Good Harbor on the Phrygian Sea

Day Two

Or, "Amos of Arabia"

And so it was that our group of intrepid heroes struck out upon the dreaded Sea of Sand, to try and find their fortune, or a shitload of tusks from animals that typically have fangs.

(I’ll just leave this here: )

Our fearless adventurers, possessing much in the way of talent and courage but incredibly little in terms of gold coins, gathered their things (following a quick visit to the wilderness supply shop, where Yamaraja was nearly shot by a crossbow) and took off to the southern wastes, opting to follow a cart trail so that they wouldn’t have to hike across endless sand dunes. It was not long, however, before the group discovered that this path led to a trap – the wagon that the group had been inadvertently tailing was still a pile of wreckage down a steep dune – indeed, once again the group was nearly the victim of the fiendish “trap-door-that-sends-you-falling-twenty-feet-into-relative-inconvenience” routine.

The wagon, and its driver, were set upon by the bandits who had designed the trap, and the group, with only the best intentions in mind, slid down the hill to engage them. The fight was decisive, the bandits finding themselves outgunned against a group of six hearty adventurers. Most of the bandit party was slaughtered, with one kept alive for interrogation.

Oh, and then everyone but Yamaraja had to make a Constitution check. Probably nothing.

Our noble heroes looked to scavenge the cargo that the wagon had been transporting – books, as it happened. Botto found a spellbook which helped his own studies along, while Yamaraja found a tome on the history of the Crimson Cloaks that the king himself had requested from this, the world’s first documented Book-mobile. Confronted with the fact that we had just stolen (again) from King Tung, the party debated what would happen to the cart’s driver. Amos was of the opinion that we couldn’t just go around murdering people – what unfortunate luck for him that he was the one who murdered the cart driver, throwing him to the unforgiving ground, where the dwarf bashed his head open on an ill-placed rock.


Pictured above: Murderer, brigand and bard Amos Saltypants.

When the bandit came through, it was Amos to the rescue again – but no, not through relentless and vindictive bloodshed… this time! Instead, he used his wealth of charisma to convince the remaining bandit that Amos was the new leader of the bandit group. Having earned the bandit’s trust, we learned that the bandits regularly mugged people here and then buried the gold in a cave just over the crest of the dune.

Investigating the cave, we were attacked by several, flying Kobolds, which we proceeded to filet. Our efforts resulted in the discovery of over two hundred gold pieces – if adventuring doesn’t work out for us, the party may have a future career in grave-robbing. We also found a few more of the mysterious, white, life-extending stones, a mystery that is not likely to end any time soon. Having turned the cave upside down (and its denizens inside out), the group emerged from the cave for a well-earned Wellness Break, heading to the nearby “crick” at the bandit’s suggestion to get more water.

Also, most people had to make a constitution check. Not even worth mentioning.

While at the “crick”, we had an awkward meet-cute with a pair of two-headed wolves. And like most of our interactions, it ended in horrible bloodshed and Amos, face-down, slowly floating away down the “crick”. The group survived the fight (though it was close for a minute there), and Rosemary proved that she might be the only thing between us and certain death, as she skinned, butchered and grilled the wolves with little more than an adventurer’s pack and the stubborn determination of a 9-year-old girl.

We camped out at the crick, whereupon most of the group realized that these white stones might be killing them. Though the majority of the group wished to discard these stones, Amos held onto the collection for his own nefarious purposes. Including using his mule in the metaphorical sense of the word.

The next morning, we decided to press on and check out a place the locals had named, “The Death Chambre”. Despite several warnings to stay away, we delved deeper, discovering snakes that had been retro-fitted with massive tusks, and a very angry troll with a disposition against explorers. The entire group did their part to stop the troll:

-Killface lit himself on fire and refused to let go of the troll, granting us advantage for most of the fight.
-Botto wailed on the troll, including a Magic Missile that requires the rolling of ZERO DICE to hit.
-Yamaraja stood at mid-range, using a cantrip ad nauseum to make sure that the troll couldn’t heal. It wasn’t very effective.
-Rosemary spent her time firing her shortbow at the giant target, and getting the hang of whatever the fuck Sneak Attack is supposed to do.
-Amos tanked for the entirety of the fight, sponging what attacks the troll could muster by blocking them with his face.
-And Fenthur convinced the troll that, despite all logic, it should be very afraid of all of the above.

After a relatively quick fight, the group could NOT FIND ANY TROLL TUSKS, but did take all of its internal organs. This game is getting worrisome quickly.

Following the disproving of the Death Chambre, the group headed back to town to peddle their wares. To make a long story short (too late), the group accumulated several hundred gold. Also, Amos – perhaps feeling lucky that he didn’t die in the desert, put his considerable wages on the gambling tables against the owner of the inn – Amos won, winning the group half-control of the same inn he wants nothing to do with. The Fates are such bitches.

Also of note, the group finally met King Tung, who – surprise – should have died months ago. He’s using these white stones to extend his life, and MAAAAYBE was possessed by some otherworldly power as a result.

but hey, we got half the inn, guys.


-We read a book.
-We try to burn down a brewery as a favor to a senator.
-Yamaraja tries to make cookies. ROLL FOR SETTING THE OVEN TIMER.


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