Chapter 2: Hell's Back Road

[Pulpatoon]

Doctor Gori and Wither Whither run away from the scene of the explosion, zig-zagging back and forth as they go, hoping to avoid any missiles or beams that Urethria might fire at them.

Behind them, Urethria, disheveled and covered in soot and grime, picks herself up off the ground and regards her circumstances. Yithbara, the Inquisitor of Nul, is dead. Her decapitates are destroyed. The bellicose mechanism-man who seemed to have such definite knowledge of the Nul Rod is dead. Most of the captured slaves who had at least some knowledge of the Rod are dead.

It is an insufferable state of affairs.

Meanwhile, one of the slaves is escaping, accompanied by a previously unseen new companion. Could it be that these two are the masterminds behind this fiasco? Might they have greater knowledge of the Nul Rod's whereabouts and have sacrificed their comrades in order to escape her clutches? Yes, that is the only possible explanation—they must be far wiser and more powerful than they appear, and were just bidding their time until they could cause her, Urethria, celebrated Priestess of Nul, the maximum possible quantity of bother.

They must not be allowed to escape! They must be detained, questioned under the influence of the most invasive magics and the most excruciating tortures, and then, when they have delivered their precious knowledge to her holy and deserving ear, decapitated.

She pulls a curiously shaped bronze instrument from her belt and cries out a strange word that sounds like the beat of insect wings. Far ahead, the serpentine sprint of Doctor Gori comes to a sudden stop, as he fall instantly and deeply asleep. At his breast, a baby tyrannoclops snoozes gently, it's single great eye blissfully shut.

Wither Whither feels the prickle of adversarial magic against the nape of his leathery neck, but is immune to sleep, magical or mundane. He is now alone in the Underworld. Behind him, he hears the ringing clop of Urethria's heels making her way towards him.

ACTION!
Next update: Since we're down to one player capable of acting, the next update will happen as soon as I hear from mjulius!

[mjulius]

Wither Whither examines the sleeping Gori and tyrannoclops and sighs Really? Ugh. The living..

His only hope to create a diversion, Wither casts his mind towards any and all of his meteorological knowledge and summons a storm: Of wind in torrents whipping and turning the debris and dust and dirt, gravel and discarded and blown bits of slaves. Of rain, pelting and muddy bloody, slick and foul.

Grinning, his hips swaying, Wither refrains from the obvious puns and wordplay: of Hey, “Urethra” and I’ll bet your pissed now!, then wondering if in thinking it he said it out loud. But then waiving the words away, mumbles, I hope this works, as he drags Gori and the dinosaur to safety, or at least towards the less visible. All the while, prodding and poking painfully, wake up! wake up! wake up!..

If urethra bothers anyone, I’m sorry. Please unread that and I’ll refrain from biology in the future.

[Pulpatoon]

Wither pumps his skeletal legs as fast as he can, roughly dragging the unconscious Doctor Gori behind him. He makes it back to the T-intersection where the party had met with the wandering merchant, and ducks down the side-cavern, where he finds a pile of debris to hide in. There he catches his undead breath while wondering what to do next.

He completely misses the small sounds of approaching feet. Suddenly, above him, an invisible Urethria snaps back into visibility, a long stiletto poised above his gelid eye!

The razor-point of the stiletto barely misses Wither's eye—a hair's breadth stood between him and lobotomization!

Urethria's face is contorted with anger and exhaustion. She stabs again, but Wither is able to roll out of the way!

Dice:

Wither WIS: [1d20+2] = 3+2 = 5
Urethria Attack w/ ADV: [1d20+5] = 6+5 = 11 [1d20+5] = 3+5 = 8; [1d4] = 3
Initiative: [1d6] = 1 Urethria wins!
Urethria Attack: [1d20+5] = 5+5 = 10; [1d4] = 2

ACTION!

[mjulius]

Wither Whither positions himself tactically in front of the lazily sleeping Gori and sidekick.

Thrusting his staff before him towards the chest of Erethria, choking down his panic, he fairly hisses (in his best evil undead voice):

Wait! What do you seek? A little stick? Perhaps our interests are not in opposition! I don’t want this nul-rod every living thing here waddles on about. It’s nul...nothing to me!

*cackling, etc*

I’m here to plunder these depths for knowledge. For I seek a gate. A passage. Books. Many books. A library! Hell’s own library! Knowledge! Glory reclaimed! Better clothes!

You know of this place? Perhaps we can come to an....

agreement?

[Pulpatoon]

Let's see if Wither can get Urethria to listen:
Wither CHA check: [1d20+2] = 5+2 = 7
Nope.

Urethria ignores Wither's sepulchral voice, and lunges forward again! This time her needle-like blade of her stiletto finds its mark.



Urethria Attack: [1d20+5] = 12+5 = 17; [1d4] = 2

The Priestess of Nul stands up, panting to catch her breath and batting the dust and fungus from the debris pile off her robes. She sneers down at the unmoving bodies of Doctor Gori and Wither Whither and spits. "Churls! Swine! Fit to be feast for worms! But not until I've had a chance to crack open your brain-cases and rummage around inside."

Operation: Unfathomable! Day Four; Time: unknown.
The next day, Wither returns to corporeal consciousness in a smooth-polished room of white stone. The room is amply lit by oil lamps. The room is about 15x25'. Four narrow beds line the eastern wall. On the beds lie Doctor Gori, Krodok, another wooly neanderthal with blond fur knotted into dreadlocks, and a humanoid otter. The figures appear insensate, as if sedated. or, perhaps, asleep.

Wither himself had been collected in a sack and dumped ceremoniously in a corner of the room, ext to a bin labeled in Undercommon: "DISCARD HEADS."

The left side of the room is fitted with a long table that runs the length of the room. It contains several drains, sets of restraints for three humanoid figures, and wicked-looking tools which Wither recognizes as being surgical in nature. A taboret fits under the table, and is filled with more tools, sets of extensible antennae, and, piquing Wither's professional interest, two scrolls.



There are doors to North and South. Through the North door, Wither hears distant sounds—the murmur of voices and soft-soled shoes.

ACTION?

Zhym and Captain Kinkajou: What circumstances lead to Thunk and Tarka lying in a operating room in a Local Franchise Temple of Nul, The Mindless God? Were you captured, or did you willingly submit to join Nul is a state of Blessed Decapitation, free from worry, regret, and thought?

[Pulpatoon]

FLASHBACK!
Thunk the Wooly Neanderthal had wandered, lost in the Underworld, after being exiled from his tribe in the frozen hinterlands of Upper Mastadonia. He had seen many strange and terrifying things, and it was a great relief to finally be greeted with hospitality.

He stood outside the Nul Temple. Its facade was carved into the likeness of a massive human figure, 25' tall, seated, with an extensible antenna in the place of its head.

Screen Shot 2019-06-29 at 7.27.27 AM.png (303.96 KiB) Viewed 2189 times

The door is guarded by two decapitates wearing human-style metal armor and carrying poles with terrible metal blades affixed to one end. A little ways from the door, is a kiosk of some sort. By this kiosk, an acolyte talks excitedly to a slug-man with overactive slime glands. Seeing Thrunk, the acolyte smiles and waves him over.

The slug-man jumps in alarm and the massive, flaxen-furred Wooly Neanderthal comes up behind him. The acolyte gestures to the kiosk and says, "Please, take of Nul's Gift of Sustenance!" There is a large pitcher of water, mugs, a covered iron pot with a long serving spoon, and a stack of bowls and spoons.

One sniff immediately tells Thunk that whatever is in the pot most definitely did not come from a mastodon. However, the water is eagerly accepted. As he drinks, the acolyte delivers the message of Nul to him and the nervous-looking slug-man. "Yes, now where was I? Oh, of course... the gift and the glory of Nullity!

"In the Uncounted Years before the Golden Age of the Underworld, Nul did verily coalesce himself from Primal Chaos at the center of the world. Nul strode forth in titanic conquest with sword, plague, and fire and all the Underworld did quake and quell and beg to pay him right and proper obeisance. Nul lorded over his domain for eternity upon eternity to the delight of all creatures, except for the petty jealousies of those pretenders to divinity, the upstart godlings. They were ceaseless in their struggles against the proper ordering of the world, and Great Nul never knew peace.

"After a particularly destructive war with his rivals, Nul collapsed into incapacitating melancholy. All was woe! Vanity! Futility! An eon of ascetic inertia followed, after which Nul ascertained the source of his anguish, suddenly arose, seized his colossal war axe, and in a single sweeping motion, sheared his head from his mighty shoulders. His mind offended him, and so he removed it.

"Nul’s body disposed of his head in a bottomless pit and returned to his throne.

"And who among us has not been offended by their mind? Why should the noble body be enslaved to the callous head? Why should we be troubled with the tangled thoughts and knotted anxieties that are its only bounty? Come, follow me into the temple, and stare into the Abyss—I'll waive the charge for you, as I can see how burdened you are by your troubles—yes, stare into Nul's Abyss, and we guarantee that it will stare back! Relax and let your consciousness flow into oblivion as its eldritch energies bless you with stupefaction!"

The slugman mops his brow with a mucus-soaked handkerchief, and says, "Ho! Hum! Oh! I... That is, a lovely religion you have here. Nice to see religious diversity and so on. But, uhm, but no. Must continue my rounds, you know. Such a shame. Any other time, I'd love to see more. But I have your pamphlets, Thank you. Goodbye!"

Thunk follows very little of what the acolyte says, but he does pick up on the words "tangled" and "knotted." Perhaps this person is some sort of hairdresser? He had heard that the civilized people of the world had such experts. How lucky he is to have found one! Could this small person help him with the problems that have plagued his magnificent coiffure? After thinking hard about the offer as he understands it, he asks the acolyte, "You maybe take a little off the top?"

The acolyte's face blossom's into a delighted smile, as though he can't believe the gift Thunk has just offered him. "Why, yes, yes of course! I see you are a truly worshipful soul and wish to embrace the fullest gifts of the Mindless God and join the ranks of His most favored and blessed disciples, the Holy Headless, who have made themselves new in the image of Nul! Please! Come with me! Right this way!"

Ten minutes later, Thunk was anesthetized and laid out on an operating table.

[mjulius]

His interest piqued, and no one about (it seems), Wither quickly steals away, low to the floor like an undead commando, snatches the scrolls and gets back in the sack where he reviews them furtively.

[Pulpatoon]

The scrolls are hefty and sturdy, attached to wooden rollers and inscribed on thick hide. They show smudging and signs of wear that indicate regular consultation. Unrolling them enough to read and propping open the mouth of his sack enough to let some light in, Wither recognizes the Ancient Beetle insectograms that are the language of magic.

Decapitate
Range: Touch
Duration: Permanent
A surgical spell of the Nul cult. When cast upon a sleeping (or otherwise unconscious) subject, decapitate painlessly removes the head, which dies while the body remains alive.

Install Antenna
Range: Touch
Duration: Permanent
Grafts a small processor box behind the breastbone of the subject, from which extends an aerial rod, thus creating a decapitate. The control box sends and receives telepathic messages and effects a complete metabolic restructuring, obviating the need for respiration and digestion (all nutrition and oxygenation of the blood provided by daily intravenous procedures).

These scrolls, for Knave purposes, are effectively spell-books. They take up one Inventory slot each, and allow for casting once per day.

[Captain Kinkajou]

Tarka

ooc: Pulpatoon, feel free to amend as you see fit, but I imagine it something like this.

It had been a pretty normal day. Tarka had been roaming through the tunnels and having fun frollicking in muck and chasing his own tail when he heard a loud boom from somewhere in the caves nearby. It sounded like somebody was having fun, so he immediately set off to investigate. As he scampered in the direction he thought the sound had come from, he stumbled upon a female grey humanoid wearing charred robes, wrestling with a decrepid skeletal cadaver. Not wanting to miss out on the obvious fun, Tarka immediately forgot about the boom and joined in, barrelling into the female, who seemed to have just emerged the triumphant winner of whatever game they were playing. Tarka bowled her over and rolled and bounced around until she didn't know up from down and he was sitting on top of her. After all, bouncing is what Tarka does best. He looked happily down at the female, wondering whether she wanted to play again, and noted with a degree of puzzlement that she was looking very angrily up at him. Oops. Then everything went kind of bright green and that was the last thing Tarka remembers.

[Pulpatoon]

That dovetails pretty nicely! I'll just append the following:

Urethria couldn't believe the absurdity—the injustice!—these worthless Overworlders had an endless supply of oddities that kept springing upon her just as her victory seemed assured! The corpse-man was gruesome enough, but what could be more insulting than to have one of those filthy cave otters spring upon her! At this point, she had exhausted her offensive magics, and now the greasy-furred beast knocked her stiletto clattering across the cave floor! Well, no matter. Was she not Urethria, Priestess of Nul? She'd take the creature on with tooth and claw, if necessary. She'd—

A flash of green strobed, back-lighting the otter, who collapsed in a slack heap. Urethria pushed it off her and looked up into the fierce countenance of Mother Futility.

"We received your telepathic distress call, Priestess. This? This is the rabble that has so vexed you? Perhaps you have been asked to bear too much responsibility, poor thing. Perhaps that pretty head of yours has become more trouble than it's worth?"

[mjulius]

Wither, realizing there is yet some time to spare, crawls out of the sack, fashions it into a satchel, deposits the scrolls within and searches among the available tools, testing their balance and efficacy by stabbing the air with menacing practice blows.

Satisfied that the chosen weapon is fit for melee, he unstraps each of these sleeping beauties, then raps each on the heels and/or flippers (?) painfully, covering their mouth to muffle their cries.

When awake, he motions each quietly towards the South door, away from the sounds of soft shoes and voices.

Quick post (hopefully thought out) but busy next couple of days.. Trying to open the game to the rest of the crew.
Also, can you give me a damage dice and description for this craniotomy tool Wither has armed himself with?

[Pulpatoon]

Everybody's awake! You are presently unequipped.

There are a number of surgical tools to choose from. They do 1d6 damage, one slot, one hand, but are delicate compared to weapons, and so have a Quality of 1.

[Zhym]

Thunk quickly takes in his surroundings as he awakens. He is lying on a table with a bony man in fancy clothes doing something to his feet. Ah! This must be one of those "foot massages" he has heard about! Truly, civilization is full of wondrous things!

Oddly, though, no one has even touched his hair yet. Maybe that comes later.

When the thin fancy man moves on to massage another customer's feet, Thunk climbs off his massage table and considers the wall full of strange metal objects—probably the tools used by the hairdressers, he thinks. So many of them! Such variety! He takes something long, thin, and pointy off the wall, that looks like it might be good to get inside tangles. Holding it, it seems fragile. Not strong like a good stone tool. He wonders where his stone axe is—and his mastadon grease hair product. And his mastadon meat. He's starting to get hungry. He looks around to see where the hairdressers have put his things.

There are more people in the room. Spas of civilization are so busy!

"Me Thunk," he says, introducing himself.

[rossik]

Gori looks around, surprised

"lil'karas!" he realize, surprised. He looks for his little fellow around, and after noticing the "weapons", he chose one that he can hide if needed (like a scalpel)

"Oh, my name is Doctor Gori, by the way", introduce himself.

After that, he will scout the room, looking also for he lich.

[Pulpatoon]

Given the almost complete change-over in party member, this seems like a good time to start a new chapter.

Chapter 3: The House of Oblivion, Local Franchise Branch

Also, this being a new chapter, Wither and Doctor Gori level up!

Advancement:

When a PC gains a level, they roll a number of d8s equal to their new level to find their new HP maximum. If the result is less than their previous maximum, their maximum HP increases by 1. They also raise the defense and bonus scores of 3 different abilities of their choice by 1 point. Abilities may never be raised higher than 20/+10.
...
You can also raise abilities randomly if you want. My preferred method is to roll a d20 for each ability, in any order, raising that ability by 1 if the roll is less than that ability’s Defense. Keep cycling through the abilities, stopping when three abilities have advanced, and skipping any abilities that have maxed out. In this method, natural talents will tend to advance faster than weaknesses, which makes PCs more varied and specialized.

(Note that Wither rolls a d4 for hp, not a d8.)

Good luck!

[rossik]

Nice!
about the priest and the others, do they seem to me like enemies? I just woke here, so i may have little clue about it

(i was first level, so now that im second, i roll 2d8, is that it?)