Drhoz

The Cast - Lamech Judocus : Gnome sorceror, always ready with a witty quip or some excellent narcotics as long as you're not a cop. Kavorog : Blue Dragonborn barbarian, exiled from his tribe for some unspecified incident involving a kobold. Elethandiel: Kavorog's cousin, despite the suspiciously elven name. Urlon: Elf ranger, with a suspiciously dragonborn name. Perhaps they were switched at birth and no-one noticed. Kerak: Dwarven troubleshooter. Or rather, dwarven trouble-axer. In Tribor, a rescued Eladrin girl in tow, to buy equipment for our expedition to the Temple of Elemental Evil. Lamech: An Eladrin, a dragonborn, and a gnome walk into a bar. GM: All the bar customers look up, hoping this is the start of a joke and not the start of a massacre. Urlon, that Red Wizard Necromancer, and other NPCs are already here. Lamech: You mean the sacred woods outside town? Full of Zombie Ogres. you might want to do something about that. Urlon: Zombie Ogres? Lamech: Yup. If you don't believe me, ask the Eladrin. Eladrin Girl: Those were zombie ogres? What's an ogre? Or a zombie? Lamech: Oh you sweet summer child. Urlon, and the NPCs, are intrigued to hear about our adventures, such as the encounter with land sharks. Red Necromancer of Thay: Bulette skeletons? Yesssss.... Urlon: No. We pay off Thorn for his months of service as party paramedic, and discover that Andy's looted sword is a +1 Elf Detection. The Red Wizard finds this highly amusing, and we get to hear his disturbing laugh for the first time. GM: He revels in his subtle evil. Lamech: 'Subtle'? Lamech: The Red Wizards are evil, but they're Stay-at-home evil. GM: Yup. They send out apprentices to collect artifacts. Lamech: Or get killed. Which is a good way to thin out the apprentices. There's a bidding war on that Wyvern carcass. GM: There's even a few Halfling chefs who want to try out some Wyvern-based recipes. GM: You're surprised Tribor hasn't been attacked by the orcs, but bad things happen to anybody that messes with the pilgrimage city. At least, that's what the tales say. Lamech: Well, that's what you'd want the tales to say, whether it's true or not. Local Law Rep: The Lady-Protector is eager to hear from you - we haven't had any visited from the west for a while. Lamech: Well, yes, there's that dragon. Every NPC in Bar: *starts listening hard, muttering, sharpening weapons* Lamech: Oh, and if you hear about any blue dragonkin working for a green dragon, it wasn't either of these guys *jerks thumb at Elethandiel and Kavorog* Urlon: Yes - they're dragonborn, not half-dragons. GM: You enter the Great Hall attached to the Tribor Keep. There's a great flapping of wings. Lamech: Venomfang! *dives under table* GM: .... I'm tempted.... But it's actually a Noble Aarokokra. The Lady-Protector is less than pleased at the reports of dragons, orcs, Giants, land sharks, and zombie ogres between Tribor and Phandalin. Our lack of info about the imminent elemental apocalypse she likes even less. Although the arrival of the Elandrin girl apparently fulfils a minor prophecy. It frees up her half-elemental councillor to assist us in the mission. A travelling half-drow priestess of the sun-god Lathander (which raises considerable comment) adds the information that something is happening in the town of Redlarch, involving the symbol of a certain evil Earth Elemental Prince. This sounds like a start for our investigation. Priestess: I had to split up from my party after I became concerned with their moral choices. Lamech: And this from the half-drow. Priestess: And bad news - an important diplomatic delegation has vanished off the face of the earth since entering the region. Thorn: I suppose you're going to need that magic mace of Lathander back, to impress that priestess of Lathander - the know, the one with big holy symbols. Local Seneschal: I presume the gnome is some kind of sorcerer. Although the lack of scales worries me. Lamech: I'm not draconic - I'm a devotee of the Mighty Mushroom God. Seneschal: Well, that answers that question. The Lady-Protector gives us free rein over the pile of missing adventurers stuff, since most of them are probably years dead. She also gives us letters of introduction to some retired nobility who might have useful magic items to sell. Lamech: What we need to do is find a few hundred Wands of Magic Missile, bundle them together, go find Venomfang, beat him up until he agrees to be our mount, and fly around blowing the absolute crap out of everything. Sound like a plan? Recruiting everybody we can, including that Red Wizard of Thay. Lamech: Just a minute, I need to work out these contracts - what do we want to do with the 'One Free Resurrection' provision? Pay for it out the party funds? And we'll need next-of-kin and preferred corpse disposal details, just in case. GM: Recruiting the Fire Genassi might be hard - he's banned from town because of his attitude of 'Fire, yeah, burn everything'. Which might be a problem with those you with an injunction against starting fires. Urlon: That was only in the forest. GM: True. Lamech: Put him on the list! GM: What do you do with the people who say 'I'm fine as long as you ensure I achieve lichdom'? Lamech: ... Lamech: *checking the shopping list* One portable ram... GM: I assume you mean battering, not the animal? Lamech: *shrug* The nights are cold and lonely. Lamech: Ok, I want to get a barrel of oil, a fire pump, and something to ignite it. GM: No. I'm not letting you make a flamethrower. Lamech: Pleeeeeease. GM: A certain bear will turn up. Do you really want that? It would appear our party is going to use very different methods than the murder-hobos of the other game. WE turn up with a small army of camp followers and reinforcements, diplomatic connections, and a wagon train containing anything that might possibly be useful. The other group just murder everything that might possibly be considered a threat.

Yes, would have been nice if the druid had added "and a dragon" to the warning sign.

The two D&D campaigns, where "Monster of the Week" rapidly becomes "Marathon Monster Conga-line of Suck". Lamech and his buddies get ambushed by undead. Lamech: Argh! We've been grabbed by the Ghoulies! Kavorog has a problem - the Sword of Vengeance won't let him use any other weapons. Kerak: Can you load the sword into your bow and use that? Andy the Halfling actually manages to scare all but one of the undead off with his God-bothering, and we track them back to the ruined hut they're laired up in. Lamech: Rightio then - once I'm in web wange... Wab wange. Reb renge. WEB RANGE. GM: The gnome has a case of the Cumberbatches. Webbing the entire hut and lobbing in Molotov cocktails proves quite effective. The two dragonborn doing electric loogies on each other and the ghouls between them is effective, but rude. Kerak: I'm sick of being electrocuted by my own teammates - that's why I'm sitting this one out. One ghoul manages to dodge or shrug off EVERYTHING we throw at it. Lamech: This. Is. The SUPERGHOUL. The ghast that's leading them has bigger problems - it's still trapped in the burning hut. And Thorn just Turned it, forcing to retreat *deeper* into the inferno. And then the Wyvern in the area swoops in to attack while we're distracted. And gets stopped in its tracks with Elethandiel's Thunderwave to the face. And slapped with another Web spell. Which overlaps the ghast in the burning hut. So the whole thing goes up in a glorious pyre. Lamech: *cackling with gleeful pyromania* Kavorog: Change of plan! Lamech: Pile on and hope we get lucky? Kavorog: Yup. Unfortunately Kav's cursed sword insists he wails on his idiot cousin who hit him with the area effect Thunderwave. Despite the large Wyvern trying to bite off his head. The burning ghast lashes out at the nearest target - which is the wyvern. GM: I think wyverns are immune to poison... Wait! They're not! They can sting themselves to death in mating rituals! This is hilarious!.... Only got 60ft dark vision too, so they're pretty crappy night predators too. Andy the Halfling tries to shoot the raging Kavorog, so we won't kill the other dragonborn. He produces an illusory duplicate of himself, so there's a 50% chance he won't then be killed by the aforementioned raging dragonborn. GM: He's young, and therefore stupid and immortal. Andy gets his hands on, and runs off with, Kav's cursed sword. Kavorog pursues the two identical images. Kerak: That Halfling has balls of steel. Lamech: So despite two of our party members tied up trying to stop a third from killing a fourth, we've still managed kill the Wyvern? Well done us. It then manages to envenomate Kavorog when he tries to cut off the sting to sell later. GM: So it still managed to hurt you after it was dead. Well done you. Aarakocra: Are you guys alright? Lamech: I think so. Bit dizzy. Aren't my lungs supposed to be on the inside? Aarakocra: Generally, yes. Aarakocra: What's up with that sword? Kerak: You want it? We're now close enough to Tribor to start passing mile pegs. And warning signs. The woods around here are sacred. Let's hope Lamech's divine injunction against starting forest fires actually works, despite his rampant pyromania. And the three enormous creatures pursuing a small humanoid are probably fire-resistant, anyway. Kavorog is reluctant to drop his prize and investigate. GM: So you seriously believe an entire tribe of gnomes might appear and steal your Wyvern? Kavorog: Yes. GM: When you get closer you see they're pursuing a young elven child, and that they're ogres who apparently had a very bad night. Lamech: Oh great - zombie ogres. At least they're just as vulnerable to piling on and magical machine-gunning as ordinary zombies. We find the frightened, eldritch child with violet eyes, but she doesn't speak any of the usual languages we know. Kavorog: I only speak four words of elven, and they're not words that would calm a frightened child. She DOES know draconic. The girl wants to go home. And her home is the FeyWild. Lamech: Well, if you come with us to the city I'm sure we can find somebody to get you home. Kavorog: That's what I just said! Lamech: Yes, I know, but I'm not as threatening as you. I'm shorter than her for one thing. Ewen's player: Just remember - gingers are cunning, and have access to hair dye. On last session's battle versus a dungeon-full of demons. Ewen: That was tough - more than one of us went down. Salazar: Phrasing! Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz went down first. Heather: *cringe* Let us please abandon this line of thought. Describing a fighter from another game Heather's Player: His primary diet is your tears. GM: There's a pile of shiny stuff. Dirty Franz: Ooooooooh. (Not that it will stay shiny long, in my possession) Salazar: You could tarnish GOLD. Heather: I want to dive into it and swim, but I remember what happened to my Uncle Scrooge. GM: You nearly got killed, you deserve a draw from the Deck of Many Things. Salazar: No we don't!!!! Heather: 'You nearly got killed - care to tweak the Reaper's nose again?' Heather: Time for us to use our various skills - like Accountancy! Ewen, get on that. On IDing magical items in 5th Ed. Ewen: 'We couldn't be bothered putting in rules for it, so sit on a box with it for half an hour' Even if you're not a wizard. Heather: 'Hey, Gurnt, hold this magic sword for a bit'. 'It's a +3'. 'How do you know?'. 'It talked to me.' Ewen: So basically, to ID a magic item you have to sleep with it. Heather: 'I really love this sword'. Anyway, GM, what IS the sword? GM: You really love this sword. Heather: Oh f**k. GM: You never want to use another weapon. Heather: Bugger. Salazar: Remember, not all cursed items are bad. Heather: Is it a claymore? GM: It can be. Heather: It better be - I've got standards. Heather: I know you're f**ked up, but sometimes I like my boys that way. Sword: Actually I'm a girl. Heather: Not tonight you're not. GM: Dirty Franz - You tried putting on the dirty boots. Salazar: No he didn't - we stopped him. For one thing it would have meant he took off his old ones, in our presence. Dirty Franz OoC: Well if somebody else really wants the boots, give me your old ones. Unless you want me to keep walking around with ten cashews sticking out in front of me. Dirty Franz instead gets an Ever-Smoking Bottle - this will fit well with his strategic use of magic. Dirty Franz OoC: Do we split up the cash now? Salazar: Nah - wait until we get back to town. Some of us might die before then.... Did I say that aloud? Ewen's Player : *trying to read the Player's Handbook, and the abysmal index* For F**K'S SAKE you useless numpties! GM: 1750 gold pieces worth in coins, gems, and miscellaneous art objects. Heather: What? That's f**king nothing! Ewen: 1750 GP EACH. Heather: This is my happy face! Salazar: With this much money I can afford to spend an entire month in Lady Sally's. Ewen: I thought you were going to say 'In Lady Sally'. Salazar: That costs extra. GM: We do I always rub my hands together when I GM? Dirty Franz's player: 'Excelllllllllant.....' Heather's player: And you're washing your hands of whatever happens to us next. The ruined hamlet we get to later that day has a helpfully multilingual warning sign about plant monsters and zombies. Ewen: Franz, you have a fire attack, right? Dirty Franz: *holds up box of matches and looks hopeful* Ewen: Alrighty then. Ewen: Boss, you can detect undead, right? Heather: Ah..... Jurgen: I can detect cheese. Heather: I can turn Fae, but not detect them. How the fuck does that work? Jurgen: It's easy to turn fae - your ears get spiky. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz is glad to didn't say turning fae is easy, and make some homophobic joke. Jurgen: I detect Limburger. Oh wait, it's Franz. The first cottage full of plant monsters is very shortly on fire, thanks to Franz. Heather: Setting things on fire seems to be a winning strategy. Ewen: How about we go get the necklace, and set fire to everything on the way out? Heather OoC: Oh god, we've reverted to playing Call of Cthulhu. A gaunt and ragged man is running at us yelling incoherently. Heather: Zombie! Ewen: You can detect undead, boss. Heather: I know, I just like making unwarranted accusations. Hey, Franz, one of your relatives is here! Druid: What are you DOING?? Are you INSANE??? You've set the entire town on fire! Jurgen: It's not a town, it's ruins that need clearing. And only some of the buildings are on fire. So far. Heather: Ewen, hold me - Jurgen didn't decapitate someone. We may never see the like again. Jurgen: You might not see it this time if he keeps up like this. Druid: Didn't you see the sign? Heather: Yes, we saw it and elected to ignore it. Ewen: Or interpreted as 'town full of things to murder' Druid: Fine, don't say I never tried to warn you. GM: There's an ear splitting roar from the ruined stone tower. Jurgen: If it's a dragon, you COULD have opened with that. Venomfang: WHO DARES TRESPASS ON THE LAIR OF VENOMFANG! Heather: F**k You! Ewen: Traditional challenge of Clan McKnight. Unlike our encounter in the other campaign, where we convinced the young helpfully colour-coded antagonist that we were cultists there to worship him, this team goes for the throat. Straightforward, at least. Heather: Running out into the open seems stupid, so that's what I'll do. Heather is promptly nearly killed by Venomfang's poisonous breath. Ewen: Jesus - they aren't screwing around with dragon attacks in this edition. Dirty Franz OoC: What's First Aid for smoke inhalation? Jurgen OoC: Get them to clear air, rest with no exertion, and oxygen if you can get it. Dirty Heather OoC: *to Heather* Well, you're f**ked. Franz's Hideous Laughter spell bounces. Ewen: It was too busy laughing maniacally already. Salazar launches himself from concealment. Salazar: THESE balls I'm going to keep! Jurgen: Dragons have internal genitalia. Ewen: I don't think that helps the dragon, in this case. GM: The dragon loses control of its flight - Dirty Franz: I'm not surprised. GM: - and crashes, with you underneath. Salazar: THIS is why you wear spiked armour! Salazar goes down, despite the dragon's reluctance to bite savagely at its own groin. Heather's Bless spell does help. Heather: Bless - Turning Mistakes Into Miracles. Salazar: This Party - Correcting Nature's Mistakes Heather mauls the dragon with a Thunderous Smite. Dirty Franz: .... Which will attract all the zombies. Salazar: As if they weren't coming already. Salazar: I WANT YOUR NUTS!!!!!!!!!!!! Venomfang: Wait! Wait! I Yield! Salazar: NUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTSSSSSS!!!!!!! Ewen: That might have worked with the paladin. Heather: Not with a McKnight, no. Venomfang goes down. Heather: Do we get extra XP for continually punching above our weight class? Salazar: The general philosophy is 'Survival is reward enough' Of course, we got phenomenally lucky with our attacks. The dragon rightly regarded us as little threat. Heather: Since I came south I've killed a gang of murderers, a bunch of goblins and bugbears, followed up by fiends, and followed up by a young dragon. I can't help but think I'm getting a little off track for finding the man of my dreams. Still - Ewen! High Five! Salazar: You should have let it kidnap you. Heather: F**K!!!!!! I can patch it back together, right? Princesses get kidnapped all the time... You know what would cheer me up? Taking all his stuff. Salazar: I know a brothel back home that would pay top dollar for that penis. Ewen: If we hadn't killed it I would have either had a new mount, or a new wall mount. GM: And being a Green dragon, it would agreed. And bided its time. Ewen: Bad luck for it - it only gets more powerful with age. I only have to murder stuff. Most of the players vote to switch from the often annoying D&D 5th Ed. to Pathfinder. Heather: And the next session opens with me telling everybody what I just did (as if the 5th Ed. game was all biographical retelling). '.... And then I healed him!' 'You're not a paladin' 'Who f**king said?' GM: Apparently killing Venomfang rewrote the laws of reality. Salazar: I suddenly feel smarter. Still an arsehole, though. Heather: I was prettier in the stories.

A quote from a friends game - the character Laudigan has something of a... reputation. GM: After helping the gnolls settle into the abandoned town, the party regroups to update each other. Laudigan, you are walking weird. Laudigan: Oh don't mind me, I banged my toe on Gnarly's new furniture. Party: *suspicion* Laudigan: *rolls eyes* OKAY, fine, I was picked up and banged on every piece of furniture Gnarly owned and I'm still tender- lay off! Party: *believes this*

Lions and Tribors and Weres, Oh My. Going cross-country between Phandalin and Tribor. We're busy looting the orc's encampment when our lookout notices the ground in the gulley has just churned up, and something strongly resembling a shark's fin briefly surfaced. Lamech: Uh-oh. I strongly suggest that anybody that's seen the movie Tremors get up on the rock with me. GM: Now you know why those Orc's were camped in among the rocks, instead of on open ground. GM: Your lookout fires off his best spell - he grew up with his granny telling him that halflings are a Land Shark's favourite meat. Well, Land Sharks and Ankhegs, anyway. We now discover that Land Sharks can not only burrow, they can jump, when it leaps from the bottom of the ravine up onto our cleric, Thorn. Lamech: So it's just done a Free Willy on him. Kavorog: Yup. Leap... Squish. Evidentially Elethandiel never saw Tremors, or Free Willy, since the dragonborn tries to attack it in hand-to-hand, and is promptly mauled. The rest of us are retreating higher onto the rocks and using every ranged attack we have - which isn't many, since we used most of them against the orcs a few minutes earlier. Kavorog HAS seen both movies, but attacks anyway, since he wants to beat it into submission and turn it into his personal riding beast. By the time the creature succumbs - and it only succumbs because everybody was rolling maximum damage - the party is mauled half to death, or half crushed, or mauled and crushed and currently underneath the Land Shark's massive body. Thorn: Oh my f**king God. *casts Channel Divinity on the idiot dragonborn underneath the Land Shark* Elethandiel: ...... Ow. GM: And in 500 years there'll be protests outside LandWorld, complaining about the treatment of the poor captive Land Sharks. There's also a pride of lions that show up in the middle of the night, but we let them enjoy their meal of dead land shark in peace. The huge bipedal figure that turns up thereafter, muttering in Orcish, is potentially more of a threat. Kavorog decides to light it up with Dancing Lights, because he's an idiot. GM: It's an Ettin. Lamech: Oh f**k, a two-headed giant???? GM: The muttering was the clue - it's arguing with itself. Lamech: At least it doesn't know where the magic came from. Kavorog: 'Where da pretty light come from?' Lamech: 'Me smash fairies - grab, grab' The lions attack while it's distracted. Mufasa instantly gets cut in half and decapitated. Lamech: The King is dead, long live the King. But since this will be funny if it actually works ... *moves closer to cast Reduce on the giant* The rest of us snipe, and Kavorog uses the Dancing Lights and Prestidigitation to create a glowing humanoid figure dancing around yelling "Hey! Listen!" The lions, wisely, flee, which sucks for us, but at least the Ettin still can't tell where half the attacks are coming from, and blunders right into the middle of the kill zone. GM: The Ettin clips you with its club.... It's a Grazing Mace. All: *groan* Urlon: Can we all get Inspiration Points for having to listen to that? The next day, we find a destroyed Orc camp with wild boars eating the bodies. Lamech: Kill the pigs! GM: You typical anti-authoritarian gnome. GM: The injured and furious boars stand upright and turn to a more humanoid form. Lamech: Oh, f**k. Urlon: Wereboars! Lamech: Could be worse - could be weeaboos. Elethandiel: What happens now? Kavorog: We drag you to the nearest hospital. Urlon: Or temple. Kavorog: For weeks of treatment. Lamech: Pigsbane enemas. This is probably a good time to risk using that magical Bloodsword we picked up, since only magic and silver hurts Lycanthropes. The sword is a Sword of Vengeance, which forces its user to attack anybody that hurts the weirder. Regardless of how many other targets are around. And the circumstances of the attack. And objects viciously if the bearer tries to use any other weapon. Whoops. On the other hand, Kavorog is also a bit busy right now, trying to drag his idiot cousin Elethandiel back to the rest of the party, so the Sword of Vengeance is out of play for the moment. Lamech: Web! And now set them on fire. Urlon: What did we just say about forest fires?! GM: You really want me to sic Smokey the Werebear on you? Peanut Gallery: Yay, long pig! Don't forget to harvest the meat! Lamech: I intend to - evil bacon tastes better. Peanut Gallery: Better yet capture one live and turn it into a pet to bite anyone that annoys you then come back later for some fresh bacon. One of the were-boars runs off, with Elethandiel in pursuit - so, entirely in character for boars, she turns and charges the dragonborn. Thorn: Everybody charge shouting! Maybe we can scare it off! Lamech: SAUSAAAAGGGEEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!!!! Thorn is very annoyed with Elethandiel, since he is after all now infected with lycanthropy, and running off after a were-boar is a very good way to end up joining them. Plus, we have other concerns. GM: A glowing figure of an anthropomorphic bear in a Rangers hat, carrying a shovel and a roll of toilet paper, emerges from the river. Urlon: Toilet paper? GM: Yes - what do bears do in the woods? It glares at Lamech and Kavorog. Lamech: Uh-oh. Lamech and Kavorog rush to put out the forest fire we just started, but still get cursed with an injunction against starting fires. The clerics in the party gape, then laugh at this intervention by a divine entity.

Various quests for Murder-hobos Inc. And again, this is about half of the quotable quotes this session - I can only type so fast. Dirty Franz OoC: Apparently the banshee likes pretty things, so Ewen is probably safe. Dirty Franz definitely isn’t. Heather: We’re in the wilderness? Salazar: Yes – we just had a random encounter, remember? Dirty Franz OoC: I suppose, given the overall state of the place, that we just might have encountered an owlbear in the pub. Salazar: Before meeting Dirty Franz I used to think that story about wizards creating owlbears was bullshit. Now, it’s all too believable. Heather: There’s some dragon-headed thing coming. Dirty Franz: He looks familiar. Jurgen: No, your familiar is a rat. Stro Vah Qo’s player: What was my character’s name again? Ewen’s player: Bubbles the Wonder Lizard. Dirty Franz: *rolls a 1 or Arcana check* Dirty Franz heard that banshees are allergic to ducks. Salazar: … What????... I need to learn to stop listening to Franz. GM: Apparently the banshee lives in a gazebo. Dirty Franz OoC: We’re not high enough level for gazebos! Dirty Franz: That guy said the banshee likes pretty things. Dirty Franz volunteers Ewen to go in first. Heather: Aye. Salazar: Yeah, alright. Banshee: Foolish Mortals! Don- Jurgen: Yeah yeah, we get the idea, here’s the deal- Heather: *slaps hand over Jurgen’s mouth* Banshee: Don’t you know it is death to seek me out! Stro: No, I’m not deaf. Salazar: Heather, you keep Jurgen silent, I’ll do Stro. Ewen: We have a gift for you. Banshee: … you have my interest. Go on. Ewen: This beautiful comb for your hair. Jurgen: I didn’t know she had a rabbit. Heather: What? Jurgen: Her hare. Heather: .... *sigh* Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz likes rabbits. I hug them and pet them. Jurgen: But they keep dying? Dirty Franz: Tell me about the rabbits, Jurge. The Banshee suitably charmed, we head off on the next quest – investigating reports of zombies at Old Owl Well. Heather: Franz, stop trying to create Random Encounters. Ewen: He’s just inventing the long-form spell for Summon Monster. Dirty Franz OoC: It involves strapping pork chops to yourself and wandering around going ‘yoohoo, free dinner’ Salazar: Old Owl Well? Eh. We should the Orcs keep it. Heather: But it’s zombies, not orcs. Different kind of greenskin. The party start arguing among themselves about who should ‘volunteer’ to scout ahead in the zombie camp. They eventually turn around to find Franz playing with his My Little Ponies again. Heather: Franz. Franz. We only stopped for five minutes. Put the ponies away and help us scout this pavilion. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz’s rat has already gone ahead. Heather: …. Salazar: It’s a sad day when OUR wizard is smarter than the rest of us. Heather: OK. That’s good thinking Franz, I respect that. But I’d respect you more if you had a bath. Salazar: He had a bath. It just didn’t take. Heather accosts the returning rat and demands a sitrep. Salazar: Hey! Leave my emergency rations alone! Salazar: Wait – it was the rat’s idea, wasn’t it? Dirty Franz: *stroking the hair of one of his ponies* Salazar OoC: Well, as long as it’s Fluttershy or Luna. Dirty Franz OoC: G3.5 ponies. Salazar: *flinch* Despite the reports, the pavilion is actually occupied by skeletons. Salazar: Hey godbotherer – mind asking them what I did to piss them off? I can’t use a melon-baller on skeletons. Jurgen: You bought a melon-baller. With intent. Salazar: Back in Sharsmouth some of the rich families use cedar oil to keep their ancestor’s bodies intact. Heather: Back up north we use whiskey and wandering around in the snow. Salazar: I meant the bodies of the dead. Heather: Back home you sometimes wish you were dead. Some of us go up to the front, while Salazar and the others sneak around the back of the pavilion and lift up the edge. Heather: Hey! Who’s in there! Necromancer: Who’s there? Stro: I am! Heather: He is! Dirty Franz: And so is Dirty Franz, apparently. Salazar takes one look inside tent, notices that every skeleton is prominently stamped with the Sharsmouth Necromancers guild marks, and hurries back around frantically waving his hands to abort the attack. Heather: Don’t you know who Bahamas is? He’s the most important dragon ever. And he can totally hang ten. Stro: … I will stab you. Necromancer: TK-118, fetch these people some tea. Salazar: Ah, bone china. GM: The necromancer is a jolly kind of person. Heather: ‘I like killing things and resurrecting their bodies! What do you do?” Ewen: Just the first one. Heather’s player: I’m sorry, I couldn’t see Weldun’s hand gestures past Drhoz’s afro. Dirty Franz’s player: Sorry. Heather’s Player: *currently shaved bald* Yes, go ahead and apologise for your gorgeous hair. Necromancer: So what are you doing out here anyway? Heather: Hang on, I've got a list.. oh for fucks sake, Franz wrote this down. Hang on a tad, this might take some interpretation. Necromancer: I don’t suppose you could ask the Banshee a question for me? Jurgen: I think we already outstayed our welcome there. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz thinks she was sweet on Ewen. Salazar: There’s taking one for the team, and then there’s that. Ewen: And given my powers are positive energy based, I don’t think it would work out. The Necromancer offers an ancient, oversized gold ring as a bribe for the banshee. Ewen finds this amusing. Heather: Ewen, I’m putting my veto down now. You’re not marrying the banshee. It’s not because she’s a ghost, it’s because she’s a f**king elf. The inscription is complicated, too. Salazar: If it’s 'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul' we’re leaving GM: You misread the inscription – it’s not a Ring of Protection, it’s a Ring of Prophylaxis. Dirty Franz: Left out the quote marks. It’s a Ring of ‘Protection’. Salazar: Sharsmouth wizards use them whenever they summon Succubi. Ewen: ‘Wear Me Well In The South’ We head back to the Banshee’s hut. Heather: I pre-emptively tackle Jurgen. Ewen: An archaeologist working at ruins to the south has heard of your great knowledge. Dirty Franz: And beauty. Heather: *calling from well back where she’s holding Jurgen down* But he’s really shy! Jurgen: I’m just enjoying the body contact. The Banshee is pleased by the gift of the ring, and the question about the ruined tower, since they remind her of happier times. Heather: That’s the first time I’ve seen somebody get introspective over a cockring. Salazar: I thought it was a Ring of Protection the moment he said it was oversized. Heather: I was thinking lizardfolk. But it was the wrong lizard. To the fury of any true archeologists, Franz and Ewen stroll around the ruins turning over random blocks of masonry, to see if they can find anything the necromancer missed. We both roll exceptionally well. GM: *rolls on some tables* F***. You. GM: You hear Dirty Franz scream as the ground caves in underneath him. Salazar: Wait for the splash, wait for the splash! Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz has found a dungeon. Heather: How far down is he? Salazar: Hang on *drops rock down the hole* Wait for the Ow. Dirty Franz: ……. Ow. Salazar: Right – divide the time delay by two and deduct Franz’s height. Dirty Franz: Naked flame, confined space, and Dirty Franz – not a good combination. Heather: Thank god you specified naked flame. Jurgen: Congratulations, Franz, you’ve managed to find an empty room. Heather: But if there is anything down here we’re going to take it. Well done Franz! Good Boy! Good Boy! Jurgen: Do not encourage the Franz. Dirty Franz: If the corridor is level there must be something down there, under the rubble. Salazar: Do I look like a digger? I’m over five foot and I don’t have a beard. Only SOME of the doors down here are rusted solid. GM: The first thing you notice is the smell. Jurgen: We’ve got Franz with us. We don’t notice. GM: It smells worse than Franz. Stro: Oh god. Jurgen: Did Franz just fart? Dirty Franz: *speculatively sniffing his own armpits* The room beyond is filled with a foul green mist. Jurgen: I light a torch and throw it in. GM: WHOOMPH! Salazar: I’ve heard diggers talk about firedamp, I’m already dodging. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz didn’t do it! GM: There is the screeching of multiple creatures before they notice the door is open. Dirty Franz: And the roof is on fire. GM: And the roof is on fire. Salazar OoC: OK, so who DIDN’T have the song run through their head? GM: You rush through to attack. Heather: Oh no we don’t – this is not how it’s going down. Jurgen: Let THEM come through the chokepoint. GM: The creatures look like big green humanoid bats. Heather: They’re adorable! Ewen: That have been beaten with a shovel. Heather: They’re adorable! Salazar: Oh good, they have eyes. *pulls out melon-baller* OK fellas! Who’s first? GM: The creatures make their plans in Abyssal. Ewen: I’m Celestial. Jurgen: I speak Infernal. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz speaks Common and Murder-hobo. GM: Did you Grease this side of the door, or the far side? Salazar: The far side – Franz is repugnant, not retarded. GM: As you kill them they melt into a foul green mist. Salazar: I’m upset – I could have got a good price for a fiend’s eyeball. A combination of the chokepoint, Franz’s Grease and Web spells, Stro’s Thunderwave, and Salazar’s threat with the melon-baller, completely turns the tables and we now outnumber the surviving fiends. Salazar: I skate across the grease into the room, grapple one, and use Action Surge to scoop out its eyeball. GM: The fiends are fleeing. They might be evil but they were at home here! Dirty Franz: *waves his heavy metal walking stick, charges through the doorway, roaring* FOR SHARSMOUTH! *slips on his own Grease spell and goes arse over tits* Heather: Well, that was a thing that happened. Stro’s player: I keep forgetting all my magic. Heather: ‘Oh wait, I’m a dragon!’ Dirty Franz OoC: No existential angst for him. The fiend Salazar has grappled tries to wriggle free. Salazar: Oh no you don’t! You’re still mine for ten minutes and it’s playtime! *slams the fiends head repeatedly into the wall, because there’s an eyeball in his melon-baller that he wants to keep, and keeps the eyeball in the tool even as he chases the fiend down to finish it off.* I am the KING of Egg and Spoon Races! GM: The eye survives intact even as the rest of the creature dissolves. Salazar: You have to remove them alive. Heather: Hey, Franz, you OK? Dirty Franz: ….. ow. Heather: Gimme your hand, you daft bugger, I’ll pull you out. Salazar: Anybody know how to preserve an eyeball? Dirty Franz: *points to eyepatch* Dirty Franz wishes he did. Salazar: I’m got a replacement for you. Dirty Franz: … Dirty Franz has reservations about this plan. GM: You can’t do that. Salazar: Oh come on, it’s a classic trope – a man gets the eye of a lecher and keeps looking a women, another gets the hand of a thief and keeps finding his friends wallets in his pockets... Ewen: And Franz gets the eye of a stinky demon. Jurgen: So no-one will notice. Heather: When I cast Turn Fiends will it turn Franz’s eyeball too? Jurgen: And make it spin around in his head? Salazar: Look at it this way, Franz, you’ll be able to see in the dark and look after the Mistress better. Dirty Franz: … Dirty Franz likes being helpful. There are larger, more intelligent fiends down here too. Jurgen: So, prepared to die? Bearded Devil: Interloper! How dare you intrude in our temple! Jurgen: Pretty easily thank you. Now shut up and die. Jurgen: Single thrust, up under the arm. GM: I’m going to take that to heart. Dirty Franz: *Enlarges Heather* Heather: Today is a good day to be a GIANT WOMAN Dirty Franz: *singing* All I wanna do, is see you turn into, a giant, woman, GIANT WOMAN It’s a tough fight, but the fiend’s Barbed Devil leader retreats to the altar, as the rest of us converge at speed. Heather: You have made a grave tactical error, Mister Demon. Alas, none of them are facing the right direction see that Franz is stripping off as he runs. Salazar: That’s strange - my instincts are telling me there’s a Presence behind me… but they’re also warning me not to look. But there is method to Franz’s madness – he’s using the clothing as extra padding as it makes a flying tackle on the Barbed Devil. Unfortunately it’s not enough padding and Franz is forcibly reminded that getting intimate with a rabid porcupine is never a good idea. Dirty Franz: ……….. owie. Ewen: So, since you have the last healing spell, do you want to save the wizard? He might smell, but he’s ours. Bear in mind that I’ll kill you if you don’t. GM: The Barbed Devil tries to drag itself towards the altar – Stro: No it doesn’t. If it so much as twitches we’d freak. Heather: There are adventurers that would allow it one last breath – WE ARE NOT THOSE ADVENTURERS. Heather: I am tired. And enormous. Purrdence, from the Peanut Gallery: *starts to snicker* Weldun: Goddamn you, Purrdence, the Smut Field is back. . Ewen: If it HAD managed to summon a Horned Devil I’d have said Fuck This Noise and run. Salazar: Tim Curry has come for me, Ima leave.

The Majestic Potoobear, and Things To Do With Small Rodents From the longer-running D&D campaign - Off to Tribor and the Temple of Elemental Pains-in-the-Arse GM: Those Aarakocra are still following you, discreetly. Lamech: Circling like vultures. We're crossing the hills on the most direct route possible, and spot a wolf ahead of us. GM: It's dropping markers every few minutes. Kerak: ... You mean peeing. GM: .... Yes. It's the druid's assistant, making sure we don't get lost. What a shame he didn't notice the monster encounter he lead us straight into. Lamech: Well, that's what comes of spending an hour following a Shitzu. Kavorog failed to notice the ambush either. Lamech: Too busy thinking about the Blue Knight, were you? Kavorog: Dat Ass! GM: The orc longbows target the unarmoured dragonborn! Kavorog: Unarmed? Pff. Lamech: It's the boob window. Still, after a hard battle, we prevail for long enough to consider looting the bodies. Kerak: Should we really pick that sword up? The Orc said it needed to drink the gnome's blood. Lamech: Reasonable grounds for suspicion, I believe is the legal term. Kerak: A bit dodgy, in the colloquial. And from the more recently started one. This session was such non-stop wit and filthy jokes that I missed recording at least half of them. Learning the spell Web Salazar: Yes, Dirty Franz covers everything in sticky white stuff. Ewen: And I promptly set myself on fire. Salazar OoC: One of my characters in the other game learned the legendary Bukkake Missile. Salazar: I might be nastier than the tiefling, but I AM human. Heather: Eh, jury's still out on that. The Dirty Franz Guide to Schools of Magic Salazar: Abjuration - Dirty Frank smells so bad things go away Heather: Conjuration - Dirty Franz smells so bad he attracts wild animals. Divination - Dirty Franz gets so high on his own stink he can see into the f**king future. Salazar: Enchantment - People keep Dirty Franz around for some reason. We think this is why. Heather: Evocation - I AM the boomstick ! Ewen: Dirty Franz smells OFFENSIVELY bad Heather: Illusion - Dirty Franz smells so bad he warps OTHER people's perception of reality. Necromancy - Smells so bad even the dead get up and walk away. Ewen: Or the dead assume he's already a Lich and do what he says. Heather: Transmutation - Dirty Franz smells so bad he warps reality. Heather: I can suddenly talk to animals!.... I'm one step closer to becoming a Disney Princess. Dirty Franz: We found evidence he was going to kidnap us.... And killed him first. Jurgen: Sequence of events is important. But not in this case. Ewen: Maybe in court. Heather speaks to some rats on the far side of a door. Heather: My time has come.... Squeak! SQUEAK SQUEAK! SQUEAKUM! Rat: Where is my master? Heather: I'm your new master! Rat: You don't sound like a wizard. Heather: ... That's because I'm a wizard's apprentice! The room is a wizard's lab and library - the rat peers at us from among the alchemical equipment. Jurgen: Nobody insult the rat, he has a retort ready. All: *groan* Salazar: ... My fault, I listened. GM: Dirty Franz has it made - all the wizard's spellbooks and scrolls are here. Salazar: Can Franz even read? Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz always on lookout for soft paper. Rat: I have a bit of an issue here - you killed my master. Ewen: Well he was being a bit of a d**k. The bigger problem is that with the wizard dead, the rat familiar will soon dissipate back into the realms of plot convenience. Heather: So, does anybody know the Find Familiar spell? Dirty Franz: *holds up hand* Heather: Yes, what is it Franz? Do you need to go to the toilet? Lie down? Sleep? Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz knows Familiar spell. Heather: Why am I not surprised you talk to vermin. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz had gerbil once. His name was Lemmiwinks. All: .... Ewen's player: Now where have I heard that name before.... Oh god. Salazar OoC : And moving swiftly on!!! Right now! Dirty Franz: I kept him in my Dimensional Pocket. Ewen: Argghhhh! Heather: OK, I want to know... But I'm afraid to ask. Salazar: I know some people that will pay good coin for an invisibility potion. Back at the Academy. Heather: Oh? Salazar: Yes. Professors, mostly. Heather: ... 😧 Dirty Franz: They have to avoid the students somehow. Salazar: 'Avoid'? Dirty Franz OoC: Spider Climb will be a useful Buff. Heather OoC: Useful for you too. Dirty Franz OoC: Yes, you can wake up in the middle of the night to find Franz clinging to the ceiling, watching you. Heather: .... Go back to sleep. Ewen: If I ever wake up to something like that, I'm setting the ceiling on fire. Salazar: You know Heather, if you really want to learn how to be a Princess, you have to master the art of gargling walnuts. Heather: That sounds difficult. Do you do it with water? Salazar: Generally no. Heather: Is it really worth learning? Salazar: You'll find it invaluable on your wedding night. Heather: Why do people keep going on about my wedding night? I thought I'd be too busy f**king to need all this other stuff. Heather: I suspect Franz will be getting a lot of use out of the ability to see through his familiar's eyes. GM: And the rat will be doing a lot of covering its own eyes and screaming. Rat: Brain Bleach! Brain Bleach! Heather: Why is it that it's the teifling and the warlock that make me LEAST uncomfortable? Salazar: Because humans are scum. Heather: Why are they still using copper coins? Haven't they heard of inflation? We also find a roomful of bugbears 'demeaning' a goblin. GM: I'm sparing you the details. Dirty Franz OoC: You forget what kind of party this is. The goblin failed his Anal Circumference test, did he? Salazar: Wait... You said the bugbears are busy 'demeaning' the goblin? Exactly how much armour are they wearing? GM: ..... f**k. GM: The bugbear is very angry and swings both morningstars. Dirty Franz OoC: 'Both'? GM: *sigh* Alright, all three morningstars. Salazar: OK - I unarmed-attack the bugbear *does 23 points of damage*And now I have him grappled... By the 'morningstar'. Bugbear: *screams* Salazar OoC: Well, the rules say grapple controls his movement XD Jurgen makes swift work of another bugbear. Ewen: And every hit was to the junk. GM: And the bugbear is dead. Dirty Franz OoC: And converted to Judaism. Heather: I can't believe you did all that slashing damage to his 'morningstar'. Salazar finishes off the first bugbear. GM: *sigh*and you have a trophy. Salazar: And now I can say to the next person that annoys me 'The last person who annoyed me, I tore his dick off.' Salazar: Now how am I ever expected to top this? Heather: For gods sake man, stop waving that thing around! Salazar has a conversation with the goblin. Salazar: Get to Charsmouth, and ask around the docks for Slippery Eli. The person, not the sex act. Heather: What?? Salazar: If he gets to Charsmouth alive and delivers this letter, he's got a job. Eli's always after fresh talent. And if he can survive five minutes with bugbears without getting his neck snapped, he's obviously got potential. There's also a set of slave cages, and a pile of discarded clothes. Dirty Franz gets to work on his annual change of wardrobe. GM: It's not just the current prisoner's clothes. It's quite a large pile. Dirty Franz OoC: That's OK, I'll go for the layered look. Heather: The big dress suits you. We find out that the rest of the slaves have been sold to Orcs at Cragsmoor Castle. Salazar: Well, it's always nice to have a target. GM: I had a chapter full of side quests to get you to this point! Heather: I know, we were just killing time a bar and we accidentally their entire base. Slave: They killed my husband because he defied them! Ewen: *shrug* And we killed the entire gang because they defied us. Heather: We crawled up their arse so hard they died. GM: Whoever is behind this calls themselves the Black Spider. Ewen: Hang about, let me check my notes - there's at least 56 criminal organisations that use that as their name. Or variants. Heather: The Ebon Spider. Ewen: And the Bleak Spider. Dirty Franz: The dyslexic one. After this profitable hour of bloodshed and mayhem, it's time to patch up any minor injuries and prepare our excuses for why we murdered a dozen people after one of them tried to pick a fight Salazar: Yup, that's healing magic alright - takes away the hurt, leaves the pain. Ewen: I think I've got the hang of this. Heather: You'd better, I remember what happened to that cat. Ewen: Don't worry, I haven't blown up anything for weeks. Heather: You haven't used Heal in over a week! Salazar: I'm trying to come up with some way of saying 'Don't worry, we're not planning on killing anybody else tonight and we're leaving in the morning' Heather: He was going to kidnap us, and we killed him. Sildar: What??? Heather: Think of us as violently protective bodyguards. Sildar: Albrecht? I can't believe this! He's a member of the Lord's Alliance! Heather: Why not, they're all a bunch of dicks anyway. Unlike the nobility up north, they'll backstab you in the front. Salazar: Or if they do backstab you will give you a reach-around as they do. GM: Eventually word gets around that you've effectively wiped out the biggest threat in town. Ewen: Is it because I'm sitting in the bar itemising the huge pile of loot? Dirty Franz: That and the big pyramid of heads. A party ensues. Heather gets Hella Drunk. Ewen: I don't know how to put livers back together. All the shopkeepers that would have hired us to deal with the Red Brands turn up with spontaneous gifts. Heather OoC: I don't know what to do - I'm so many sheets to the wind that people are just turning up and giving me money. Salazar: If you're dancing and people are throwing money at you, you're supposed to start taking clothes off. Salazar considers ways to top the Morningstar incident. Salazar: Hey, shopkeeper, do you have any melon-ballers? Heather: Franz... Hey. Franz. I get where you're coming from, man. I worship Sune, but you worship the God of Filth. And I only party some of the time, but you stink around the clock! Dirty Franz: *hunched over his My Little Pony figures at one of the tables, and looking more and more nervous as Heather goes on* Salazar: Hey, Franz! Why don't you and I go upstairs for a party with these lovely ladies! GM: You realise that the moment Franz sees the bath, you're going to have to Grapple him? Salazar: Yup! Heather: You don't understand, he's carrying out his priestly duties! Salazar: Scrub away, ladies, scrub away! Salazar: You realise that to worship Sune properly, you have to help Franz find his inner beauty? So grab a sponge. Ewen: 'On a stick, I'm not a monster' Heather grabs the most handsome man in the bar and drags him upstairs. Ewen: Wait - I think that's me. Heather: *yoink* Ewen gets a membership offer from the Zhentarim, a secret society of evil mercenaries and the like. Salazar: And it's not me who gets the offer. Because I'm busy. Heather: 'You're far too silly to join our super-serious dark and edgy organisation!' Ewen: Instead they approach the warlock who visibly glowing with positive energy. 'You're a warlock, right?' '.... Yes?' Heather OoC: 'The rules are that's you're not allowed to smile, so turn that smile upside-down' Ewen OoC: And because I glanced at the GMs laptop at the wrong moment and saw the thing about joining the Harpers, I'm going to try and join them, too XD *rolls a Natural 20* I like the sound of your organisation and would like to subscribe to your newsletter. Salazar: I think we're going to be in town for a few days, so I'm putting up some notices - 'Rugged Man-About-Town Seeks Halfling Size Queen' And they're still trying to get Franz clean, despite Franz's efforts. Ewen: Go down to the blacksmith, see if you can borrow his wire brush. Ewen ALSO gets a membership offer to the Order of the Gauntlet. It's becoming obvious why Albrecht managed to be a traitor - the various conspiracies are too incompetent to notice that they're all trying to recruit the same guy. Salazar: This is going to make for an interesting coat-of-arms some day. Ewen: I'm sure that these offers were supposed to go to different characters, but this is hilarious. Heather: 'Excuse me, you seem to be the only one who's not completely blitzed'. GM: There's a bounty on Orcs. Salazar: Whoop-de-f**king-do. GM: They're threatening economic stability in the region. Salazar: Ah, that's different - now I've got a reason to kill them. Society only survives thanks to enlightened self-interest. Sildar also approaches Ewen, to ask if Heather will be interested in joining the Lord's Alliance. Dirty Franz OoC: Assuming Sildar didn't see her table-dancing last night. Dirty Franz: I think the Red Brands are recruiting. Heather: 'Will you people fuck off and let me count my money!!!!' Heather: What happened last night? Salazar: You got to see Franz naked. Dirty Franz OoC: And Ewen had to chew his own arm off for some reason. Ewen: And I joined two public and two secret organisations. Explanations later. Heather: Odd they'd accept me after I ran away from my parents. Ewen: Well, the head of the Lord's Alliance in Neverwinter is the Adventurer King - he probably considers it a glowing recommendation. Salazar: Aren't they still pressuring him to get married? *eyes Heather speculatively* Heather: Isn't he like, 40? Ewen: 50, now. Salazar: But still vital. GM: I'm still impressed that this entire session has been one combat. Ewen: And looting. Dirty Franz: And table-dancing. Salazar: And Dirty Franz had a bath. Dirty Franz OoC: You remember the Peanuts character Pigpen, and the way the cloud would reform around him over a few panels? Salazar: That's a shitty use of Prestidigitation. You realise the next attempt to get you clean will involve exorcism, right? Heather has new plate armour. Dirty Franz: Hope you've got a gambason on under that. Heather: What? You people try wearing bare metal next to your nips. That stuff chafes. Salazar: Well, there goes my fantasy for night. Heather: And then there's those girls that wear chain mail against the skin - SOMETHING'S going to get pinched. Now shut up, I'm going to go do cartwheels in my new armour. *fails the DEX check, rolls to bottom of hill* I'm fine, my new armour protected me. Also, it's not grass stains, it's the green blood of my enemies. Ewen, bring my dinner down here. Random Encounter! Heather: Owlbears have an INT of 3. GM: It's the Majestic Potoo-bear. Ewen: Hard to take seriously as its mauling you to death. It's also difficult to take it seriously when it's held to the ground with Evard's Naughty Tentacles and on fire. Salazar: We eat tonight!

Neatly done XD

Well, cladistically speaking, humans ARE fish - highly derived, air-breathing tetrapod, bony fish.

D&D 5th Ed. - AKA Shadowrun With The Serial Numbers Filed Off The Shadowrun game imploded because we've executed or refuse to work for certain essential NPCs, and because everybody had interesting backstories they weren't getting to use. Instead we're playing D&D 5th Ed., and The Lost Mine of Phandelver, the same adventure two of us have already played. Most of us are good enough to ignore player knowledge, but knowing this group of players the plot will go off the rails within minutes anyway. At least we have an appropriate backdrop - a ferocious lightning storm. Ewen's player: I'm still waiting for the lightning to flash behind me as I gesture dramatically. A party of deeply suspect and eccentric individuals has been hired to escort supplies to a mining camp. Heather McKnight - Paladin, who got sick of waiting for a knight in shining armour and set out to find one of her own. Ewen Douglas - Batman to Heather Dirty Franz - Hobo and cart driver Jurgen - Muscle. Mercenary Swordman & Enforcer Salazar - Rogue legbreaker, tiefling Me: So apart from the tiefling, we're all human? Ewen: Well, I glow in the dark sometimes, but it's only obvious at night. On why people are nastier when they have online anonymity Ewen's player: People don't get punched in the face as often, so they keep doing it GM: You're in a 20x20 room. There's an orc guarding a cake. You want the cake - what do you do? Just kidding... Heather: I was all ready to start roleplaying to that! Are you starting your campaign on a lie? Heather: I'm not going anywhere with someone that smells like you! Dirty Franz: .... Dirty Franz smells better than the donkeys... Salazar: Very slightly. Heather: Go drive the cart over there, downwind. Oh god, the wind changed. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz can drive the cart behind you. Heather: You are a very intelligent man. Dirty Franz: *attempts a nervous smile* Heather: Now look at that, what a smile, a smile that could crack glass. .... that smile will haunt my dreams tonight. Dirty Franz: It's not garbage night tonight, Dirty Franz can take all your stuff. Heather: And apparently we're paying you in potato peels. Dirty Franz: I had a potato once... Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz will make sure cart is nice and clean for pretty lady. Heather: *still holding nose* You're a good man, Franz, a good man *pats Franz on shoulder* Dirty Franz : And then put shirt back on again. Heather: *snatches hand back* Jurgen: You touched him, your problem. GM: You're halfway to Phandalin when the smell you've been dealing with changes. Heather: Oh god, the wind changed. GM: There's a dead horse in the road. Heather: *to Jurgen* You need plate armour. It's nothing personal, it's just... not plate. Plus I suspect you're not noble. Or a knight. Salazar: *snickers* And just like the last time I played this scenario, it's an ambush by goblins. Who get ambushed by us. Ewen: Congratulations! You get to be on fire. Heather: Cop this, ya gobshite! *misses* Fooking Hell! Jurgen: *comes back out of bushes, goblin brains dripping of his war-pick* Dirty Franz: If you keep picking it, it'll never heal. Dirty Franz's contribution was hurling a bag of flour into the bushes, which missed. Heather: Who threw that bomb? Dirty Franz: *holds up hand cautiously* Heather: Are you some kind of alchemist? Dirty Franz: ... just flour... Salazar: So you smell bad AND you're weird. Off to rescue our employer. Heather: I can make food for us - oh, wait, no I can't, until next level. Dirty Franz: *waits until everybody is looking at him and flashes his filthy coat open, revealing bags of flour and assorted cooking implements on hooks* Dirty Franz is wizard of the kitchen. Heather: You're one creepy but effective individual! Glad to have you on board. And downwind. Heather: I want you out in front, you daft bastard. Jurgen: That sounds awfully like putting me out in front to be attacked. Salazar: I'll bring up the rear, behind Heather. Heather: Pervert. Salazar: Saw a trap once that yanked your hand in, held it there, and stabbed you with poison. Poor bastard. Took him three hours to die. Salazar: I tend to shun bright lights. Except when I don't, and then it's a hooded lantern right in their face. Heather: Stealthy people advance, non-stealthy people to the left. *steers Franz by his shoulders off into cover* The goblin guards don't know what hit them, despite Heather lobbing a glowing stone into the cave mouth to get their attention. Salazar: I retrieve my dagger. Dirty Franz OoC: From the one you pinned to the wall by the head. Salazar: I know I've got a bag of ball bearings here... Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz has three. Salazar: *gives Franz a baffled look* Dirty Franz OoC: At the very least a bagful of ball bearings to the face will really slow someone down. Salazar OoC: Yeah, but you get a penalty. I'm used to sneaky tricks like that. Salazar: Wait, I've got TWO crowbars? Heather OoC: You can Double Freeman. The bugbear isn't going to know what hit him either, since we manage to completely infiltrate the cave without anybody noticing us ghosting past. Dirty Frank OoC: No big exclamation marks appear. GM: Two of your characters are Stealth-based. Heather: I nearly did too. Weldun: Wait... we stopped playing Shadowrun and we all made shadowrunners? Salazar: So.. a club is a stick, and a mace is a stick with a bad attitude... and a morningstar is a stick on the way to a BDSM party. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz has a rock. Heather: Good for you! Dirty Franz: ... it's a shiny rock. Ewen: Is this the first bugbear in history that doesn't have minions? Dirty Franz OoC: He DID Heather OoC: But he just finished yelling at them and telling them to get back to work. Salazar: Intelligence check for the minions, to see if they come back. Salazar OoC: Dirty Franz better do something more useful than throwing a flour bomb, or he's going to find himself with his throat cut. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz still has his shiny rock *casts Tasha's Hideous Laughter* Bugbear: *fall helpless with laughter and is swiftly exterminated* Salazar: Wait, what just happened? Ewen: It was the wizard. All: What??? *turn to stare at Franz* Dirty Franz: *looks nervous and carefully stows his shiny rock back under his filthy coat* Salazar: That's a wizard? Wait, I thought wizards were all 'I HAVE ROBES AND AM MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU BECAUSE I HAVE A TINY PENIS!' Heather: *mimicking the Bugbear* COME BACK AND LOOK AT ME! Dirty Franz OoC: How does a tiny Scots woman mimic a bugbear? Ewen OoC: Lots of Scotch. Salazar OoC: She's an unholy blend of two redheads - Merida and Princess Fiona. GM: The stores are the usual food, supplies - Dirty Franz OoC: Elf porn, lingerie... GM: .. and a tiny statuette of a frog, with golden eyes. Dirty Franz Ooc: It's the Hypnotoad All: WHOoooOOooooOOOoooooMMMMM Dirty Franz stays as far away from the falling water as possible. Heather: I'm not even remotely surprised. Salazar: Simple rule, Franz - If the moon is full, it's time to have a bath. Ewen: 'I must destroy the moon!' All: MOOOOOON! Ewen uses Prestidigitation to dry out the slick wet cliff-face. Salazar: Prestidigitation - also known as 'Least Wish' GM: There are a dozen unwashed goblins around a cooking fire. Salazar: I wonder why they make the distinction between washed and unwashed. Ewen: Occasionally they fall in the river. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz has idea *giggles* Have you ever thrown flour onto a fire? Salazar: Yes. You get a snuffed out fire a burned bread smell. Dirty Franz: *sags* Salazar: Jurgen, you remember that time at the bar? With the six goblins hiding behind a table? *runs up, lifts the table high in the air, and hits them with it* Interrogating the captive. Salazar: I should have taken 'gagged Common' as my second language. I've heard it enough. Potential new characters, such the dwarf that might be joining the party. Ewen: 'Beardfist Fistbeard, the greatest of dwarfs' We've just rescued one of our fellow employees from a cave full of goblins, without the goblins even noticing us going in and out. Dirty Franz: Maybe they're used to their bugbear boss launching into hysterical laughter for no reason. GM: Well, I'm not hitting you with a Gelatinous Cube in the middle of the wilderness. Dirty Franz: Didn't you know? Gelatinous Cubes are migratory. Every year they ooze down to Mexico and gather on mountaintops. Then the next year they fly back. Heather: I think you're confusing them with birds. Jurgen: No, that's monarch butterflies. Salazar: Wait, what? Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz is about to have a random encounter with monarch butterflies. Me: I've never actually seen any episodes of Jem and the Holograms. Heather: That's truly outrageous. GM: Suddenly, Gnolls! Dirty Franz: Noels? What's Noel's? I don't know any Noels. Heather: Positions! Salazar: Lying down in the back of the cart because I'm a lazy bastard. Heather: ... up front sitting next to Franz. Unwisely. Ewen: Swinging my legs off the back of the cart. GM: A arrow flies past the front of your head!... and a second one flies past the back. Dirty Franz: The Gelatinous Cubes are migrating fast this year. GM: Don't worry Drhoz, these are the bad kind of gnolls. Salazar's player: So, Vitus' kind of people? Me: Eh, Vitus considers himself a perfectly agreeable person. Salazar's player: That doesn't make it true. GM: And the gnoll archers target.... Ewen: The really dangerous one that just cut somebody's head off. Jurgen: True. Salazar: I'm just nasty and vicious *repeatedly backstabbing a gnoll* Heather: That one's busy stabbing the donkey. Dirty Franz OoC: Just as long as he isn't Muffin the Mule. Heather: I'm going to throw a javelin at one! Which just goes to show I have no sense of pattern recognition. She actually manages to hit with it repeatedly. Dirty Franz: It's your lucky javelin. Heather: I'm going to call it Stabby! Dirty Franz consistently fails to hit the closest gnoll. Dirty Franz OoC: Possibly the gnoll keeps recoiling from the smell. GM: In the pockets of the gnolls... Ewen: .. we find 49 dead monks. Heather: It's what they use for currency. Jurgen: Snacks. There's only a few rooms available in Phandalin. Salazar: Bags not doubling with Franz. Innkeeper: I'm not a dwarf, I'm just short. Heather: It's ok, I'm 5ft 2 myself. Dirty Franz: Pretty lady will always be big in Dirty Franz's eyes. Heather: .. Thanks, Franz... that's.. phrasing. There's a paper notice nailed to a post, seeking experienced adventurers and healers. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz always on lookout for scraps of paper. Salazar: Here's my test for experience. I stab you once. If you survive you're hired. If you die I loot your corpse. Before long, Heather is table dancing in the pub. Salazar relaxes with his feet up on a table. Salazar: Things are looking up. Heather introduces the party to the dragonborn Strun Bah Qu, who's looking for a party to join. Heather: And that one out in the yard playing with the donkey is Franz. Jurgen: Franz! Stop that! Troublemakers in cheaply died red leather. Dirty Franz: Probably leaves pink marks on his arms and legs as he moves. Drunken Red Brand lout: Oi! You big Kobold! Get out of here before you get a sword stuck in your throat! Heather OoC: Wow. He really wants a blowjob. We've walked into the most violent gay bar in town. Salazar throws a knife to pin the lout's arm to something. Ewen: Like his arm, to his other arm. Dirty Franz: Problem with their leather armour is they didn't soak it in urine long enough. Franz will help. The lout survives Ewen's first spell. Heather: Wow, maybe they are actually tough. Dirty Franz OoC: Up until we showed up, they were probably the biggest thugs in town. Salazar: That's why Dirty Franz is so poor - he spends all his money on My Little Pony memorabilia. GM: You should see his Rarity body pillow. The Red Brand louts retreat to get reinforcements and swearing revenge. Ewen: Thank you for this information. Salazar: I recover my knife and follow them. Heather drags the original lout out of the pub and throws him in the horse trough. Heather: When you fish him out, Franz, try to give yourself a bit of a wash. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz is allergic to water. Heather: Ah, but this isn't water - it's magical cleaning grease! Ewen: I can always clean him with Prestidigitation. Hang about, you have Prestidigitation, Franz - what's your excuse? Dirty Franz: ... Dirty Franz is not a godly man. Salazar waits for them to leave the ruined mansion, and heads in to rob them blind while they're out. The others wait for them to come back to the pub, and lurk at a nice steep slope with Grease Spells, Area of Effect fire spells, and so on. Ewen: We can grease the alley, let them all slide down into the horse trough. Dirty Franz: And then Strun can Thunderwave them back up again. Heather: What does the guy in the horse trough look like? Dirty Franz: Well, his armour is pink now. Heather poses as him and lures the louts into our ambush. It works as well as we could have hoped. Heather: Proceed with the murderizing. Dirty Franz: You could always strip them naked and paddle them through town. Heather: Yeah, but that sounds like work. Strun : And then I Sacred Flame them. Heather: It's a useful spell, we find. Ewen: I've got a lot of mileage out of that one. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz and his donkey will put out the fire. *unzips* Heather: Good ma- oh god, put it away! Salazar finds evidence of monsters at the mansion. Salazar: I'm backing out - I'm not here for a fight. I'm here to loot! Ewen OoC: But if this were a computer game it'd be 'hit Save, BANZAI!!!!!!!!' Salazar does run into an invisible mage. Who proceeds to slip on Salazar's ball bearings, fall down a flight of stairs, and get punched to death by Salazar waiting at the bottom. Ewen: His Concentration Lobe is over there now. Dirty Franz: That's funny, he had a large Bump of Attentiveness. Salazar: And that's why it sometimes pays to let a party member go off by themselves. Ewen: Yes, they come back with fun stories and cool stuff. Salazar: I bring presents. Heather: Nice! And these guys had chain mail. Salazar: Sweet! They had a pet. Dirty Franz: What kind of pet? Salazar: I dunno. It was big, it was purple, it had one eye. I didn't hang around. Heather: Are you evil? Salazar: I like to think of myself as differently motivated. At least Heather can still detect certain kind of monster, even if she can't Detect Evil. The thing in the mansion basement is certainly that kind of monster. It's also been digging a trench. Ewen: It's digging for China. Dirty Frank: Dirty Frank is aficionado of fine porcelian. Heather: Well, we can't let anybody do evil home renovations around here, it'll lower the house values. GM: How long did it take you to pick up all those ball bearings? Heather: You know what would make it quicker? Cantrip! And it looks like he had a 'can-trip' of his own. Salazar: *facepalm* Eye Monster: (Telepathically) Interlopers! Why are you here? You are not Red Brand! Heather: I bring these fools to you, master! Salazar: Well, THAT'S a good way to get yourself shanked. The eye monster isn't fooled by Heather's bull-shitting. It doesn't like it. It doesn't like getting a scimitar driven through it's single eye into the brain, either. Salazar: Eh, I still think it was my noogie that weakened it. Treasure includes a longsword that Ewen wants checked for magic. He waves it at Dirty Franz. Dirty Franz: Dirty Franz already has long sword.... at least, that what Franz's woman-friend back in city said... Heather: Oh gods... Salazar: I did not need to hear that! GM: In this world wizards started putting labels on their potions. Dirty Franz: Started after those child protection laws came into effect. Potion bottles all come with child-proof tops these days. The party proceeds to wipe out everything else in the ruined manorhouse, with minor conversational asides about such things as Heather's strap-on sword. Salazar: And if she hits you with that, you're really fucked. A fourth mage gets slaughtered before he realises what's happening. Jurgen decapitates him with a simultaneous scimitar scissor strike. Heather: We went in there to back him up against a wizard, and found them standing around a red water feature. Salazar: OK, the scissor action I understand, but what was the last hit for? Strun : Style. And we find a letter indicating that the Red Brands or their mage allies knew we were coming. Heather: 'you know that group of murder-hoboes that are about to arrive in town? Maybe you should kidnap them.' It's always nice to have retroactive justification for pre-emptive self-defence.

D&D 5th Ed. - Dealing With A Dragon One final (as I've said so many times so far) loose end at the village of Phandalin, before we can head off to the simple pleasures of the Temple of Elemental Evil. The loose end in question is the green dragon Venomfang, who Lamech conned into moving house to Wyvern's Tor. Unfortunately, word has come to us that he's not only been scouting the entire region, but he seems to be building an alliance with the surviving hobgoblins from the Cragsmoor ruins. This is disastrous - such an alliance would completely dominate the trade route to the east. He's going to have to go. How, then, to kill a dragon? Kerak: Are there enough locals that we can use some as red shirts? GM: Yes Kerak: Sacrificing minions - is there nothing it cannot do? Kerak: Well, there is something we can do with those Red Brand prisoners. Pump them full of opiates and stake them out for the dragon to eat. Urlon: NO. It's true the prisoners are going to be hanged for extortion, etc. Some of the PCs object, on the grounds that the death penalty isn't warranted on this case anyway. Lamech: Wait, we're only hanging people for murder now? When did that happen? Urlon: We've got enough troops here now the dragon won't be stupid enough to attack us. Lamech: Excuse me? *Adolescent* dragon. Young, dumb, and full of cu- GM: Yes yes, we get the idea. Various interested parties and troops from Waterdeep have been arriving at the village, now the little matter of the Lost Mine of Phandelver has been resolved. If they weren't going to be any good to us by turning up wen we needed them, perhaps they can be of use now? Kerak: If you could send some troops with us. Urlon: Archers would be good. Sildar Hallwinter of Waterdeep: Yes, well, if I had an army we could destroy the castle, burn down the forest, and wipe out the threat that way. Lamech: Ahem - Druids present. Urlon: Rangers too. Kerak: As long as the Cragmoor ruins are there they'll keep attracting hobgoblins and orcs to live in them. Urlon: I don't mind. Sildar: I know YOU don't. Incidentally, the village headsman has asked if you can stop punching any half-orcs that get in your way. Urlon: I've been leading the group, I suppose. Lamech: And I've been providing comic relief. Perhaps we can reduce tensions in Phandalin by getting our half-orc allies to take over the Cragsmoor ruins instead? It is a prime location, after all. This seems acceptable, as do our attempts to weasel every volunteer, potions of poison resistance, dwarven sappers etc from everybody that owes us a favour. GM: The troops are camping out at what they're already calling Hobshead Cross - that intersection where you kept putting hobgoblin heads on stakes. Kavorog: I can keep secrets. Lamech: Yes, we know - we still haven't found out exactly what you did to that kobold. How to kill the dragon without facing the pointy and poisonous end? Lure him into a pit trap by posing as dragon cultists again, and yelling that a Xorn is eating his hoard? Druid: Green dragons can breath underwater, but as far as I know they can't breath under dirt. So your plan has some merit. Kerak brings up the drugged-prisoner-as-bait idea again. Druid: Or you can just stuff them with poison. Are you serious? Kerak: Sure. It saves you on the cost of an execution, and kills the dragon. Problem solved. Druid: Well, it's ecologically sound, but DOES violate the tenets of Good. Elethandiel: Or we can just go berserk and try to kill it. Lamech: Well, you can go in first. Urlon: The treasure we leave there as bait could be used to rebuild the town. Kerak: Dude, I'm a dwarf, I know, it hurts. Urlon: Well, we could leave it in there a hundred years and come back for it after the dragon's dead. Kerak: True, we'll both live that long. Lamech: I suggest building a deadfall trap, and once the lintel or whatever lands on its neck we shove every sword and spear we have up his clacker. Kerak: Works for me. Assistant Druid: Owl for you, sir. Kerak: Hedwig? Our party heads out to Tor, where our scouts report odd activity. Half-orc Scout: There's a bunch of humans camped out there. Kerak: Are they wearing cloaks and dragon masks? Half-orc Scout: Funny you should say that. Kerak: Fuuuuuuu- Lamech: Oh fuck, it's the real dragon cultists. Our half-orc allies circle around to attack from the flank, while we don our dragon cult costumes and march right in. Kerak: Why doesn't your leader come out to meet us. Cultist: Our doings take place in darkness, brother - if you ARE our brother. Kerak: Look around you. The place is deserted. Who will see? Lamech: *gestures to the dwarf to lean over, and slaps him across the head* Please excuse the acolyte - he imagines he knows our brotherhood better than his actual knowledge warrants. I'm sure our brothers of the scale know the tactical dangers of the area - despite it being attacked before. *gestures to the bloodstains from our previous visit, but fails his bluff* Cultist: Wait. Here. Kerak: When the cultist is facing the other way I slap Lamech back. Lamech: That's fair. Lamech is told to enter the cave. Kerak and Thorn bluster, but he turns to them - and away from the cultist - and gives the hand signal for 'One Minute' Cult Leader: *using the Command spell* WHO ARE YOU, REALLY? Lamech: *thankfully passing his save* SWORN BROTHER OF THE SCALE *starts as if reacting to the compulsion* Rude! And then the PCs and half-orcs attack. Happily, this works, and we even manage to take some alive. How we'll spin this when Venomfang gets back from hunting remains to be seen... Lamech: Right - first things first. Thorn, plant a symbol of your Order of the Gauntlet on that dead cult leader over there. Now, let's wake up the first one.... Hi there. We're going to have to ask you some questions, but we've got a problem. People tell me enhanced interrogation is an evil act. So what we're going to do, is that us three are going out for a bit, and Kavarog here is going to show you what he did to that kobold. Kavorog: *leers* Keep the dragon mask on. Despite all the screaming, the cultist doesn't crack. Lamech: Ah well. Gag him and tie him up, then wake up the next one. Hi there. Let me introduce you to my friend with the axe here. He calls it Moses. Can you guess why? Cultist: .... no? Lamech: Because it's going to part you like the Red Sea. This doesn't work either. Fortunately, cultist three promptly blabs how the real cultists had been forewarned about our duplicity, and had been preparing to capture us for Lord Venomfang. Lamech: Fool! Your own cult leaders were the traitors! You! Brother Thorn! Search that body for proof! Thorn: Ah, this is a symbol of the Order of the Gauntlet! The cultist has now been successful convinced that his own friends were the actual traitors, and that they were intending to lure Venomfang into a trap. He also explains how they were supposed to signal to Venomfang once they had captured us. We get him to do so, and warn him he better have a good excuse for his stupidity when the dragon arrives. Unfortunately for us, Venomfang is no fool, and sends in more minions to confirm that THIS isn't a trap. A blue dragonborn knight (the one the Many Arrows orcs were themselves hunting), and a small army of normal and winged kobolds. Lamech: Venomfang has obviously been networking furiously for the last few weeks. Most of us fail to notice that this dragonborn is unusually draconic in his features. He is, in fact, a half-dragon. Kavorog: I'm too busy looking at his butt. Even after the Blue Knight get his kobolds to carry out all our carefully arranged loot from the cave, and bring out the bound and gagged prisoners, we still try to get him down here to walk under the deadfall. Perhaps Kavorog can lure the other scaley stud into the cave, and thereby prove it's safe? He does so, although his seduction efforts are risible, and Venomfang lands on the Tor, but still doesn't enter the cave. Lamech: Now that Lord Venomfang is here you might want to tuck it into your pants for a bit. Our triple-crossed cultist attempts to beg for his life, and gets decapitated by Venomfang, who goes on to use the others as glove puppets. Lamech: Well, they were going to get executed anyway, getting eaten by the dragon is just karma. Our druid ally, lurking in the woods, realises that the plan is falling apart, and attempts to entangle the dragon in rapidly growing vines etc. He evades it, and the fight is on! Lamech attempts a Sleep spell against the dragon, which doesn't work. Kavorog tries the same against the Blue Knight, who had just pushed Kav into the ravine while yelling "It's a trap!" GM: So you're trying to Sleep the knight, or sleep WITH the knight? Kavorog: ..... either, or. Kavorog: I attempt to grapple the Blue Knight. Lamech: I bet you do. Lamech: Maybe we can polymorph him? I knew a cleric that polymorphed himself once. Wilfric the Obese. He fell down a well and became a Deep Fat Friar. All: *pause in mid battle to stare at Lamech in utter disgust* The Druid, in desperation, summons lightning and ice storms to try and take the dragon and half-dragon down, despite the risk of collateral slaughter. Lamech: Fair enough. I'M in cover anyway. Urlon: Pity about the two dragonborn. Kavorog: If the half-dragon survives the next round I'm going to heroically save him. Lamech: Hurt/Comfort slashfic, is it? The dragon and half-dragon get away, despite the PCs efforts to ensure they don't become recurring villains, and Kavorog's efforts to ensure the half-dragon hottie doesn't actually die. Lamech: Well, we should send a message to Phandalin 'Um, we didn't manage to kill the dragon, it's your problem now'. GM: Rangers can track elementals, although how you track Earth Elementals escapes me. Lamech: Seismometers.

Black Crusade : The Sixteenth Arcana Moored in the Ragged Helix asteroid belt, the Obsidian Resolve is undergoing extensive repairs - but being hereteks and madmen the PCs aren't going to be satisfied with mere nuts and bolts. Instead, Digna wants to use Warpcraft to cannibalise other ships. Digna: I need your help with a ritual. Eniek: What ritual? Digna: I don't think the ritual exists yet. Eniek: You have my attention. Digna: I want to take the Obsidian Resolve to a starship graveyard, and 'fleshcraft' the parts to turn our ship into a Cruiser. Eniek: You had my attention. Now you have my interest. Eniek: I'm fine with all of you being dedicated to Slaneesh, I'd rather not live a ship altered to suit same. GM: Indeed. You don't want a ship that will suddenly decide to ***** ** **** ****** **** the people in the corridors. Digna: Even if they'd enjoy it. Skerrit is absent this session - he's still recovering from the broken spine and fractured pelvis Jrska gave him, while Eniek was busy reading the Liber Ex Mortis they stole from the Inquisition's archives. It turns out to be a detailed study of the Chaos God of Decay and Rebirth, Nurgle. Eniek is a bit annoyed about this - there's no point fleshcrafting on a planetary scale if 90 percent of the population succumbs to hideous disease and necrosis immediately after. Digna: Eniek was busy doing this while I was plowing Jrska. And she was plowing me. Daniels: .... GM: There was much agriculture going on. Digna: It was a nice agricultural exchange. Eniek: I need a population to experiment on. Digna: We just picked up 7000 slaves. Eniek: Do you need all of them? They do manage to stop most of the crew from being lured away to the fleshpots of the Helix, also a few members of the crew do bring a few doxies back on board, and end up a conjoined bubbling pink slime plastered over three walls of a cargo deck antechamber. GM: You're not quite sure what they were doing, but evidently they enjoyed it. Daniels: Is this one of Eniek's experiments? Digna: We should ask. Daniels: Is this yours? No? Do you want them? Eniek: Eh - I don't like people's sloppy seconds. Despite their existing talent at Warpcraft, they decide to consult an expert in combining the Warp with technology - to whit, a Warsmith of the Iron Warriors traitor marine legion, who happens to be at the Ragged Helix trying to acquire supplies, and who is being frustrated by the way the Slaaneshi lords of the Helix keep getting distracted. Worse, Digna acquired half the stuff he was after first, since she has Jrska's favour. Digna: First come, first served. And I came first. Digna: Who's on your shit list? I need a message delivered, and I don't mind if the reply comes back with his body. They send the petty officer that should have prevented the pink slime incident. Digna accurately predicts the meeting - the Warsmith grabbing the messenger by the throat and bellowing something about Digna's audacity, while the unfortunate individual croaks out something about Digna sending a gift with her request for a meeting. The gift is some of the gene-seed they acquired from the space marines on Scintilla. Extremely valuable, since it's uncorrupted by Chaos, and most progenoid glands that get to the Ragged Helix end up on somebody's dinner plate as a delicacy (much to the fury of the traitor legions). Digna dresses her best for the meeting. Digna: It's still red Mechanicus robes. Just nothing else. And they're a bit see-through. Daniels: 'Damn, she's built.' GM: Space Marines don't care about that. Digna's player: No, no, no, she's BUILT. Nine levels of the Best Quality Machine Trait. Warsmith: May I enquire as to the scale of you project? Eniek: Capital. Warsmith: *blinkenlights* Digna: Thanks. I love nailing a description with one word. Digna also has other goods to trade - six more Progenoid Glands GM: His enhanced eyebrows climb off the top of his head. Eniek wants to show off his own project - that space marine librarian that he turned into a living anatomical mural. GM: 'Moisturise me! Moisturise me!' Eniek: I can wake him up if you want. Next up, acquiring everything they need, and trying to prevent the Warp from horrendously twisting the end result, or infecting the Obsidian Resolve's cogitator cores, engines, and bridge. Eniek: The ship's soul, heart and mind. Daniels: You're treating the ship like it's alive. Digna: We have to, for this ritual to work. One complication - even the wreckage of ships is in short supply at the moment. Jrska and her colleagues are on something of a shipbuilding spree, as part of their plans to carve up large swathes of the Calixis Sector. And the wreckage they do head out to cannibalise is already being towed by a Khornate raider fleet. The Khornate leader attempts to scare the PCs off, and escalates to a challenge. Natural Eniek, who is the kind of combat monster GMs dread, is delighted by this. Digna: This is Digna. One lawn-chair to the arena. I repeat - one lawn-chair to the arena. The Khornate champion, who at some point had most of his lower face burnt down to the bone, is accompanied by a retinue of berserkers. Half the Obsidian Resolve's crew turns up to watch Eniek curbstomp them. Digna: Ladies! Gentlemen! And those of us blessed with a certain gift of Slaneesh! In the blue corner, our very own Ghost In the Flesh! In the red corner, Sargim Baak of the Iron Skulls! And now, without any further ado - the match between the Enigmatic Eniek and Barbeque Baak! Despite the fact Baak was a khornate space marine armed with with a deamonically infused weapon, Eniek takes him apart. And does the same to the retinue of berserkers, who go berserk. This is great news for Digna - the buckets of gore splashed around the place will make the perfect finishing touch to that sword she's been forging. Eniek: And now I walk back to the lawn-chair and finish my drink. The ritual itself proceeds without incident, mostly because of the precautions the heretics took to prevent any passing deamons taking an interest, but does leave the ship haunted by the 1001 people they sacrificed to fuel the transformation. Their screaming faces leer out of walls and bulkheads all over the ship, and move when the crew aren't looking. Digna: *waves* Aren't you a little cutie? Shame we got rid of you. And as Digna's player puts it "So here she is, in all her Glory. Like an interstellar ghoul, she has feasted on the ship-flesh on the fallen and been reborn to sow terror and discord among the mewling masses of the Corpse-God."

I forgot to include the song Jrska was singing as she came in

The battered Obsidian Resolve is confronted by the blockade fleet at the Thirteenth Station, and finds itself staring down the barrels of hundreds of macro-cannon. Lord-Captain Daniels, for some reason, thinks this is a fine time to barge in like he owns the place. Luckily for him, somebody in the fleet recognises the name of the Obsidian Resolve, and instead of blowing the ship away defers to the cultist currently doing an inspection tour of the fleet - one Jrska, devotee of Slaanesh. I've been looking forward to this encounter, since Digna is also a devotee of the Prince of Pleasure, and the two characters butting heads (or butting something) promises to be amusing. Digna OOC: A CHALLENGER APPEARS! Jrska chats pleasantly enough with the PCs, although it's obvious she's using camera angles to her best advantage. Digna: I sense a familiarity Daniels: It’s the cleavage. Digna: Well, they’re nice, but nowhere nice as mine. GM: Oh HO, and now it’s on. The heretics when asked in whose name they entered the Screaming Vortex, claim that Cassius, in the form of the Black Angel, set them on the path here. True enough, but Jrska wants some confirmation - exactly how did Cassius appear to them? Digna: Arrogant as hell Jrska: Yes, that sounds like him. Jrska invites them aboard her vessel, and sends a shuttle across to pick them up. A small shuttle - this is obviously a way to separate them from their ship and allies, but equally obviously they can't turn this 'courtesy' down. Daniels: I’d like to have shown you some hospitality of my own. Jrska: That’s OK sweety, you can make it up to me later. One of Jrska's stewards meets them in the shuttle bay, to arrange introductions and accommodation. GM: His eyes flicker only briefly over your … chassis. Digna: I’m insulted. Daniels: It just means they’re professional. Digna: Allow me to be insulted. Steward: And your pet? Digna: He's our ally, not a pet. Skerrit: Skaven, Lord of Thieves. *attempts to pickpocket the steward despite not having Sleight of Hand.* Steward: I’ll be sure to let everyone know. Skerrit: I’m just glad I don’t have to keep this wrapped around my leg anymore. GM: Hmm? Skerrit: My tail. Digna: We’re among friends now, feel free. Daniels: I wonder if I can swing him around by that tail. GM: And imagine the fun Jrska can have with it. The horrendous advantages various Slaaneshi mutations and traits can give to social interaction get discussed - Hermaphrodite, for example, doubles the number of successes that Jrska and Digna can make on their fellowship tests. Daniels' player: Hermaphrodite is fucking disgusting Digna's player: Don’t be so close-minded. Daniels' player is also beginning to dread what will be coming up soon, despite the fact his character is also Slaanesh-aligned. Daniels: We’re just walked into Rocky Horror Picture Show, haven’t we? Daniels: I have a bad case of foot-in-mouth. GM: Well, I’m sure you’ll have something in your mouth before long. Steward: And what gifts have you brought for her Ladyship? Daniels and Skerrit: …. Digna: I guess we’ll just have to pay in trade. Daniels: I despise you both. Jrska enters the dining hall singing 'I'm too Famous', and she and Digna promptly turn the full force of their 'personalities' on each other. One difference between the characters is how their apply their superhumanly enhanced sexuality - Digna wields hers with the precision of a laser. Jrska's is more like a flamethrower, with a correspondingly higher risk of property damage, screaming, and innocent bystanders. Daniels: Don’t mind me, I’ll just enjoy the soup. But please, not on the table. Jrska: *noticing Skerrit* Oh, you're ADORABLE! Why do you get out of that silly armour, and come sit on my lap?*leers* Skerrit: *looks very nervous* Daniels: I’m just waiting for Jrska to press a button that flips all the furniture and turns it into a sex dungeon. GM: ALL the good sex dungeons provide nibblies. Digna: I know, what is this, amateur hour? After the first few courses, Jrska inquires what that bought as gifts for her. Digna had anticipated the possibility of meeting influential characters, and presents a matched pair of those gun-blades she made for the gang members on Scintilla. Jrska is visibly annoyed that the gift is not only mass-produced, but that Digna gave them to mere underhive thugs first, but Digna manages to spin it as a prologue to the tale of their adventures on Scintilla, and as weapons that require finesse. Jrska: And what about you, cutie? What do YOU have for me? Skerrit: …… um…. Er… Digna: Skaven has spent same days in training, on a trick with his tail, especially for you. Skerrit: *headdesk* Digna: So, Daniels, after what I just did to Skerrit, what are you going to give her? Eniek's player was missing this session, which was just as well, since the GM and players spent a good hour complaining about his signature weapon - the Doom Siren - which is so horrendously overpowered that it can wipe out whole squads of space marines with one shot. Eniek was probably too busy experimenting on his vivisected space marine wall hanging, anyway. Digna: Eniek had to have his Skin Pizza party. Jrska: I'll have to see that at some point - I trust the space marine got spread out in an aesthetically pleasing as well as informative manner? Jrska is also amused by Digna's minion Little Sister. This is alarming on multiple counts, not least because of the risk of Mr. Bubbles going berserk should Jrska actually DO anything. Still, it gives Weldun a chance to use more of his Bioshock soundboard. Jrska: You’re adorable too! Come up here and sit next to me. Daniels: *alarmed* um… Little Sister: NO TOUCHING! Jrska and Little Sister braid each other's hair and Mr. Bubbles is ordered to go sit in the corner, which lowers tensions all around, and the cyborg stomps off. Daniels apologises for the damage to the polished floors. Jrska: Not to worry. The servants will buff it out later with their tongues. Daniels: It might need more than buffing. Jrska: You haven’t seen what my servants can do with their tongues. The meal continues to the wine and cheeseboards. Alcoholic Daniels attempts a compliment. Daniels: Do tell me where you found the cheese. Digna: It’s probably best you don’t know. Daniels: …. I walked right into that one, didn’t I. There's entertainment during dinner, of course - a pair of androgynous dancers who sew themselves together to music. GM: The tricky bit comes after they've sewn their faces together, and they have to do the rest blind and one-handed. That's Slaanesh for you - beautiful and really freaking disturbing. After Jrska sweetly points out that pissing off the entire Calixian Inquisition, Imperial authorities, and an unknown number of Space Marine chapters and then leading them straight to the Screaming Vortex is unlikely to endear the PCs to the inhabitants of said vortex, she asks what the PCs actually want. Mostly, a safe place to refit and repair the Obsidian Resolve. Jrska says she'll think about it, and has the PCs escorted back to their rooms until summoned. Digna: I was hoping she’d help with that fashion problem. GM: Don’t worry, she’ll be doing that. In person. After she’s got all your measurements. The first one she summons is Skerrit - after all, he can supposedly do interesting tricks with his tail. Daniels: Please, I’m begging you, no details. GM: I just want to see what skill he tries to use and how badly he fails. Skerrit: *rolls a 100* *headesk* GM: He gets delivered back to the suite with a broken spine and a disappointed note. Daniels OOC: ‘That was indeed as new experience – nobody has every failed to pleasure me that badly’ Digna OOC: ‘There is now a new low bar for everyone else to clear’ Then Jrska goes to visit Digna in person, bringing all her sewing supplies to plan Digna's new armour. And, of course, attempt to seduce her. Digna, conversely, is going to attempt to seduce Jrska, since her Addictrix talent if successful will make Jrska her willing slave, at least for a while. And since we've already established the exact nature of Digna's addictive substance, I was cackling at the chance to run with the idea. Especially since, compared to everything else Jrska has done, lactophilia isn't even in the top 10. As it happens, Jrska utterly botches the ensuing social combat, and falls victim to Digna's charms. Digna: I’m trying to resist the line ‘Suck it, bitch’ because that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Digna: Wait… it didn’t work. Addictrix doesn’t work on NPC with a higher Infamy than you. Daniels: Well, she probably still enjoys herself. GM: Oh, I KNOW she does. You’re probably surprised when she sits up afterwards, from the tangle of fabric swatches and tape measures, and says “That was fun. You should open an icecream bar” Still, Jrska is amused enough by Digna's attempt on her dignity to remain intimate, and agrees to Digna's request for a safe berth, and material for some shiny new Mesh Armour outfits. Afterwards she sends for Lord-captain Daniels. Digna: And I’ve got a manipulator mechadendrite. Daniels: ARgHhh Fade to Black! Fade to Black! Can we please play Tzeench or Khorne characters next time, instead of Slaanesh? Please? GM: Jrska is looking a bit tired. Digna: There, Daniels, you’re safe. You owe me. GM: Digna has a very short refractory period. Must be all that tungsten. Daniels: You look like… Jrska: The cat that got the cream? Something like that. Daniels: More is always best. Digna: Jrska can get behind that. Daniels: *facepalm* Jrska hands over the co-ordinates to the Ragged Helix, where the Obsidian Resolve can lay up for repairs. Daniels attempts to be grateful. Jrska: You may kiss my ring. Daniels: … not on a first meeting. Jrska also calls Digna back before they return to their ship, for another exchange of gifts. Jrska gives the tech-priest a vial of a nanotech drug especially designed for tech-priests to enjoy. And Digna has a few flasks of her own to proffer. Digna: Here’s some more, for later. GM: Ah, the tech-priest breast-pump . Daniels: … erk.. argh… all I can think now is “Thanks For The Mammaries”

Black Crusade : The Eighteenth Arcana On the run from Scintilla, and the wrath of the Inquisition, space marines, Adeptus Mechanicus, imperial traffic control, and everybody that wants to carve off a chunk of the party's hide. Luckily for the party, the Obsidian Resolve's engines are raring to go, and the ship dives deep into Scintilla's gravity well as she makes her escape. Skerrit: I'm probably not actually helping. GM: No change there then. Indeed, the engines are so efficient that soon they light up the nightside of Scintilla like daylight, and the ship is soon faster than anything else in the system - including the two cruisers moving to cut off their escape. Even so, it's a couple of days until they're far enough out to jump into Warp Space. They have have a little free time to discuss future plans. And ponder how the Inquisition can discover their interest in that remote star cluster, by checking the list of what was stolen. Eniek also ponders how those space marines actually managed to hurt him. GM: Maybe you should reorganise your internal organs so they can't target vital organs. The standard recto-cranial inversion seems ideal. He also intends to vivisect that captured space marine librarian into living wallpaper. Eniek: His four lungs will be spread out and as he breaths you'll be able to watch the blood flow over to his brain. Digna: Nice. Daniels: I don't think I'll be going in the ritual room for a while. GM: Lab. Eniek: Bedroom. Skerrit: I'm picturing Digna having a little Slaneesh and Tzeench on each shoulder. GM: And one of them is humping her ear. A lone escort ship at the edge of the Scintilla system managed to punch numerous holes in the heretic's vessel, before they heretic return the favour and coast on silent running out into deep space, and into the Warp. The Obsidian Resolves flees to the giant space Station of Port Wander, well ahead of the all-points bulletin demanding their destruction. After that, things don't run as smoothly. They don't have time to fix all the holes in their ship before they must move on, for one thing - ostensibly into the Koronus Expanse, actually the the Thirteenth Station, the only 'safe' way into the Screaming Vortex. And FTL travel in the 40K universe is never fun. Some Warp Phenomena are comparatively minor - the entire bridge catching fire while they're in it is less so. GM: 'Is it just me or has the air con stopped working?' Of course, not even nonspontaneous human combustion is going to hurt unstoppable cyborgs like Eniek and Digna. Both sit there and regard the flames with interest. Daniels: This is the bridge speaking. Could you send a fire crew? Digna: I like to think the fire only killed 2% of the crew - the rest bumped into Little Sister and triggered Mr Bubble's Red Mode. Discussing the holy mysteries of special and general relativity. GM: And you're in a warpstorm so that's all out the window anyway. The Thirteenth Station, where somebody has taken tens of thousands of the usual freeze-dried corpses and bound them into a gigantic Glyph of the Black Angel, the personal sigil of the traitor Cassius from the previous campaign. Eniek gets to work inventing a ritual that will open passage into the Screaming Vortex, preferably without tearing the Obsidian Resolve in half. He succeeds in inventing one that doesn't even need hundreds of human sacrifices. Eniek: I kick a rat out the airlock and say some nice words. Skerrit: Please make it explicit that it's not me. Eniek: It was a very propitious rat. GM: Well, Khorne won't be pleased. Eniek: Why? GM: Not enough bloodshed. Eniek: Sure there is - I injected the rat with nanogenics - its entire bodymass will be converted into blood. Daniels: As will every floating body out there that the nanogenes run into. Digna: Hopefully not the ones making up the sigil? Eniek: .... probably not. The gate opens, a ghastly fistula in space-time, and the ship moves forward to take refuge among the heretics and monsters of the Vortex. Daniels: Well, what is there to see in the Screaming Vortex? GM: There's that fleet of ships your previous PCs set to blockade the Gate. They're quite interested in this lone raider, with all the holes in its armour, that's just come into the Screaming Vortex. Daniels: Oh dear.

Shadowrun 2070 : #OrcLivesMatter Pregame chat, which covers many things, including the fact that Weldun has gaming cabinets only three hours younger than some of the players. Unrelated conversation. Weldun: There's a reason I shaved my head back when I was doing security. Poe's player: Yup. Don't put handlebars on your head. Me: Unless you're a Khornate berserker. Weldun: I'm glad I'm not playing Inkubus right now - he'd say something about seeing the advantages. Oracle wants to start a company in Shadowrun, set up in the Ork Underground, making a cheap customisable car for Orcs and Trolls. Ripper K: And since everybody will assume its a front, they'll be too busy to notice what's really going on. Ripper K: I can picture myself doing the TV Ads. Poe: No, somebody would recognise you. That would be bad for sales. Ripper K: Not if I make a joke out of it. 'Plenty of room in the back' Oracle: Nah, not for the runabout. Save it for the luxury models and RVs. Me: Remind me, what's an anti-paladin? Weldun: Not a nice person at all. In fact, they're probably the kind of people who would that that on their business card. 'Here's my card' 'what kind of person would have this on thei-' STAB '...oh.... I... See' *dies* GM: Apparently Poe is 13, and ages at the same rate of an actual crow. MIDLIFE CRISIS BURD! MUST BUY BURD BOAT! MUST GO BURD SKYDYVINGOHWAITICANFLYF**K The GM has doing some research on future adventures, and reading some jackpoint articles out loud to practice his RP skills. Poe's player: *Comes in* You're talking to yourself again! GM: I'm prepping for the adventure. And that was my Harlequin Voice. Poe's player: F**k. F**k f**k f**k f**k F**K! Weldun: I'm glad Bubbles never met Harlequin. If Harlequin explained who he was, Bubbles would never leave his apartment again. Me: I think he'd be more annoyed that he'd lose more credibility with the conspiracy-sphere. He's already lost all credibility on the government conspiracies since he worked for the President. Ocelot: If he started hunting down the rumours of immortal elves... Me: And then one turns up at his door. Ripper K: I've got a day job - Now I do high end porn. Anyway - Shell has been missing for a month, since his odd reaction to meeting Greenlight. He's not the only one concerned - Shell's own contacts have been contacting us, too. One of them - a Japanese cyber-surgeon - fears Shell is sinking into the first stages of cyber-psychosis. And then we get a report of him in Japan. Oracle: What the f**k? Did he walk??? Someone matching Shell's description attacked a Black Site. And then turns up at Oracle's hideout a week after that, wearing a ruthenium fibre cloak. Oracle: Sunavabitch. You're one of the few people that pull that look off - your low thermal output plus that cloak can actually get past my security sensors. Oracle: Were you in Japan a week ago? Shell: Hello Oracle. I need your help. *displays his missing arm and half his face* Oracle: So you were in Japan a week ago. Oracle: I might need to hire the team. What's the rate for that? Poe: Depends what you want us to do. Oracle: Not sure yet. I might need you to raid a biotech company. Oracle: Seattle really is the Emerald City. And look at the lovely green of Pungent Sound. I mean Puget Sound. We get a videocall from the Orc fixer McAllister, who's hired us for a number of jobs lately. GM: He looked pissed. Pissed off, I mean. Oracle: Whatever it was, it wasn't us. McAllister is so pissed off he doesn't sound remotely happy - no jokes, not even any runner slang. Ripper K: Out-of-Character is Serious Business. McAllister wants the teams help with a personal job. So, off to the Ork Underground again. There's lots we can discuss on the way - for example, Boots has considering getting Oracle a job with a legitimate company. Boots: Let's consider a hypothetical - 'Why should we hire you?' Oracle: Look at this way - do you want the mad scientist on the inside pissing out, or on the outside pissing in? Shell is wearing a t-shirt he picked up in Japan. Its Engrish legend reads 'Never Be Game Over'. Me: What ARE you doing over there? Ocelot's Player: Trying to hit a moth. Shell's Player: He can't hit it - it's size template is too small. The Gold Mine bar explodes as we're going in. Shell: Status Report! Ocelot: I'm fine. Shell: Ripper! Report! What's your status! Ripper K: .... Shell: Ripper! Report! Ripper K: Just counting my legs... Still got two. Well, three, according to some. Oracle: That's it, from now on everybody wears a biomonitor. We hurry to locate, evacuate and triage the wounded - once again Oracle's medivac drone proves invaluable. As do our submillimeter radar equipment (for locating bodies in the rubble) and TacNet (for tagging the wounded with AR icons) and Ripper's backpack full of emergency medical supplies and tranq patches. And we get to use Shitkicker for his original purpose - exploring confined spaces. McAllister, incredibly, survived the explosion. Ripper K: How? Shell and Ocelot: Orc. We hustle him into the medivac drone, which stabilises him and lets him regain consciousness long enough to text us over thought-mail. McAllister: Dr What. Street Doc. The Narrows, east side. Then call Tosh. He knows details. Our assistance at the scene, and all the TacNet info Oracle patches through to DocWagon and all the other emergency response services, will increase our public notice. But never mind, we're not the kind of shadowrunners who would just walk away. Ripper and Astronauta are soon fending off calls from those reporters, who have already recognised us from the footage at the Gold Mine. Oracle: You're pretty recognisable. Especially to other Seattle luchadores. 'Astronauta Peligroso! Madre Dios! You are the reason I became a luchadore!' Poe: 'Please Piledrive me!' Astronauta Peligroso: 'I can't - the last person I did that too, his head exploded.' Ripper K: 'Like a watermelon' Oracle: It better not be the same Dr What that tortured Inkubus 20 years ago - he's dead. Astronauta Peligroso: Extremely dead. Dr What: What do you what? Who are you? *notices the medivac drone* Oracle: Seriously? All those flashing lights and sirens and you didn't notice it straight away? Poe: Well, in this part of town you learn to ignore sirens. Dr What has neurological issues - he's forgotten pretty much everything but medicine. And will probably forget ever meeting us when we leave. Poe: Can we keep his number? He seems useful. Oracle: I've been needing a reliable doc - I want to get this datalock in my neck jailbroken. Oracle: I'm not going to contact Shell's contact to tell him he's showed up. Shell can tell him himself. Shell: Unless you called him a week ago, you won't be able to. Oracle: I have a sneaking suspicion that Shell's medical friend is no longer among the living. Oracle preps something useful for Dr What - a software agent with facial recognition, that will remind him who he's talking to. In return, he gets to find out of the datalock in his spine is reporting everything he does to the CIA. Oddly enough, it isn't. Which just leaves him more paranoid. Astronauta Peligroso: We might want to inject that software agent directly into What's brain. Oracle: Nah - let's not mess with his neural architecture any further. Ocelot: He might have given himself his own memory problems for a good reason. Tosh is Boot's boss, and the head of Special Crimes at Knights Errant Seattle. He's shocked at the news about the explosion and McAllister, which doesn't look good for a man with his job. Ripper K: We must have woken him up. Tosh Athack is a huge troll, and a high-ranking detective at KE. Shell and Ocelot meet him at a suitable location, with Shell playing sniper - just in case. Tosh seems relieved that McAllister survived, although in an induced coma. He does indeed know why McAllister called us, but says he'll need to call in his own team, who he calls the Black Knights. GM: The Black Knights are all ex-military and shadowrunners, and highly trained and competent. Ripper K: And they're invincible. Tosh says the job is an Internal Affairs job, which explains his need for a trusted team, but not why McAllister was taking it personally. We get briefed on the job at the Arbitrary Bar & Grill. Boots: I swear I had nothing to do with this. Tosh exposits - 20 years ago Seattle was victim of a serial killer nicknamed the Mayan Cutter, who targeted Orcs and Trolls, and butchered them and stole their hearts. He was caught, but last year there was a copycat killing, and McAllister's daughter was the victim. McAllister hunted the copycat killer down and got his revenge, but discovered evidence that he was working for someone else - one Mathers, head of Public Relations at Knight Errant. Ocelot: What happened to to the original Mayan Cutter? GM: He was executed - so was the copycat. Just less officially. Tosh wants us to investigate this quietly, since it's going to be a huge scandal for KE either way. He also wants Mathers alive. There's a number of possibilities, including possession by a murderous ghost, that Mathers is the original killer and set up the copycat as a protege, or that Mathers hired the copycat killer to drum up business for Knight Errant. Ripper K: Or that Lonestar framed Mathers for the whole thing so Knight Errant will take a huge PR hit. Mathers lives in Bellevue, the most luxurious and secure suburb in Seattle. We do NOT fit in. Nor does Mathers, since Knight Errant doesn't pay him nearly that much. Poe: He's probably spending 100K a month on that lifestyle. Follow The Money. Mathers is Old Money, and has contributed heavily to Governor Kenneth Brackhaven's recently announced run for President. At least he doesn't have much in the way of staff - two housekeepers and a gardener. Shell's Player: I call bullshit - I work at a school with that many acres of ground and they have an entire team of gardeners. Ocelot's Player: To be fair, Mathers probably doesn't have to deal with hordes of schoolkids running around. Ripper K's player: And he can afford a small army of gardening drones. Shell's Player: Ok, that I can accept. Shell: I want to know all about his security precautions, before I turn up with Biggie McChucklef**ks here. Ripper K: Excuse me? I'm Biggie McChucklewhat now? We drive past the estate and drop off our infiltration drone. GM: I really hope Shitkicker enjoys clinging to the underside of moving vehicles. Oracle: No. Oh wait, yes he does - I programmed him with a virtual personality. Poe: Why are we getting excited squealing over the TacNet? Shitkicker: Wheeeeee! Bebo! Ripper K: Can we get Boots to shut down Mather's security system? It's linked directly to Knight Errant after all. Ocelot: Probably not. Oracle: He's not high enough up in the company. GM: And remember - the Black Knights are going to be running interference while you infiltrate. Oracle: I'll have Shitkicker veeerrrry sloooooly move up to each motion detector and prop up a playing card in front of the lens. All: *snicker* Ocelot: Jokers? Oracle: Nah - I'll dose them all with Flash, so they'll go up in a puff of smoke. Poe: And set off every detector at once. Oracle: An hour after we're gone Of course, we can't use an Astral spirit to conceal us - even basic wards will notice THAT coming in. Ocelot: We need to get into his study and his bedroom. And the basement, if he has one. Ripper K: If he IS associated wth the Mayan Cutters, I don't want to imagine what he has in his basement. GM: Three hours of planning. Ten seconds of screaming. Ocelot's player: That's Shadowrun for you. Shell's player: That's how you get the big karma. Oracle's Player: By avoiding unnecessary combats. Oracle is riding around Bellevue in a Hermes delivery van, dropping off Prop 23 pamphlets. Shell and Ocelot lurk in the back of a Ford Americar with coffee and donuts, being Really Obvious Undercover Cops. Ripper loiters a suburb away on his monocycle, waiting for when it all inevitably goes wrong. And Poe just lands on a tree branch his raven form. GM: You literally pass as scenery. Alright, cue the Infiltration music. Ripper and Oracle: *sing the Mission Impossible theme* Dun dun DUNDUN dun dun DUNDUN DAdada, DAdada, DAdada, DADA. Shell heads in under his ruthenium cloak to disable all the multimillion dollar security systems the playing cards haven't already made useless. Mather's office is tastefully and expensively furnished, the only oddity being a bookshelf made from the faintly luminous wood of Sangre el Diablo trees. Oracle: Aren't those the ones that fight back when you try and cut them down? Ocelot: Yup. They're becoming a bit of a problem in Brazil. Oracle gets to work analysing the mansion's datasystems. They're pretty pathetic. Oracle: It's got the same vulnerabilities as our TacNet, but he hasn't taken any of the precautions that I have. He's like a basic user - relying entirely on his firewall. But Oracle soon realises that the entire node is a fake - the REAL node, and the real financial records, must be elsewhere. Down to the basement it is then. Where there's a safe behind a painting in Mather's Mancave. Shell: Hold the fucking phone - there's a safe. Behind a painting. BEHIND AN ACTUAL PAINTING. Oracle: Kudos to him for being Old School, anyway. Ocelot: The real twist is that the Ultrathin Safe was in the painting. There's a much more secure node inside the safe. Oracle: This will take a while.... seriously? He hasn't downloaded that patch that yet? Ocelot: He probably updates it by hand. So only does it once a month. We copy the entire file system, to decode at leisure. Ocelot: He probably relied on the fact that the kind of people who could break in aren't the same people that would go after files like this. Unless you're expecting shadowrunners, in which case all bets are off. Shells recovers our infiltration drone and makes his departure. Shitkicker: Bebo! Bebo! Shell: Get off my arse! Shitkicker: Bebo! Shell: NOT IN THERE! Poe: He doesn't have an access port there XD We head home, while Oracle plans a deployment method for Astronauta Peligroso. Oracle: They'll see the drone coming in, and swoop past. 'What the hell did it just drop?' 'I AM ASTRONAUTA PELIGROSO! FIGHT ME!' Ocelot: Take the freefall adept power and they can drop you from any height The data is verrrrry interesting, detailing millions taken and spent in bribes, dummy accounts used to make illegal contributions to the presidential campaign, footage of Humanis Policlub meetings Mathers attended, and video calls with Edmund Jeffries, the Governor's press secretary, who drunkenly suggested the Copycat Cutter scheme, Mathers hiring the Copycat to target prominent Orcs activists, Mathers panicked call to somebody about McAllister and the runners, and proof that there's a mole in the Black Knights. Oracle: We're talking ONLY to our employer. We'll tell him we have a lead. Ocelot: And set up some snipers. Shell and Astronauta amuse themselves during the decoding, by punching each other up. Then it's time to go. Shell: Once again, the eternal question of which of us can bore the other with hand-to-hand combat remains unanswered. Tosh isn't followed, in person or astrally. And he can guess who the mole is. And where Mathers is tonight. Ripper K: There's a Humanis Policlub meeting tonight? Tosh: Yup. Astronauta Peligroso: I want an invite. Oracle: I have just had the best idea. Oracle wants Ripper and Astronauta, the most noticeable party members, to pick a fight with each other at the Humanis building. And when Mathers comes out to watch, we grab him. Astronauta's skill include Smack Talk. Ripper K: So you want to play the Dozens? The Dozens is a game, but the way I did your mother, is a god-damn shame. Astronauta Peligroso: What did you say about my mother? My mother was a SAINT. The Humanis building is fortified. And the cyber-KKK guarding it heavily armed. Happily, the rest of the team have sniper rifles with gel rounds. Ocelot: This will be great publicity - as long as none of them actually die. Ocelot: So Flamboyant Bane and Porn Moby Lick rollerskate up to the Humanis base... Oracle: I'm ordering six pairs of Goblinstompers, with Prop 23 as the brand in the heel. As in, actually brands the people we stomp with 'Prop 23'. Our snipers take out their minigun nests before they know what hit them. The luchadore and the porn actor get to work. Astronauta Peligroso: Just look at these arseholes. Ripper K: I bet I could go up to those doors, hit them, and they wouldn't even have the balls to come out and fight. In fact, I think I will. Astronauta Peligroso: Come on out, boys, lets see those fancy white hoods. Ripper K : Those special pyjamas. Astronauta Peligroso: Yeah, BRING OUT THE PYJAMAS! Ripper K: Let's see the jim-jams! A bunch of heavily armed Humanis come out, accompanied by mages, and guardian spirits. Astronauta Peligroso: Oh look, it's heavily armed condoms coming out the door. At least I won't get pregnant. They also have a tank. Shell: Hi guys. Astronauta Peligroso: Hey there. We need you to punch out this tank. Actually, it's more of an APC. Shell: Oh that's adorable! 'the trolls link pinkies, run forward, and flip it onto its back' Astronauta Peligroso: Do you want to flip it, or me? Ripper K: Together - let's get it airborne. Ocelot: 'and funny things in the news today...' Oracle: I was going to tell them to stop, but after 'I'MA GONNA FLIP IT' I'll let them go ahead. We're going to have some awesome footage for our reporter friend tonight. Astronauta Peligroso: Ripper, we are totally hi-fiving after it leaves our hands. Oracle: Followed by a fist bump. The Humanis heavies flee. Ripper K: YOU SHOULD HAVE WORN BROWN PYJAMAS. The ones still in the compound open fire, and lob grenades, but by then Astronauta and Ripper are already charging forward and joyfully slapping the racists silly. All filmed in glorious 3D. Ripper K: Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourse- Racist Scum: Buh.. but you're hitting me! Ripper K: Stop trying to confuse matters. Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop- Shell: You brought this on yourselves.

DnD - Phandelving Finally Done Still going through the lost mine of Phandelver, trying to find that missing dwarf. The number of undead down here has been troublesome. Lamech: And we'll leave Agent Skully locked in the forge's firebox. The gnome that ran off while our backs were turned stole some dwarven clothes, after he did the same thing to the people we left on guard at the cave mouth. That's evidence that he was another doppleganger. We update them on our progress, which is slow and methodical. After all, we don't want to be surprised by attacks from the rear. Gundrun: Well, that's prudent anyway. Lamech: I'm all about prudence. Don't eat any strange mushrooms unless I know exactly how strange they are. Lamech: There's also an underground sea - if your brother isn't in the main cave, we're simply not equipped for underground sailing. Gundrun: You're telling me my brother may have been sold into slavery to the Drow? Lamech: Yup. Gundrun: Well, that's just lovely. Nice way to break the good news, too. Lamech: What, you'd rather we lie? GM: Which NPC do you want to take back into the cave with you? Lamech: I'd say our portable Healing Potion. Hey, Thorn. We're all more interested in the piles of probable undead to practise proper military spelunking safety. Thorn looks up and yells. Thorn: BATS! Lamech: I didn't even think to check the ceilings - It seems I'm not cut out for dungeoneering. So, is everybody up to date on their rabies vaccinations? GM: *singing* You're going to need theeeeemmm! They're actually Stirges. Obviously we failed our Unnatural History classes as well. GM: You're high enough level you could have stirges as pets. Kavorog: Why??? Lamech: Well it might be a Giant Dire Riding Stirge. Or if it's a Aquatic Giant Dire Stirge it'd be a Sturgeon. Urlon: ಠ_ಠ Fantasy pest control. GM: If it's fifty dollars to remove a dead animal from a trap, you could charge a hundred to remove undead creatures from a trap. Striges dealt with, we press on to the next room, which is completely overgrown with strange fungi. Lamech: I'm more interested in which ones I can sell to fellow aficionados of recreational mycoproteins. And in a room after that there are crunching noises. It's the surviving ghouls, who demonstrate an impressive long-term memory from the day before, and run away. There's also some collapsible boats. Lamech: Huh. Looks like we ARE equipped for some underground sailing. Lamech: Spelunking Regatta... would that be a Splatter? Urlon: Are you TRYING to get yourself thrown overboard? More sealed doors. GM: It's not that bad - you've got a musclebound thug in the party who has Gauntlets of Ogre Strength. Urlon: The idea was to surprise people. GM: Tearing the door off its hinges would surprise them. Lamech: Especially if you then hit them with it. The room contains green fire and a giant floating eyeball with multiple additional eyestalks, which is already looking at us. Urlon: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu- Lamech: Oh **** we're going to die Kavorog: *sob* Beholder: Hello. All: ????? GM: So, is anybody going to stop Elethandiel and Kavorog's charge? Beholder: Visitors! How nice. Is there anything I can do for you? But I warn you this is a restricted area. Lamech: Uh ah blah uh ah BSOD. Urlon: Hey, it's a ball, I wonder how many times I can bounce it off the walls with Thunderwave? Beholder: So you're mine security then? Lamech: Uh... yeah? You could say? We were certainly sent down here to deal with a security issue. Beholder: That's nice. Lamech: We're just looking for a dwarf that got dragged down here. Beholder: I haven't seen him. Lamech: Well. Um. We'll just move on then. If you do see him, tell him he's got some friends up on the surface that are worried about him? Beholder: OK. Urlon: Do you want us to fix the door? Beholder: If you want. I haven't seen the janitorial staff in a while. All: ... Urlon: How long have you been here, exactly? Beholder: I forget. It's been a while. My master told me to guard the room, so I have. We prop the door back into position and retreat well out of earshot - Lamech has figured out it's actually a Spectator, guardian entities summoned to protect an object until dismissed. This one has probably been here for centuries. GM: Deranged spheroid in dungeon. Summoner died hundreds of years ago. Still does its job. GM: You feel a grim foreboding. Kavorog: I hate grim foreboding. Lamech: Could be Grim Fandango. Kavorog: That's worse - I'd look terrible as a skeleton. We sneakily Mend the hinges to the next double doors, so we don't get any nasty surprises while trying to nastily surprise somebody else. We needn't have bothered - the room is empty, and appears to have been a luxurious bedroom fried in a magical battle. Kavorog: *sigh* we go investigate the chest. Lamech: Even though we know it's a trap. Wraith: MY TREASURES ARE MINE ALOOOOOONE! NOT YOURS TO PLUNDER!!!!!!! Kavorog: OK. *turns around and walks back out* Wraith: ???? Apparently the wraith believes this is some kind of trick and attacks anyway. Kavorog: Are wraiths the ones that steal experience levels? GM: You're about to find out. The spirit of the late mage materialises next to our cleric. Wraith: *incoherent hissing* TALK TO SAVE YOUR LIVES, OR JOIN ME IN UNDEEEEEEAAAATH!!!! Lamech: Pardon? Wraith: What??? Lamech: No, seriously, I couldn't understand that first bit. Wraith: GODSDAMMIT, I'M A VENGEFUL SPIRIT, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO COWER AND OBEY NOT ASK ME TO REPEAT MYSELLLLFFFFFFF!!!! GM: You wouldn't have believed an incorporeal spirit... Lamech: Could froth at the mouth? Lamech: Are there any descendants we could inform about your final resting place? Anything we can do to calm your restless spirit? *proceeds to roll 4, 4 times in a row, on Persuasion checks* *sigh* I suppose it's still upset with me over the 'say it, don't spray it' thing. Kavorog actually manages to get a straight answer out of it. Lamech: Well, they both hiss all the time, that's hardly surprising. It wants magical items - particularly the green firey thing next door. But the Spectator keeps attacking the wraith, and any undead it sends in. Lamech: Wait.. you did actually TELL the Spectator you're the same wizard that summoned it? Wraith: ... GM: It gets agitated, because that never actually occurred to it. Wraith: It does not recognise me after my change of state! Lamech: Well, maybe if you had a few witnesses to testify on your behalf? Wraith: DESTROY THE GUARDIAN OR JOIN ME IN DEAAAATTTHHHH!!!! *fails to intimidate* Lamech: Probably all that ectoplasmic spittle. Kavorog: Ew. The wraith sags dejectedly, and opts to kill us all, but Thorn's aura of insufferable righteousness scares it off. We have less than 60 seconds to re-equip to finish the thing off - after all, we don't have time to run back for reinforcements, and it can attack through the floors and walls. Kavorog: You ever play street fighter? Wraith: ??? Kavorog: SHORYUKEN! Kavorog's player leans back in his chair, which shatters, throwing fragments everywhere and nearly precipitating him through the gaming's store's internal wall. Peanut Gallery: Did you at least do a roll? Kavorog's Player: I rolled a Nat 20 and did a Crit. Wraiths are resistant to practically everything, but not, it turns out, to Magic Missiles. Lamech blows the thing away with his first barrage. All: *skid to a halt and look around and at each other, confused* Lamech: ... did we get it or did it just disperse? There's a pipe with platinum filigree in the late wizard's chest. Probably the 'precious' the wraith was going on about. Thorn: We should break it. Urlon: Or not touch it. Lamech: *already stuffing it full with his best weed* What? I need a relaxing smoke after that. We report back to the missing dwarf's brother outside the cave. Lamech: But in lighter news we found some boats. But we have somehow managed to miss the assayer's office in the old mine. Back in we go to find it. And a roomful of animated skeletons. Lamech: Godsdammit. Hey, Gundrun! You remember how I said we'd killed most of the monsters down here? Skeletons smashed, we find the mine's old pay locker. Lamech gets to work. After all, if a brilliant physicist like Richard Feynman can take up safe-cracking because he was bored, a gnome sorcerer can because he's an arsehole. Lamech: They're not thieves tools, honest - the fact that they came with a balaclava and bag labelled 'SWAG' was just part of their novelty value. GM: You can't go across the underground sea yet - your spellcasters need rest. Lamech: We can rest in the boats - the NPCs can paddle. It's not like they've done anything else, apart from let that deep gnome get away. We do indeed find a moaning, near dead dwarf on the far side. Kavorog: You do realise this is a trap right? Judicious work by Lamech Judocus reveals two extremely dead bugbears - the ones that kidnapped the dwarf in the first place. Lamech: Um... Urlon: Er.... Nonetheless we proceed cautiously. Dwarf: Save me! Help me, before it comes back! Lamech: Why is it, that despite the fact that this is an OBVIOUS trap, do we proceed anyway? Thorn: He's afraid of something called a Wealth-eater. Urlon: Rust monster? Lamech: Rust Monsters wouldn't do THAT to the bugbears. Urlon: Good point. The thing that emerges from the wall has 3 legs, tentacles, and pairs of eyes. And a very large mouth on top of its presumed head. We retreat at speed - judging by the name, Lamech grabs fistfuls of silver coins from his beltpouch, and waves them over his head yelling. Urlon: What are you DOING! Lamech: Trying to distract it. *throws them to one side* Thorn:Fall back, it only wants our treasure, not our lives. Lamech: And if Kerak was here this is when he'd grip his axe and yell 'You're not getting either!' Dwarf:Kill it! Kill it! Kill it, before it comes back with more of its kind! They'll breed and ruin the mine! Thorn:You're not helping! Fistfuls of gold appear to be enough to satisfy the monster, which appears intelligent enough to crude sign language. Gundrun is delighted at the recovery of his brother. He's infuriated that we didn't kill the creature. Gundrun:They infest tunnels! They're worse than Horta! Only the deep gnomes can control them! And do you SEE any deep gnomes around here? Kavorog: Actually... Lamech: There WAS one, but you let him get away.

On the recent discovery that a species of early human carefully disposed of their dead in a remote and difficult-to-access cave. Daniel's Player: Well, archeology is a major undertaking. All: ... Me: was that a deliberate pun? Daniel's Player: ...no. Me: Well done. In Black Crusade the heretics have successfully talked their way into the Tricorn Tower, the Inquisitorial fortress on Scintilla. This is a tremendous achievement for them, as was talking one of the resident tech-priests into attaching a large bomb to the tower's plasma reactor. Eniek: We're not blowing anything up, we're just going through the sacred ritual of conversion. GM: Yes, from Matter to Energy. Digna: We're converting the reactor into a poor man's plasma rocket. But before they head to the Archive, and steal the Liber ex Mortis and anything else that catches their eye, they check on the tower's ancient Teleportarium. It will make a useful escape route. The chambers in question are strangely shielded against interference. GM: You don't want somebody's stray Wifi signal scrambling the teleport signal. Daniels: 'It's stuck on producing cats. Why?' Digna's player finally rigged up his own soundboard for Mr Bubbles and Little Sister. It's suitably disturbing. Daniels: Mr Bubbles ate something that disagreed with him. GM: SomeONE who disagreed with him. There's a delay at the Teleportarium while the adept calls his superior. Happily, the heretics allowed for such delays when they set the timer on the meltabomb. Daniels: We calculated an embuggerance factor of 500% None the less, Daniels pretends irritation at the delay, while Digna and Eniek talk to the adept, in order to find out any planned teleport departures and arrivals over the next few days. Daniels: Be reminded we are now running at 5% inefficiency. Eniek: THANK you. GM: Do you really want to embarrass Eniek by claiming your group is already inefficient? Daniels: Ah, my phrasing was bad - you are CAUSING us an inefficiency of 5%. Digna: As long as my authority is holding we may as well use it. All of it. Apparently the Teleportarium has been ordered prepared for a combat insertion - for something, or at least 11 things - large and heavy. The target is a ship in orbit around Scintilla. Eniek: ...well.. we don't need to recalibrate the settings anymore. It's targeting our ship, isn't it? GM: Yup > Despite this proof that the Inquisition is already on to them, they continue with the plan - and even convince the Master of Teleportation to adjust the target inside the Obsidian Resolve, from the Gellar Field generators to the Resolution Arena. Digna points out that there's more open space there. She then sends of an encrypted message to the ship, warning them to set up a heavily-armed reception committee. Then off to the Archives, which are even more heavily armoured than the Teleportarium and reactor levels. It's richly adorned with the symbols of the Ordo Hereticus, who hunt within the Imperium, the Ordo Xenos, who protect it from aliens, and the Ordo Malleus, who hunt down psykers and daemons, and other threats from the Warp. There's lots of popular Imperial sayings like "Blessed is the mind too small for doubt", and "Knowledge is a curse - seek it not". There's a trio of heavily cybered librarians in the chambers before the Archive's giant blast doors too. The don't react well to Digna walking right past them to consult the index console. Librarians: Identify Yourself! State Your Purpose! IDENTIFY! IDENTIFY! GM: Picture a trio of Librarian Daleks. Digna: 'YOU WILL CONFORM TO THE DEWEY DECIMAL SYSTEM!' Digna turns their attention to Eniek, who has something to say, at about 40,000 decibels. Digna: Thank you for this discourse. Eniek: Don't make me repeat myself. Eniek: Shit, I just remembered - you're supposed to be quiet in a library. Passing Cherub: Shush. GM: There's books that are merely banned as well. You might find a complete run of 'PlayEldar' Getting past the blast doors proves more difficult than expected - it requires synchronous quantum unlocking from the three pulped librarians, each of whom represented one of the Ordos. Digna gets to work kit-bashing some of her Adsecularii, wiring up their brains to the neural cybernetics fished from the three piles of chunky salsa. Digna: Right, you three. When I say go, I want you to look down at the cards in front of you and concentrate on the image. 'ok, it's a little ducky... it's a doggy... OH MY GOD ARGHHHHHH!!!' Fucking Malleus. The doors open - and the ten Space Marines and Dreadnaught waiting behind the door attack. They have been planning this for a week, because not only the heretics have precogs. Also, Skerrit spent most of a day in full view of the Tricorn Tower, then climbed down the outside of his building. And word got back to the Inquisition that Digna had been asking questions about them. Sadly, even the might and heavy weapons of the Deathwatch prove insufficient to subdue tech-priests who have been further enhanced by the Warp. Although Eniek is briefly inconvenienced by the assault cannon rounds that pulp his viscera. And Eniek's sonic weaponry is horrendously lethal, even to Space Marines in armour. Deathwatch: Sonic Cannon wasn't in the precog briefing. Oh fuck! Eniek: I forgot to ask - which one is the Ultramarine? I mean, which one is in charge? Effectively the same question. Skerrit fucks up again, his mind bullets wrenching apart reality and inflicting internal injuries on everybody nearby, including Digna's minion Little Sister. Mr Bubbles goes berserk, but fortunately for Skerrit has to drag himself across the floor after the psyker. Digna's horde of minions eventually catch up with their mistress, who has been fighting two space marines in hand-to-hand. Unluckily for the marines even power weapons can barely injure her mostly mechanical body. The marine isn't so lucky, when dozens of the Adsecularii pile in and tear him apart. Digna: Ripped apart by the fanatical horde of Adsecularii. "WE WILL SAVE YOU, MISTRESS!!!!" GM: It's like being torn apart by bunnies. Little Sister gets to work harvesting the gene-seed and progenoid glands of the dead marines, while Eniek subdues the Space Marine psyker they managed to take alive. Little Sister's voice and glee is still something to raise the hackles. Little Sister: *giggles* can we keep it? Daniels: This is why I have to work so hard at morale on the ship. Digna patches up Mr Bubbles, while the others race through the archives grabbing the Liber ex Mortis (in its own hexagrammically warded safe, festooned with 'Threat Level : Biologis Extremis' warnings) and anything else that looks interesting, such as Inquisition star charts to that cluster where Digna hopes to find the Silica Anima. They everybody legs it back to the Teleportarium, sending the horde of Adsecularii the long way around as a distraction. They don't even bother trying to hide their guilt from the Master of Teleportation. Digna: I apologise for putting you in this position, Master Tech-priest, but I must insist you send us to the prearranged destination. Or I will be forced to damage that which is irreplaceable. This is the ONLY threat that could have moved the M-o-T - the priesthood of Mars revere technology, and ancient tech like teleportariums even more so. M-o-T: +++YOU MONSTER+++ The enraged tech-priest complies, and the party have escaped Scintilla, and rush to get the engines started before the planet can rouse their defence fleet. It looks like the Obsidian Resolve will have to flee Imperial Space entirely, before the wrath of the Inquisition and the Adeptus Mechanicus can catch up with them...

Weldun: I've decided that 'Acid Splash, Acid Splash, Acid Splash is wizard equivalent of tea-bagging. Best without context - Weldun: Why is it so hard to chase Derpy with the nipple? Context - his laptop has a Derpy Hooves screensaver, and a dodgy rubber cursor control. Weldun: You're talking to a person who figured how to run an aircraft carrier on the daily calorific requirements of a hamster. In RIFTS. Poe's Player: I'm sorry, but the cleverness of the first part is negated by the stupidity of that last bit. Weldun: With a first-level character. Poe's Player: OK, I take that back, that IS impressive. Two sessions of Shadowrun - trips to New York, and Salish-Sidhe GM: Anyone want to recap? Oracle: BANANA! Ocelot: Everyone knew this would end badly, and then it went bad. Ripper K: Because we're all very attractive people we got hired to add ambience to an art event at the Guggenheim. Oracle: This is a hell of a way for him to tell us he's been cheating on us. Apparently he has a whole other team of attractive people. The entire Guggenheim Collection has come to life and is terrorising the patrons. Everybody: BANANA! BANANA! Oracle: See? Aren't you glad I set up that safeword? As far Poe can determine, a horrendously powerful spirit is casting magic right through the metaplane. But it probably has a physical link here somewhere. Oracle: Except the Guggenheim is significant enough to have an actual astral presence. Ripper K: Oh. That's not good, is it? Poe: Not really. It's the same reason the Statue of Liberty could theoretically walk down the street. Oracle: We agreed to never speak of that again. Patron: THAT PAINTING IS WORTH 6 TRILLION NUYEN!!!! Shell: *cuts it in half* Now you've got two of them! No need to thank me. One of the art mages starts to cackle. Mage: I have a plan so crazy it might just work! Patron: Just get us out of here! Name your price! Ripper K: THANK you. Shell: Oh yes! Patron: Oh no. Shell tears the security shutters out of their track. Shell: Door's open! Please trample me in an orderly fashion. He also grabs a passing curator. Shell: Hi there! I notice you're having a little paranormal problem. How much is the museum willing to pay us to solve it? The Mage wants to drug us all up and send us into the metaplanes. He also confesses that he and his team thought they had the art spirit under control. Poe: Oracle, did you get that confession on tape? Oracle: I'm getting it ALL on tape. Oracle: I notice that all the art is moving... but none of it is being destroyed. This is Mr Dada were talking about - could a spirit of art really bring itself to destroy art? Shell: Wait... Ripper K: There was that painting that Shell cut in half... Shell: So.. the only damage to the art is being done by a jarhead running around waving a sword? Ripper K: Mr. Dada is going to LOVE you. Oracle: Everybody heard that mage say he'd pay us if we stop Mr. Dada, right? Ripper K: Yup. Oracle: Good. Because I'm going to tell Mr. Dada that if he stops it, we'll come back and put a bullet through that mage's head. You know, the mage that bound him and knows his True Name. There's also the problem that Shell's cybernetic body and heavily chipped psychology does not react predictably with the metaplanes. His brain is six years old, for one thing. But as it turns out, his astral form is indistinguishable from his real one. Shell: I'm disappointed - everybody else gets to see 'their ideal form' and I'm still stuck in this tin can. Ocelot: I'm not sure if this a good thing or a bad one. The Doorkeeper to the metaplanes appears in a form and voice personalised for each shadowrunner. Oracle's player: I'm just glad he isn't appearing as a wizened anthropomorphic rabbit with a scythe and answering to Jack. Ripper's player and GM: *scream and cringe* Oracle's player: *smugly* Bullseye. The threshold has a bunch of shepherds standing around a tomb engraved "Et in Arcadia, ego". Funnily enough, the scene is from a painting. Indeed, several paintings. Shell notices one of the shepherds is tracing his own shadow, instead of the words, and does the same. Doorkeeper: Congratulations! You have passed the first test! Shell: Yay! Do I get a prize? Doorkeeper: You get to go on to the next test. Shell: Booo. Ripper K: Somehow I don't see this game show getting past the first episode. We all find ourselves standing on a deserted beach, with melting clocks draped over the trees, and facing constructs comprised of time and our most exaggerated characteristics. Since we'll be facing our spirit trials alone, most of the ensuing commentary took place in the Astral waiting afterwards, why we waited for everybody to catch up. Ripper K: *cackles* Oracle: Hands up who's glad they can't see Ripper's opponent right now. GM: I'll just assume Ripper's astral combat is completely censored, shall I? Oracle is in real trouble - the reason he lurks behind the scenes, and doesn't connect to other people, is because he doesn't connect to himself. So his grossly male opponent has a huge advantage, and is as arrogant as Khan Noonian Singh. The spiritform trying to get under Shell's skin isn't doing as well. Spirit-Shell: *incites Homicidal Rage* Wait... I'm the only one here. F**k. Ocelot's spirit-opponent is unlucky. So unlucky it's dead. An empty-eyed doppleganger of Ocelot that hits her hard right in the uncanny valley. Poe: Well, I'm glad we all have good therapists on speed-dial. Oracle: Dude, I'm ALWAYS in therapy. Ripper's opponent has none of the genuine self-confidence, or morals, of the original. That orca-form changeling is a complete monster of appetite, and completely amoral. The kind of shadowrunner that could happily cut somebody in half. Shell: It's OK, not everybody is cut out for shadowrunning work. Ripper rapidly finds himself in big trouble - when HE tries to subdue somebody he goes out of his way to not cripple or kill them. The alt-Ripper has no such compunctions. That they're in unarmed combat, and the spiritform has a touch attack Essence Drain, is worse. Shell: Two killer whales are wrestling on the beach. Ripper K: Oiled up, of course. Roll us back into the water! Ripper K: Ok, since I'm fighting for my life here I'm going to have to put moral compunctions aside, and go straight for his 'most prominent characteristic'. Oracle: OK, I was about to complain that the GM was implying docking... Ripper K: *grab, grab, Twist* Spirit-Ripper: *screams and poofs* Shell: You DO have it in you to to rip somebody in half! I'm so proud. Streetrat's alter ego is an ordinary, law-abiding citizen, understandably terrified by his shadowrunning version. Streetrat: Hey man. No need to shoot me - let's make a deal. This works, and the Spirit-Streetrat bargains away its own existence. Shell: You know, I thought I was going to have the most trouble here, but just look at easy this was. Hi guys, how'd it go for you? Oracle: Well, you are pretty confident in your own self-image. Ripper K: You know, it can't be psychologically healthy when a solipsistic universe proves you're just awesome. Shell: I thought my alter would be some innocent child, a sign of what I might have been, and easy to cut in half, but instead it was just a cybernetic monster. And I'm already a cybernetic monster. Ripper K: You know, maybe that WAS the real you, and you're the spiritform? Shell: That's a good question! So ask yourself this - which of us would you rather have around? And while we're talking philosophical issues, wanna tell me why you were busy jacking yourself off? Poe is faced by a giant carrion-bird version of himself, and blasts it in the face with a wildly overpowered spell. Poe: It inflates like a giant balloon.. Ocelot: And blows out its own arse. GM: It's still alive. Poe: That's surprising. Ocelot: It regrets still being alive... Spirit-Poe: If I'm going out, I'm taking you with me! *casts the same spell on Poe* Spirit-Oracle: Look at you, you even work for the CIA - the Central Irrelevance Agency. I'll put you out of your misery - I'm taking over from here. *conjures a Great Big Gun and prepares to shoot Oracle in the head* Oracle: Reality Check - what temperature does it take to melt watches and how long have you been here? GM: You're rolling to disbelieve??? *headesk* The beach poofs and you find yourself in The Dentist's Waiting Room. Shell: What took you so long. Ocelot: Shell got here first. Poe: This isn't a competition! Shell: Sure it is, when you're first. Doorkeeper: The Dweller will see you now. The next realm is a 1930s Italian Futurist painting. GM: Imagine William Gibson trying to describe the internet to an audience 50 years before the technology existed. Doorkeeper: Go, find the words that lead to tomorrow. Oracle: OK. I go buy a newspaper. Oracle: I use my Reality Filter again. Ripper K: 'I reject your reality -' Oracle: '- and substitute my own.' Ripper K: But is this kind of thing that Mr. Dada would appreciate? Shouldn't we at least try to play along? Ocelot: Dada has absolutely no power here. Ripper K: Good point - this is an Italian Futurist painting. Oracle: F**k, I've just reinforced Shell's delusions again. Doorkeeper: Well, that was new. I appreciate new ideas - you may pass. The next level of the metaplane is a young woman in a field, gazing up at a farmhouse. . Shell: I know that arse. Ripper K: She's paralysed with polio - that's as far as she ever GOT from the farmhouse. Shell: Well, that's made this significantly more depressing. Shell tries to pick Christina up and carry her, and goes right through her. Ripper K: I'll try and pick her up - art is supposed to invoke an emotional response, and it's not like YOU have any empathy. GM: ... the module doesn't cover this... OK, you pick her up. Shell: BULLSHIT! Ocelot: Maybe the spirit of Art is pleased to see somebody actually having an emotional reaction to art? Shell: *muttering* Spirit quest bullshit gnashing, frashing. Mr Dada is indeed waiting in the farmhouse. Streetrat: So, what's been happening in the place with no meaning? Mr Dada: How did YOU get here? Poe: We walked. Streetrat: Spirit quests aside, what is happening? Mr Dada: A Happening. My Happening. Who do you think I am, exactly? Streetrat: We were given a name for you - Mr. Dada. Mr Dada: Ah, the 20s. Ocelot: ...2020s? Oracle: 1920s. Mr Dada: I want to to be seen, to be recognised. Poe: You do realise you were given an invitation to appear at the Guggenheim? Mr Dada: Oh, is that what that was? Ocelot: Yes, and now you've scared off your audience. Mr Dada: I feel so embarrassed. Poe: Well, we're inviting you again. But we'd appreciate if you fix any of the artworks first. Mr Dada: And I'll have to accept. Oracle: *looking completely horrified* You just gave a major Spirit a free invite into reality. Shell: Hey Christina, I bet you're sorry you came back to the house now. GM: She's watching the television. Ripper K: What television? Wrong period. Oracle: There's a television here now - because when somebody said the 20s, he thought they meant the 2020s. We poof back to reality, where a Force 15 Free Spirit is now showing off for the cameras. Shell is glad he can touch things again. Shell: High five bro! Oracle: ..... Shell: Don't leave me hanging, bro! Oracle: *high five* Shell: Yay, I'm not a shadow any more. Oracle: You do this sort of this willingly??? Poe: It's usually worse than that. That was Happy Fun Candyland. Ripper K: BULLSHIT Oracle: I'm never taking a job like this again. Too much exposure - I'm going back in the shadows where we belong. Oracle: And the leftover 30 grand goes to getting out out New York. 'Oh, hello officer, we'd like to make a donation to the Policeman's Ball' Oracle: OK, I need to stage a public ritual where I dig up the bones of Mother Teresa. And shit on them. Ripper K: What??? Ocelot: He's getting too much public awareness to be comfortable. So he needs some notoriety to burn it. GM: Oh right, movie offers - Ripper's Public Awareness goes up by 2. Ripper K: Hmm. My Notoriety is still higher than my Public Awareness. I wonder why? Oh, right - the OTHER movies. Shell: OK, conversation time. That means this conversation does not leave this van. Switch off your phones. Oracle: Um. OK. Give me a moment. Shell: Right, this is imp- Oracle: Hold on. Shell: What? Oracle: I'm still switching off phones. Actually, I better leave. I AM a recording device. Oracle: Anyway, this is important. It's about Ocelot. Ocelot, we saw your real face in the Astral. Ocelot: Oh. F**k. Ocelot's day job is host of a popular daytime cooking show. She just slathers on the nanofoam disguise for the shadowrunning jobs. Ripper K: Well, I have an advantage there. If people recognise me, it's not because they recognise my face. Shell: Right, let's drive this thing back to Seattle. 'I brake for Orcs'. Ripper K: I brake for paracritters. Streetrat: I break paracritters. On recent events in Australian politics, and the way recently ousted PM Tony Abbott actually managed to make previous conservative leaders look good. Streetrat's player: Most of Howard's decisions were actually good ones. Ocelot's Player: To be accurate, the caterpillars controlling his mind made good decisions. The conversation also wandered across vampire mythology, such as the ones that arise from infants strangled by their own umbilical cord. You don't know they're undead. And they can only be killed by a picket from the fence around the home where they were born. GM: Can we start the game now? Ripper K's player: Hey, we're enjoying this conversation. And you should be using this for ideas. For example, does the HMHV Virus cross the placental barrier? Oracle's Player: Yes. Ripper K: There you go then - vampire fetuses. GM: OK, fine, you'll be fighting vampire politicians. The PCs have been busy since New York - Ripper has been launching a film career. GM: You haven't even started filming yet! Ripper K: Ah - read-throughs. Poe: He has photographic memory! Ripper K: And Enthralling Performance Ripper K: Do I get to be the villain? With cool armour? Ocelot: You'll probably be the lieutenant they fight a few times before the end, but ends up being stupidly popular with the fans. Oracle: The boards are going insane 'Live Action Street Sharks confirmed! They've already got a Moby Lick' Oracle gets a call - one of his contacts is out in the wild and needs a pick up. He runs a Wildlife Filter on the audio, and narrows down her location within minutes - the northern end of Salish-Sidhe. Fiona Craig: How the hell did you know that? This is supposed to be an anonymised network! Oracle: You forgot who you're talking to, didn't you? Oh, and it sounds like you have one of the Awakened Mountain Lion species in the area, you might want to be careful. Fiona wants pick-up in 3 hours. Ocelot: Are you sure you want to wait that long? That's a long time to spend in that wilderness. Oracle: I can lend a friend one of my drones, he can nip over the border, and we can get to you inside the hour. Ripper K: And Streetrat has dual citizenship. Oracle: Every right to be there ... Sometimes my KCAW! drones scares me. GM: *headdesk* Right. Moving on the next adventure. Ripper K OoC: Nah. Now we get to see how the extraction goes wrong. First up - a virtual meeting with the Johnson. The virtual band is playing a classic Flim concert from the 2020s. Oracle: Dude, look, just put on some Pentatonics. Everybody shows off their new Matrix Avatars. Ripper K: Korosensei from Assassination Classroom. Oracle: .... Ripper K: Alien tentacle monster. But an excellent teacher. The Johnson's original driver pulled out when he thought Salish-Sidhe law enforcement recognised him. She needs us to get her and artifact out of the country. The item needs to be accompanied at all times. Oracle: That's fine - we have a service called KCAW! You might have seen it on the news a month ago. Oracle: What the hell is a Celtic artefact doing in Salish-Sidhe? Ocelot: Same thing as a polar bear in Australia. It's lost. GM: She's only got 5000 nuyen on her. Ripper K: She's good for it. Or the Draco Foundation are. Poe: And the KCAW service is the cheapest we offer. Ocelot: Risking a 14,000 drone is much preferable to risking any of us. Unless something goes wrong, and she isn't there when the drone arrives. Ripper K: That IS the obvious way this will go wrong. Ripper K: Two vans and my bike then? Streetrat: That works. Oracle: I'm working on a way to deploy bikes at speed - a drone deployment rack, vehicle mounted. Ripper K: How big is your van? Oracle: I'll be using a big rig for this. I want to go full anime on this. Ocelot: That would be a awesome way to kidnap people. Oracle: Yup - an even bigger rack that can lift other cars off the road XD Most of the party actually have legitimate SIN records, and can get tourist visas. Oracle: Who's coming in my van? Shell: *hands up* Oracle: Dammit. You're going to hear my real name. If you EVER reference it I will find a way to make you suffer. Oracle: Shell, I hope you trust me enough one day to modify your systems. Although I can see why you don't yet - this is the party's resident Mad Scientist talking. Ripper K: Says the person who wants to build automated motorbike deployment racks for an anime big rig. Oracle: That's different, that's PRACTICAL. Oracle and Streetrat spend most of the trip discussing ways to kill Shell. He seems fine with this. Streetrat also wants to know what Oracle is working on that requires the rest of us getting military-grade nano-defenses. Streetrat: Your Avatar is looking a bit too DEUS-like for my liking. Oracle: I'm just turning social engineering into a hardware issue. Oracle: Wait, you're got that stupid-arse monocycle? I take it back, you're never getting deployed from my big rig. Ripper K: Well, I like it. Oracle: And it is the basis for my Death-sphere. Streetrat: OK, that's it, you can't deny it anymore - you're a Evil Overlord. Poe: The problem with this country is that you can't buy a volcano lair - they're all owned by evil nutters, dragons, or mage groups. Poe: How much does it cost to make a manufacturing facility in Seattle? Oracle: Hundred thousand nuyen, if you have the space. Which I have. Poe: *facepalm* This after his says he's building Roboscorpions and Death-spheres. Ripper K: I expect you'll have an expert system that knows the Evil Overlord list, and will remind you when you go astray. Ocelot: And the personality of a five year old. Oracle: I already do. Ripper K: Of course you do. Oracle: I'm not kidding, it's already one of my software agents. Oracle: I'm not an Evil Genius, I'm just a moderately unpleasant one. The safehouse is suspiciously quiet - and the satellite uplink is missing. We deploy tactically. Oracle: *giggles* It's dangerous to go alone - take this *hands Shell a Remington Roomsweeper, with Shocklock Rounds* There are indeed snipers. Invisible snipers. Although the terrain has forced them to deploy far too close to the safehouse to avoid our revenge. Not that we can tell if we're hitting them with grenades, etc, until Poe spots the magical aura of their Air Elementals, and the people they're Concealing. Ocelot OoC: The way the rules work it's harder to spot a team of the enemy than it is to spot one. Poe: They're not freaking zebras. Despite the various kinds of concealment, the shadowrunners manages to take down three. And then Poe banishes one of the air elementals. GM: That reveals two live people and a corpse. Shell: I disagree *raising rifle* You revealed three corpses. We do manage to take one of them alive, and while the medical evac drone is patching him up for interrogation, we search the safehouse. There's no sign of Fiona, but no evidence she was abducted either. Oracle DOES find an AR tag link for Oracle's commlink, and an attached video file saying the Fiona knew she was being followed, and moved on to another safehouse. THIS time we send KCAW (from Seattle) and Streetrat's fighter drone (from the rack on his van's roof) ahead to actually check what's there. We wonder what Salish-Sidhe air traffic control is like. Poe orders the Air Elemental to locate it's controlling mage, every ten seconds. Ocelot: Your PREVIOUS controlling mage. Or it's just going to say 'You're Here. You're Here. You're Here.' The next safehouse is in the nearest small town - Streetrat's drone screaming in a roof level probably would attract some attention. Nut: It's wern of Obama's Sekrit Muslim Drones! It's looking at mah wife! Shoot that dang thing down! The sheriff's SUV pulls us over when we come into town. He's a human built like an Orc. We bluff him with the prepared story that we're in Salish-Sidhe to track Canadian Geese. Streetrat: He's probably suspicious because I'm a Cascade orc and we do a lot of smuggling. Oracle: A lot? THE smuggling T-bird is made by the Cascade Orcs! Streetrat: I'm driving a nondescript van. Ripper K: That's even more suspicious. The Sheriff launches his own drone to keep an eye on us. Streetrat wants to deploy a Steel Lynx drone. Shell's Player: I'm not going to stop another player doing something stupid, but I reserve the right to facepalm afterwards. Fortunately Oracle notices the military drone powering up and shouts Streetrat down - the locals will CERTAINLY notice a Steel Lynx on their quiet streets. Fiona gets out to the van without being shot by anybody. Poe promptly disguises himself as her, and vice versa. GM: She finds this a bit weird. Shell: I find this a bit weird. Ocelot: There WAS a six-man sniper team at the other safehouse. The artifact is a falcata - a sickle-edged Iberian sword. If it's an elf artifact, we had better hope the Sidhe don't know it's here, or that we have it, or we'll never live to retire. Just as well we have KCAW to smuggle her back across the border. Oracle: Just as well KCAW can sedate the people it carries. Fiona: I should be nervous that we're crossing a heavily defended border. At zero feet. In heavy forest. GM: You probably have a few people in mind you can sell it to. Ripper K: Oh? Fiona was freelancing? We attempt a deal with the Draco Foundation, where Ripper has to talk to two people from the previous campaign - Greenlight and Inkubus. Greenlight: I'm not put off by the fact you're a changeling, I'm put off by the fact you're a deviant porn star. Inkubus's player: I keep picturing myself wandering in and out of Nadja's office, helping myself to the booze, lounging about on the lounge, and flirting with Nadja while the Head of Security glares at me. Not that I'd ever actually sleep with the boss of the Foundation - it's just funny messing with the Head of Security. Inkubus: Wait... Cetaceans Gone Wild? Ripper K: 2 to 4, yes Inkubus: It doesn't really go all... does it? Ripper K: Yes, prehensile. Oracle: No! NO! Data-search OFF! DO NOT LOOK THAT UP. Ripper K leaves the Draco Foundation building to discover that Shell has disappeared. SOMETHING about meeting Greenlight severely wigged him out, although his chemically controlled emotions let him keep his composure until he could get out of the building. Inkubus gets his first close look at the falcata at the handover, and discovers just in time that the sword is inhabited by a force 12 free spirit. He recoils, and politely asks it a few questions - after all, getting a spirit's true name by assensing is rude and probably lethal. The spirit is pleased with this courtesy, and manifests as an ancient Tir elf. It's happy to attune the sword to any elf that's completely sound in mind and body. Inkubus: ... I think I qualify! And that challenges a leader of Tir na nOg, or Tir Tangaire to a leadership duel and wins. Inkubus: I hope she chooses grappling - have you seen pictures Brahne Dei? She's gorgeous! Inkubus: But there is something that disqualifies me - I'm already taken. By Titania. Spirit: Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, my lord - I had no idea you were the Consort. Ocelot: Tir na nOg would be a good name for a gay bar. Poe: It's where all the fairies are. Greenlight OoC: To be sure, to be sure. Ocelot's player: That's the McGinty Irish accent, which is terrifying. Poe: They serve their Guinness with little paper umbrellas. Inkubus: It's a pity Nadja doesn't qualify - her versus Brahne Dei would make a mint on Pay Per View.

Lamech: Well, at least we know why those undead ganged up on Elethandiel. Urlon: ? Lamech: Ghouls just want to have fun. We decide to check one more room before retreating to the surface to recharge our spells and rest. Lamech: I am sure that 'Let's take a look' have been the Famous Last Words of somebody The room has at least three different groups in it. And what appears to be a ritual to desecrate a chapel to a Dwarven god. Lamech: Remember what I said about 'Famous Last Words'? On top of the bugbears and giant spiders, there's a drow male with a big-ass staff. GM: Suddenly a figure appears! Lamech: Sudden figures are never good. The drow gets a horrible shock in the form of an arrow through the lungs, and uses a Vampiric Touch spell to suck out half of Urlon's innards. Lamech is doing really, really badly in this fight - not only is he out of spells but his crossbow attacks don't hit a damn thing, and the bolts whistle off into the far ends of the room. Lamech: I guess I really am attacking the darkness. But the Dwarf Kerak demonstrates a talent for medical diagnosis, determines that the drow is in urgent need of brain surgery, and performs an emergency hemispherectomy. With an axe. The drow really should have avoided coming into melee. Lamech: If he'd been smart he'd have drained the hostage and got away while we were busy with the hobgoblins and spiders. That's what I'd do. If I wasn't Neutral Good, anyway. Lamech gets nibbled on by a giant spider in passing. Lamech: Given it tried to run away when it was outnumbered, that spider is probably the smartest thing - PC or NPC - that we've run into in this campaign so far. The hostage being prepped for sacrifice is a Deep Gnome, not the dwarf we're looking for. Lamech: I don't suppose you were adopted into a Dwarf family, were you? Lamech: I'm guessing this Electrum ale mug will be your share of the treasure, Kerak. Kerak: I kind of wanted the Spider Staff, but that would be more useful for you, wouldn't it? Lamech: Dual-wielding staffs - Defence! Spiders! Defence! Spiders! AHahaHAhaHA!!!!!! We try to figure out where the missing dwarf is by questioning the Deep Gnome. Unfortunately none of us know Undercommon. Lamech: Time for Charades then. Dwarf... Beard! Short! Quaffing Beer! GM: The next room is pretty impressive - you could make a nice little cottage here. Lamech: As long as it's a defensible cottage. What's the Neighbourhood Watch like? GM: Undead. Kavorog: Dibs on the bed. Lamech: Now Kav, that's not very fair - shouldn't we try and fit as many people on there as possible? We could only fit one lizardborn on it, whereas the dwarf and I- GM: So everybody is in Room 20? Kavorog: Yes. Arguing about sleeping arrangements. The deep gnome has disappeared while our backs were turned. Lamech: I'm betting the deep gnome was the real Black Spider. Kerak: The drow had a black spider staff - it was probably him. Lamech: The gnome lied about what was in the next room and legged it the moment we were busy elsewhere. Kerak: Well, I would. GM: You did take King Gurnt alive. Kavorog: True. That's the kind of prisoner you keep the car batteries for. Lamech: Eh. Why use car batteries when you have cheese graters? GM: Let me describe the cavern. Lamech: *singing* In a cavern, in a canyon, they were digging, for a miiiine. Lamech: Well, lead the way Clementine. That underground stream we found earlier careens down a chasm - the noise of crashing surf is louder than ever. Urlon: How deep is the water? Lamech: Waist deep for a human, I should think. Urlon: And you're short. Lamech: I'll just ride on the Dragonborn's shoulder then. There's an ancient corpse buried at the bottom of the chasm - probably killed when the mine was originally overrun. It still has Gauntlets of Ogre Strength. Kavorog: Gimme a d2. Urlon: What? Kavorog: We'll flip a coin for them. Kavorog: I put Lamech on my shoulders. GM: So you Equip the gnome. Urlon: We can pile everything we have on him and it won't slow him down. Kavorog: Oh god, I'm becoming Nodwick. There is a strange underground bay down here, with surf bashing against the rocks. A bit worrisome, given the implication that there's an even larger underground sea, with its own weather and no doubt crawling with monsters, out there in the darkness. There's also a sluice running down from the other levels, probably from that forge room with the floating skull. Urlon and Elethandiel climb up to check, and it's just as well that the surf is so noisy, because he falls back down. And the skull was waiting for them anyway. Kerak: At least it didn't attack us. Lamech: Or consult the penguin puppet floating next to it. 'What's that Mr Flibble? Fry them with my Hex Vision?' Kerak: Mr Flibble is very angry. Urlon: Could be human skull, could be dwarf. Could be elf, too. Probably elf or human - how many dwarven mages do you know? Lamech: Might still be dwarf - does it have a flaming green beard? Skull: YOU SHALL NOT PASS! THIS FORGE IS SACRED! AHAHAHAHAHA! Lamech: Sounds like it was set to protect the forge and went insane after centuries of solitude. Kerak: Worn down its Sanity Chip. Urlon: Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Duck! GM: You'll be pleased to know there are no ducks down here. Lamech: Might be Giant Albino Penguins - we've all heard about these underground oceans.... Lamech's Player: Here, use this token for me - it's the only one that actually looks like he's happy to be there. Thorn scrambles up the sluice and Blesses the idiot PCs who triggered this mass attack by zombies and floating magic skull. GM: Blessed are the stupid, for they are damage masters and haveth not the brains. Lamech attempts to blow the yelling skully thing apart with a barrage of Magic Missiles. Unfortunately, the Yelley Skully has Shield. It also has Fireball. GM: At least it manages to kill half its own zombies. Kavorog: Wait - since we didn't kill them we don't get the XP. Kerak: Fair breaks the heart. Kavorog: I still have a free action - FLEE FOR YOUR LIFE, FOUL DEMON! Unlife. Undead. Whatever. Kerak: F**k you, evil skull from beyond the grave! Lamech is on fire. Thorn throws himself on the gnome to try and smother the flames. Kerak: Hopefully just the flames, and not the gnome. Lamech: He wouldn't be the first. The flames are a Wild Magic effect - and they're actually doing Cold Damage. Thorn: What in the nine hells have you done??? Lamech: *shrugs, still on fire* Buggered if I know. Mobbed by angry PCs, the Yelley Skully retreats into the machinery of the forge, where we we can't get at it. We've still got a bunch of zombies to deal with, unfortunately. But after they're dealt with the skull is still hiding in the forge. Kavorog sticks his head in to see what it's doing, but gets pulled back out, and the grill shut. GM: It can't get out - and it's quite happy with that. Lamech: *sings* It's only a skull in a grill-ded cage...

I'm guessing that's a typo, and should be pea gravel? clever puns there

D&D : More Loose Ends Lamech attunes a certain looted Staff of Defence Lamech: I just threaten it until it agrees to co-operate. One last loose end to tie up - go to the actual Lost Mine of Phandelver known as Wave Echo Cave, and locate our dwarf employer's brothers. That, and find out who the Black Spider is. Some rogue dark elf seems likely. Lamech: They were torturing you for the location of the cave, right? And you never told them? And they never STOPPED torturing you. So they still don't know where it is - what's the rush? GM: The fact that he sent his brothers to the cave, and haven't been heard from since, is a bad sign. Lamech: Good point. Plus we'll be getting some mithril gear out of it, on top of 10% interest in the lost mine. Of course the wandering undead archers wandering about are a bad sign too. Especially if they were intelligent enough to run away when they were attacked. We argue over whether the dwarfs have a claim to the mine, under prior ownership, or whether the descendants of the orcs that trashed it and the village of Phandalin generations ago have a better claim. GM: What a pity you have to run off and deal with an elemental apocalypse, instead of staying here to argue the legal intricacies of ownership of the Lost Mine. The cave does indeed boom like heavy surf. Which is odd, given how far we are from the sea. We find the dwarf's campsite, and a dwarf who has been dead for at least a week. It's one of the missing brothers, after we get his boots identified. Lamech: I wonder why he hasn't got up and started walking around. Subsidence has also collapsed the original entrance to the mine, and opened up this cavern. Kavorog: I drop a rock down the chasm. GM: You really want to alert everything down there? Kavorog: It's just a rock. Lamech: If you want to alert everything you need to drop a bucket. And then someone calls you a fool of a Took. Most of the first chambers are abandoned minefaces, but in one cavern there's a pool, and freshly harvested mussel shells. SOMETHING is alive down here. And it's unlikely to be anything as cute as a sea otter. GM: It'd have to a giant sea otter, or a pygmy sea otter. There aren't any normal sized creatures in dungeons. A hour dragging the pool turns up human remains. GM: Not an undead skeleton, or an Aboleth skeleton, or a giant dire sea otter skeleton. It's still wearing platinum rings and carrying a wand, too. It's a Wand of Magic Missiles. Lamech: Let's just call it the Boomstick. The booming noise drowns out conversation, and clanking around. Handy, that. Lamech: Of course, it drowns out THEIR noise too. GM: At least you're not the Famous Five. Or it would be secret submarines, blah blah, missing atomic scientists, blah blah Lamech: And lashings of ginger beer. Urlon: I put my ear to the door. Kavorog: Have fun with the door weevils. There's bugbears or hobgoblins on the other side, complaining they haven't been fed. Kavorog: How many? Lamech: At least two. Unless... what are those giants with two heads? Urlon: *in Goblin* Oi! I've got your food - come out and get it! Lamech waits until they unbarricade the door. The hobgoblins are clearly suspicious, since we here them arm up and prepare to retaliate if surprised, as they open the door. This does them no good, since the door and whoever is behind it goes away with a Shatter spell, backed up by the dragonborn's electric loogies.Thereafter, apparently annoyed at our methodical and cautious exploration, Elethandiel fails a common sense check, wanders off by himself, crosses a roomful of corpses, and gets jumped by a pack of ghouls. Worse, the next room has a flying skull burning with green fire. And what we strongly suspect are zombies. Of course, the rest of us aren't stupid enough to just stroll in. Instead, we turn around and go back the other way. It's not like the missing dwarf is going to be in that room anyway.

The GM, in an effort to ramp out just what a hypocritical POS the target of this week's run was, and inadvertently aided by some very unflattering character art, managed to make this session rather transphobic. We took him to task over this and he promised not to do it again. Ripper K: So, do we know if Oracle is alive or not? Shell: Hang on, I'll check *bringbring* Oraclet: Yeah, what? Shell: He's alive. Ripper K: He told us to not disturb him. Oraclet: It's OK, I'm not bunker coding anymore, just coding. GM: News of the Day! Prop 23 got vetoed as unconstitutional. Ocelot: How did that happen? Ripper K: Racist arseholes. Poe: Insert Arbitrary Bitching Kenneth Brackhaven, Governor of Seattle, vetoed the recent Proposition 23, which had given Seattle's goblinoid population a political voice. Given Brackhaven is the only known case of 'remission" from goblinization, and was raised as a complete arsehole anyway, this surprises nobody. Nor does the fact that the Goblinoid's protest rally is happening the same day that the Humanis Policlub are having their own counterrally. Or that the planned routes meet at Town Hall. Kenneth Brackhaven ran for UCAS President under the Archconservative Party, and narrowly lost out to Dunklezhan. Ocelot: He couldn't stand up to the Big D. Ripper K: *splutters* Poe: He actually said that without smiling. Naturally, we have an incentive to see this veto gets overturned - have the party are goblinoid. Shell: And what are you, Ripper? Oraclet: Living novelty dildo. This is one of the occasions we can approach the client first - we call our friend in the Ork Underground. He does indeed have a job for us. Off to the Howling Griffin, a goblinoid rock club. Astronauta Peligroso: What's goblin rock? Oraclet: Glam rock for orkls. Astronauta Peligroso: I see. So now someone needs to explain glam rock to me and I'll be fine. Ocelot: Jem and the Holograms as played by fantasy stereotypes. Bouncer: I know the drill, you were never here. Ripper K: I don't even know where we are. *turns to Poe. Spittakes* Who are you? Shell: I was just looking for the bar. Ocelot: I bet at least once a month a random group of people get mistaken for shadowrunners. That's how new teams start. Our contact wants to ensure that the goblinoids win the brewing war of public opinion. Congressman James Grey is a staunch ally of the governor. We have to make him appear in the upcoming Humanis rally, on live Tri-D, to publicly associate him with racist extremists, and then humiliate him to destroy his political career and associations. Shell: Voted Most Punchable Face of 2069 Snatching him while he's visiting his mistress seems best. The Congressman's wife will be delighted if we can prove he's an adulterer, too. All: We get paid twice! *do the happy dance* Ocelot: 50 nuyen says the mistress is metahuman. Oraclet: No bet Client: Typical for 'family values' types, right? Oracle's plan is to film the congressman canoodling with his mistress, then kidnap the mistress, and send the congressman a message threatening to 'expose you, you hypocritical piece of shit' if he doesn't attend the Humanis rally. Meanwhile we put the mistress up somewhere nice, and hand her over to the better journalists afterwards. The chatshow circuit will dine out on this for weeks. And we get to frame some racists with kidnapping. Ripper suggests one from the FBI Most Wanted list - a kidnapper with known Humanis associations. A Physical Mask spell, and we can insure he 'accidentally' wanders past some security cameras at the apartment block. First, we need to find the apartment where they'll be meeting - fortunately, our infiltration drone Shitkicker has been getting some up-grades. Shitkicker: +++SQUEE!+++I HAVE GECKO TIPS!+++AND JUMP JETS!+++ His driver certainly noticed us following him, but since we were only doing so long enough to be sure Shitkicker was attached to his undercarriage, he decided it must have been nothing. The congressman's mistress is indeed metahuman. The surprise is who's on top. Poe: He's screwing an elf. Shell: He's getting screwed BY an elf. Much of the next few minutes is occupied by the party arguing about gender identity and political correctness. But she's still getting kidnapped. Astronauta Peligroso: So we have a body. GM: Excuse me? She IS still alive. Astronauta Peligroso: I can fix that. Shell: Excuse me for asking, but what do you identify as? Luisa: *through the gag* MMMHHGNNMGHN! Shell: You heard them - they're MMMHHGNGHNN! *tranq patches them, and starts singing a lullaby* Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little MMMMHHGNNGHMM! Shell: Hey Congressman, we have your MMHHGNNNMM. Oraclet: He can always claim he was co-erced into appearing at the rally - and he'll be telling the truth. It's a shyster's wet dream. GM: Right up until you show the footage anyway. Oraclet: Yup. We also give the journalist Holly Brighton the heads up that she'll want some cameras at the rally. And that we have a 'special guest' for her show. And show her some of the footage. She's willing to pay extra for the exclusive with the Mistress, and best quality copies of the film. Oraclet: We don't have the congressman. Ripper K: But we know where he'll be. Oraclet: Do this right and we can get paid three times. Shell: Just tell me we can go beat up some Humanis after all this. Poe: Sure - it IS Saturday. The Congressman is trying to be inconspicuous at the Humanis rally - wearing a hoodie, etc. No doubt he has lots of incognito security hovering about too, for all the good it will do him. Oraclet: That's fine - I have a spotlight on one of the drones. Ripper K: I'll just be sitting on the edge of the roof, eating popcorn-flavoured NERPS. We wait with glee and anticipation, as the Humanis march off towards Town Hall. Then we turn on the spotlight. Humanis reacts predictably, roaring their approval of the congressman's presence. Then we set off the Augmented Reality displays, and a six-story tall full-colour movie of the congressman appears on the building over-looking the road. Suitably pixellated so it can appear on all the news channels. Humanis protesters: KILL THE ELF-F*CKER!!!! ELF-F*CKER! ELF-F*CKER! ELF-F*CKER! ELF-F*CKER! ELF-F*CKER! Poe: That's a chant you can get behind. The resulting riot is glorious. And the Ork protesters are entirely uninvolved. We drop Luisa off to Holly. Oraclet: By the way, your boyfriend was an ass. Luisa: *shrug* It was mostly for the money. Oraclet: He's also probably dead. He was surrounded by hundreds of Humanis Policlub members when we played the footage. Ripper K: I'm sure he had bodyguards. Oraclet: Speaking as a security expert, he was still dogmeat. True, we had to use Oracle's other drones to stop any of the Orks joining in the violence, but we sell the designs to Knight Errant afterwards (via Boots) to obscure our presence. They can always pretend it was a prototype. Knight Errant Rep: Wait - you've made the prefect extraction drone... out of our parent company's back stock?? Shell: Now if you'll excuse me, my city needs me *holds up hands* Vulture Drone: KCAW! *extraction drone swoops down and snatches him up into the sky* We also just finished a four-hour session in an hour. The GM hurriedly preps a bodyguard job in New York for us, to protect an artist-mage. Apparently he and his cronies want to summon a major free spirit. As an art project. Poe: OK, it's a spirit of Art, but.. GM: They want to summon it at the Guggenheim. Poe: *headdesk* GM: The Spirit is called Mister Dada Shell: Why do I feel this job is going to get weird? Ocelot: My arsehole is puckering so hard right now. GM: The reason they want Shadowrunners instead of corporate security is because they want to fake the ritual going wrong, for dramatic purposes. Ocelot: You remember that puckering I mentioned earlier? Oraclet: I want to know exactly how this ritual is going to 'go wrong'. I want safewords. If I hear 'banana' it's weapons free. And all this in Manhattan, a hyper-surveillance hub for the elite. Ocelot: What we could POSSIBLY be adding as security?? Shell: We're not security, we're ambiance. Ripper and Oracle drop by Mortimer of London's Seattle outlet to pick up a really nice suit for the job. Poe: Damn - If I knew Shapechange I could have gone as a woman. Oracle: Trousers, 800 nuyen. Shirt, 550 nuyen. Suit jacket, 1500 nuyen. Looking stunning - priceless. Ripper struts up the red carpet into the event. And gets 12 successes on 14 dice. Oracle does nearly as well - and he's wearing a mask! So does Astronauta. GM: You're going to get movie offers! Legitimate movie offers! Shell: And nobody notices Shell *sadface* In fact, Ocelot is the only one who actually looks and acts like security. But then, that's what the clients want. They're delighted at the media frenzy. Half an hour later the party gets gatecrashed by giant walking statues of various 20th century celebrities. This might cause alarm - but we know it's part of the show, so simply do our best to ensure nobody gets trampled. Our clients animated them from the Pre-Crash Pop Collection, and they proceeed to dance in the middle of the rotunda. Shell: Dance off! Oraclet: It's just a jump to the left. Of course, the other part of the contract was that we destroy these things. Which we do. While dancing. Shell slices one in half, Oracle shoots up another, Astronauta uses wrestling moves, and Ripper executes an enthralling pas de deux, intending to lift a statue gracefully over his head.. and piledrive it into the floor. It doesn't quite work out that way - instead, one of the statues is so Enthralled it leaps from an upper level of the rotunda towards Ripper's arms, and only avoids squashing some attendants because Poe caught it with a Levitate spell. At this point the mages drop their spells, and attempt to 'make their escape'. But when they reach the doors they're still glued shut. And he rumbling build-up that signalled the dancing statues is back. Mage: Banana! Banana! And on this cliffhanger, as the Guggenheim's entire collection comes to life, is where we leave it for the evening...

Black Crusade : The Ninth Arcana, Reversed Daniels' player: Have you considered letting Tzeench into your life? Weldun: *watching the Jaws of Hakkon intro* Sigh - looks like I'll be committing genocide. Again. Digna: I want to get this tower done and dusted. Done, dusted, and launched. Having successfully convinced the deranged renegade Inquisitor to join forces, the heretics head back out of the underhive, but the renegade's Kroot mercenaries opt to remain behind. Eniek: I hope they do come with us - I can't wait to get him on the table. Digna: Why their Shaper, in particular? Eniek: He pissed me off. Digna: Oh, right. So, 'You're going on The List' Digna muses on various applications of warpcraft and dark science she can embark upon. A creature that can manipulate the target's emotions, for example. GM: There's always the Orgasmotron from Barbarella. Digna: I don't need a homonculus for that - but thanks for suggesting another engineering project. Digna: OK, that's it - this campaign is becoming Warhammer 40K : The Musical. Digna: I hope you didn't tell Mr Bubbles to retrace his steps - I'm pretty there were some places that wouldn't take his weight twice. Skerrit's player is sent forward as a scout and rolls 100 for Stealth. and 100 again for perception. This is as bad as it is possible to be, so it's fortunate there are no Critical Fails in the Black Crusade system. Fortunately the servoskull accompanying him spots the heavily armed Victorian undertakers waiting for them in a subterranean chapel. Skerrit: it's a steampunk cosplay group. But even plasma cannons and demo charges are no match for the characters, as powerful as they now are. GM: They weren't expecting a tech-priest - you DO have the vocoder voice, yes? Eniek: It's a vox unit, yes. Daniels: He forgot turn it off from 'Little Girl' The ambushers do not seem to been sent by whoever is hunting the PCs - it was a random encounter. Thus back to the luxurious spire apartment Lord-Captain Daniels hired for his stay on Scintilla. It has all the mod cons. GM: And quite possibly generations of servants standing by the privy with a sponge on a stick. Eniek: So, how was your day? How went the research? Digna: It went swimmingly, now I was without distractions. She's also become a Champion of Slaneesh while they were away. As happened with the player's previous character, this was because they didn't keep track of how many blessings they were getting from which Ruinous Power. Skerrit: ... did you get even prettier? Skerrit: I don't even swing that way! Digna: I've figured out when I got the Mark of Slaneesh. It was the Addictrix advance. GM: You pour a pretty poison. Digna: Not pour, no. GM: Inject? Digna: No. Daniels: Oh no... GM: ? Digna: The Milk of Human Kindness. GM: Oh god... and all those orphan children. Digna: Yup Digna: First I defeat them in social combat. Daniels: And then you pop out a tit. GM: *headdesk and gibbers* Digna: Hey, you wanted to run Black Crusade. Skerrit has a new ability too - Mind Bullets. Skerrit: And poor little city creatures are exploding around me as I think at them. Digna's research into 'the choice Daniel's ancestor did not take' has narrowed down the whereabouts of the Silica Anima to one half of a troublesomely turbulent star cluster. Once she has the A.I., she'll build it a body. Digna: She's a gynoid designed to go in among the poor and impoverished to incite riots. So of course she's called Maria. The rest of the party want to infiltrate the Inquisition's Tricorn Tower as soon as possible. Digna: Really? I have work to get on with! Like that Little Sister to go with Mr. Bubbles. Daniels: 'I made a new friend' ' He was OK as he was! Digna: Fine, I'll come. If only to stop you trying to convince me. GM: Well, there's one reason for you to stay here - if the entire Tricorn Tower goes up in a mushroom cloud you're well out of it. Skerrit: How are we supposed to hide my horns? GM: We put a microwave oven on your head and paint it chrome. Daniels: How cheap did you get those Adsecularii for? Digna: *twitch* Parsing Error. Redo from Start. You don't get any cheaper then Adsecularii - I had to buy them as a horde. They swear to carry out the theft, and do as much damage to the Inquisition as possible while they're at it, and still get out again afterwards. GM: So don't get caught - you have to get out of the tower somehow, even if it's in an expanding cloud of debris. Purchases - grav-chutes, in case they need to escape through a window and jump to safety. GM: How many Adsecularii are you taking in with you? Daniels: Who said they're getting grav-chutes? They also want to acquire a Meltabomb, disguised as innocuous monitoring equipment, and somehow affix it to the underside of the Tricorn Tower's plasma reactor. Daniels: It needs to be gilded. Eniek: It's a throwaway, one-use device. Daniels: IT NEEDS TO BE GILDED. GM: Your Adsecularii are carrying equipment worth dozens of times more than they are. Digna: Actually, mine are quite valuable. I augmented them to Machine Trait 2. They LOVE me - devoted and fanatical. Skerrit: You're the freaking Borg Queen! Digna: Oh, you just noticed? Daniels: Milk of Human Kindness my arse. Digna: I should fit Mr. Bubbles with a Stummer - so it sounds like normal footsteps. 'Who's behind me, walking so slowly?' *turns around. Looks up. And Up.* The renegade probably won't be much use after he's given them directions to the tower's archives, teleportarium, and secret underground entrance. Digna: And if nothing else we can have Mr Bubbles throw him at the enemy. The Crypt Boys gang that Digna recruited will help guide them through the underhive to the tower, despite the dangers of gas build-up, and collapses, and dangerous underhive monsters. GM: They're willing to follow you, even without respirators and filter plugs. Digna: Don't worry, Mr. Bubbles is immune to fire. GM: They're not. Digna: I repeat, Mr. Bubbles is immune to fire. Daniels: If in doubt, bodies can be used as ladders. GM: And field rations. The servoskull that Digna sends ahead gets eaten by a giant chameleonic bobbitt worm. Skerrit unwisely takes the GMs advice and overclocks his psi-powers, killing the worm, but causing dangerous side effects - in this case, distorting every reflective surface for some distance. Ruined : every las-weapon, auto-sense, and gilded surface in the party. Overjoyed : the GM Digna: I remind you the Compact only requires us to leave the tower. It says nothing about what state you are in. GM: You could always rip his arms and legs off, and carry him. Little Sister sings to herself as she dissects the giant Bobbit Worm. She was designed to harvest interesting genetic materiel, after all. Eniek: How would you like chameleonic skin? Skerrit: You can do that? Eniek: I can now. Well, not right now, but later. The renegade muses on how unlikely his escape from the tower actually was. Eniek: Maybe you had the Emperor's Luck on your side. Renegade Inquisitor: Yes! That's it! I'm doing righteous work! Daniels: Religious nuts are so fun. The Crypt Boys are sent home - there's not much else they can do for the party, and they've been wounded by larval bobbitt worms anyway. There is some argument whether it was the bobbit worm or the autogun rounds that took his foot off. The secret entrance to the tower is booby-trapped, of course, discharging millions of volts through the first person to touch it. Since this is Eniek, and he can store that charge in his Luminen Capacitor, the trap proves worse than useless. Eniek: oooooooOOOoooOoooOOH thankyou Digna gets to work bypassing the locks on the secret entrance. Digna: If all else fails we use a lascu... oh wait *glares at Skerrit* If all else fails we use Skerrit as a battering ram. Skerrit: Actually that works - I do have these horns. The chamber beyond is a deathtrap - or at least it was meant to be. I made the mistake of letting the Slaneesh-aligned character open her mouth, and within minutes she had them convinced she and her team were there to check the plasma reactor. Despite the fact they'd just watched her disabling the blast doors behind the party. The gun-team calls a tech-priest for her to talk to. Digna: +++Brother+++ Tech-Priest: +++Brother. In the purely non-gendered sense+++ After spinning a story about dangerous hereteks that seek to destroy themselves to become one with the Omnissiah, they give the tech-priest the disguised melta-bomb and tell him it's a gravimetric sensor array, to check the plasma reactor for distortions of the critical elements. Eniek: +++It's similar to the way glass in cathedral windows is thicker at the bottom, because it flowed downwards over the centuries+++ Tech-priest: +++That is a myth. You have been misinformed, brother.+++ After scanning Digna's particuars, he goes to do the same for the rest of the party, until Digna points out none of them will be entering the reactor chamber themselves, so he doesn't have to. Just as well - their mutations would have been obvious. Digna: He IS recording my measurements for later perusal. GM: He'll be in his bunk. Digna: +++Here, brother. It must be placed at the very base of the plasma reactor.+++ Tech-priest: +++What tech-litanies must be recited?+++ Digna: *gives him archeotech lore he's never even heard of* That sorted, the rest of the party have but a few hours to locate the Libris ex Mortis, hijack the Inquisitorial teleportarium, and get out. Assuming everything is going to plan...

Black Crusade : The Ace of Adepts, Inverted Where the party have successfully framed major law enforcement officers as dabblers in Warpcraft, and intend to continue their pose of sanctioned investigators, infiltrate the Tricorn Tower in Sibellus Hive, and run off with books that really should have burned and the ashes dropped into a black hole. Digna: I can't believe I'm still getting away with this. Getting through Customs at Scintilla. Eniek: We don't actually have much in the holds. GM: Apart from all those orphans. Daniels: Oh yes. Digna: You leave my orphans alone. If there's anything guaranteed to make Imperial Customs suspicious, it's a starship turning up with nothing they can confiscate. Skerrit: Well, if they must find something they can alway find my suitcase of xenos pornography. And of course if they scan the heretics thoroughly they'll spot all those mutations. Digna attempts to cow them. Digna: Lord-captain Daniels has seen fit to ferry me to.. where are we again? Eniek: Scintilla. Digna: To continue my investigations - I am commencing them now. Daniels: I could try and smuggle in a crate of booze as a decoy. GM: That could work - there's no such thing as duty-free in the Imperium. Distracting Customs by showing them the Archeotech starship engines. GM: He calls in all his friends to go OOOOOH. And meanwhile, in the background, Daniels and Skerrit are running around with the crates of stuff they actually want to smuggle to the surface. Digna: This give you a chance to run the Thousand Swords gambit. Daniels: ? Digna: You're supposed to have 1000 swords. But most of them are 'out for polishing', and all you actually have is 50 and a lot of empty crates. Keep the inspectors distracted and you can keep moving the full crate back to the front. Customs Tech-priest: I really need to check your cargo manifest. Digna: Very well - come with me to the bridge. The Bridge of Antiquity. Customs: OOOOOH. Digna: Adsecularii are part of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but they're the lowest rank of the AdMech. They're not privy to the Mysteries. They're just there to lift things. Customs Tech-priest: Can we come back later and examine your engine specifications? Digna: Buy me dinner first. Daniels: Can I get the Melodium to play the Benny Hill theme? Digna: Less Yakety Sax, more.... GM: The Sgt. Bilko theme. Eniek: I'll connect to the local datasphere. Digna: An actual noosphere! Daniels: 'Give me half an hour, I need to meditate'. GM: Is that what you call it. 'Excuse me, I'll be in my bunk' Studying the Tricorn Tower, and the underhive beneath it. Especially which gangs are most prominent in that area. There's a few that are particularly notable - the Resplendent Droogs, Crypt Boys, and the Saboteurs. Eniek attempts to figure out what military forces the Inquisition have in the Tricorn Tower, by digging through any purchase records he can find. Skerrit stealths his way into a neighbouring spire to study the defences and access points (climbing down the outside of the building after) and casts an augury to see what the future might hold. GM: Those who to the tower go, Must choose above, between, below It's not looking hopeful - the only entrance visible on the outside of the tower is the Ominous Gate, the tower has its own power supply, they have at least a platoon of storm troopers in there, and there's a rumour they have a teleportarium. On the other hand, there's also a story that a renegade Inquisitor, called to account for his use of alien mercenaries, escaped into the Sibellus catacombs. If the heretics can track him down, he could prove very useful indeed. The auguries certainly suggest that finding him won't be that difficult, but also warn that 'every villain considers himself the hero'. They also warn that at least two of the party are being hunted themselves. There are indeed tales of Kroot lurking in certain sections of the underhive. Skerrit's Player: Google Search, you've done it again. Digna: ? GM: There's Kroot Porn. Daniels: ... of COURSE there is. Skerrit: It's not porn! GM: Alright, it's a tasteful Kroot nude. Digna will not be going on this expedition - she'll be busy interpreting a clue the Daemon of the Mirror gave her about the whereabouts of the Silica Anima. To whit, to 'make the choice that your colleagues illustrious ancestor did not'. Digna: Now that they're not around to fucking distract me... She figures out that this means the choice that lead Daniels' forebear to Hersilia, and places the Silica Anima somewhere in the coreward half of a remote star cluster. And heading into the Catacombs gives the party's cartomancer a chance to show off his Magnificent Horns again. Skerrit: If we're going into the underhive can I take off this fucking wig? GM: The Inquisition has eyes everywhere. GM: So basically the only way you can hide these things is with a giant Princess Leia hairdo. Skerrit: Pretty much. GM: Or a clown wig. Tracking down the renegade proves relatively straightforward. It's a little surprising the Inquisition failed to do so. GM: If you're on the run from the cops, don't hide in their basement. Digna: actually..... She has a point - we're reminded to a spectacularly inept case of race fixing here in Australia, where the ringleader went on the run, and slipped the horse in question into the Mounted Police paddock. It took them weeks to notice. The compact - get the Liber ex Mortis etc. Digna: Secondary objective - Get out alive GM: Well, the gods do approve of suicide runs under certain circumstances. Digna has sent her combat servitor Mr Bubbles along in her stead. Digna: Well his primary programming is offline - he doesn't have a Little Sister to protect. Daniels: Oh. Digna: But I do have all those orphans. Digna's player is also using sound effects from Bioshock to reinforce how creepy the servitor is. Mr Bubbles soundboard starts playing 1930s Swing Daniels: Mr Bubbles? Are you OK? They find the Kroot, who seem amused anybody wants to talk to the Grade-A Whackaloon the renegade has become. Eniek: We'll see how funny they think I am when I pull out their organs. The renegade inquisitor, after ranting for a while about 'the traveller returns', the Ordo Chronos, and how he'll 'show them all!' agrees to show them how to get into the Tricorn Tower, and where the Liber ex Mortis is probably concealed. Things are looking up.