Vanilla 3.5 Dungeon Crawl

[Caesar]

The blackness swims thick in your skull, and through the pain, you hear a strange, gutteral chanting. A rancid, burning odor rakes your lungs, and waves of naseau shake your weakened frame. You feel as if you are falling backwards, but the vertigo reverts itself every few seconds, and the cold hard truth of the stone below your back makes itself painfully known. You try to move your hand to your face, but it is restrained, perhaps with chains, or perhaps with only the weight of your own clothes, you cannot tell.

Memories begin to seep thru the waste that is currently your mind; a solitary meeting with a stranger, a secret job, some sense of urgency. It begins to come back to you, the rumor, the reward, the man in the tavern. You drank over the contract, too good to be true you remember thinking, already suspicious as you held your cup..the wine.. You can taste it in your mouth now, black and bile, poison..

Groaning, you open your eyes. The dim light of candles illuminates the room, there is a thick haze about.. You are lying on your back, on a stone slab. Looking to your right, another slab.. another body, fully clothed, hands and feet extended out over the edges, bound with some twine from which small, black rocks hang suspended. Strange. Summoning a little more strength, you lift your arm; the stone is heavy, but it moves. The effort tears a hole in your brain, and you vomit in your mouth a little.

The chanting continues, murmurred, quiet, alien, but with a sense of urgency. The tone seems to be increasing, the frequency picking up. Fighting blinding pain, you manage to lift your head. You are dressed exactly as you were yesterday. Beyond your feet, in the center of the room enshrouded in smoke, is a robed figure surrounded by candles, five stone slabs adorned with still breathing bodies spaced evenly in a circle around him. Your movement does not seem to break the mesmerizing trance of the ritual.

All:

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You go in the order to which you return to this thread. Ask questions in the OOC thread, to keep our story clean. You are fatigued and sickened. You are fully geared, but your weapons are sheathed and your bags do not seem to be on hand. If you are a spellcaster, you have a full contingent of spells, having luckily not cast any the day before.

[Sallera]

Uergh... that was pretty strong stuff, to take me down. Should have listened to my blood and scanned the wine... Finally managing to look around, Tailyn is unenthused by the presented sight. What kind of ritual is this? Sounds like it's almost done, and I doubt I'll like the results... but moving hurts too much. Dropping his head back down, he tries again to lift his arms, but can't yet summon the strength to arise. Candles... circles are always important. Wonder what will happen... if you leave it?

Lifting his head once more, he stares at the robed figure, summoning his remaining power to the one outlet left unbound - his voice. The first words resound with the crash of a wave against the shore, demanding obedience by sole virtue of inexorable pressure. "Come here, you miserable cretin."

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Command to approach, Will DC15 negates.

[StandardBC]

What's going on? Where am I? Thought Ferald. He looked around, seeing the multiple people strapped to stone tables. He notices himself tied to one as well. When did this happen. Who's the guy chanting in the circle? He struggles against his restraints. After hearing one of the other victims talk, he tried even harder.

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Strength Check against chains/ropes: (1d20+4)[11]

[Caesar]

R'yeldh'a gaarndha'l kleptuk n'hiiikt'u.. The creature's chanting continues unabated, and it drowns out the sudden voice of Tailyn as he rises somewhat shaken from his drug induced slumber, but the being does take notice of him. It does not seem compelled in the slightest by the cleric's intonation, and instead turns its head and casts a quick, eyeless gaze at the halfling, who is suddenly wracked with pain and falls back to his slab.

Meanwhile, the half-giant struggles with the cords bound to his wrists, and is somewhat bemused to find that he cannot break them, tho the stones do not seem to impede him much as it were. The being either does not notice, or cares not, continuing with its chanting instead.

all

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the stones are not of any great size or weight, being about the size of an orange. they appear to be more part of the ritual than a method of actual restrainment. The heaviness is more an effect of your own weakness at the moment (sorry I will be more precise in the future). Tailyn, you are stunned next round, having failed your own will save.

[Nixed]

Rolls off the slab cursing quietly under his breath as he does. He looks around trying to figure out where he is, what happened, and who the offending party is so they can be lit on fire.

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Knowledge checks to see if he can figure anything out through the haze.
Arcane: (1d20+4)[20]
Religion: (1d20+4)[10]
Spellcraft: (1d20+9)[14]

Also is the language something recognizable? I know elvish, orcish, draconic and goblin.

[Tortoise262]

Krank slowly awakens... That drink must have been drugged! No human-made beverage could knock me out. Especially not wine. Trying to remember anything more causes too much pain, so Krank tries to remove his bonds by force. "When I get offa this table, I'll make sure you regret this!"

[Zen Master]

Stanislav had a reversal of intent. First, dragging his mind up to wakefulness - then, feeling the throbbing pain behind his eyes, a feeble but intenste desire to drag it back down into sleep.

Oh mercy, Mother Bitchia, goddess of angry head aches. What did I do this time? Actually, never mind what I did - what did I drink?

Gingerly, he raised his hand to his head - or tried to. Twine? What is this? Oh swell - the constabulary has me. Again. I bet it's that ... Fara-something-something, that two-bit little ... Stanislav lapsed into a longish string of internal swearing.

Oh so slowly, Stanislav realises the chanting. The candles. The slabs with human bodies. Clearly, Faradane is up to far more serious shenanigans than he ever expected.

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Mental inventory: Am I all in one piece? Other than a fractured mind, it seems so. I have my gear. And heavy rocks are bound to me - that stuff has to go.

My plan, such as it is, goes thusly: Get out of the ropes (use rope and/or escape artist), get my sword out, and cleverly wait for that huge guy over there to make the first move.

Use rope: (1d20+4)[20]
Escape artist: (1d20+4)[13]

Slight of hand (to avoid the rocks falling to the ground and make noise I don't need - never mind the enemies, it's my head I'm worried about): (1d20+4)[21]
Bluff (to seem to be doing something innocous like vomiting and struggling feebly against the ropes): (1d20+4)[16]

In case all this succeeds, I will be ready to leap and fight on a moments notice. Juuuust waiting for someone else to move and draw their fire.

Oh, hey, hang on just one second! Am I being observed? Could I sneak off to some dark corner, undetected?

Spot (to find if I'm under direct scrutiny): (1d20+3)[12]
Hide in shadows (should I find I can get away with it): (1d20+10)[22]

That's rather a lot of rolls for one round. Lemme know how much - if any - of that works out.

[Caesar]

The chanting continues, as a half-elf in robes sturdies himself with his quarterstaff, and swings off the table. The stones hit the ground with a deafening and yet muffled cracking sound, as if a giant stone had struck the rocky bottom of the sea. The room reverberates with the noise, and the candles seem to flicker and dim momentarily.

At the same time, the human captive struggles on his table with his bonds. The knots are patterned, if not intricate, but not at all of the kind he is used to using to bind a prisoner thouroughly. He is surprised when they resist his fingers. Perhaps it is just the drugs, but he is certain they were undone, only to find them neatly bound again.

Not given to such niceties, the water-orc lets out an angry grunt and tears the bonds from his arms and legs before sitting up on the table. The stones fall to the floor with the hollow clack of pebbles.

With all this commotion, the creature in the center of the room begins to jerk his head back and forth, obviously startled at the sudden awakening of each and every one of his captive subjects. His chanting picks up in frequency, his voice sounding haste and hurried.

all

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Tailyn is laid out on his back on the table, stunned. Ferald is up next, followed by creature, followed by the rest of you. Its a full-round action to attempt to escape the ritual stone bindings, DC 20 str or escape artist check, or freedom of movement if you got it of course.

[StandardBC]

The Half-Giant continues to try to snap the ropes, noticing the creature has quickened his pace.

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(1d20+4)[18]

[Zen Master]

As the ropes resist his otherwise nimble fingers, Stanislav mumbles under his breath. Others may or may not hear a string of sweltering curses, including but not limited to

Original language: 'Vat? Stupid rope is not untie? Die, stupid rope. Bloody [incomprehensible] magics. Bloody south ... peoples.'
Subtitles: 'What manner of foul sorcery is this? Bloody, gods damned southern devilry. Just you bloody wait until I ...'

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Change of tactics - eat swordblade, you twine you. Or is that terribly impractical? If I can get my blade free, it should all become so much easier once the first bond has been cut. Or that's the plan, anyways.

Maybe an easier escape artist check to quick draw the sword, standard action to cut the twine?

Escape artist: (1d20+4)[12]
Attack roll (if you want it): (1d20+6)[22]
Damage: (1d10+4)[13]
Initiative (in case you want one at some point): (1d20+8)[27]

[Caesar]

Ferald pulls heavily at first one lashing on his wrist, then another, and growls in disgust as the cords strrretch and spring back into place, the black stones still attached and dangling over the sides of the table.

The eyeless man twists around on his knees, his hands still tracing the floor, his mouth still mumbling the dark words of the ritual. He grimaces, and a blast of fire erupts from his forehead, leaping across the room at the newly awakened waterorc. The arc of flames splashes across Krank's chest, caught partially offguard as he slaps the pieces of cordage from his ankles, and knocks him back over the table and on his head in a heap on the floor. You can almost smell the stink of sulphur and singe of hair over the rancid odor of the candles.

Acrimos looks panicked and pulls his blade from its sheath. He slides it in under the cords on his left wrist, and gives a pull that should have severed a hemp moorage line. Astonishingly, the blade merely knicks the cords, which begin to retwine themselves before his very eyes.

The halfling cleric begins to groan, and shows signs of stirring.

All:

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If it really bothers you guys that I am rolling your saves, you can by all means roll them yourself. I am just doing it to save time (rest assured, I do roll them and add your appropriate bonuses etc).

Krank, you failed both ref saves horribly and take 9 points fire damage and 4 points falling damage. You are now under cover, lying prone at the head or far end of your table.

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You find your pack lying back there.

The ritual creature is 30 feet from you.

Acrimos, once again the cords are merely ritualistic and do not do much to impede you physically (the half elf is standing for example, cords attached), so the many rolls were not needed. That said, you dont even come close to cutting it.

As for initiative, we are rolling with the original response order for the duration of this fight. Feel free to interject your actions if you are online to post (you can even post future actions in spoilers if wanted), I will fit things in accordingly and will gladly move init order around slightly if it saves time and doesnt affect battle greatly. Tailyn, your next action (start of round 3) will be placed after krank and the pryoman have moved.

[Nixed]

A quick look around shows people struggling with the bonds, Pelandor takes a different approach. Pointing his hand out towards the robed figure he sends two blasts of energy in an effort to disrupt whatever the ritual is. Plus you know, revenge.

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Magic missile at Robed figure:
Missile 1:(1d4+2)[6]
Missile 2:(1d4+2)[5]

[Caesar]

As the wizard finishes his incantation, the stones hanging from his wrists glow "dark", and a surge of gravity jerks his outstretched hands downwards. The magic missiles flash from his fingertips and launch directly at the floor. They nearly impact, only to zip along the floor tiles at lightning fast speed before flinging themselves upwards to explode in the creature's face! It screeches, and the room darkens and seems to lurch momentarily, before it begins chanting still more, now at a definite hurried pace.

[Sallera]

That didn't go so well. Processing the information he'd picked up out of the corner of his eye, he takes note of the ropes' strange properties. Magic string and magic rocks. Good thing I went with my instincts and used a vocal spell; less good that it didn't affect him.

Struggling to his knees, Tailyn braces the hanging rocks against the sides of the altar, holding the cords taut to keep his hands steady. A second layer of darkness briefly covers the ritual circle; it shrinks in on itself, coalescing to a point directly under the eyeless man as Tailyn's murmur builds to a shout, and then explodes outward with the deafening crash of a wave against the cliffs of the Sword Coast.

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Attempting to take a few precautions against the rocks, then using a Sound Burst centred on the ritualist for (1d8)[1] sonic damage, and a DC16 Fort save to avoid being stunned for one round.

[StandardBC]

I hate these strings. Ferald curses the ropes as he still continues to strain against them.

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It really shouldn't be this hard to snap a rope ...

(1d20+4)[13]

[Caesar]

The creature continues its hurried chanting, even as the halfling clambers down from his stone altar and braces himself as he casts a spell. Curiously enough, the stones do not gain in weight as he intones the sacred words, the strength of his voice gradually rising against the dark language, a tide against the sea it seems. Louder and louder he lifts his prayer, but the cacaphony of gutteral shouts and rancid smoke drown him out, until, just at the height of his spell, a single note rings out crystal clear and pure.

The thing staggers on his knees, his voice caught in his throat, the ritual chanting stops. A single drop of blood trickles out of his nostril. The room seems to hang, and grow dark.

In the background, the half-giant can still be seen struggling with his cords, like a kitten caught in the knitting yarn.

All:

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Nice shot, smart move, and lucky at that. The thing is stunned, and loses its turn. Ferald, you are starting to realize that the cords are not normal by any means. The rest of you may take actions, it has lost its turn for now.

[Zen Master]

Stanislav (who is this 'Acromos' person - pffsh, what sort of name is that even?!) looks in astonishment at the rope. Forehead creased with frustration, he mumbles 'de hells?!' - and ransacks his mind for other options.

There was that time he did that thing with the magical trap - sorta just eased, gently, that thing to the side and scratched out that rune. Oh but if only he could remember. And if only his head hurt less.

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A new approach is required. Peering at the ensorcelled stones and rope, Stanislav tries his hand at something he only reluctantly messes with: Magic.

Decipher script (are there any runes - I thought there were?!): (1d10+2)[6]
Disable device: (1d10+2)[4]
Alternatively, should there be anything as simple as a command word to release the twine, Use Magic Device: (1d10+7)[15]

Stanislavs approach to UMD is to shake the twine, curse at it 'leggo'a me, you [complicated Vaasan curse left out for common decency]!' and shout random, invented command words.

[Sallera]

Better. But it will not last long. Channeling Istishia's waters was starting to clear his head a little, and Tailyn manages to hold his arms out for another spell. "My lord, I seek your blessing, that this fool's ritual may be... washed away." He closes his fist, and every candle flame is suddenly doused in a splash of water. Pulling off his left gauntlet, the halfling reveals a copper ring that burns with heatless blue flame, pushing back the darkness in their place.

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Suppose I'll get one more action before he does, so insert this wherever appropriate. Using Create Water, distributed over the circle of candles, and uncovering the Continual Flame on Tailyn's ring.

[Zen Master]

I an moment of uncharacteristic charity, Stanislav observes the clerics actions and thinks 'hm, that's actually rather clever.'

Meanwhile, he hopes fervently for the bloody twine to bloody die!

[Nixed]

Taking a queue from Tailyn, Pel propped the stones up on the slab in front of him in an effort to keep them from going anywhere this time, while also giving him cover. Leaving the strings slack as he aims, he releases his powers at the robed figure once more, taking the opportunity to strike hard while it is not moving.

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Scorching Ray
Ranged Touch Attack: (1d20+4)[13]
Damage: (4d6)[13]

[Caesar]

All

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As Krank is effectively out of the "do physical damage action" this round, tho do correct me if I am wrong (you are prone and cant charge), I'm gonna move this forward. Take your actions or what have you and I will fit them in.

Stanislav looks up from his clever if fruitless efforts to decode his magical bindings, just in time to see Pelandor brace himself behind the altar and unleash a fiery storm on the thing in the center of the circle. The stones darken, but remain firmly on their perch; his aim does not falter. It's robes resist at first, then blacken, then burst into flames. Fire licks at its flesh, and the fat begins to bubble beneath its skin. It lets out shreaking gasp of air, somewhat muffled as it seems unable to catch its breath, before it slumps over in a kneeling position, smoke rising from its smouldering ruin, its head hanging nearly in its lap.

With a shout, Tailyn lifts his hand and invokes a rainfall, dousing the blistering black candles aligned around the wreck of the man. They sputter and spit, and let off a thick last gasp of acrid smoke before hissing to their ruin. As he raises his ring, the light stabs thru the haze and lifts the room considerably. Five open stone passageways lead away behind each altar.

[Zen Master]

Faced with a true gordian knot, Stanislav embarks upon a road long abandoned. The weeds overgrowing this path are tangled and toughened with age. Stinging barbs have they, and bitter their sting. It is the path of ..... ask for help.

He looks at the guy next to him, also still struggling with the twine. A greenskin, no less (that's correct, right? Ferald is the ork?). Well desperation makes for strange bedfellows.

Original language: '... um - oi! Tuskface. Wot say us try and work together to snap twine?' intones he.
Subtitles: 'Good sir of the orkish persuation, might I suggest we work together to free ourselves from these bonds?'

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Aid another: (1d20+3)[21]

[Sallera]

Sitting back with a heavy breath, Tailyn pushes himself off the altar and staggers over to the remains of the circle. His spear still seems to be where he left it; drawing it forth, he drives it through the creature's skull for good measure, then sets about attempting to snap the twine while he inspects what's left of the ritual circle - from the outside, of course.

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Sounds like we're out of combat time? Not sure, so just two rounds of actions here.
First, approach and stab the guy, just to make sure he stays down.
Attack: (1d20)[14]
Damage: (1d6+5)[10]
Then a strength check to break the rocks off, and Knowledge: Religion for the circle.
Strength: (1d20)[12]
Knowledge: (1d20+7)[12]

If we've got more time, will just take 20 on that strength check.

[Nixed]

The others don't appear to be hostile, and at least one of the others seemed to be helping him take care of the ritualist, so that is good news. He doesn't exactly regard them as suspicious, but he goes out of his way to keep them in front of him as he works to free himself from the bindings, trying to look for any other threats as he does.

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Take 20 to free self, assuming that's possible now.
Listen: (1d20+2)[16]
Spot: (1d20+2)[21]

[StandardBC]

Ferald looks towards the man attempting to aid him with the ropes. He's still confused as to what was going on and wasn't quite ready to help or be helped. He took his time, accepting the offer from the man to assist in untying his own ropes, and decided it would only be right to return the favor.

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Let's just pretend you never brought up the orc line. Ferald is the half-giant .

(25) on Str to break ropes.

[Tortoise262]

Rubbing his head and rising from his fireball-induced daze, Krank realizes he is no longer bound to the slab (though he might not have been bound to begin with, he thought he was XD). Krank grabs his spiked chain, stands up, and moves in to slice the unfortunate cultist when he lets his guard down!

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I listed 3 move actions: Grab weapon, stand up, and move. I'm pretty sure grabbing my weapon can be combined with another move, right? Krank will move adjacent to the creature and make an Attack of Opportunity if he tries to continue channeling the ritual:
(1d20+10)[12]; (2d4+9)[16]

[Zen Master]

Seeing Krank leap up and get ready to fight, Stanislav realises that while his own head is still fairly spinning, this other guy may be even more hung over =)

'Enemy is dead, niet? Got spear in head, has made last ritual.'

[Tortoise262]

"After what I've been through here, I don' trust the man enough to believe he's dead!"

[Caesar]

Krank and the halfling cleric advance together on the smouldering heap in the center of the room, with the intention of ending things with the kind of certainty only a crushed skull can give. If they wonder about eachother's similar heritage, they make no notice of it. The halfling raises his spear, and brings it down thru the man's skull, just as the water-orc takes its face off with a length of gleaming chain. The man spasms before he dies, his arms clutch at the floor -he was clearly alive. Just before they do, however, they notice a distinct humming sensation which emmanates from the man and diminishes as it spreads thru the room.

With the death of the ritualist, so dies the magic of the stones. They lose their weight, and the grip slackens in the cords.

All:

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Sorry for the wait, guests. The cordage is quite mundane now, and isnt even specially well knotted. You are out of initiative..for now

Pelandor:

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You don't notice anything outright in the room, but your hear some scratching noise somewhere in the distance immediately after the tone

[Sallera]

"Well, he's certainly dead now." Yanking his spear out of the creature's skull, Tailyn flicks it in a wide arc, shedding the blood before slinging it over his back again and snapping the twine holding the stones to his limbs.

"You're looking a bit singed, there, friend. Give me a minute, here." Rolling the smoking corpse over with a boot, he rummages through its remaining pockets with his gauntleted hand, searching for his wand. "Anyone see my pack around here, perchance?"

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Spellcraft: (1d20+5)[18] - Did that chime sound familiar?

Oh, and I assume we're all still fatigued/sickened? Just add 2 to that roll otherwise.