Slain by Elf

We are become actors! That's the plan, and it works quite well. At least, as well as can be expected for a rather contrived series of events to get us a key by finding a container that is held by the mayor which opens a magical seal to get us in to a pathfinder lodge so that a pathfinder then has an excuse to get in to that lodge. And, yes, we achieve this by becoming actors. But being adventurers actually helps us in this effort to tread the boards.

Apparently the play, not staged in its intended way for decades, involves terribly realistic combat. That is to say, actual combat. It sounds a little macabre, but it draws a crowd. Bums on seats, laddie, bums on seats. What it doesn't draw are many actors willing to take the violent roles. Even if there are no scripted deaths accidents occur, particularly when actors are swinging real and very sharp or heavy weapons around that they are not trained to use, and particularly when those actors are mainly chosen for the parts because no respected or talented actor would take them.

Our adventuring skills place us head-and-shoulders above all others stupid or desperate enough to be auditioning, even if we are more like the Time Bandits most of the time. Never the less, we have to audition too, and Brennan wants to make sure our plan goes to, well, plan. 'For my audition, I shall do 'perform (oratory)'.'

I think we all know what that means. The rest of us politely exit the director's room as Brennan sidles up to the casting couch.

We are heading to Delvehaven, to unlock the mysteries of the sealed lodge and perhaps uncover the source of the shadowbeasts. Or we would be, if we weren't stopped before we could even start. Apparently we can't just walk in to Delvehaven, what with it being sealed with various magic wards. What we need is a key. A key that is held within a container that itself is stored on the premises of the mayor's residence in the city. It's all getting rather convoluted.

Our minds start thinking about how we can gain illicit entrance to the mayor's home, wondering if he even realises what the key or its container is or looks like, as we certainly don't. Another option is to try to gain diplomatic entrance and openly ask for the key, which may not work if the mayor really doesn't know what he's got, and may not be a good idea to bring to his attention if he doesn't.

'But what if there were a third option?', Janiven asks us. 'What if you could be invited to a great feast at the mayor's house? Welcomed in as adventurers, in full armour and with weapons, as part of a feast where you would be guests of honour and given free-rein over the house?'

That sounds like a perfect opportunity. 'What do we have to do?'

'Be actors!'

'Ah, crap.'

'Dammit!'

'Please, no.'

'Anything but that.'

'HUZZAH!'

There are no prizes for guessing which reaction came from our bard.

The tieflings are defeated. Somehow we have eradicated the threat of the Bastards of Erebus. Even more unlikely, we all survive to tell about it. But there is still much more to achieve before the city is safe and free from evil, and after a short recuperation period we are gathered together again with the leaders of the freedom movement. With them is a mysterious figure, introduced to us as a pathfinder.

The pathfinder wants to explore a lodge that has been sealed, called Delvehaven, but is prevented from doing so herself for reasons that don't make too much sense. She hopes that we will go in her stead, so that we can be blamed and she can have an excuse to go in after us. It's a neat ruse, and she even thinks she can lure us in to agreeing because the sealing of the lodge coincided with the appearance of the shadowbeasts. 'If you uncover the mystery of the lodge with me, maybe you can rid the town of the shadowbeasts.'

Brennan is intrigued. 'It beats my plan, which was to wait until I can cast continual light spells.'

'That wouldn't get rid of them', the pathfinder says, 'as they are only repelled from the light, not actually stopped'. So Brennan's plan is more of a shadowbeast leaf-blower than a plan, merely forcing the creatures to be someone else's problem. 'They may get a bit tetchy, more than actually get rid of them.'

And as if sensing that the pathfinder isn't really digging down in to the real absurdities of Brennan's plan he goes ahead and helps the thought processes along. 'Actually, the citizens may get a bit tetchy, when it's never dark and they are trying to get to sleep.'

There are undoubtedly other problems with the plan to cast continual light spells, but rather than try to enumerate them all we are maybe better served by heading to Delvehaven after all.

The fight's not quite going in our favour. It becomes apparent that an invisible cleric is wandering around when injured and knocked-unconscious tieflings clamber back to their feet to engage us again. It becomes more apparent when his invisibility spell drops during his casting of burning hands, hitting three of our party standing conveniently in a doorway. Inside the room, myself and Ganelon are getting overwhelmed by superior numbers, and even a potion of cure moderate wounds doesn't offer much solace, healing only five points of damage from me.

A couple of good hits from the paladin looks like it may turn the tide, taking down the sorceror and cleaving in to a second tiefling, and now that the cleric is visible he can be targeted and prevented from being quite so disruptive. Even so, it looks like we'll need decisive action in order to prevail, something a little more effective than Skelra tossing a lit candle at yet another skeletal wolf.

Still, Skelra only threw the candle as it seemed more effective than dropping it, and he needed to get his hands free so that he could wield his crossbow again, but it was still vaguely comedic. 'Afutavere', the GM starts, 'can you do better than throwing a candle at a prone skeletal wolf?' Our elf ponders his position as the GM adds, perhaps a little unfairly, 'and I'm not holding out much hope'.

Afutavere surveys our situation and considers his options. He sees Ganelon only just coping with the number of tieflings around him, and me having backed away to drink my potentially life-saving potion. He knows just what to do. 'I shall delay.'

'So that's a 'no'.'

Another room, more tieflings. We are in a new initiative order, having paused for breath and certainly not to make life easier for the GM, when one charges our elf at the start of combat.

'He hits armour class 14', our GM tells Afutavere.

'That's a miss.'

'He's hitting your flat-footed armour class', our elf is reminded.

'Um, hang on, I need to update my character sheet.' He rubs out one number and scratches in another with his pencil. 'Yep, that's still a miss.'

Combat pauses whilst everyone around the table tries to work out if there were implied air quotes around 'update' in Afutavere's reply, as well as wondering if we could use the same trick at some point ourselves.

Pausing in the corridor, outside a door through which the tieflings retreated, we hear voices. They are speaking in the Abyssal language, which our mage understands. 'How many are speaking?', he asks our GM.

'That depends. How good are you at differentiating tiefling accents?'

A stage whisper comes from one side of our mage. 'Say 'expert''.

A second stage whisper comes from his other side. 'Say 'why, it's my field of specialty and is what brought me to this region''.

But, no, Skelra is too honest. 'Not that good, really', he says, resignedly, and gets no information on the number of tieflings in the room in front of us.

If someone asks you if you can differentiate tiefling accents, you say yes!

Having our party almost split in two at the start of the encounter gives the tieflings an early advantage, but the narrow and linear corridor offers little tactical opportunities and we are soon back on equal footing. We still need to manoeuvre somewhat so that our squishier characters aren't so unprotected. Afutavere's keen elvish senses spot a weakness, and he moves to prevent it being exploited. 'Skelra! That tiefling has a clear line-of-sight; I shall step in front of you to block him!'

'Well, thanks, but he's in melee and I was actually lining him up for a clear shot with my crossbow.'

'You're welcome, human.' Despite this, the tieflings are pushed back.

We should press forwards and charge them, keeping our advantage, but our paladin isn't too keen. 'What, charge the blind, injured tiefling? That doesn't seem chivalrous.'

'Have you so soon forgotten how to play your character?'

'Oh, right. Charge!' And so with the crippled tiefling out of the way, the leader disappeared around a corner, there is only one more tiefling left in our sights. The mage's sights, in fact, as he brings his ceremonial crossbow to bear on the retreating enemy.

It's a hit! A solid hit, too. The tiefling wobbles and staggers and... Afutavere's elven senses tingle again, causing him to rush around the corner, pull up his bow and loose an arrow nary a second after Skelra's hit. The tiefling collapses to the ground, dead, and even though it looked to the untrained eye that Afutavere's arrow whistled harmlessly past the tiefling's ear, our elf knows differently. 'My kill!', he gleefully shouts.

It's been the longest readied action in history, but finally Afutavere's bow fires in to the tieflings approaching us from around the corner. At least, I think that's what has everyone else running in that direction whilst I block this hole in the ceiling from skeletal dog encroachment with my head. It's a good enough tactic, being a monk meaning that any part of my body is a weapon and not just a chew toy, and soon enough I am making my way back up the corridor too, to join the main encounter.

Our first task is to get everyone on the same initiative order. This isn't what you would call vital, or even necessary, but as the GM on the return from our break has announced that, thanks to various monkeying around with readied and delayed actions, we are on initiatives 13-plus-plus, 13-plus, 13-plus-minus, 12-plus-plus, 12-plus, and 12-plus-minus, it seems we may be able to win this combat on a technical knock-out.

I never seem to learn. I see a hole, I poke my head through it. Even if the hole is in a tiny room behind a boarded-up door in a crypt beneath a church, I can't resist taking a look. And for my troubles an insect grub bites in to my eyeball, latching on to me and not wanting to let go as it sucks my juices.

Unfortunately, it's not just an insect larva, but a nasty rot grub. Thankfully, the rot grub is not that strong, and as the hole I poked my head through is in the ceiling and I am now flailing my arms like a scared schoolgirl we both drop down in to the room below. Yes, we may both be squeezed in to the same square but at least the other party members can help me attack it. If they want to.

'Let's give it another round to grapple, I want to see if a rot grub can pin the monk.' Brennan may be looking on rightfully amused but Skelra is keen to try a new spell, summoning a creature to provide assistance. Unfortunately, the creature is an eagle, which he summons in the hole just above my head, in a room where we are already squeezed.

With nowhere else to go, and needing lots of room in order for it to be able to fly, the eagle can do little more than crash down on to my head, lamenting 'oh woe is me, summoned like a swarm of bats in to a web, trapped and helpless. Will my summoner please cast colour spray to put me out of misery?'

That's a rather dramatic eagle. At least he knocked the rot grub off me, stopping it from draining my strength any more, and letting me squish it under my foot to end the pointless combat. We leave the room behind us and explore further down the crypt's passageway.

Ah-ha, another hole in a ceiling, this one will be okay to look through! Or maybe there are a couple of skeletal hounds waiting to chew on my head like a squeaky toy. I never seem to learn.

More dogs attack! The paladin charges in, slicing in to one of the dogs with his sword and cleaving with his mighty blow in to a second. The vicious hell dogs bite and tear at the paladin's legs, pulling him down to the ground. 'I'll just attack from prone, then', he sighs.

'Is being prone the worst status effect?', I ask. But before he can answer, Afutavere steps up, draws his bow, and does another rabbit shot, slaying one of the dogs. The elf is pretty happy with the result and does a happy dance. 'Um, you shot a wounded dog.'

Afutavere gets a bit quieter. 'Don't say it like that', he says, feeling a little guilty, 'that doesn't sound very ranger-like'. Actually, I just mean that finishing off an animal already badly hurt by our paladin probably isn't worth doing a dance about. But his guilt disappears when Skelra casts colour spray on the dogs and, finding they have spell resistance, realises the creatures must be outsiders and not natural.

Ganelon gets caught in the colour spray, but only accidentally, as he just happens to be sprawled on the ground between the dogs and our wizard. But being in the way means he has to make a saving throw or see pretty colours. 'This is eminently failable', he says, although I remember him saying something similar about his supposedly pitiful saving throw which makes me question what his modifier is. '+8.'

'+8?! At 3rd level?! That is not eminently failable, you big girl's blouse.' Surprisingly enough, Ganelon is unaffected by the colour spray.