Session 3: Yo-Ho-Hobo a Murder’s Life for Me (7 June 15)
Another day starts at the Muddy Cup for our delusional band of murderhobos. For some strange reason half of the group seem to be suffering for extreme intestinal cramps and don’t feel up to murder. Instead we make the pleasant march Eastward to Denethix the sole bastion of something that resembles freedom.
Arriving at the sprawling city that is dwarfed by the mighty wizard Feretha’s tower. A crab legged steel tower adorned with a massive globe where the wizard resides. Today is all business and not touring though. The party quickly secure two adjoined apartments in the no-good-nik hippy student section of town for the month. Leaving behind the dead-beats a mix of new and old hobos make for the Bank Inviolable to open an account. Fortunately for them they over heard a discussion pertaining to the banks titanic guardians. They are psychic and consequently open fire on those that have bad thoughts…our intrepid band of wastrels cleared their minds of all thought as they proceeded to do their banking. With their INTERAC (we will get a smart acronym one day) card in hand it was time to shop and get back to dying or killing or whatever it is they do because it has been far too long. Some weapons and armor, strangely no actual adventuring gear, was acquired. Back on the road to Chelmsfordshire and another evening at the Muddy Cup. Again greeted by the Inkeep-with-no-Name and Dave the Ranger.
“Not dead yet, it seems”
“Give them time”
The following morning the Hobos were up early with a hearty bowl of mold and dirt soup and then made time to the formidable Mount Rendon with map in hand. They found the first trail maker with ease and also their first encounter. By the grace of the Great Gygax the dice revealed the only safe happening. A trade caravan it was.
Too bad our MurderHobos are a bunch of dead beats. Guns guns guns and grenades could have been theirs… instead 5 simple vials of get-up-and-go juice. They pressed onwards.
Up the mountain they went unmolested by wither spirits or booger-men until they reached a break in the canopy. Three humanoid shadows moved across the landscape. Luck it seems was no longer on their side, the rumors of perytons is fulfilled. “scree-yonk!” Four-eyed bat things with a gaping maw affixed to the head of a stag. They were dive-bombing, death from above. The Brother-of-Son-of-Dirt-Farmer let out his final breath as he was eviscerated upon the antlers of the first beast and too make matters worse it immediately tore him to shreds in search of yummy guts. Simultaneously Tip-not-so-nimble-fingers the Halfling met his doom by antler as well. We hardly knew him. Its actually amazing that he had a name. By a stroke of good fortune the third peryton was affected by a crosswind during its descent and did more harm to itself as it smashed into the dwarf’s shield and broke its wing. Carla the Cleric gave homage to her God (Taft Master B) producing her holy symbol depicting the most bad ass of basses the Warwick $$, “Bow-bow-wow” the holy words for cause fear were uttered her hands glowed with energy. Now ready to strike back the party quickly took appraisal of the scene. Two companions were being torn into bite sized bits and they were about to be charged by the hungry third. Running away makes a heck of a lot of sense. With haste they double-timed further towards the goal and the presumed safety of the forest.
Upwards the went until they did find the cave and the solution to the riddle of the map. Yeech. What an amazing smell they discovered. The cave was also a lair but Gygax again smiled upon them the tenant was not present.
“Do we have any torches?”
“No I bought weapons”
“Wait Carla has a torch”
UGH.
Can we make torches? If we get some sticks and cut up this fabric?
In a moment of Dungeon Masterial benevolence 3 half torches are created.
They found a door and a slot in the wall. ShipDit the adjunct professor was the elected sick rock handler. He opened the chest grabbed the radioactive slag and tossed it into the slot.
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk
Katunk.
And then silence.
And a little more…
Ferwishhhhhhhh, the door broke into two and with a gasp of rushing air and a cloud of dust the unknown is revealed!
Glossy white and with illumination coming from the ceiling was the discovered area. Quick! Douse the half torches they must be saved!!!
Into a bizarre old world they went.
The dust-covered floors displayed the signs of frequent and regular passage and yet no concrete details other than humanoids. A hexagonal chamber awaited them with three labeled doors. Barracks, Emergency Generator Core and Subsurface Research Facility. Barracks was the chosen path. This opened to a 30’x30’ room with three doors that was littered with smashed bits of furniture. They choose the door to the North. After inspecting it, they opened it. KER-SPLAT! A protonium-metal pipe flew into the faces of the dwarf and adjunct professor. Only one dodged. Ship-Dit’s face became a fine paste. If only they had come from the other direction. Without fanfare the heartless hobos pressed onwards. They found a bathroom, two empty rooms and a third with a small lockbox. It was opened to reveal three golden military pins. One of the reprobates (That Guy), of whom I seem to know zero details of I guess high mortality creates high apathy, elects to glam up his outfit and affixes the lapel and breast pins. This direction appears to be a dead end back to the other two doors in the first room.
They find the showers and press on through the side door into the barracks proper. Another room: full of tiny bits of smashed furniture but also 8 automatons and a pile of bones. Luck again is on the hobo’s side, it has been a long time since “fleshies” have been in-house. Nevertheless they could be good for parts. The remaining 5 intrepid murder’s seemed at a loss for a plan until… Carla points out to That Guy with the fancy pins that he is wearing fancy pins. In a rare moment of clarity, That Guy gets all rigid and formal and channels the ghost of a long dead lieutenant and calls the automatons to attention and demands a sit-rep. If there is one thing old robots love, it is orders. They inform the party that it has been 3,729 years since lieutenant That Guy has been into work, “Sure must be nice to be an officer” and that his stuff can be found in the pile of bones in the back of the room. Our stalwart band leaps towards the open-air mass grave. The robots make a cryptic statement, “don’t wreck our bones”. This is being enough to freeze our band with indecision. Even a bunch of dolts periodically realize that they could be smelling a TPK. Time to sweat bullets for a moment or two. Another moment of clarity, two in one lifetime is rather amazing.
“Robots move your bones so I can find my stuff!”
“Yessir…3,729 years of vacation and first thing we is getting orders to move this move that sassafras frick and frak...”
Shazaam! A horde of gold and a silver wall sconce (with coloured wires coming out the back) is exposed, whadda day to be a murderhobo!
Our dumpster divers scoop up their reward and bid a hasty adieu to the helpful automatons.
Back to the hexagonal room this time the “Subsurface Research Facility” door is chosen. Down some stairs, around a corner and headlong into two rather large jury-rigged greater automatons they found themselves. Again That Guy points out his shiny pins. Luck and another mission are enough to spare the hobo’s from a likely de-boned ending. Down some more stairs and to a T-junction. To the North a room ripe with rummaging automatons and to the South a corridor and no robots. No robots is good robots southward they went. Another large room full of rubbish down a corridor, through a door. Something different. Nothing smashed. A series of tables with glass containers on them circling around a circular pedestal projecting a 8’ wide bluish-white light. Some wise guy touches a table. POOF! It turns into “double dust” a cloud and then nothing but smashed glass. In another stroke of brilliance the hobos use their only 10’ door opening and trap detecting pool to experiment with the bluish-white light. Nothing but projected light; they still have a 10’ pole. Onwards. They peek the around the corner while heading North and see a room full of at least ten strange ragged figures digging through piles of something on the floor, seen this before. Not wanting to fight that many of anything unknown the party tries, and succeeds, in stealthily dashing across the corridor to continue North unseen by the distracted automatons to the West.
They enter the room at the end of the corridor and are surprised by the sudden appearance of a ghostly figure.
“Welcome, visitors and employees, to the
Subsurface Research Facility! As you prepare to
enter the Subsurface Environment, remember to
follow your Expedition Checklist, and listen to the
instructions of your guide at all times. We have
been accident free for three thousand, seven
hundred, twenty-nine years, eleven months, and
two days. A company record! Don’t be the team
to break it!”
The figure is insubstantial and dressed in ancient clothes and the characters are starting to grasp just how strange a dungeon they have entered. It then fades away back to where hence it came. This doesn’t stop them from attempting to call the apparition back. It’s gone, much like their dignity. Into a room with a metal bin full of scrap metal and wires, what this? ZAP! Amazingly this warning was not terminal. Even DM’s roll low periodically. Lacking the urge for a second electrocution another door is opened. Leading to the Emergency Generator core, a large cylindrical two-level room. They enter the upper level on a protonium-metal catwalk 40’ above the floor, with two ladders leading down to the floor 40’ below. A clear 10’ wide pillar dominates the centre and the walls are covered in pipes containing a green liquid. Some are broken containing football shaped glowing green lumps. They decide to go down the ladders rather than through the door. 2 on one and three on the other.
At the half-way mark the lumps reveal themselves to be 6 radioactive stirges and they have not feasted on flesh for a long long long time. Battle axes are brought forth to fend them off and then it is realized that its tough to be on a ladder and use two-handed weapons. Time to hustle down instead. One hits Carla and it lodges its contaminated proboscis into her fleshy core. They take the fight to the ground. Things don’t improve much. A second attaches itself to Carla and one onto Lenny. In dire need of parasite removal the Acolyte of Starry Wisdom takes a mighty battle axe swing and removes Lenny’s problem but also most of his torso… Carla has two strokes of good luck, rather than feeding on her the stirge vomits forth its internal radioactive cocktail and rather than killing her she is permanently altered. Strength with a green glow. The Acolyte of Starry Wisdom met his fate as the gods seek an accounting but finally the little green buggers are defeated. It is at this time that the group realizes that they have broken the 60% attrition rate and now might be a good time to get the hell outta here. And run they do, all the way back to Chelmsfordshire they scuttled with only one encounter. A giant floating head moving towards the spot of the peryton massacre, they did not wait to figure it out.
Again they were greeted at the Muddy Cup, “Wasn’t there a lot more of you?”
Join us for session four when we ask the questions:
Where the hell are we?
Are robots my friends?
What exactly the hell are we doing?
Tale of the Tape
5 more piles of flesh a rotting
BoSoDF & Tip the Halfling became hood ornaments for perytons
Ship-Dit the adjunct professor was pulverized by pipe
Lenny was bitten by stirge and then axe
Cultist of Starry Wisdom was bitten by karma, even though it was not his fault
3 make it to the first increment of veteran MurderHobo:
Calvin the Bold
Boris the Dwarf
Carla the acolyte of Taft Master B
LOOT
500 gp
three antique golden pins (two eagles and the wings)
Silver wall sconce with coloured wires coming out the back
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