to go anywhere near Jab. "AND one of you's gots a blue glow. But two of you are Dwarves, and your geographically confused young lady is in a Cheongsam-"

"QI'PAO!" interrupts Feng. "Cheongsam is for men! You know!"

The androgynous Red Nail shifts their pose from on foot to the other, toying with the hilt of their bejeweled rapier with one manicured hand while flicking back a lock of hair with the other. "Only in northern capital dialect", they say a little archly. "In the provincial tongue of the place the garment was first invented, "Cheongsam" can refer to either male or female-"

"Shuibion!I don't care! One half!" shrills Feng a little rudely.

The old guardsmen chuckles. "Ah, ye kids today with your post-modernism and your Brechtian devices and your silly clothes. Well, anyway. You don't fit the description. So's it can't be you." He steps aside, leaving the gate, and the open road to the north clear for us. "Enjoy your trip. And come back anytime."

Assuming nobody want to do anything to mess this up, you leave the city and follow the road north toward the village of which you have heard, past half-heart shanty-towns that gradually give way to half-hearted attempts at bucolic pastourality. The Bendy rivers flows past on your left like a bit wet thing. The west bank, with its butterfly-winged terrors, just visible on the horizon on this clear blue days.

After four hours of plodding;

SUDDENLY!

There's a rustle of underbrush and two once-human, half-rotted, shambling wrecks of men emerge from the shrubbery to your right, shambling in your general direction with expressions of vacuous intensity. "Grrr. Aargh", says one. "Brains,. remarks the other.

One is wearing a sandwich-board reading: "I liked making racist remarks in bars". The other wears one saying. "I beat my wife. It turns out her family Knows People." They're both 50' off.

INITIATIVE!!!

[Marlowe]

[Yeah. You're right. I should do this myself.]

Initiative:
Jab: [roll0]
Feng: [roll1]
Kitha: [roll2]
Hank: [roll3]

The Differently-Living: [roll4]

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Kitha

"sigh, going to take me three days to get the foul taste out of my mouth." Kitha says evenly. She closes her eyes and her features shift away. In a mere moment a large wolf is standing where Kitha was. With a loud growl, she lunges at the Wifebeater.





HP: 11
AC: 16 (-2 charge) = 14

Kitha charges the zombie.


Attack: [roll0]
Damge: [roll1]


Could probably use team init next time that way no one is waiting on me etc

[Marlowe]

"No brains..." moans wifebeater-zombie, as its left arm disappears down Kitha's throat. The remaining arm swings around to slam the giant wolf in the head.

Attack [roll0]Dam [[roll1]

...and manages to punch itself in the ghoulies. How ironic.

Racist-zombie shambles absently closer to the rest of the party, now 20' away from everyone.

[Marlowe]

Jab, if there's no objection, lifts his crossbow and fires at Racist-Zombie.

Attack [roll0] Dam [roll1]

Feng mutters something like "Stupid men! No more useful when dead!" and fires an eldritch blast of eldritch blasty stuff at the same target.

Attack (touch) [roll2] Dam [roll3]

"Wolverhampton...for the cup" mutters Racist-Zombie as Jab's bolt sails past his ear and Feng's blast strikes him in the chest.

Henry is UP!!!

[Rizban]

On his turn, Henry wordlessly charges the nearest zombie in range and hacks viciously at it with his sword.

Incarnate Weapon (Longsword) – [roll0] – [roll1]

[Marlowe]

Racist-zombie takes a brutal slash from the blue-glowing weapon, sending various bits of smelly into the air that would certainly give this scene a Seinen rating were such to be a factor in proceedings, but remains on what's left of its feet.

Back to Kitha!!!

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Kitha

Kitha continues to bite at Wifebeater. *GRRRRROWL*



HP: 11
AC: 16


Attack: [roll0]
damage: [roll1] (Piercing)

[planswalker]

When it comes time for Jab in initiative order, he will reload his crossbow and fire once more.

Hm... a few good spells would be very useful here. Certainly better than what I'm currently doing.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Marlowe]

Kitha puts down Wifebeater with a messy *CRUNCH* rich with the promise of halitosis.

Racist moans "Power to the real people" and attempts a slam at Henry. [Attack [roll0] Damage [roll1]] and somehow manages to give itself a painful looking facepalm.

Jab's aim is apparently foiled by the glow of Henry's blue sword, and his bolt creases Racist's foul hair without causing injury.

Feng, likewise not the best at shooting into combat, fires off another blast of pure hereditary obnoxiousness. [Attack touch [roll2] damage [roll3]]. But her shot simple scorches, freezes, wilts, and blisters the grass near the Zombies's feet.

[planswalker]

not wishing to waste more ammo when there's no real benefit, Jab says, "So, uh, guys, you got this one?", reloads his crossbow, and readies an action to fire should a not-undead enemy show up.

[Rizban]

Henry moves to hack at the racist zombie, refusing to give such behavior a verbal response.

Incarnate Weapon (Longsword) – [roll0] – [roll1]

[Marlowe]

Racist Zombie falls in a smelly mess around Henry. The birds in the trees sing a little chorus of "75 exp for everyone! 75 exp! I'm a bird! CHIRPIES!". The sun is shining, it's a pleasant day.

Feng, wrinkling her nose a little, moves over to the mess of racist-zombie. "Look! This one have pants!" She turns to Jab, "They dirty, smelly, ragged and covered with ick; but they pants, right? You need pants, you know? Or shall we walk to village just as we are?"

[Rizban]

Henry kicks the fallen zombie once for good measure.

"Meh. Probably deserved it."

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Kitha

The large wolf made a deep hacking noise from her throat and coughed up a green-ish grey finger. She shifted back into regular dwarf form. "Ack! tastes worse then Gnome." she observed. She dug into her bag and pulled out her waterskin and rinsed out her mouth. "I have half a mind to track down that necromancer and rip his face off." Kitha mumbles grumpily. "We should keep moving" she suggests.

Kitha shifts back into a wolf and prepares to move out unless someone tarried.

[Marlowe]

Feng looks a little confused as you move off down the road. "Rip face off for what? Killing racists and wife-beaters? I thought that killing bad people what we supposed to do, you know?" However, she follows along.

Nothing else much interesting happens as you move off down the road. Before another couple of hours have passed, you see the smoke on the horizon that indicates you're drawing near the village of you destination. And the underbrush by the side of the road gives way to fields and pasture with actual animals.

A farmer hoeing a field stops and looks at you as you come into sight. Then he puts his hoe to his muscular green shoulder and walks toward you, his free hand stroking his tusks thoughtfully.

"G'day", he says as he comes into earshot, his black eyes moving from Henry, to Feng, to Kitha, to avoiding looking directly at Jab, back to Henry again. "Yous guys gotta bit o' ol' "adventurer" look". A very quick glance at Jab. "That "very new adventurer" look. No' judgin'. Yous here t' help with our Chicken problem?"

[planswalker]

... I take it you're interpreting my lack of bothering to write down what free outfit Jab is wearing to indicate that he's naked under his armor?

Not really appreciated. If I were meaning for Jab to be naked, I'd have made a point to spell that out specifically. I didn't think anyone was going to make a big deal about whether or not I had bothered with such mundane details as specifying what kind of generic clothing Jab was wearing as that seemed completely outside the spirit of this game's premise.

I take it you're not content to just let Jab be wearing some kind of shirt-pants ensembe if I haven't bothered to specify exactly which free outfit he's wearing?

If so, I demand the right to go back and retcon him as wearing something. I wasn't setting out to make Jab a nudist and I don't appreciate you railroading him as such.

... if such seems overly antagonistic about this whole situation, I apologize. I'm going through medical stuff IRL that leaves me constantly tired and I'm likely much more crabby that I should be.

Jab finds that the pants he is wearing are far more suitable than the random clothes his compatriot looted off the rotting zombie. They may be serviceable, nondescript pants of no particular fashion, but they suited him just fine.

Since the man from the village was being rude enough to single Jab out and avoid eye contact with him, Jab returns the favor and ignores the man until such a time as he has the common courtesy to look him in the eye like the others.

[Marlowe]

Firstly, I'm sorry you're having health issues.

Secondly, it is ENTIRELY your responsibility to put what you have under your inventory. If it's not there, then you don't have it. That is a fairly basic rule of the game. I even asked about your lack of equipment a week ago. I am not "railroading" you, and I'm actually pretty offended at that word.

You did not fill in your sheet correctly. I was trying to hint that maybe you should do so. I would like to know what you are wearing. I believe how your character presents himself is not a trivial matter when I'm writing NPC reactions. I was trying to make a joke of it. I'm sorry you took it badly, but that fact of the matter is you created the problem, and you could and can fix it by typing two words on your sheet, and instead you're wasting time yelling at the person who is trying to give you a game.

Thirdly, unless you've been giving money to charity, you should have a lot more money.:smallconfused:

[planswalker]

... it's been a week of internet blackout for me, and this conversation has lost its fire.

do you think we can allow that you and I clearly operate under different gaming conventions as to what counts as "proper conservation of detail"?

If you're willing to accept that my character isn't naked just because I neglected to specify WHICH meaningless free set of clothes he's wearing and accept, "Yeah, he's wearing pants and a shirt or something" from me, I'm good to go at this point.