A spooktacular finale for the heroes’ jaunt into the Halloween pocket plane!
Halloween hijinks for our happy heroes!
In trying to find a place to sleep, our PCs find bonkers adventures on the high seas!
Orcs, a chase and grossness!
We’re blessed to find a letter from our Bard to his wife, detailing his story, situation and his unique perspective of the world.
Last session we had three characters walk from a decrepit mine into a room full of cats. That’s the kind of stuff that will be commonplace for this group. And now there’s two new characters in the mix!
Our regular GM is taking a break from it while the Christmas season approaches. We needed a campaign to tide us over until then, so I volunteered. I’ll post updates after every session, and will eventually make all the content available for those who want to run it themselves. That’ll be later, though, because I don’t want to spoil things for my players and my notes need work to get them into a state digestible by others.
I’ll recount things from my perspective, which might be spoilery in terms of players’ memory or my explanations on the night. Some mixture of the intent and the execution, basically. But information they clearly missed or misinterpreted will be recounted as-is.
Our gaming group plays Pathfinder. We just finished the fourth module of Rise of the Runelords. Fortunately and unfortunately our regular GM runs a successful toy store and he needed to concentrate on the upcoming Christmas rush amongst other things, so we were putting Runelords on hold. We needed a GM so I stepped up to the plate. (Click here to read the rest of this entry)
Dust to dust… if the men with machine guns don’t get you, the zombies must!
We finished our months-long Delta Green (X-Files meets Cthulhu meets “guns, lots of guns”) campaign, run by Dave. I won’t be able to recount the entire story in detail, but the ending is marvellous and horrifying in a Game of Thrones-style way. Spoilers for Delta Green: Dead Letter. (Click here to read the rest of this entry)
This is the character journal of my character Aeona Tycheweaver, an Oracle who exists at a fraying of the fabric of space-time.
We’re all at level two and still settling into our characters. The plot is moving quickly though, so no time to rest! Aeona didn’t get anything special at level two except for more hit points. Currently her three tricks are: Cause Fear (interpreted as showing them their future death), Sanctuary (interpreted as being in an out-of-time Zen calm) and Cure Light (rewinding time on wounds). We got a wand to help my healing duties. It’s a godsend.
Just a short entry this time. Whatever short means. Maybe a long time. Space-time and I are still on shaky terms. Some points you’re on top of the haystack. Some points you’re face-first, kicking your legs in the air.
In terms of being the Sandpoint heroes, our group has sprawled out on the haystack – not entirely comfortable with it, but it’s better than nothing. Durak Stoneson, the beardy paladin, has adopted the leader role. Typical church fetish for hierarchy. Bahlek has, is and will be a bit antsy ever since his trip underneath the glassworks. A dwarf scared of the dark and dirty? Riotous!
Zoran’s a slippery customer. He’s quietened down on “sheathing his sword” amongst the lady townsfolk – more plunging the knife into goblin raiders’ backs. I swear it wasn’t the time-fray but he slipped from in front of my eyes at the barn. No wait, Aeona. Cian-nar Linear line lineation. Tell it right.
Vik and I are really in charge, but in a rear-guard kind of way. I’ve figured out that sis hasn’t been bringing in our family dog from the past or an alternate past like a normal person, nor even the future, but actually bringing in platonic ideals of dogs from… elsewhere. I find that really weird, but she disagrees. They’ve saved our skins a few times. Which reminds me, none of the townsfolk past or present know anything about my “SKINSAW” visions. Or are brave enough to admit it. We push ever forwards in time.
In any case, we “are” the Sandpoint heroes and are playing along. No-one but me has seen where we’re going with that in the future, but it might be disruptive to say. The visions are a funny product of the past and future, and present. Not really a thread but a yarn ball unravelling as it rolls along. It’s meant to unroll but doesn’t make sense to be unrolled now. In other news, I’ve decided that past tense confuses less people even though it’s actually wrong. I seem to get more of my meal orders, so that’s something.
Shalelu, the local
rascal ranger is out of town “investigating the goblin hordes”. Shady if you ask me. Especially when we were called out to help a farm besieged by the little buggers while she was conveniently away. My celestial inner monologue says “ET NAT XEA LIAIL AEXTANTE” which I explained to sis as “threaded destiny” (which she understood) although it’s a little less gravity and a little more gravitas, (which she did not). Anyway, our thread lead us to this farm a few miles out of town.
I remember cresting the hill and everything happening everywhere at once. In attempted linear note form: a giant gecko fleeing; a barn burning; three-armed goblin champion Koruvus crushed by Durak; sling stones hanging in the air; Zoran slipping from my gaze around the farmhouse; the gurgle of a goblin kidney twisted on a knife; me kicking down the farmhouse door; an engulfed Durak being extinguished by the ancient seas; dogs left, right, forward, backwards; goblins stabbing a lady to make her squeal like a pig; me showing a gecko its eventual painful death to a boar; rescuing a lady; Bahlek tripped by a whip; Zoran tying the horses up.
Koruvus was the champion of the Seven Teeth goblins, if Shalelu can be remembered or trusted. But he was rocking with goblins from the Thistletop menagerie. This doesn’t smell right, and not just because of the dead goblins.
We rescued the woman and brought her back to town, after some unfortunate verbal mis-steps by Zoran (“Woman, I’m sorry your son is no longer with us… he’s collecting firewood and will meet with you shortly!”… And he ribs me about my time troubles) Durak had insisted that we meet the goblins on their turf, presumably to murder them all. I don’t mind, I’m very well aware that we all become dust eventually. Durak’s direction I think comes from his church. Word of God, he says. Housewife’s whispers of God, says I. If he saw what I’ve seen, it’d blow his beard clean off. And sis and I are the “weak ones”…
Following this foolishness (yet, ET NAT XEA LIAIL AEXTANTE again) we crossed the Turandarok River in search of the Thistletop goblins. Of course the buggers had turned a bramble patch on the edge of a cliff into a warren. And of course we tore open their front door to go get them (well, Durak tried carving through what was essentially their side wall, but that was just amusing).
And of course, all hell broke loose while us normal people (sis, I and I guess Zoran) were caught stooped under the low roof. The dwarf duo had no such encumbrances. The whole place itched. And then stung when a hell-emigrated cougar popped up to murder us all. Murder begets murder, I guess. But I’m not keen on goblins and I am keen on me. And the others. The druid commanding this angry bag of claws and teeth was a nasty piece of work as well – throwing fire and wielding a flaming sword… Maybe tonight I’ll travel with my mind to when the world burns and see if I can draw back a trick like that.
When we had put that darn cougar down and knocked the druid off his feet, good ol’ Durak offered him surrender instead of the party-recommended knife in the face. Somehow ol’ muscles forgot him and Zoran dripping half their organs out while I kept them alive long enough to cop more flaming swords to the gut. Anyway, Durak protected the little bastard as he unexpectedly shimmied into the bramble wall and away from justice. No worry, I’ve seen where that thread goes. (Spoilers: A druid with a cracked face)
We didn’t exactly bring justice to these goblins. Nor peace. A little bit of murder, but they almost repaid that straight away. I tell you what – if we hadn’t sprung for that yew twig of healing, Durak and Zoran might have ended up a cougar’s dinner. I’m tempted to burn the entire bramble castle to the ground, but I guess Durak’s boss so we have to play nice.
We are the Sandpoint heroes after all. And we don’t burn a place to the ground for a little while yet.
Out-of-game: Holy shit that cougar was rough. Passed all its saves and could kill our toughest in a few rounds. Plus the druid was about as good! I’m really struggling with almost everything passing their saves and having a total of two spells up my sleeve (plus Cure Minor). Cause Fear is a little better than I initially thought, which helps. Next level I get a bunch more abilities, so I shouldn’t complain.
I’ve begun sowing the seeds for me wearing a clockwork golem like armour in half a dozen levels’ time. By then, I’ll be a glorious combination of Tony Stark and Elizabeth from Bioshock Infinite. And I’ll be basically the sum of their sexiness But for now it’s heal, heal, heal, cause fear, heal.
Interestingly our DM has added some weird effect to my character to reflect her confusion with space-time. It seems like DM fiat but occasionally I have to roll a concentration check after my spell is cast, and if I fail, some random time-based effect takes hold. So far it’s been:
- My spell going off 1d4 rounds later.
- My spell going off, but another random spell is quickened and cast on the nearest person. (Which turned out to be Sanctuary for my friend and Cause Fear on a goblin first time this has happened)
This is cool, but I’m struggling at low-level to do anything but heal-bot. Plus I can’t speak in combat. Oh well, that’s Aeona for you. I also change my hair colour randomly every day, which amuses the group.