PrP: Maggits

Players Yrqemm (Rogue 2) Azog (Fighter 3) Munch (Barbarian/Sorcerer 3) APL: 3

Encounter 1 6x Giant Magot CR: 4

Alexandria, a city of splendor, of wealth! Of glory and power. It also produces a lot of filth. A WHOLE lot of filth. And while it has excellent sewage favilities they sadly need occasional maintenance. Now, this is normally not a cause for concern for your average heroic adventurer. After all, shoveling muck is a job for muck shovelers. But, occaisonally, the muck shovelers just can't handle things on their own. And this is why the group is currently assembled around one of the maintenance hatches leading to the sewers below, with one such muck-shoveler foreman. "Just his arm." He confirms, holding what appears to be a severed humanoid arm. "Heard him yelling up a storm about maggits, then went silent. We tried to pull him up with the safety line, but this's all that we got." he waggles the arm a bit more again.

Azog looks at the arm. "This is an omen," he predicts in heavily accented Tradespeak. "It's never good when you've just got the arm. It's important to find out what happened to the rest. And to not let it happen to you." Captain Obvious, yes, but Azog is never sure anymore. He looks at his fellow adventurers, then back at the foreman. "So, we go down in the hole, deal with whatever did this, yes?"

Munch peers casually at the arm, curious to the point where it was severed from the rest of the body. Perhaps something can be learned. "What's a 'maggit'?" He inquires absently, as yet unconcerned with the situation. Lacking a nose may put his view of the impending situation a bit higher then most may find it.

"Little worm thingies. Come from rotting meet an' carcasses." The foreman says. Yes, he just suggested maggots spontaniously spawn from rotting meat.

The elf seems to be having second thoughts about going into the muck now that the 'leftover' arm is being waved at him and now that the smell has gone form abstract to real. He turns to Azog and nods, "We have gone from the glories of Named Blades to this," he says, motioning at the arm. "Gods know what is there, but we can hardly let them continue to feed on the workmen."

Munch ahs, nodding to the foreman. "Those things. Slimy, yet satisying. Though prefer my meats fresh. Anyway, shall we?" The golem picks up his simple, yet heavy and vicious-looking axe, absently hefting it over one shoulder.

Azog nods gravely to Yrqemm, wrinkling his nose at the smell, but so far not too disturbed. As far as he knows, maggots do form spontaenously in rotting meat. That's consistent with his observations. He nods to Munch after a moment and looks down into the open sewer. If there's some ladder thing, he'll set his shield across his back and begin to climb down.

Yrqemm turns to the foreman, "My good man, can you give us any other information? Sounds? Smells? Trails of any sort?" He glances around at Azog and Munch. "Azog of the Lightning Maul and I prefer to go into these things prepared, and I am sure the same is true for our metal brother," at this last, he motions at Munch.

"Sounds? Smells? I aint a bard. It sounds like flowing shit, smells like flowing shit, leaves trails like flowing shit, so I'd say it's full of shit that's flowing down there. And maggits. Which probably means theres a cadaver down there." he says then.

Munch follows after Azog down into the sewer area, peering at Yrqemm. "Ain't your brother." he corrects good-naturedly. "Pretty sure mom woulda said something."

Yrqemm laughs, "You're no bard, but that was scatological poetry at its finest." He turns to his companions, "I am Yrqemm," he offers to Munch, "And if you are ready, we should sally forth. I believe none of us can see without some aid?" he asks.

Azog is not enjoying the smells by any means. One of the things he hates about the Explorer's Guild is how much time they spend in this City's sewers. Before he sinks into the muck, he takes the hem of his cloak and wraps his around his face like a bandit mask, to at least mask some of the smell a bit. Once he's down, he says to Munch, "Some use the term 'brother' to mean 'comrade in arms'. I think this is one of those cases." His tone is not judgemental, rather the tone of someone explaining strangeness.

Azog adds to Yrqemm, "I can see fine, for a ways. But if you need light, bring it?"

Munch nods. "Call me Munch. What everyone else does. Light I can do, but probally won't last long as we'll be down there."

And so they descend. There is, at least, a walkway. It's even well lit, in this entryway at least, by a pair of mana-lamps which flank the ladder. The lamps do not extend onwards into the sewers, though. And yes, it smells. This is one of the mainlines running under the commerce district, which means in addition to the usual effluence, there's discarded giblets, runoff from tanners and jewelers shops, and all sorts of other interesting things floating past. And a smear of bloof where the severed arm was dragged along the floor when they were retrieving it.

"Munch? Munch then. Azog, perhaps you can lead the way, I will continue in the middle, brining forth light when it becomes necessary for me?" He then turns to descend through the sewers, doing his best not to gag as they advance and very nearly failing when the smear of blood is found.

Munch peers up and down the corridor, thoughtful. "So, upstream or down? Am thinking down to be the direction more likely things were carried. Though guess the blood to be the best lead?"

Azog points to the trail of blood and says to the others, "I think we go that way." Yrch decision-making at its finest. He hefts his shield down off his back and settles it in place, taking sword in hand and moving up the tunnel as best he can, stooping as he goes along the walkway.

Yrqemm nods and follows Azog, going against the direction of the arm that was retrieved, his bow knocked and half pulled as he walks along, trying not to hold his breath.

Munch brings up the rear, glancing towards the sewage flow and behind them with casual caution, more intrested in what flows past. Not only the most likely source of attack to his mind, but who knows what weird and cool stuff people throw away in this city?

The light of the lamps soon fades, and the group will quickly find that what were once clear shapes are now vague movements at the corners of their vision. The blood trail is getting harder to follow. Eventually they come to a T, and each arm of the T is pitch black. <OOC> Chiddle says, "It will be a DC 4 acrobatics check to continue, it's slippery and a slight downward slope." <OOC> Chiddle says, "The players all hit the DC on a take 10."

Azog arrives at the intersection and peers around to see which way the arm came from. He's guessing since it was pulled, it might have left scuffmarks (or gorestains) along one corner or the other, depending on where it came from. After a few minutes of investigation, he leads the way left.

"I follow your lead, Azog of the Maul," says the elf, and his bow glows with light as he quietly follows.

Munch follows without a word, whirring softly as his eyes try to adjust to the lack of light.

Azog moves more slowly as the way grows slick, the heavy mass of his tower shield hard to balance as he trudges his way downslope. Finally, the effort grows too great and he pauses to sheath his sword and stow his shield. Now fastened to his back, it's easier for him to move, and while difficult, he finds himself able to move downslope without falling on his ass. He draws his bastard sword again, just in case, though he keeps the other hand free for balance.

As they continue heading down, the gore trail is concealed by the... substance which seems to coat the floor, walls, even parts of the ceiling. It's a pale green mold, with a scent of decay that overpowers even the stench of sewage.

Azog wrinkles his nose, even with the cloak wrapped around his head, but presses on. As long as there're no turnings, it's not like they can be going the wrong way. "Any idea if that mold is ... significant?" he asks the others. "It just looks like mold to me," he goes on, though he understands that some know whether it's the sort of mold that belongs here or not.

Munch pauses as a bit of mold is passed by, peering closely at the sample, eventually useing his finger to scrap off a tiny piece and taste it. "...nope. Just mold. Probally only important in workers didn't get this far to scrape it away."

Apparently having no problem with the slippery dampness, Yrqemm follows behind at a prudent distance of about 4 steps from the Oruch. At Munch's comment he nods and returns his focus to the area ahead of them, and the long shadows that precede them due to the light coming off his bow.

As they ehad along, they will notice that while the path slopes downwards, the semi-liquid mulch flowing past seems to be pooling up. A suspicion is confirmed when the walkway descends into the muck ahead. It is not flowing here, at least not at any speed. There must be a clog ahead.

Azog nods slowly to Munch. He scans the area ahead as far as his Darkvision permits, rely on that and his hearing to keep alert for danger. As it become apparent that there is a clog ahead, he pauses, and then says, "This can't be good." He advances more cautiously now. Alert. Wary.

Munch idly peers back the way they came. "Wonder how much a plug need to be to fill this place up completely?" Though his tone is light, the golem shifts his grip on his weapon to a ore combat ready stance.

Azog spot it- there's a corpse floating placidly in the goop, moving in slow circles in some unseen current. Bloated and rotten already, with blood-stained workman's overalls and a missing arm. That would be the missing workman.

Azog grunts as he peers forward, darkvision allowing him to pick out the target of our search. "There he is. All but the arm anyhow, and not eaten by anything. I wonder what happened? He doesn't look hung up on anything now." Ominous, but what else can he do? "I guess we get him back topside." He kneels down in the last of the reasonably dry area and tries to reach in, to grab the corpse without getting into the water. He'll take a big breath in case he winds up in the drink.

As Azog grabs ahold of the corpse he notices two things rather unusual right away. One- the corpse is not cold. In fact, it feels almost feverish to the touch. Two, the bloated, distended belly seems to be... squirming.

The man's belly bursts, an enormous circular maw lined with blood-stained, needle-sharp teeth explodes out with a trail of half consumed viscera. Wet, squelching, thudding sounds can be heard as more of them creep out of cracks in the walls or form chunks of rotten meat at warmth and scent of fresh blood. Each maggot is five feet from tail to dripping, horiffic maw, and fat around the middle as a small horse. Their entire bodies writhe as they creep up from the filth.

Munch laughs, eyeing the squirming white worms. "Awesome! I've never seen ones this big! Wonder if they stay juicy?" Though shifting his stance in preperatiion for combat,the golem doesn't charge in just yet. Focusing on his internal alchemy, a few chemicals are mixed, a few internal badders shifted, and several of his 'dreadlocks' begin to glow with a pale blue light. Shadows may be fun and all, but when it comes to combat, best to be able to see.

The suging, pale wall of putrid flesh advances towards the group form the dark recesses of the sewers. They are upon Azog in no time, being as he's at the front of the group. The one that burst form the corpse gnashes at his arm, but bites only armor. The other springs from the sewage to attack him, but misses its target. Meanwhile, another pair advance towards Munch. He might be edible. He's probably not. They don't know that, so they try to eat him anyway. One of them manages to bite into his leg, but causes little damage. More magots continue to spew forth, sloshing through the sewage towards Yrqemm.

GAME: Yrqemm rolls 1d20+4: (4)+4: 8

Yrqemm backs up fast, trying not to bump into things. The light recedes somewhat with him. But the combo of spewing maggots, sewer smells and just overall nastiness finally gets to him and as he retches the arrow from his powerful bow goes flying into the soup...

GAME: Azog rolls 1d20+10: (10)+10: 20 GAME: Azog rolls 1d10+7: (4)+7: 11

Azog winces as the man erupts with a gigantic maggot, and at the others that appear as well. He doesn't need the extra light to see them all too clearly. Bastard sword held in both hands, he strikes at the nearest, trying to remember his training amid the putrescent distractions. Striking with the full force of his great might and pulling his blade back before it can bind in the writhing creature, he lays one low with a single stroke. Or lays it lower anyhow.

GAME: Munch rolls 1d20+5+2: (5)+5+2: 12 GAME: Munch rolls 1d12+4+3: (4)+4+3: 11

Munch peers down at the massive maggot trying to make a meal of him. "Aww, it's trying to eat me. That's so cute!!" The golem has chemicals running thru his head that make his hair glow. Bat-shit insanity should not be a susprise. Shifting his stance, Munch steps back a bit, the tubes an bladders beneath his skin pulseing visibally, a faint red tinge comming to his eyes. "But seriously, if you're going to bring it? BRING IT!" Cackeling, he lunges foreward again, swinging his greataxe with both hands. A great deal of power is in the attack, ripping thru white flesh with a gore filled splatter, ending only when the blade chips the stonework below.

<OOC> Chiddle says, "Maggots 2 and 4 spew their lunches at Azog and Munch, respectively." <OOC> Chiddle says, "The remainign pair of maggots charge at Yrqemm, and also spew at him." GAME: Azog rolls fort: (1)+5: 6 GAME: Munch rolls fort: (19)+7: 26 GAME: Yrqemm rolls fortitude: (15)+0: 15 GAME: Yrqemm rolls fortitude: (7)+0: 7 Azog and Yrqemm are nausiated.

The maggot that was attacking Azog suddenly mackes a horrid, wet belching noise, and a spray of viscous, brown-green vomit erupts from its slathering maw and completely covers the ork. This starts a chain reaction among the magots, who all loose their lunches in similar projectile style, completely covering the entir eparty in sticky, warm, semi-digested carrion.

GAME: Yrqemm rolls 1d20+5-2: (3)+5+-2: 6

In a sick parody of a counterstrike, Yrqemm vomits right back at the maggot that got him. His face is contorted with disgust and rage.

"ARRRRRRR!" is all he manages as he instinctively steps back from the maggots, dropping his bow but having the presence of mind to draw the two shortswords at his waist with an inspiring duo of 'snick' metal on metal sounds that echo in the sewers.

GAME: Azog rolls 1d20+8: (1)+8: 9

Azog is vomited upon by the maggot, and despite the cloak across his face, the sheer volume of gross almost overwhelms him. He tries to clear as much of the disgusting mess away as he can while maintaining his fighting stance, trying not to inhale as he brings the blade around to strike at the maggot that spit on him, but he can't manage being sick and fighting, and for a painfully long moment, the being sick takes precedence.

GAME: Munch rolls 1d20+5+2: (9)+5+2: 16 GAME: Munch rolls 1d12+4+3: (5)+4+3: 12

Munch pauses, glancing down at the vomit covering his chest before peering back at the maggot faceing him with mild disappointment. "Dude. Weak." Slamming down his blade thru its... um.... do maggots have heads? Anyway, thru the maggot's body the axe goes, and the golems turns to his companions. "How you guys holding... oh. Damn." Leaving the pair of corpses behind, the golem heads towards Yrqemm, who seems to be the worse off at this point.

GAME: Chiddle rolls 1d20: (11): 11 GAME: Chiddle rolls 1d20: (8): 8 GAME: Chiddle rolls 1d20: (8): 8

The Maggots, stomachs emptied, seem even more anxious to fill them again. They each launch themselves at one of the three targets, but in their bile-smeared frenzy they fail to find any purchase on them and slip and slide in the mould and the sewage and the vomit. It's not pretty.

GAME: Yrqemm rolls 1d20+5-2-2: (9)+5+-2+-2: 10 GAME: Yrqemm rolls 1d20+5-2-4: (17)+5+-2+-4: 16 GAME: Yrqemm rolls 1d6+4: (5)+4: 9 GAME: Yrqemm rolls 1d6+4: (3)+4: 7

Scrambling for a foothold and to regain his composure, Yrqemm manages both, preventing himself from vomiting again while flipping the blades to face down, driving one into each maggot's head, dropping them both with a triumphant "HAH!"

GAME: Azog rolls 1d20+8: (3)+8: 11 GAME: Azog rolls 1d10+7: (3)+7: 10

Azog's armor is at least proof against gnawing maggots. He takes a moment to shake off the creature and recenter himself. Heir to a mighty legacy and all that, he's not going to let himself fall to maggots no matter what they do. He's a warrior, he overcomes all obstacles, no matery how nasty and disgusting. So, he raises the bastard sword with both hands and swings down, cutting it through and pulling back, letting it die messily.

Munch skids to a halt as Yrqemm finshes off both his foes, the golem turning back towards Azog to see the last maggot disposed. Relaxing, the golem vents his excess chemicals with a soft hiss, slumping as the energy rush fades. "Ya figure that was all of them?"

Azog would normally clean his blade after a fight, but right here, right now, he's not sure if there's anything that he can use that would qualify as cleaning. Well, another hour or two's not going to rust the sword away, and when he gets back, he can scrub himself and his armor and weapon clean. He may even use the wirebrush on himself. Well, maybe not. Now that he's disgusting, though, he may as well jump into the muck and grab the body out of the water. As much as is left of it. "I sure hope so," he replies to Munch.

Yrqemm still has an "I'm going to puke if I think about it for another second" look on his face, and seems to be considering whether to keep the swords or just toss them. "Azog has the right idea--at least he can now get a proper burial." Then, as if on cue, the Light spell emanating from his fallen bow ceases.

Munch's hair continues to glow for the moment, the golem heading over to the corpses he created, picking one up and snapping off a bite with his metal teeth. "Hrmmm... yeah, 'bout what I expected. Bland, kinda juicy. Not much diffrent from the regular sized ones."

Yrqemm dry heaves and starts to head out after giving Munch a truly disgusted look.

Azog looks over to see what Munch is doing, but looks away immediately. It's only marginally more disgusting than what he's doing, to be honest. But it doesn't mean he needs to watch. Fishing as much of the body out as he can, he'll ... oh good grief, he's going to have to take off the cloak, not that by this point that it's saving him from any of the stench, he takes off his cloak and uses it as sort of a litter for the remains. Well, a bag. He lays the body on, picks up all four corners, and uses it to carry the mess as best he can.

Munch mehs, loosing intrest soon enough, and moves to help carry waht's left of the body back up the slippery route. "Know I shouldn't leave a meal half eaten, but would just end up back down here eventually. may as well save a step."