TOPIC: [R6] Storm King's Thunder - Discussion

Romero Scorzoni - Half-elf Paladin of Sune Firehair

He's the jock of fantasy high schools!

The Private Journal of Dragor Taliovic

After many weeks of arduous trekking across half the world, I have finally reached my destination. Perhaps now the terrifying dreams and harrowing visions will cease plaguing me.

I've recently fallen in with a strange collection of people on the road to this 'Nightstone', all with their own reasons for being there. I feel some of them are keeping some secrets well hidden from the rest of us but that may just be my innate mistrust of civilisation. I've been alone so long now, it's become part of my nature to shun the company of others.

Our first day in Nightstone turned out to be most eventful. Upon arriving at the town, we noticed the place was eerily empty, save for an incessantly tolling bell in the small chapel by the front gates. The signs of many feet in a great hurry had disturbed the ground outside the settlement, suggesting that many, or all, of the townsfolk had fled some unknown calamity.

The reason soon became apparent. Nightstone had indeed suffered some sort of catastrophe, the place had been devastated. Most of the buildings lay in ruins, huge boulders scattered across the ground like seed strewn for giant chickens to peck at. A couple of the burlier members of the party headed for the town square and came across a couple of wolves crunching down on some poor fools who hadn't run fast enough when the attack came.

Like the brave heroes in the stories the Elders of my accursed village used to tell, the fighters fell upon these savage beasts as if they faced the very dragons of Narfell itself. Personally, I would have let the dogs feast. It's hard to survive in the wild and you must take your meat where you find it. I bore these wolves no malice.

One of my companions obviously harboured similar thoughts to my own. A strange creature, a half orc druid of all things. Druids are ten a copper piece back in the Great Dale but I've never met one of orcish descent. This one actually made friends with one of the wolves! Baffling. Still, it takes all sorts I suppose.

Seeing as the others had the fight under control, I decided to locate the source of that infernal bell. I entered the dim chapel, illuminated only by the stained glass window set in the wall to my left. Some scene involving a unicorn or somesuch. The place itself was a mess, furniture and religious paraphernalia lay broken and scattered across the floor as if a dwarven firebomb had been set off. Not seeing anything of value, my attention was drawn towards a great curtain at the far end, behind which I could hear the bell ringing.

More out of whimsy than anything I decided to exercise some of my power and caused the huge curtain to glow with a bright light. Seeing that it illuminated nothing more of interest, I wandered over and tugged the curtain to one side. I was startled to see two goblins cavorting and ringing the bell with unrestrained glee. They hadn't noticed me so I asked them, in Orcish what they thought they were doing. I imagined ones such as these would understand the orc tongue but it seems they had no idea what I was talking about and decided to attack me instead.

It was then that events turned most strange. Evidently my orcish shout had attracted the attention of one of my party and before I could do anything about the goblins, the ranger dashed past me into the little alcove and started laying about the little green beasts with his bow!

Now, that ranger concerns me. He claims to have been the one hired by my family to find me after I went missing in the ruins when I was but ten years old. Now that may well be true, I was far from conscious at the time and do not recall his face, but my village is untold leagues to the east and there are many rangers between here and my old home. It seems like a bit too much of a coincidence to me.

He also claims he was sent to help me by the people of my village but I find this especially hard to swallow. I have not had the slightest contact with any of those fearful, credulous buffoons since they beat me bloody, banished me and dumped my bruised bones in the middle of the forest ten years ago. I find it hard to entertain the idea that they, first of all, believe I'm still alive and, secondly, somehow worth saving.

I suppose it is possible that my parents have, over the intervening years, grown to rue their own actions towards me that day and have hired this ranger to find and protect me. But it's too little too late, I have no need of their protection and require none of their misplaced compassion. Have I not survived and thrived all this time without any help from those that sired me? My words may be bitter but they are just.

Enough, Dragor. It does no good to dwell on old wounds.

Nevertheless, my mistrust of the ranger seems well placed for now. I must be cautious until I can learn his true motives.

So here I am, stood holding this curtain, watching a ranger fight two goblins in a tight priest-hole when in barrels the paladin, clearly surprised to find himself in the middle of the fight. It was like watching a bunch of cats trying to wrestle inside a beer keg. One of the funniest things I've seen in a while.

Leaving them to it, I wandered back outside to spot two more goblins frolicking in a nearby pumpkin patch, pumpkins jammed onto their heads like pot helmets. This day just kept getting weirder. Feeling I should contribute, I sent a fire bolt over their way and was rewarded when the nearest goblin's pumpkin exploded into burning chunks, leaving a surprised and frightened greenskin looking about for his assailant.

At the same time, the barbarian, looking for more sport, hurtled over and smacked the other goblin around the head, cleaving his pumpkin, and head, in twain. One more fire bolt later and both goblins lay dead. The barbarian and I grinned at each other over a most diverting and amusing encounter. The fellow seems decent and unassuming enough, if a little overly-aggressive.

I didn't catch much of the rest of the fight, I understand some sort of scuffle went down in the windmill between the female rogue, the half-orc druid and another couple of goblins. I'm not sure how I feel about the woman yet as she seems to keep herself very much to herself. She appears somewhat amiable but clearly has many secrets lurking in the recesses of her mind. I will reserve judgment for now.

Thinking about it, I never did learn why the druid's eyes were so sore and red though, whenever I asked him about it, he just went quiet and embarrassed. The rogue kept chuckling though. Most mysterious.

I did get the chance to investigate a crater in the town square though. It seems this is where the obelisk that has haunted my dreams once lay. Some extremely large footprints around the site seem to suggest ogres or perhaps even giants. Only creatures such as they could lift such a huge monolith, I suspect.

After the town was cleared of goblins, we ventured up to the keep. There was more carnage here. Guards' bodies littered the gatehouse, limbs attached and unattached bent at weird angles.

We found the first survivors in the great hall, bickering about what to do while the body of their mistress lay on the banquet table in front of them, a feast for crows. These survivors were also castle guards but ones without a commanding officer to instil discipline.

After some more arguing we learned that some giants had come in a flying castle and ravaged the town, raining boulders on it until the people fled or were killed. We managed to persuade these folk to set about locating the missing townsfolk and bring them back to rebuild the community. A task they decided could wait until the morrow.

To think that all this happened in just one day! I think I'm going to stick around a while longer, I'm going to enjoy this...

Awesome write-up Andy. You (and anyone else producing a write-up) can convert any one successful attack into a CRITICAL HIT next session only. I'm of the opinion that creativity should be rewarded, so here is a provisional outline of cumulative rewards for keeping a log of your adventures (you do not have to write pages, just enough to give anyone reading an insight into your character and what happened to them that week);

1: Critical Hit
2: Common Magical Potion (with one-time effect)
3: +5 HP
4: Critical Hit
5: Uncommon Magical Item
6: Level 1 NPC ally
7: +10HP
8: Multiclass

-

Some rule/houserule clarifications that came up in Week 1;

Shooting into Combat: "for a bit of fun, if the attacker rolls a 1 to hit, you could say that a friend has been hit instead of the intended target."
(Edited after discussion in rules clarification thread)
--

Attacking a Grappled Opponent: If one character is a grappling another and a third party attacks. The problem this week was I did not distinguish between the person grappling and the person being grappled, so…
1: Attacker targets person who initiated/maintains the grapple: Disadvantage as the person grappling can use the person being grappled to block attack (for example: an ogre grabs Steve the Fighter and grapples him, Dave the Barbarian tries to attack the ogre but is at disadvantage as he does not want to hit his ally).
2: Attacker targets person being grappled: Advantage as the person grappling can hold the person being grappled to facilitate the attack (for example: another ogre emerges to attack Steve the Fighter, who is still being grappled by ogre #1, his attack is at advantage as the first ogre can hold the Fighter steady while the second delivers his attack).

--

Climbing in Armour: Trying to climb or perform feats of dexterity in medium/heavy armour will impose disadvantage, because armour is cumbersome. Also, swimming.

--

Melee Combat in Confined Spaces: If you try to fight in an area that the GM/common sense defines as a 'confined space', you will be at disadvantage.

Cheers Mike. Let's hope I get a successful attack next week!

Those house rules all seem perfectly reasonable to me. Even they didn't it's GM fiat anyway!

Druidic etchings of Therutir Charredwood.


<written in common>
Goblins. I hate goblins. I hate goblin piss more.

A chance for a long rest has been well appreciated; it seems I've lost my stamina for battle. No doubt due to the odd fluctuations in the air I've been feeling recently. They seem to have warped my mind, I've not felt this strange before. I had hoped that I'd find some answers in Nightstone; after all, that old rock offered such a strong pull, but about 3 days walk from the town its essence dissipated. I remember a thunderous clap of lightning that night, echoing through the hills, but bizarrely no rain had come; just a large cloud - larger than I'd seen before, and denser.

Anyway, not in the mood for carting wet robes about that night, I entered a flea-bitten inn, only to overhear a band of unlikely folk discussing rumours of the town I was bound for. A barbarian, colossal in size and not a scrap of armour on him sat quaffing ale like the giant snake-nosed beasts of the East. To his right a half elf paladin stood, stalwart no doubt, but argumentative towards the conversation at hand. A human sorcerer peered on, offering sage input at times, yet his aura seemed to make my senses flicker; no doubt, he is just as unpredictable as his wild magic. Mocking the entertainment on show, Rafious, a old bard or perhaps a tumbler was only half listening to the conversation. He seemed to hold knowledge of the finer points of entertainment, suggesting that he has ranged far and wide and no doubt performed for many a rich family, but his distaste here was misplaced; the pub was full of punters, illiterate fools, none who would appreciate whatever he deemed to be "proper" spectacle. I watched on, from an alcove, trying to gather any information that may help, until a soft whisper pierced my concentrating ear. Turning, I saw a woman, handsome, but not in the traditional sense, with a wary smirk on his face. She stopped the group from their chattering and pointed out that I was eavesdropping and beckoned me forward towards their table. The barbarian took to his feet, slopping ale down his broad chest and eyed me with contempt; seeing no way out of this situation, I announced my presence and my interest in their conversation. Through poor luck, or perhaps even the will of the woods, I was to join the group on the trip into town, you can never turn down additional hands on these roads littered with highwaymen I suppose.

Finally reaching our destination, I assessed the area. Nothing had changed since my last visit here; the windmill still stood, rickety and disused, turning idly in the wind; the church bells still clanged, although this time, it didn't sound like a call to prayer, instead it was more erratic. The conical shaped hill was still visible for miles around, but crushingly, the old wood that stood not so far from the town's gate seems to have been chopped down. No doubt to warm some fat bastards hearth. I bade a quick prayer to Silvanus and cursed those selfish few who took advantage. If I meet them here, I shall leave them regretting this choice. I sloped in a branch as the group approached the gate; no arrows were loosed at them so I believed the path safe.

On entry to the courtyard, there were two worgs feasting upon a corpse; to some this may have been the focus of the picture at hand, yet I was more concerned with the numerous boulders splayed out on the field like a gambler's dice throw, and quizzically, the missing stone. True to the nature of the beast, the barbarian wasted no time in asserting his dominance over others smaller than him and darted, enraged at the two worgs in the courtyard. I wish he had given me time to assess them. The ranger clambered up into the eaves of the church to get a more accurate shot off at the beasts. I remember admiring the fluidity in which he climbed, unsure as to how he managed it with a breastplate on, but clearly the weight of his armour tired him as he couldn't seem to release an arrow close enough to the beast for it to even take notice. The rogue woman hopped a fence gracefully, unsure why she did as such, however, she mentioned what she found was quite a gruesome sight. I was disinterested in the details. Seeing an opportunity to take out the fool who left the pack, the second worg bounded towards the fence and snapped hungrily through the slats, fortunately, the fence was well made enough to withstand its over-sized skull.
Feeling this fight unnecessary, I strode towards the canine and used my ancient skill of animal friendship. Unsure if this monster would react well to being approached from behind, I kept my distance just in case. Fortunately, the beast succumbed to my beckon, and approached my heels with little trouble.

I refused to take part in the remainder of the folly of the others', a church is no place for my kind. I set out towards the old windmill, I had recalled there being a vantage point amongst its rafters. The knelling of the church bells were still echoing around the keep, still mis-timed and random, the paladin was the first to enter the church - what a fool, he probably thought to offer tithing. I left him to it. Whether it was intrigue, distrust, or an act of repayment, the rogue followed me, keeping her distance; the worg had already served its purpose. I peered through the door of the old mill, still flour was caught in its deep wooden grooves; there was no sound, no danger I'd assumed. Not even my worg showed any sign of concern, therefore I entered with the casual swagger of a fighter. I should have made the connection - Worgs and corpses often meant goblins. It's no surprise my sidekick didn't react to the hidden foe, it was probably his old master. It was all too late, the chittering trickled down from the rafters, as I looked up, a off-green liquid caught me square in the face. Annoyed at my lack of caution, I threw myself towards the bags of flour I saw strewn on the floor as I entered, and landed almost softly. Wiping the filth from my eye, I looked to my worg, who was now baying at the beams above. Two of the bastards stood in the open, dangling their shrivelled brown cocks at me, waving them like some war banner. I raced for the ladder, sling in hand and upon reaching the top, I let loose a stone. It seems that the piss, with the smell of old goats milk, had blurred my vision worse than I had thought - my rock bounced off a rafter 10 feet from my target. The creatures were quick on the draw and sent an arrow at me, wounding my arm and sending me scuttling for cover. In good time, the rogue had taken a sound spot higher than the goblins and rained arrows at them, Most missed, however, it served as enough of a distraction.

Regaining my poise, I prepared for an attack, just as the other adventurers burst through the door. In a hail of curses and arrows, I had forgotten all about my worg who was waiting eagerly below where a goblin stood; slather pouring from his jowls. Sometimes having allies is worth the hassle - One of the companions hit true and the goblin fell to a slump on the floor, where my worg proceeded to remove that squeaking, cackling throat it loved to use so freely. It did not take long for the other to fall and within seconds all was right with the world. I winced in disgust at the smell still coating my face; the rogue was laughing, despite an arrow being lodged in her shoulder. I removed it for her in payment for her aid previously, and then she gave me a look that told me all I needed to know; she had seen what had happened. The embarrassment stung almost as much as my eyes. The sorcerer asked to the reasons of my red eyes, I shrugged him off without an answer; I still don't completely trust him.

Following some joyous tale of jousting pumpkin headed goblin younglings, We decided to ignore the rest of the buildings, forsaking any potential loot and went directly for the castle to the West of the keep. There we saw a group of guards arguing, huddles around a plinth which shelved the body of a woman. She didn't look to have suffered a terrible fate, but who can say what had happened? The paladin spoke first before I could assess the situation.

Getting no information other than who it was that adorned the stone table, we rested, only to be interrupted by a mounted host, armoured and approaching. I went atop the battlements to scout. I've no idea who they are...
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If this is too much info guys, I'll reduce it for next time!