We are returning to Smuggler’s Shiv this week. I’ll start Dave’s character on 2300 xp, which is halfway to 3rd level and just behind Vick (Brett’s character)
UPDATE: oops! That puts him in front of barmy. Cant have that! We’ll make it an even 2000.
4 tribeswomen – 600
Damn, damn, damn it to the Abyss and back. I cannot afford, I cannot risk becoming known. That was the whole point. You would think – wouldn’t you? – that being assigned to a joke unit like this would be the best possible luck. Whatever god looks over me now has a grim sense of humour.
Our Otyugh safely aboard, we accompanied the caravan north to the dwarven town. I was not (and still am not) looking forward to arriving. We were joined by a painfully mysterious figure named “Veritas” who – we were told – was one of “The Six”. The mightiest non-dragon servants of The Platinum One, who report directly to Himself.
An imposing figure – a tall human, perhaps, or a half orc. His wrappings made it difficult to say. The man (or whatever) himself had little to say to us. A blessing.
The first day or so was uneventful. We met a company who the other members of our unit knew from previously, and asked about the road ahead. The road was clear, but there was trouble at The Oasis (an important rest stop). Frog people – bullywugs. Distant cousins of the Kua-Toa, I believe, although far less fearsome. We also asked about the city itself. Politics as usual, it seems. When I say “we”, I mean that I prompted the knight to ask. I know better than to ask for myself.
It seemed that our journey was not to be as uneventful as we might have wished.
Approaching the oasis, the caravan driver hinted, suggested, circuitously put forward the proposition that it might be an idea to scout ahead. I don’t know why surfacers resort to this sort of “bullshit”, as they say. Our orders were to accompany the caravan and act as guards at the direction of the caravan master. Why not simply order us to scout ahead? Why not be direct, when you hold a position of authority? I will never understand them.
Some of us stayed with the otyugh, and I was with the group that scouted ahead. We numbered the cleric, the knight, the gnomish bard, the shaman and myself. The oasis pond was most certainly inhabited, and reeked. But nothing attacked. I believe the knight actually waded into the water (foolhardy in the extreme).
It was when the first few wagons of the caravan arrived that the bullywugs finally attacked. I will not give a blow-by-blow accounting. Much happened – it was a fight – but little worth describing in detail. This “Veritas” did nothing – simply watching the fight. I am certain that he was weighing us, taking note of our capabilities. We are not a regular unit, and he desired to sate his curiosity.
People got down to 3, but no-one died. It was a good night.
At the end, the final bullywug turned to flee, and then this “Veritas” acted – leaping after it and killing it. It was impressive, I admit: his speed and skill. Perhaps it was meant as a courtesy. He had seen us fight, so it was only fair that we see him. Perhaps it was meant as a warning. Either way.
The caravan watered and rested. I fed the otyugh some bullywug chunks. It actually mooed in contentment – a hideous, unnatural aberration, an offense to nature. And yet … . Perhaps it is that the thing is without guile. To take a rest from suspicion and treachery, to feed a thing that would as willingly strip the flesh from your arm as from the meat you feed it. I mislike being amongst people so much, especially people so strange as these surfacers. Tossing meat to an otyugh is a respite.
We continued on.
And again, my hopes for an uneventful journey were cruelly disappointed by a hostile fate. Not halfway into the next day we were witness to an aerial fight between a gold and a red dragon. It is difficult to be unmoved by such a spectacle. They flew and turned and twisted in the air, faster than eye could follow. These surfacers are fools to worship them as gods, and yet for a moment I too knew awe. They fell to earth and shook the ground. This “Veritas” ran off to the place where they had fallen. Of all I had seen (I had seen little, in truth), this said most about his ability. Only a fool or someone of great skill and power indeed would suppose himself able to make any difference to such a fight, and he was probably no fool.
But the dragons took wing again, and the red struck the gold a fatal blow. At this
Ah. I see that I have not mentioned the ballista. One of the wagons in our caravan carried an engine of war – a siege crossbow. At the sight of the red dragon’s victory, our caravan master ordered the ballista assembled and armed. In a few minutes, the red dragon came for us. Bleeding heavily, near death, its wings tatters, but still dangerous. They shot the ballista at it and missed.
Even with Brinjin helping to cock the device it still takes several seconds. Our shaman, in a display of madness or brilliance, approached the dragon, set down his bedroll as if to camp. He summoned his familiar. I – our situation was impossible. I called the trees to entangle the dragon with their roots. Normally a laughable, but this one was so near death from its battle with the gold that the earth roots actually impeded it. They shot the ballista and hit. Incredible! The blow from it actually made an impression on the dragon, it rocked back from the impact.
We could see the dragon attempting to cough up a fireball, we could see it pulling against my earth roots as Brinjin and the others wildly re-cocked the weapon. Near death, but still a red dragon. I did what little I could, I called the winds to buffet it just as the ballista shot again. We both shot true.
And the dragon fell.
A moment’s silence, and then jubilation.
And butchery. We cut the carcasse into pieces and strew them so that beats who came to feed would not interfere with the road. We all of us in the caravan took its teeth, its claws, the membranes of its wings, the engines of its fire. Its bones we leave for the ants to clean, but they too will fetch a price.
Veritas would not suffer the body of the slain gold dragon to be treated thus, which is unsurprising. He approached me privately concerning –
Well, I will not say. Not even here. The only way to keep a secret is to keep it. My race understands this well, perhaps it is why he spoke to me. I can think of no other reason – I understand how the surfacers view us. And so I am burdened, not of my own choosing.
To the caravan, we are heroes. Dragonslayers. Everywhere they go they will spread the story, and it will become more exaggerated each time they tell it. The bard is writing songs (adapting existing ones, of course), and my name appears in them. What shall I do? It’s too late to kill him, too late to have him write only of the shaman and the re-cocking of the ballista.
I am going to have to carry a suicide dose at all times. What the spider priestesses will do, if they catch me, does not bear thinking of.
An attempt to tie the threads together, or at least, to appear to do so 🙂 After all, in fiction, all that counts is the appearance of continuity.
I wrote this a while ago – it’s unfinished. I’ll just leave it as-is.
They go into a torpor, you know. Each day for a while their minds simply stop except for the most rudimentary alertness. For a while their bodies and brains heal from the day’s exertions, then they awaken a little and sort though their memories, wander amongst a labyrinth of yesterday’s perceptions, to order them and give them meaning. Then the sun rises, and they stir and stretch, they rouse and become conscious. They Think, they Remember. They Know.
But I remember not everything. Before I became a being, before I Knew, I was made and put into the world. There were great and immortal beings in those days, setting banes and boons loose in the world (which I am, I cannot say) for purposes indirect, subtle, and unfathomable. What hand fashioned me, or why, I know not. But I perceived, even if I did not truly Know. I tolled the years until a new thing set loose in the world. An innovation! The mortals. A strange, alien thing: a thousand, a thousand thousand beings, each but a spark, each to die in their time and Know no more. Yet the Knowing of the whole would be borne by all and carried forward through the years. Though each would die, the whole would not. Who made them perhaps supposed that the whole would outlast the Gods themselves.
And so bright! So young they were!
I remember her, the first I knew. She shared her power with me, and I my memory with her, and so I became a being, and Knew. From her body, she brought forth others like her, then she flickered and died. Those from her too each lived only their allotted span. But they bore me, they carried me forward though the years. They lost me. Cut off from the world, I fell into torpor, I wandered the labyrinth of my memories.
This “Daishi” – I had hoped, I would have shared my power and memory with her, but she would not. She used her arts, and stole my memories. Or some of them. I was careless – in my eagerness I forgot the lessons that they had taught me, about how things stand among mortals. But her efforts woke me from my torpor. She set me in a hole in the weave so that I could not find them, the ones who bore me before. She locked me in a thing that carried its magicks in its body, carried its own weave in rough semblance of a living thing.
Then this new one came.
Well, this other group of about five large trolls began to absolutely trash the market. Rainor, Rainen, Ovthen and I were going to have to deal with it. I put a Displacement on Ovthen, as he was going to have to get down amongst it. I used dear little Giacomo’s wand – now that he’s gone, I rather miss him. How can we go on, without his tuneless doggrel to inspire us?
Ovthen used a prayer to make himself greatly more fearsome in combat. And then I used an Improved Invisibility on myself. I have no illusions whatever about my own ability to withstand a swipe from one of these things. My strategy is not armour, but avoiding being hit at all.
Meanwhile, Rainor was already firing – putting three arrows into the nearest one. He uses Gravity Bow, you know, and a bow with an enormously powerful draw. Being hit like that would fell most things – but it seems not these trolls.
I moved forwards into the market to deal with the one that Rainor was shooting
They are always telling me to concentrate fire, so that was my plan – would finish off the ones that were down. Rather a repeat of that previous time we cleaned out a nest of trolls. An Acid Splash is surprisingly effective if you place it right, instead of simply splashing it at your enemy as most are wont to do.
Anyway, this half-orc emerged from the liquor store and began advancing towards the troll. As he was fighting rather than running, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and to assume he was a proprietor rather than a looter. I thought it impressive but stupid of him to not be cowering in the castle with all the other peasants, but soon he demonstrated why – breathing fire at the one Rainor had shot and dropping it.
There was another troll in the yard, and so I rather pulled rank and commanded him to deal with that while I finished off the downed one. I am a Freedonian baroness, after all. I had to be rather definite, you know, as I was invisible at the time.
An Acid Splash carefully placed directly into the Troll’s brain via the eye-socket soon stopped its twitching and regenerating. (You first remove the eye and pierce the back of the socket with a dagger, because the conjuration produces only a small amount of acid for a very brief time. Sorry to be gristly, but it’s a tip that may help you someday.)
Looking up when I had finished taking care of that, the half-orc was not at all well. He’d taken at least one swipe and was bleeding. I had a few Scorching Rays prepared (our family friend is a godsend) and used one. I can manage two rays, and one of them hit the bullseye and it died outright.
The “family friend” is the artifact Thought and Memory, which among other things acts as a Ring of Wizardry II. Switch packs 3 Scorching Rays, and also has a Pearl of Power II.
Anyway. I told this half-orc to go to a giant dressed as a dwarf just outside for some healing, and then headed over the fence myself. Just outside the market, there was a downed troll next to Rainor and Rainen, and Ovthen was standing off two of the things. Not a scratch on him – a parting gift from Giacomo. After a moment or two, we all had dropped the remaining two and I took care of the twitching with the “Acid Splash into the eyesocket” trick.
But there was one of the damned things on the battlements. The half-orc took Ovthen up there with a Dimension Door (he’s a sorcerer, I think. I know it’s wrong to look down on people, but still…), and Rainen took Rainor. I elected to try out my new Fly spell. By the time I got there, the fight was over. Oh – another sorcerer had turned up – His Grace’s new Golden Haired Boy. An improvement on the kobold, I suppose,.
There was a bit of a hush in the yard, as there usually is when a battle is done. I put on my spymistress cap and called out “Hooray for Duke Jope! Huzzah!”. I don’t have much of a voice for that sort of thing, but luckily the crowd picked it up. Could have been a little embarrassing.
After a moment the great man himself arrived and took charge, and we all began to mop up.
Rainor and I wandered outside for a rather unpleasant bit of business which might best be kept from the commons. We found a human with a bit of rank, removed a page of parchment from his back (Rainor’s job, that) and I cast Treasure Map on it. The map reveals the location of whatever the, ah, donor felt was precious. It’s a little stomach-turning to watch: the veins sort of rise to the surface and pop, but after a day or two they go black and it’s less disturbing. We are not interested in some soldier’s treasure, of course, but I was hoping that we’d get an indication of where the person’s home was, which is why I chose someone with a bit of rank rather than a private who might have been a mercenary from anywhere. It’s possible that he might have had some loot buried in a field, I suppose, but hopefully we have at least got the general region right. We got a rather useful map of the lands to our west. There is a lake surrounded by swampy lowlands, and a settlement on that lake where the person’s treasure was located.
Rainor transcribed the map onto, shall we say, cleaner parchment.
Well, we all wracked our brains for information. The region is one of those areas that Brevoy felt authorised to give out to people. Like our own “Stolen Lands”. It was all barbarian tribes prior to that. You know: tribes of 20 adults each with their own pet name for God and nursing undying hatreds for the other tribe living over in the next valley. Rather like in the old testament (oops: broke character there!). One of us felt that there might be a connection to the Hag goddess (we cleaned out a nest of them in Fort Tuskwater soon after we established the town. Seems ages ago, now.)
His Grace received a petition from someone from that area. Apparently, the fort on the lake is controlled by a person named insert name here. He has done a deal with the various barbarian tribes in the area where he gave them hostages – family members of each of his high-ranked advisers. The petitioner’s sister is one of those hostages, and she would like our help. She feels that the whole area is unstable enough that switching to a new lord would not be difficult for them.
We also questioned a couple of prisoners. With the aid of Zone of Truth and Detect Thoughts we were nonetheless unable to drag anything out of them simply because we didn’t have the stomach to hold their toes into the fire. His Lordship ordered the cleric and the goody-two-shoes paladin out of there, but even then we couldn’t. One of them eventually offered us information in exchange for gold and a ticket to Brevoy. We agreed, and got some information.
(I have also asked our factor in Brevoy to arrange for something suitable for this person. He invaded our lands, killed our citizens, looted our cities and we pay him off? Absurd! I wanted very much to try the Phantasmal Killer spell. Perhaps I’m turning bloodthirsty, but seeing armies fight is a very different thing to removing the odd monster. The shorter-lived a race, the more savage it is, as a rule.)
I have one or two personal theories. It occurred to me straight away that if we deal with this chief, then the tribe’s hostages are worthless to them. That being the case, it’s rather possible that this chief has such a tenuous hold on the loyalties of his advisors that he himself arranged for this hostage taking. Under color of appeasing the local barbarian tribes, he has secured his own place at home.
Having said that, it’s ten people. How many of our citizens died in this attack? What kind of ruler has trolls in his armies? Damn stupid, long term. I say – decapitate the kingdom, annexe it, and hold nice funerals for the hostages. Who knows? Maybe the barbarian tribes will even return them nicely if we threaten them. After all, they would now be dealing with the might of the Fredonian armies. Mainly kobolds, true, but we don’t have to tell them that.
We’ll spend a week taking care of business. Then we’ll head out.
So, in response to my last post here, another family member has decided to taunt me with right-wing screed. I’ll put the whole thing in a sidebar.
Well, at the end it says “forward this if you agree”. That makes it a chain letter.
Riight. Several things of note here.
“Arab” is a race. That means that this screed, by any sensible definition of the word, is racist. Of course, it’s quite ignorant. Iranians are not Arabs. I’m pretty sure Sudanese are not Arabs. By “Arab”, this person simply means “any semite who isn’t a jew”. Quite simply: it’s anti-semitic. Haven’t you ever noticed how the cartoon evil arab – the hooked nose, the beady little eyes – is identical to nazi propaganda cartoons of “Der Juden”?
It’s not talking about islam in general – where are the Indonesians? Or maybe it is. The writer is probably not well-informed enough to be able to distinguish between different kinds of brown people.
You’ll note that the first four items concern Arabs living in Israeli-occupied territory, and tsk-tsks the fact that they are unhappy. I dunno. Maybe it’s something to do with the IDF airforce doing supersonic runs over the gaza strip to intimidate the people there and deprive them of sleep. Maybe it’s the remote-controlled guns on the border wall, which basically murder people at will. Maybe it’s the IDF bombing the electricity and sewerage plants, and cutting off international aid. Maybe, in a word, it’s the systematic and deliberate genocide of a native population by a bunch of white europeans who decided to settle there in the 60s. Maybe they simply don’t enjoy being the racial underclass in what is – again, by any sensible definition of the word – an apartheid state.
(You’d think, of course, that of all the people in the world the Israelis would understand that genocide is a bad thing. But when Zioists read the logo “Never Again” placed over the Nazi death-camps, the message they get is “Never Again will it be someone doing it to us.” They seem intent on doing most of the things that the Nazis did to their own racial underclass trapped in ghettos, even to the point of referring to “The Palestinian Problem” in those words. How long, do you think, before someone proposes a Final Solution?)
Many of the other items on this list are places where CIA-installed dictators have been oppressing the people for years. Saddam Hussein was a CIA asset. Damn right they’re not happy about the USA backing one tyrant after another.
Well, I do rather agree here. Religious government rapidly makes any country an authoritarian shithole. Try living in John Calvin’s Geneva, or England under Cromwell’s Puritans, or (obviously) Spain during The Inquisition. Kicking the bloody God-botherers out of government, keeping them away from any power by which they can exercise their will on the average person (I mean: these people can’t be trusted to be schoolteachers), is the measure of whether a society is civilised or not.
Funny, though, that the very same people who will ban abortions, outlaw achohol, and try to get creationism taught in the schools are the ones that are most frightened of islamic rule. Maybe not that funny: they are so frightened because it takes one to know one. They know exactly what the muslims would do if they got power: they would do what these christians wish they could do.
Kind of like how it’s the wife-bashers and violent date-rapists who are most afraid of homosexuals.
Innocent monkeys that they are!
Um … no. What? According to whose fantasies can immigrant muslims simply hang around and not make a living?
Wtf? What? Eh? What the hell is this supposed to be about?
More WTF. The “exploit the social services” is usually about niggers. One moment it’s “they’re all on the dole” and next its “they’re taking all the jobs!” Terry Pratchett deconstructed this gorgeously in one of his Discworld books, in a dinner where people were talking about the dwarves. “Cunning of them, how they can be so lazy and also be such hard workers.”
And why the angst about burkas? If someone want to weak a burqa, I say: go fucking nuts! Do it! Fill yer boots! Can the writer of this please explain to me why I should give a shit?
The “mockery of the police” is telling though. Fascist. “Respect mah authoritah!”
I explained this already: for much the same reason that christians think that Jesus ought to be making the laws.
Mind you, I do agree with these sentiments entirely. They also apply to – for instance – wogs who want to turnn this country into a boneyard like the country they came from: Serbs and Croats, “Macedonia is Greek!” and all that shit. Give em a shiv and ship ’em back to where they came from.
(You are aware of the horrific death rate on the Snowy Mountains scheme? You want to know what was causing it? Wogs murdering one another – packing too much explosive into charges, ganging up on each other and chucking one another off the works. Things like that. The authorities of the day innocently supposed that new Australians would simply put their ancient tribal hatreds behind them, or more likely were not even aware of them.)
Isn’t this line usually about Aboriginals?
Like I said. Chain mail.
So, I received some forwarded mail of a political slant from a family member. It purports to be from Bob Katter, but is clearly american tea-party nonsense with some of the nouns changed. It’s always a little disappointing to get something like this from someone who you thought should be capable of better.
While I do have some attitudes symapthetic to the piece (eg: lets start sinking “asylum seekers” who come through Indonesia and don’t seek asylum there), in general I’m pretty much a leftie. Even a greenie.
I did send a reply to the family member in question, but for giggles I’ll go into a little more detail here.
Kindly note that the comments are directed at the author of the piece, not the family member who sent it 🙂
I am a hard working Australian and I work long hours to earn a living.
I believe in God and the freedom of religion, but I don’t push it on others. I drive Australian-made cars, and I believe in Australian products and buy them whenever I can.
I believe the money I make belongs to me and not some bloody governmental functionary, Labor/Greens or Liberal, that wants to share it with others who don’t work!
I’m in touch with my feelings and I like it that way!
I think owning a home doesn’t make you a capitalist; it makes you a smart Australian. I think being a minority does not make you noble or victimized, and does not entitle you to anything. Get over it!
I believe that if you are selling me a Big Mac or any other item, you should do it in English. I believe there should be no other language option.
I believe everyone has a right to pray to his or her God when and where they want to.
My heroes are, fellow Australians like Don Bradman, Steve Waugh, Alan Langer, Slim Dusty, Fred Hollows and the Aussie scientists who invented the bionic ear – missed a few I know.
I don’t hate the rich, but hate the way they always find ways to pay less taxes. I don’t pity the poor, I hate the way they are always crying that they are hard done by!!
I know wrestling is fake and I don’t waste my time watching or arguing about it.
I believe if you don’t like the way things are here, go back to where you came from and change your own country!
This is AUSTRALIA….We like it the way it is and more so the way it was…so stop trying to change it to look like some other socialist country! If you were born or legally migrated here and don’t like it… you are free to move to any Socialist country that will have you.
(And take Julie Gillard and her group with you.) I believe it is time to really clean house, starting with the Lodge, the seat of our biggest problems.
I want to know exactly, where the “Do Gooder’s” get their money from, and why are they always part of the problem and not the solution?
Can I get an AMEN on that one?
I also think the cops have the right to pull you over if you’re breaking the law, regardless of what race, color or creed you are, but not just because you happen to be an illegal alien and scream that they are “RACISTS PIGS”. And, no, I don’t mind having my face shown on my driver’s license. I think it’s good….
I dislike those people standing in the intersections trying to sell me stuff or trying to guilt me into making ‘donations’ to their cause….Get a job and do your part to support yourself and your family!
I believe that it doesn’t take all the intellectuals to raise a child, it takes two parents….
I believe ‘illegal’ is illegal no matter what the lawyers think!
I believe the Australian flag should be the only ones allowed to be flown in Australia !
If this makes me a BAD Australian, then yes, I’m a BAD Australian. If you are a BAD Australian too, please forward this to everyone you know….
We want our country back!
I hope this offends all illegal aliens.
My great, great, great grandfather watched as his friends died in the Boer War. My grandfather watched and bled as his friends died in World Wars 1&2. My grandfather watched as his friends & brothers died in the Depression of 32. My father watched as his friends died in Korea. I watched as my friends died in Vietnam, East Timor & Desert Storm. Our son’s and daughters watched & bled as their friends died in Afghanistan and Iraq.
None of them died for the Afghanistan and Iraq Flag. Every Australian died for the Australian flag.
At a Victorian high school foreign students raised a Middle East flag on a school flag pole. Australian students took it down. Guess who was expelled…the students who took it down.
West Australian high school students were sent home, because they wore T-shirts with the Australian flag printed on them.
Enough is enough.
This message needs to be viewed by every Australian; and every Australian needs to stand up for Australia. We’ve bent over to appease the Aussie-haters long enough. I’m taking a stand.
I’m standing up because of the hundreds of thousands who died fighting in wars for this country, and for the Australian flag.
And shame on anyone who tries to make this a racist message.
AUSTRALIANS, stop giving away Your RIGHTS !
THIS IS OUR COUNTRY !
This statement DOES NOT mean I’m against immigration !
YOU ARE WELCOME HERE, IN MY COUNTRY, welcome to come legally:
1. Get a sponsor !
2. Learn the LANGUAGE, as immigrants have in the past!
3. Live by OUR rules ! Dress as we Australians Do
4. Get a job !
5. Pay YOUR Taxes !
6. No Social Security until you have earned it and Paid for it !
7. NOW find a place to lay your head !
If you don’t want to forward this for fear of offending someone, then YOU’RE PART OF THE PROBLEM !
We’ve gone so far the other way…bent over backwards not to offend anyone.
Only AUSTRALIANS seem to care when Australian Citizens are being offended !
WAKE UP AUSTRALIA ! ! !
If you do not Pass this on, may your fingers cramp !
Made in AUSTRALIA & DAMN PROUD OF IT!!!!!”
No rest for the wicked, it seems. I was rather hoping to be able to take a month off (after attending to business). But we arrived home to
(How odd, that I call Fort Tuskwater “home” now. Perhaps you only recognise home as home by leaving it and returning. Home is home only when compared to all the places that are not.)
home to find that Tatzelford was under attack by an organised force. We went there with dispatch, of course. My poor scroll-case! Emptier by the day, but there’s no help for it.
At Tatzelford, well – I didn’t pay much attention o business. Too many cooks spoil the broth, you know. General Rainor and His Grace organised most of the battle. We spellcasters prepared some suitable spells and let the general know what they were so that he could integrate them into his plans. I don’t normally do evocation, you know (well, aside from Scorching Ray) – I find it a little dry and mathematical. But Vordakai (Remember him? The lich we banished.) had Wall of Fire in his spellbook, and I have successfully transcribed it. It’s perfect for this type of battle. Ovthen can cast Wall of Blades, of course.
I don’t have much truck with blasty AoE spells, usually. A fighter does way more damage, more reliably, and without hitting the other party members. But sometimes it’s the right tool for the job. Switch actually does not know Fireball at all, or I would have prepared a couple for this fight.
Anyway, we chose our positions. Most of the morning was spent fighting off a mass of common soldiers. Our wall spells did terrible damage. I’m finding that I don’t have much taste for mowing down scores of ordinary humans or burning them alive. It has to be done, but it’s very terrible. I’d far rather deal with the persons responsible for the attack and simply absorb the lands and its commoners into Freedonia.
After them, we were attacked by trolls. Our forces are somewhat split. His Grace’s battle went well – although one did escape. Trolls regenerate, of course. They dealt with this by knocking them thoroughly unconscious and then dropping them onto that magical campfire that we have been carrying around since day one.
But there’s another group coming over the hill now, and it’s just we spell casters and Rainor. Well see how well we acquit ourselves. These are things I am perfectly content to set fire to.
The DM has ruled that the rogue can coup-de-grace with a ranged touch spell as a full round action, same as cdg with a missile weapon. With Acid Splash, sneak attack, the auto-crit, and her Sniper Goggles, that’s 1d3*2+4d6+8=26 average, a fort save of 36. With Scorching Ray, it’s 4d6*2+4d6+8=50 average, a fort save of 60. If the DM allows me to fire with both rays for the CDG (because you can’t really CDG two enemies at once), the extra 4d6 makes it a fort save of 72.
IOW: it would take a disastrous roll for a Rogue/Wizard not to CDG an unconscious troll with Scorching Ray. Even with the cantrip her odds are pretty good. But she has to get right next to them and is relying on the other characters to drop ’em to zero.
Hmm. Might go Cat’s Grace, Improved Invisibility, and Grease. Her Acid Splash has a range of 50′ now that she’s CL 10, and the Sniper Goggles give her sneak attack even at that range. Average damage 24, but it’s acid. Worth doing that for as long as possible before getting close.