Slain by Elf

To get in to Delvehaven safely we could probably use what's been stored in a hidden cache a pathfinder created. Naturally, the hidden cache is not easily accessible, even once we know its hiding place, and we have to go offshore at Cutlass Bay to open an inter-dimensional space. It's all in a day's work. Or a night's work, as it can't be opened during the day.

So we need a boat. This shouldn't be a problem, thanks to my owning a bladed scarf worth a trillion gold. We don't even need to sell the scarf, just borrow against it and pay off the interest, so we can pretty much get what we need. 'Never mind a rowing boat, let's buy a galleon.'

'Why buy a galleon when a warship is cheaper?'

'I think you answered your own question. Can we buy a galleon powered by water clocks?' But there is some problem with the valuation of the bladed scarf, and we are reduced to hiring a fishing boat, whose captain won't come too close to Cutlass Bay himself. We'll need to row to where we need to be. That's okay, and we only need to do that later. For now, we have an afternoon to kill and a beach to kill it on.

Brennan suggests we have a barbecue. 'Should we fish for food to put on the fire?'

'No. We can get the elf to cast summon nature's ally, and put whatever appears on the barbecue.' Of course, the ranger and paladin love this plan, what with their relation to animal companions.

'You can cast colour spray to make sure it stays on the grill', says Afutavere.

'And we'll have to eat it quickly.'

'Won't it just disappear back to its own dimension?' I say. 'You'll just be hungry again.'

'Perfect!' says Brennan. 'We can enjoy a barbecue all afternoon with none of the calories.'

The nuns were all wearing rather exotic-looking bladed scarves. One of the nuns tried to use her scarf to trip the ranger, which looks like a neat trick. Being a monk, I would like to claim one of the scarves for myself, even if I won't be able to use it without some training. Brennan wants to see how much they're worth, if only so he can use the appraise skill.

Who wants to look up the curious rules about appraising items? Not the GM, that's who. 'Oh, you think it's worth a trillion gold.'

So can I have one? 'Just put a trillion gold on your character sheet', says Brennan.

I can do that. Or can I? 'What's a trillion? 12 noughts?'

'No, a British billion has 12 noughts, so a trillion must have more.'

'As much as I appreciate wanting to stick to our heritage, the British billion has officially consisted of 9 noughts since 1974.'

'That's as maybe, but I would think this setting predates 1974.'

'If we are going to be pedantic, it also isn't set in Britain. I'll put 12 noughts.'

No one answers the door of the monastic order of assassin nuns, so we do what comes naturally. We let the ranger pick the lock. And he succeeds, without even setting off a trap. That level of competence is rather unexpected. But we're in, and we're looking for an urn of cremated remains of a pathfinder. What we find, perhaps unsurprisingly, are fighting nuns.

We roll for initiative, getting the paladin's first curse of the night. He rolled a 6. 'I thought you normally rolled higher than that?'

'Well, it varies.'

'No kidding. A D20 roll varies. You learn something new every day.' But there's no time for sarcasm—okay, maybe a little—as we are thrust in to combat. Combat from two fronts.

Most of us are huddled around one inner door, but the ranger positioned himself in front of another around a corner. He didn't want to be stuck behind the rest of us and have to fire through to whoever was waiting in the room, as we would be providing cover and hindering his shot.

Getting a clear line-of-sight sounds like a good plan, until the ranger also doesn't want to be too vulnerable to frontal assaults, with no one between his ranged attacks and the doorway. As is typical, he uses his pet cat as a meat shield. So not only does the elf needlessly endanger his companion animal again, but he does so in a way that forces him to fire through cover anyway. I'm sure his plan made sense at some point.

In position and firing from behind his cat, Auftavere shoots at one of the nuns. 'Are they human? Humans are my favoured enemy.' If they are his favoured enemy, you'd think he'd be able to tell. Yes, they're human. He gets two hits, and rolls for damage. '10 and 14.'

'Plus 2 from me', says Brennan, reminding the ranger of the bard song currently motivating us all.

'No, 10 and 13.' Whilst we try to work out what just happened, we continue combat at the bottom of a spiral staircase. The paladin swings and misses, Skelra blinds a nun then holds vampiric touch for as long as he can resist scratching his crotch, Brennan sings a little song, and I go toe-to-toe with nun-on-monk action. Afutavere, meanwhile, is still shooting and hitting. 'I could cast a spell.'

'You're better off firing your bow. And that shows just how rubbish your spells are.'

And the mocking of the ranger doesn't end with his spell list. One of the nuns attempts a trip attack and tries to decide between the ranger and his pet. Despite the pet being a more formidable foe, Brennan notes that 'she's better off not going for the four-footed cat but rather trying to trip the inept ranger'.

'How can you say the ranger's inept?' says Ganelon, a little aghast.

'Because we have memories?' I offer.

'But he's been awesome tonight!'

'Three hits over the course of five levels', says Brennan, 'does not make anyone "awesome"'.

'I still like my plan', says Ganelon. We have a lead on the whereabouts of another dead pathfinder, and once we get her remains back we can use a grave candle to learn more information to let us get in to Delvehaven.

'I've not heard it yet. And I'm not sure I want to.'

'We knock on the door'—to the monastic order of assassin nuns who worship the evil deity Eiseth, mind you—'and say "we're the nunnery inspectors".'

'Um, yeah. Let's not.'

'It's never failed us before!'

'That's because we've never tried it before. And I think we should keep it that way. Does anyone have a 'hand' spell, or similar, that would let us knock on the door remotely? Maybe we can gauge their reaction first.'

'Skelra has', says Brennan. 'I may have one too. I also have sil—no, ghost sound. A silent image of someone knocking on the door probably wouldn't have the same effect.' Indeed not, but it would look convincing to us.

After a bit longer in failing to make a decision, Brennan walks up to one of the recessed doors and knocks. There's no going back now. Well, unless no one answers. 'They're all out', says Ganelon.

'Okay. I'll put a note under the door, saying "we called when you weren't in".' That should do it. Now the nuns will have to come to us with the urn, during working hours on a weekday, or the adventure will be sent back to its original address.

We've defeated the wizard, gained access to the stone bust that is a pathfinder, and lit a grave candle to find out some of the information we need to know about Delvehaven. We also get a lead as to where another pathfinder on our list is, which we relay back to our current contact. This earns us some more gold, which is nice.

The extra gold in our pouches lets us think about buying some shiny loot. Of course, what is shiny to one person is rather useless to another, and Brennan says that 'I'd rather have an amulet of concentra– uh, no, the other one'.

'Actually, it sounds like you could use an amulet of concentration.'

'Constitution! That's what I meant.'

The wizard's broken the rules of combat. A plea to the arena boss has our portcullis open, and we dash in to join the fray, helping our paladin defeat our foe.

As it turns out, he doesn't need much help. We shuffle around a bit, but it's Ganelon's ability to smite evil, and its power to ignore any damage reduction of the target, that cuts through the wizard's stoneskin. One critical hit with his sword, and an arrow sent towards the dimension-stepping opponent, has the wizard crumpling to the arena floor.

We win! I do a little victory dance on top of the raised section in the arena, to the jeering of the crowd, pretty much all of who placed bets on the loser. Ganelon moves towards the wizard, looking like he has a purpose. And Brennan stands back and relaxes. 'I trust the paladin to do the right thing, because he's a paladin.'

Oh, if only, and the laughter that Brennan's statement brings is a sad indictment of our lawful-good companion. Rather than heal the wizard to prevent him dying, Ganelon stands over the body ready to deliver the coup de grace blow.

The battle between summoned creatures has gone a bit awry. Our paladin has slain all the lemure devils his opponent has thrown his way, and now the wizard has got a bit tetchy about losing a contest he has been used to winning. The wizard has teleported in to the arena, bypassing the portcullis used to keep the summoners out of harm's way, and is attacking Ganelon directly. He casts a spell, and a green arrow shoots from his finger.

Watching from the sidelines, separated from the combat by a second portcullis, Brennan tries to discern what spell has been cast. 'Is he saying 'Melf'?'

'I doubt it. He's probably legally obliged not to. I think you heard him say 'Ralph', though.'

'Ah, that will be Ralph's Acid Arrow, then. Good to know.'

Following on from the acid arrow comes an acid dart, which fires from the wizard's fingers to whistle past the paladin's head. 'It almost hit!', says Ganelon, rather alarmed.

'I believe that almost hitting is technically a miss', I say, trying to add some perspective. The wizard adds some more perspective, by backing off my our armed and armoured fighter, moving faster than the paladin can hope to keep up with under normal movement. Ganelon realises that unless he wants to be running circuits around the arena until one of them collapses from exhaustion he needs to get close, so sprints to get face-to-face with his opponent.

The wizard, in reaction, dimension steps away, back to the centre of the arena. Ganelon fights smarter, not harder. 'If that's the way it's going to be', he says, 'I'll use my bow'.

The day of the fight between summoned monsters and our paladin has arrived. We go shopping to look for any spells or items that may help us, boosted by divvying out the party pool. The split isn't equal, though, as Skelra has to pay for my busted front door, and gem-encrusted adamantium doesn't come cheap. According to this source for more fun gaming you can nose play online with friends.

Going shopping also highlights how our combined wealth level may not be quite what it should be for adventurers of our prowess. But we see a way to make a positive adjustment. 'We could put a large bet on the paladin in the gladiator fight. The whole event is set up to make gold from gambling anyway, we may as well take advantage of that, and play some online casino follow the advises from follow-the-arrow.co.uk.

'I dunno', says Ganelon, a little unsure about his prospects. 'It may not work out as planned.'

'No', I say, 'it's win-win. Either you triumph and our bet pays off, or you die.

'And even then, we get to keep your stuff, so that will sort out the average wealth level too.'

It's worth a wager, but the GM limits our bets, mostly when he senses the obvious meta-gaming occurring. We have been brought in specifically to defeat the reigning champion, whose extended string of success is stagnating the betting pool and causing the arena owner to lose gold. It all puts the odds in our favour in a fight where we are pretty much destined to win, or fail in the adventure. 'One 500 gp bet each, maximum.'

I check to see how much gold I have, a little disappointed that we can't rake in the money on what is almost a dead cert, when I remember a magic item I've not put to use yet. 'Ah! I have a hat of disguise. I think I'll make three bets. The bookie will never know.'

'No you won't, because I'll know.' What a spoilsport. He's probably just jealous of my dapper headwear.

The day before we're putting Ganelon in to the gladiator arena to fight some summoned monsters, we are having dinner in the inn when a stranger approaches us. He introduces himself as '... Youvegototbekiddingme'.

'That's a curious name, sir. Is it Orcish?'

'No, I'm, uh, Mantrithor Thrax', he says, stumbling over his name again but at least getting it right. 'I will be your opponent tomorrow. I just wanted you to see who you'd be up against. But, please, don't let me interrupt your last meal.'

'Oh, tish and pish', I say. 'It's only the paladin's last meal.'

'No, we can give him a piece of fruit or something in the arena', says Brennan, trying to put Thrax at ease.

Ganelon seems okay with this plan. 'Yep. I will cast protection from evil and stand around chomping through an apple.' I think he fancies himself as the next Kirk. Either way, we invite Thrax to join us for a drink. 'Yes, have a lemonade.'

'Are you calling him a shandy drinker?', I ask, 'because that's not a particularly friendly welcome'.

'What? I hope the rest of you aren't drinking', Ganelon says, genuinely taken aback that we may be consuming alcohol in a fantasy inn.

'We've been happily drinking around you for the past six levels', says Brennan, getting a little ahead of himself for a 5th level character. But his point is made.

Thrax joins us for a drink, makes some smalltalk, then leaves us alone for the evening. 'Well, he seemed nice', says Afutavere.

The rest of us, however, succeed in sense motive checks and realise Thrax was being contemptuous. 'He clearly thinks he's going to win and only came here to rub our noses in what he sees as our inevitable defeat.'

'Well that's where you're wrong, pal, because we're going to dismiss your summoned creatures with an ease like they are our own spells!', says Ganelon, with l'esprit d'escalier in full effect.

'Yeah. He's gone, Ganelon.'

We're entering ourselves in to a kind of gladiatorial combat, but we're not entirely sure why. We tracked down the bust of a pathfinder—which is actually the pathfinder himself, turned to stone and missing some parts—to the owner of the gladiator arena, and then wondered what we were meant to do next.

A bit of time lets us back-track, and speaking to our current pathfinder contact we are reminded that the stoney pathfinder may have information about the wards on the Delvehaven lodge, which we intend to enter. We can use our grave candles, of which we have only three, to commune with the pathfinder's spirit and recover what knowledge we can about the protective spells surrounding the lodge. To do that, we need to curry favour with the bust's owner, which is why we are entering his arena.

The combat is not a straight fight between combatants, probably in an attempt to keep the arena legal. The two opponents stand on opposite sides of the arena, protected by bars, and they each summon monsters to do battle. Whosever summoned creatures lasts longest decides victory for that summoner.

This type of combat sounds less than ideal for us. One one side, we have a character who would summon his creatures only to immediately cast colour spray on them. On the other side, a character who would send his summoned creature to dive head first in to the obvious threat of the colour spray to see if it was safe. I don't fancy our odds here.