Completed Play-by-Post: In Search of the Sorcerer

Ker needs to roll a saving throw.

 

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Ker, you dumb ass.

 

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Mead is god's drink lah, Ker couldn't resist

Saving throw for mead [1d20] = 12

 

Cormac looks the desks over and all you find is one unstoppered inkwell, two sealed inkwells, six quills and a sheaf of parchment. The lectern is empty.

 

Ker takes a heavy pull from a tankard that he filled from the barrel. It's quite good, but a minute or so after drinking it you start to feel very funny. You look down at your arms and they feel like they've stretched out to double their normal length and everything around you has taken on a weird 'fun house mirror' like quality - stretched, warped and distorted. You almost feel like a part of your mind has been opened up to a new way of looking at the world. You haven't feel this good (or disembodied) since you and the other acolytes decided to eat those strange toadstools in the forest that one time.

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(For game purposes your Dexterity and Wisdom are halved right now, but you've jarred something 'loose' inside your head that has given you access to some untapped potential in your mind; i.e. +4 to intelligence and there may be some other side effects but there's no telling how long this might last).

 

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I love it!

"Guys, guys!...You should totally try that mead! This must be Cernunnos's blood come to us! Aha! Those strange things in the jars are so funny! Maybe their meat would go well with that mead! Right guys? Hey, what with the long faces? And long arms? And...whoah. What's happening to you guys? This is awesome! Imma take another another drink of dat mead, it might help, wait a sec."
Ker tries to go back to the barrel

 

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Did Marcán's prodding with the objects bear fruit? If not I'm gonna go drag Ker away from the sacred booze.

 

"Ker, don't be too enthusiastic about it, or we'll never get Sokrates away from it. Maybe AFTER we secure the tower."

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Though it would be interesting to see what a smarter Sokrates could say/do.

 

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Sorry, missed this when it jumped to the next page. You could try to use Bardic Lore, but these are beyond a simple intelligence check - either you have an inkling what they do because of experience or knowledge or they are beyond comprehension. So if you want to spend at least ten minutes (a turn) handling each item you'll need to pass a saving throw with a -4 penalty to make your check.

 

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Are you going to encourage Sokrates to drink?

 

Alright, Marcán tries to use his Bardic Lore on the strange objects.
Saving Throw: [1d20 - 4] = 14-4 = 10

 

"Come on Rhenmyr, you must give it a try too! Sokrates, you big wavy muscle man, have a drink on me! It's like, woooow!"

 

Sokrates wrinkles his nose and squints at Ker's urging. He doesn't seem particularly inclined.

Marcán handles the first brass instrument for ten minutes opening valves, pulling levers, twisting knobs - nothing.

 

"Well, this is a waste of me time." Marcán removes himself from the boring activity and goes over to Ker, where he promptly slaps Ker over the side of his head. "Honestly. One sip of the stuff and you're goin' wacko. C'mon now, we have bugs to fend off and junk to sort out. I'll let you drink yourself to an early grave after we're outta here."

Marcán pulls Ker off the barrels and into the room where mostly everyone is situated.

 

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Uh, no. After the tower is secure, it might be a good idea. Perhaps improved smarts would be enough for him to tell what happened to Pelagia and him upriver. Don't want to hurt our combat potential just yet.
Also, did my mirror scan of the room turn anything up?

"Well, if Ker isn't too far gone, I suggest we check out the door in the central chamber before we head further upstairs. Maybe someone should watch the stairs while we do though."

 

Rhenmyr's survey of the room with the hand mirror doesn't reveal anything untoward.

 

Cormac takes the closed ink, parchment and quills. He then inspects the parchment to see if anything is written down. "You never know when this will come in handy." Looks at Ker with disgust. "You don't know what's in thay barrel! You couldnt pay me to drink that stuff."

 

Rhenmyr returns the to central chamber and inspects the door with and without the mirror.

 

The door inside the central chamber appear to be an utterly ordinary in most respects. However, when you come to within a foot of the door handle it starts to swings inward of its own accord. Your torch illuminates a kitchen and a blast of fetid air assaults your nostrils.

 

Rhenmyr steps back and readies his weapon. "Door opening by itself guys..."

 

"Is it too late to call it a day, and just - leave? I'd rather take the city guard, honestly." Marcán unsheathes his blade hesitantly and walks slightly closer to the door. "So, who wants to die first?"

 

Cormac stays to the rear as everyone enters the room.

 

The door continues to open slowly until it strikes a stopper. Your torches and lanterns filter light through the open portal and reveals a hellacious mess. Pots and pans are strewn about the room, heaps of rotted things lay scattered and in the middle of the room you see a corpse (or what's left of it) laying spread-eagle in the middle of the stony floor. To your great horror the thing takes on a semblance of life and starts to rise awkwardly.

 

Marcán points his blade at the horror. "Stay back! If ye have any sense of mind, you'll stay where you are."

 

"Walking corpses. Wonderful. This place is full of surprises."

Rhemyr swaps out his spear for his axe.