OGRE MAGE wrote:Fingal backs away from the area, heading towards the intersection. Use that torch on it Swilly! Maybe it's flammable!
Even as he was unsure what the ink demon just did to him, the ancient reptile hissed in Common, "No! Fire doesn't undo ink or paint. Burn the book that the demon is bound to! Sever its link to this world," he implored his lizardkin. He feared that the humankin, weakwilled and ever tempted by forbidden arcane knowledge, would not act to save themselves. He looked Swishbold in the eye, pleading. "Do it."
He then cried to the humankin, "Water undoes ink! Everyone, stand your ground. Empty your waterskins upon the thing, away from the book!" hoping they would listen to one such as he; hoping the liquid attack would smear, run, bleed and otherwise destroy the inky thing's corporeal integrity.
saalaria wrote:Can you let me know damage you play for torches Bill?
Also Swil was created under Basic rules so +2 mod reflects. Are you using 1e in this game?
If so I'll amend
Torches do 1d6. Yes the rules are Moldvay Basic (Labyrinth Lord.) Swill hears Sleestak, but your action is against the creature. Of course next round...
Porphyry—never the most empathetic of souls—reacts to the new lizardman's plea: "What?! No! Don't destroy the book! Think of the knowledge! Try... just try closing it." However, the satyr makes no move forward to enact this plan, himself. "Maybe feed it the halfling? Perhaps that will sate it?"
The adventurers just hit by the dripping ink undergo dark changes: Gagel's left arm suddenly becomes a drawn stick figure! It feels extremely week, but the thief is able to put his Ring of Alien Armor on. He is encapsulated in elaborate bulky exotic alien gothic plate armor (AC 0)
Sleestak the lizardman shaman and his belongings turns flat, existing in two dimensions. It's a strange sensation. Interacting with three dimensional objects is difficult if not impossible. The lizardman shouts to burn the book.
Wrenly the dramaturgist feels his body transforming. He quickly intones the words to a magic missile spell and shoots it off before he feels his mouth close over. The mystic bolts hit the monster and it recoils! Wrenly's body and all his belongings are transformed into a black-and-white drawing, shocking in appearance, all the more so because his face is drawn over and blank. He feels his mouth moving and his tongue butts against a thin skin-like surface where his open mouth should be. He realizes he will suffocate!
Fingal, prone to bouts of luck, is only blackened. His clothes and exposed skin turn darkest ebony. He tries to rub the stuff off but is shocked that it seems permanent.
The slippery slithering smoky blackness lashes out tendrils at Niles, Groyn, Wulfhart and Asherrion. Groyn and Asherrion are painfully hit with inky strands. (Please Save vs. Magic.)
Wulfhart, realizing his Fang of Cuthbert is of little use, heeds the advice about watering the creature. He's fought and seen many strange things since coming to the Borderlands, but fighting with water is almost embarrassing for the barbarian. Nonetheless, he squirts his water skin at the amorphous inkreature but it flits away. Asherrion the Gray, donning his Ring of the Scorpian, suddenly spawns a 5' scorpion tail with stinger. He leaps forth and attempts to sting the ink monster, but it easily swirls away. Then Asherrion is splashed by Wulfhart's water; it is refreshing.
Swillbosh the lizardman fighter waves his torch
right though the middle of the floating, whipping inky mass. The heat does have some effect as it recoils away!
Niles, Groyn and dog Bene, and Fingal back away, nearing the bridge over the pit. Porphyry the satyr desires the dark volume on the altar, but doesn't take action except to suggest a sacrifice to the monster.
A denizen of vision quests, peyote and the spirit world, the old shaman was tenuously connected to the material plane of existence even in normal circumstances. Having been diminished to the lower dimensions was not entirely disconcerting. The humankin's lack of organization was.
Grognardsw wrote:
Niles, Groyn and dog Bene, and Fingal back away, nearing the bridge over the pit. Porphyry the satyr desires the dark volume on the altar, but doesn't take action...
That nearly half the mammals took no action against their deadly attacker was surprising even to Sleestak.
The coldblooded medicine man rasped to the cowards in Common, "It can still reach you. Kill or be killed. Use water to dissolve the ink, and fire to burn the book."
He would do it himself, but he was no longer completely in contact with this three-dimensional plane now. "Please," he urged.
If he can walk, he will advance with his holy symbol in one hand and Rue in the other, an herb useful against demons and their worshipers. He wanted to attract its attention and drive it back. He had no idea if either would work from this lower realm.
Fingal's eyes widen a bit at his new predicament. Well, this'll sure come in handy when I need to hide in them shadows.
When he hears the lizards threat he laughs and then keeps right on babbling, ignoring the combat completely.
Who is this guy? We don't take orders from you! Don't make me pull out my scissors!
We have always sorta looked to young Niles there for advice on group organization and combat strategy. He ain't let us down yet so why would we start listening to you? Watta ya say Niles?
Look, I got no attachment to no dang book so go ahead and burn it fer all I care! All I know is that the ink blob didn't like the heat from the torch. Maybe we should squirt some oil on it and start it ablaze?
Unable to see or breath, Wrenly tamps down his panic in an effort of sheer will. As quickly as he can he removes his pack, kneels down and begins to rummage through it. In an interior pocket he finds his ink bottle wrapped in wool. "This is perhaps the most desperate action I have ever taken - I sincerely hope it not be my last on this plane of existence." he thinks. With that, calling back to his theatre training, he dips his finger in the ink and begins to draw on his blank visage - first a mouth, then a pair of eyes, praying that this, his stupidest idea to date, yet the only logical one in this craziest of situations, will allow him to breath and see. "If this works I can always draw myself a nose later...." he thinks to himself.
Haha! What a great way to die! With a hurriedly finger painted smiling face as he suffocates...
I hope Wrenly's plan works, because that is a hilarious solution. But if not: Porphyry drags Wrenly away from the ink monster and uses a one of his sickles to slice open the blank skin about where the mouth should be. If this produces a positive outcome, the satyr will yell for Wrenly to cast spells on the inkling. "Whatever you have! It is vulnerable to magic!"
