The Serpentmen's Sacrament - Session 5

Heiwae Mann kicked his feet from the edge of a large bathtub, his legs too short to touch the ground. A half-naked bathhouse worker stared at him incredulously as he told her to put her clothes back on. The thief wasn't here for sex - he wanted information.

Softwaters Bathhouse was a staple of Fallowfields, purveying the world's oldest profession under the guise of public sanitation. It had previously been on the colony's eastern side, but the brothel's pimp, Gangolf, had transplanted it to the (once polluted) northern river. 

It was a savvy business move - the fungal blight had dropped property prices and the newly blessed river did wonders for the "constitution" of his customers. 

The Serpentmen's Sacrament - Session 4

After a few weeks of well-earned downtime in Fallowfields, three adventurers (mounted on freshly purchased horses) set course for the underground temple of Yig.

• Gavel, Level 2 Fighter.
• Godwin the Green, Level 2 Fighter.
• Heiwae Mann, Level 2 Thief.

With Haisam busy, the party needed a spellcaster to operate the Staff of Opening. So Godwin contracted a magically-inclined retainer - a theological litigator from the Tree of Life.

• Burned Leaves. Level 1 Elf.

The Serpentmen's Sacrament - Session 3

Deep underground, five adventurers debated whether to continue dungeoneering. Godwin and Heiwae Mann, demoralised and injured, called it quits and went back to base camp. 

The remaining three, eager for more glory and gold, chose to stick it out.

• Haisam, a Necromancer.
• Gavel, a Fighter.
• Lalo, a Cleric.

The party, with their flask of snake ambrosia, cured the Leper-Chaun. He introduced himself as Wanamingo and sheepishly revealed the bear trap hiding beneath the pile of illusory treasure. As payment for their help, the fairy gave the adventurers valuable intel - the spores were a weapon employed by a dwarven clan of necromancers and slavers. 

The Serpentmen's Sacrament - Session 2

With bodies rested and bellies filled with sheep's cheese and hardtack, five adventurers journeyed back to the ancient temple. 

• Haisam, a Necromancer.
• Gavel, a Fighter.
• Godwin the Green, a Fighter.
• Heiwae Mann, a Thief.
• Lalo, a Cleric.

The rope they'd secured up the rapids was still in position, untampered with since their last delve. The party climbed into the dungeon's flooded central chamber, unspiked the waiting room door and dispatched Heiwae Mann to scout ahead.

The Serpentmen's Sacrament - Session 1

The colony of Fallowfields has suffered a sudden blight. Crops wither and animals die. Some of the dead livestock rise from the grave as fungal monstrosities.

A group of shepherds, braver than most, have tracked the sickness to a fouled river. Its source is a mountain-side cave three days walk from the settlement. They say they found something inside the grotto - a pair of ancient bronze doors, embossed with decorations of strange men with the bodies of serpents. 

The colony's financial backers have posted a reward of 2,000 gold pieces for whoever stops the blight. The merchants won't pay anymore, make the reward bigger and it'd be cheaper to just abandon the affected farmland. Thankfully, there's always the "graverobber's fee" - first spoils on any treasure found within.

The Grug In The Dark - MCA

Choose rockbanger. Choose berrypicker. Choose black fur and matching war mask. Choose flint tool stolen from shaman with wide range of fucking attachments. Choose bang away at mind-numbing, sanity-crushing thing from beyond stars, wonder whether grug better off stuffing rock in own mouth. Choose Chieftain in Yellow and wake up wondering who grug are. Choose 9 kilogram retirement plan. Choose go out with rockbang at end of it all, PGP-encrypting last message down securely laid smoke signal as Rust Covered Arrowhead wetgrug bust into cave.

Choose one last Night at the Bunga.

Choose Moss Covered Arrowhead.

Manor of Montecruz - Session 2

Four adventurers stood in the Manor's hidden basement. There was no doubt that this place had become a den for smugglers. There was treasure to be had in retaking it.

Before they could push onwards, a nearby crate flew open and a filthy man tumbled out. Once bound with coarse ropes, he'd been freed by the gnawing of a trio of rats. Seeing the adventurers, the man introduced himself as "Vermin-Tongue", but hastily amended his title to "Vee" upon seeing their scornful reactions.

"The Lonely Rat Boy", from Dishonored

Ghost Town Gunfight

Fallout: New Vegas

Four federal agents stood on the eastern side of Rogers Dry Lake, shivering in the freezing cold of the Mojave night. Agent Smith doled out freshly milled bullets of nickel and iron, a crude imitation of the “sky metal” their quarry was weak to. Allegedly. 

Agent Deacon memorised the antiquated Japanese needed to summon the entity to their location, from wherever it was currently hunting hapless Californians. Meanwhile, Agent Thorn busied herself with a hastily assembled binding ritual, greedily hoping to establish control over whatever her coworker manifested from beyond the veil.

Finally, Agent Leon dug an entrenched position for the conspirators’ insurance policy - an M2 Browning he’d liberated from the base armory with bogus paperwork. As far as Edwards AFB knew, this was all just a live-fire exercise on the lakebed that they weren’t cleared for.

With all the pieces on the board, Deacon stubbed out his cheap cigarette and enunciated the summoning ritual. Nothing happened. He cleared his cancer-ridden throat nervously, unsure whether his learnt-by-rote phonetic pronunciation had been sufficient. Then there was a burst of Cherenkov radiation above a stretch of desert barely two dozen yards away.

The thing was huge; a slab of crimson flesh clutching a wooden bludgeon in clawed hands. And it was fast - faster than any of them. Its cinder-block feet crunched through dried earth, easily dodging fire from Leon’s machine gun, and was upon Deacon in an instant. The panicked G-man raised his shotgun, revealing a tree-branch-like symbol he’d affixed below the barrel. 

The ogre glanced at the sigil. It laughed.

Katsushika Hokusai

Deacon fired at it. His gun exploded. The poorly made nickel-iron slug had destroyed the barrel. He cursed Smith and his stupid fucking plan as the monster’s kanabō came down, sending a tangled mess of broken bones flying into a sandbank.

Thorn desperately shrieked out the lengthy binding ritual, but was barely through a tenth of it by the time Deacon was struck down. Ignoring its would-be-master, the oni charged down Agent Smith as the terrified ranger’s shots went wide. Before it had the chance to sunder his skull, Leon released another frantic burst of 50. BMG.

A spray of aerosolized blood and fleshy chunks filled the air. It wasn’t the demon’s - it was barely staggered by the bullets ricocheting off its skin. Agent Smith, hit by a stray round to the centre mass, had been torn in half. His bisected body thudded to the blood-soaked sand.

Leon couldn’t take it. The green-on-green incident cracked his already damaged mind, so he fired ineffectually until his barrel melted off and then fled screaming into the night.

Forgoing hypergeometry in favour of her rifle, Thorn abandoned the binding ritual and put a nickel-iron .308 round into the beast’s shoulder. The impact threw it off balance, giving her space to avoid the next swing of its terrifying war club. As the ranger attempted to cycle her weapon and fend off the ogre, Deacon struggled to his feet in spite of his shattered ribs.

Their greed had screwed them. Binding the murderous horror was no longer an option, it needed to go. Deacon staggered over to the ruined body of Smith, the mortally wounded agent seconds away from expiration. With a gurgled apology, Deacon drew a boot knife and hastened his end. Smearing the dead man’s blood into bizarre patterns, the half-mad FBI agent used his human sacrifice to fuel a brute-force banishment. What they should’ve done to begin with.

The oni roared in anger, but another slug of bootleg meteor from Thorn sent it staggering. Before it could regain its footing, it was grabbed by some unseen force and pulled through a pin-sized hole in reality. Deacon promptly collapsed comatose onto Smith’s ritually mutilated body.

He woke up hours later in the back seat of a Chevy Tahoe, lying in a mixture of sand, torn clothing and someone else's blood. Thorn was driving, but Leon was nowhere to be seen (he was busy being manhandled into a Edwards AFB police cruiser by a squad of blue berets). Deacon winced, but not because of his missing teammate or his three broken ribs. 

He’d lost his fucking smokes.

This is a partial after-action report of a N@TO game. I didn't run it, I was playing under #Misfit138. I just wanted to write up the finale of the session, as it was a great little clusterfuck. I was playing as Special Agent Deacon.