SESSION 4: Worst Session Ever… aka 14 got up in the morning and 14 came home. (17 June 15)
The lazy daze of summer have hit Denethix and the party is finally reunited in its entirety. The extreme intestinal explosions curated by over-exposed bits of marginally radioactive mold soup seem to have passed. Even though we wont discount the possibility of some nasty isotopes floating around in a gulliver or two…
Our champions, well the 37.5% of them that survived last episode; Carla, Calvin and Boris returned to their conjoined hovels to share treasure, tales and tapioca. Without going into last episodes details, stuff was motivated. Off to the shops they went for pointy things and shoulder pads. We is going back to the Subsurface Research Facility (Ss-RF)!
The following morning our exceptional bloated band of 14 Hobos left the relative comfort of Denethix for another night at Chelmfordshire’s own Muddy Cup. After a good days march they were back at the Cup, for libations and a nights rest. It was a quiet one, no rumours, and the Hobos were ready to depart right after early breakfast the next morning.
With intent and the burning desire for treasure our horde set there sights on the prize and did not deviate. Even if they were presented with an anomalous condition an arms reach away… Too the mountain in the door! Aside from that strange giant head floating around again the hobos made it back to the cave entrance to the Ss-RF. Back into the bear lair to once again enjoy its pungent stench. The band now believes that something must have been missed in here on the first visit. So an in depth investigation commences. Well this certainly gets the attention of the resident bear that had been using it’s own spare time to investigate the Ss-RF entry foyer. The clamor in its home attracting it back to discover a bunch of flesh bags lurking and poking about. This angers bear, to no end, and throws diplomacy right out the window. Weapons vs. claws, eggs & bacon, cheese & crackers and that is the whole of it. In other words the band makes quick work of Mr. Snuffles and begin immediate processing. Meat is back on the menu. Finally done and loaded into a convenient wheel barrel the hobos re-enter the facility proper.
“bzzt-weep-wonga is it finally gone?” they are greeted by a stack of robot heads peering into the foyer from behind the “barracks” door.
“Sure nuff”
Much whirling and blinking lights as the stack of automatons confer.
“Excellent news, we shall now be returning to our previously assigned duties”
Not being convinced that every encounter with the automatons is a crapshoot the hobos leave the robots and head in the opposite direction. They wander the somewhat familiar halls in search of the unknown. Eventually finding a triangular shaped room with two crystal statues labeled “in darkness” and “we dwell”, as well as a chest and two poles with eyelets upon the tops. Needless to say the murderhobos see this room as some sort of jungle gym room and start hanging about like the chimps they are… After some mucking about we learn the combined IQ is actually more related to lemurs than chimps. They admit defeat and commence with extracting themselves from the room. Well everyone except for out intrepid new rat beggar er thief. Just gotta see what’s in the chest. With no apparent traps the chest opens with ease. Bazinga! A big ole gold ingot with “Simulated Subsurface Treasure” stamped on it. Unfortunately this transgression ignites the statues will to kill and they lunge towards Sticky Fingers McGee. The ongoing string of no wandering monsters, no death by Snuffles and other stuff I’m not going to divulge continues and Sticky makes his egress untouched and without pursuit.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire or so I had hoped. The lair of the ABOMINATION!!! A gigantic hulking beast of an automaton jury rigged bones and stolen bits of metal. Everything is prey. No talking or waving about shiny accouterments, murder time is now. Normally I would enjoy relaying the spray of vital fluids and the loss of life as the beast disassembles the party. But, that is not how the story played out the beast was unlucky and the hobos continued to ride the crest of good fortune. The nightmare of the gatehouse is banished and a good bit of swag imbedded in its super-structure.
When the wave is good stay on the board and our hobos glide into the next interesting room. The battered remnants of a bedazzled god’s eye are found inside. All this forgotten sparkle is too much for any mild mannered Halfling to tolerate. Out comes the knife and pop goes the gems, right into the half-pints pockets.
The group presses on to the “Lair of the Sarge”, a sizable automaton in charge of the Gate.
“Ou da ‘ell is ya scabrous vermins?” rising up and looking rather nasty.
“I’m the lieutenant, see my pins are most authentic and so must my authority be!”
“Let us pass, oh and whatcha got in them three footlockers?”
Calvin comes across rather bold and the reaction roles support this.
“Bzzz fughing bullcrap…sir, yessir… we was saving up our soldiers pay… for some sassa-frassing officer to come by and take our stuff… sir, yessir….neckballs…”
Soldiers pay becomes MurderHobo swag and then they press on before the Sarge runs another assessment on the groups presence.
The next room is 20’x20’ with a closed portcullis with a descending passage behind it. To the right of the door is a crooked protonium metal shelf with a wall mounted and illuminated square just above and a lever in the “down” position. A closer examination of the glowing pad reveals the following message “Safety period expired. Fuel replenished. Subsurface entry permitted.” In their infinite wisdom the Hobos all agree that levers must be up! This doesn’t preclude the least valuable fleshbag being elected for the job. The lever is pushed and nothing…
A bloated pregnant pause later… the words on the glowing square change. “Subsurface Research Facility Main Power Re-Activating” All is quiet again briefly and then, starting from deep within the ground the sound of klaxons begin. Then, from inside this very room and beyond noise everywhere. Horrible crashing noises are heard from far underground vibrations shake the room. The protonium bars slide up and into the ceiling exposing a stairwell descending into darkness. Finally, the noise subsides, the klaxons have ceased all is silent again. The glowing square now reads “All Entrances Open. Ready.”
“Torches blazed and sacred chants were praised”. “The ritual has begun”, into the pit they delved. After descending a 100’ or so they arrive at the bottom. No longer are they surrounded by the clinical appearance of argonium walls. This area has been carved out of the living rock of the mountain. Not rough but neatly carved and shaped granitic stone. A most desirable igneous rock to carve a dungeon from... Hard enough to resist most abrasion, strong enough to bear significant weight, inert enough to resist weathering it accepts a brilliant polish. Displaying virtually no baseline radioactivity having long since been passed from the stone in the form of radon-222 gas. This after whatever trace element of uranium-238 decayed into radon-226 then into radon-222, then polonium-210 and finally the stable nuclide lead-206. That being said, things were definitely dark outside of torch range aside from the infrequent nebulous clouds that gave off a disconcerting glow to the eyes of the dwarves and any elves we have not yet killed. Hobo huddle time to decide the next step.
After a little bit of thinking the group realizes that they have gotten rather deep and perhaps a tactical withdrawl might be a smart move. Back up to the gatehouse, past an unhappy Sarge, “What the frag is going on sir, yessir. You just opened the gate?”. Passageway through passageway, back into the bear lair, down the mountain and right back into the Muddy Cup ran our little buggers.
“Hmm, I wouldna turned on them lights but then again I ain’t a murderhobo either. Good fer business but never mistaken for thinkers”
“Dave you might have just pointed out the obvious”
“Keep pouring, the dingbats are lined out the door”
“Hrumpf”
Well it looks like our band of idgits has stirred up something not seen in thousands of years. Denethix is a-buzz, Mt. Rendon lit up like a beacon to the gods cannot be a good sign…
Join us for session five when we ask the questions:
What the hell have we done?
Why does this go deeper?
Tale of the Tape
***Worst session ever***
KILLS
7 dust ghosts
1 greater automaton abomination
LOOT
gold and emerald necklace
200’ gold wire
5’ string of blue quartz gems set in tarnished copper
3000 sp
bloodstone set in silver ring
200 gp
antique bronze helmet
pair of platinum earrings
Simulated Subsurface Treasure- gold ingot
+1 shield (argonium, magic)
20 small aquamarines
Total xp: 3030 = 216 per MurderHobo
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