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Part One:The Haunting of Harrowstone
Please come to Ravengro immediately. My father, Professor Petros Lorrimor, has recently passed away and he's listed you as a beneficiary in his will, along with the request that you come to his funeral. Meet me at the Restlands outside Ravengro on the 6th of Neth in the morning. Once everyone required has arrived the funeral can begin.
Signed, Kendra Lorrimor
With the letter they received nearly three months ago still fresh in their minds, everyone has managed to arrive in time for Professor Lorrimor's funeral. It's a cold and windy autumn morning, and the sky is an overcast slate grey. Standing around the arched wrought iron entrance to the Restlands is a small group of people dressed in dark clothing. Next to them is ornate wooden coffin, complete with poles along the sides for carrying.
There are three men, a boy and a two women. Two of the men are old, one is short and pudgy with several chins and a pale sweaty appearance. The other is tall and broad shouldered with a thick head of silver hair and a handsome goatee. Both are wearing black suits. The third man is middle aged, and somewhat resembles a barrel. His short brown hair is combed back and he sports a thick handlebar mustache and rosy red cheeks. He's wearing a black cap and black wool vest over dark grey shirt and trousers. The teenaged boy standing next to him is thin as a rod, but their features are similar enough that you suspect close relation. One of the women is in her late thirties short and small, with auburn hair that's pulled back into a bun. She's rather bookish looking behind her wire-framed spectacles. The final woman must be Kendra Lorrimor. The tall attractive twenty something is wearing a conservative red dress and has her milk chocolate hair pulled up into a loose bun. Her large almond colored eyes are red and puffy as if she's been crying. She looks up and forces a smile upon seeing you approach. "Oh, hello. I'm Kendra, you must be one of the people listed in the will. Might I have your name please?" The rest of the people stop whispering to each other and look up, watching the new strangers cautiously.
Go ahead and describe your character and introduce yourself. Remember this is your first impression. I'm gonna assume everyone arrived basically simultaneously for simplicities' sake. Whoever posts first is who she addresses first, but you'll all be arriving within a minute of each other.
B'yelka waits in the carriage until the driver opens the door. With the door open, she begins to step out, pausing to survey the surroundings. Concealing her dislike of this ever dreary weather she puts on a slight frown and affects sadness in her eyes. I really don't know how I should feel. After all, we hardly knew one another.
B'yelka gathers her skirts and steps down from the carriage and adjusts her hat against the rain. "Thank you, goodman, here is your pay" as she places the coins in the driver's palm she watches the crowd out of the corner of her eye. Once she has paid the dirver she turned to the mourners then walked towards them.
After Kendra introduces herself B'yelka adresses her directly, "Miss Kendra, you have my condolences for your, rather, our loss. My name is B'yelka Morfaine, late of Dekarium." With a smile she proffers her hand. While she is holding Kendra's hand B'yelka continues, "I would like to honor the Professor by singing for his funeral if you will allow it"
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Dantrian emerges from an inn in the early morning, just in time to be nearly bowled over by a mud-covered girl rushing into the building. Shuffling quickly out of the way, he barely has a moment to voice his irritation before she's already vanished through the door.
Shaking his head in dismay over how rude and uneducated these country folk tend to be, he turns to the stony path near the inn and begins his walk to the Restlands. If memory served, that'd be where the Professor's funeral was to take place. His thoughts are a jumble as he plods along, his thick grey cloak hanging loose from his shoulders now that the late night rain had abated.
What am I supposed to do now? Without the professor... why would such a keen mind choose to live in such a dreary place? All this blasted rain! What was the rude woman's rush anyho- A passing carriage spatters Dantrian with sticky mud as it drives by, the driver not even offering a nod or shrug of apology. Ah. That then.
Shaking his head yet again and shooting an angry parting glare at the driver of the coach, Dantrian continues his trudging walk to the Restlands. He smiles mirthlessly, At least now I will look like a local upon my arrival. Ha!
He arrives at the Restlands just in time to see the offending carriage pulling away and offers the driver another imperious glare before turning his attention to the proceedings. Hmmm. That must be Kendra. And the one holding her hand must have been the passenger in that blasted carriage. Pfah.
Dantrian then approaches Kendra, his long grey hair pulled straight back and a high-collared black shirt peeking out from beneath his muddied cloak. Spatters of mud mar his otherwise well cared for leather boots and trousers as well, but he seems not to mind. Extending his hand stiffly to each of those in the receiving line, he eventually pauses before Kendra.
"Ah, my dear. It has been some years, Kendra. You have my most sincere sympathies. I wish our meeting again were under better circumstances." He pauses a moment then, waiting for the recognition to set in her eyes. "Ah, but you were a distracted teenager and I had not the apparent years upon my head that I do now. I am Dantrian Almaeus, here as requested."
Janos walks into Ravengro, carefully looking at the buildings of the town. The Professor often spoke of his home, but Janos had no idea it would be like this. It's bigger than I thought. What do people do in all these buildings? Maybe I've just been too long in the swamp.
Janos looks down the street and he sees a group gathered at the edge of the cemetery. He takes a deep breath. That must be her. I guess it's time. He checks his headband, making sure it was covering the tops of his ears. Out of reflex, he quickly glances at one of the villagers, but they didn't seem to take any note of him. Alisia says pain in childhood never goes away. I hope she's wrong, but it doesn't seem like it.
Janos continues down to the Restlands, moving up behind the man in the grey cloak. He looks at the beautiful woman in an exquisite dress, but turns away before she might think he was staring. And when he looks away, he finds many of the others looking at him expectantly. "Um. I'm here for the funeral. For the Professor. You sent me an invitation, Miss Lorrimor? I'm Janos Ardeal. Your father was a friend of mine. My mentor, Alisia, also sends her condolences and her sorrow at your father's passing."
As always, Anton dressed for the weather, and today was cold and grey. His greatcoat was buttoned up to the chest but he still felt a breeze blowing through a worn seam in the armpit.
That'll need a stitch or two he thought idly as he reached into the pocket and retrieved the invitation, turning it over in his hands.
It was written by the Professor's daughter and had taken some time to reach to him as he rarely stayed in one place for a month or more at a time. I don't know this family but the Professor certainly knew mine. A shiny gold coin every year on my birthday and once a note asking for my debt to be repaid. How can I ever repay that debt though? He pulled me from...
He didn't think of it often these days but when he did it would send an icy shiver crawling up his spine. He adjusted the hat on his head and trudged on.
Ustalav was a grim and hard land with long stretches or unfarmed fields and suspicious natives. But for Anton, who had walked from one side of Varisia to the other, it was a fascinating place and he had happily followed his feet along the last 8 miles.
Eventually he approached the place the letter described as the Restlands. He could see several of the funeral party had already arrived and he cursed at the lack of time he had to make himself look presentable. Normally his tattered coat, wide leather hat, fingerless gloves and the week's growth on his chin didn't cross his mind. He was handsome enough with his blue eyes and quick smile but he dressed for practicality, not fashion and it had occasionally got him moved on by members of the city watch who mistook him for a vagrant. He also knew the grief of losing a parent and wished to be respectful.
He removed his hat, smoothed down his shoulder length hair and approached the two ladies and the gentleman.
The women were both stunning, one exquisitely dressed with rich auburn hair. The other with a pale beauty that made her grief seem all the more touching. Not for the first time that day, he thought of his parents. She must be Kendra. The gentleman seemed to be a well-wisher giving his condolences also.
"Miss Lorrimor, I presume?" he says as he approaches, holding his hat against his chest and extending a hand to gently shake her own. "I'm very sorry to interrupt. My name is Klasnic. Anton Klasnic. Perhaps your father mentioned me? Please allow me to extend my deepest condolences to you on this sad occasion." Anton wears a gentle smile throughout this exchange and politley greets the others as well. "Good day m'lady, good sir."
|Tibideau Maroon LeClerc|
Tibideau wakes up in his deluxe room at the local inn, sighing about the weather and grumbling about his bad dreams. He takes off his hair net, removes his curlers, and teases his long brown hair into a precariously high ponytail. He glances at the clock. Unbelievable! I'm going to have to miss breakfast! He washes his face and freshens his private areas. He puts on his new winter coat and boots, placing his sleepy turtle familiar in a secret pocket inside the coat. He strolls to the front desk, arranges a private carriage, and makes his way toward the Restlands.
I wonder how boring this is going to be. I hope there's a lunch after the service. I'm going to have to pretend to be sad. Shouldn't be a problem. Who knew catching spiders could get you this gig. I wonder if we'll be given vast sums of money or trinkets. I could use a new pair of tweezers. Oh look, sad people, seems like I've found the place.
Tibideau slowly exits the carriage and pays the driver. He forces tears to well up in his eyes and burst out uncontrollably. He pretends to nearly collapse with grief as he extends a perfectly manicured hand toward a woman who resembles the small girl who visited his family's home with her father all those years ago. "Oh, my DEAR Kendra! You poor thing. I'm Tibideau Maroon LeClerc, of the great LeClerc house of Taldor." He makes a ridiculously exaggerated bow. "At your service in your time of unbearable grief!" Though his tears were manufactured at first, he can't help but remember his three brothers' funerals and the tears become real. He notices a few other foreigners standing around. He is impressed by their physical presence but not by their wardrobes, until he is struck dumb by a glamorous woman in a fashionable hat. "Good morning sirs and madam!" He barely manages to blurt out in his excitement.
Finally got google drive working again, here's an image:
As B'Yelka's carriage rolls in the townsfolk stare openly. Kendra looks a bit worried at first, until the bard descends from inside. (In addition to her above greeting) she says, "Oh my, I didn't know we were expecting nobility. Please forgive our poor manner. I'd be honored to have you sing for my father my lady. I can already tell that your voice is beautiful." Just as she finishes saying this a tall man with silver hair approaches, shaking hands with the silent townsfolk. As he nears Kendra she looks up at his greeting and searches his face. "Ah yes, I do recall you now Master Almeus. I had forgotten that we'd even met. Pleased to make your reacquaintance." A few moments later, any further comments she might have are cut off by the arrival of another stranger to town. "Welcome Master Ardeal, and thank you for coming. This is the professor's funeral." she replies to his hesitant inquiry. Anton then approaches, offering his condolences. "Thank you Master Klasnic, you are expected. I'm glad you could make it." She responds to him.
Back in town, the inn keeper just manages to catch B'Yelka's carriage driver on his way out and arranges for him to take Tibideau to the Restlands. Not a minute after it departed, B'Yelka's carriage returns, this time depositing a positively purple man. The man announces himself through his sudden tears, shaking Kendra's hand. She simply smiles and nods, unsure what to make of this strange Taldan. The townsfolk gathered stare with open distaste at his strange manner.
Just waiting on one more, feel free to RP amongst yourselves a bit.
|Drosil the Grey|
Drosnil puts on the finishing touches of his disguise - some color for his monochromatic skin, and perhaps a darkening of his grey hair as well. This is definitely not the day to draw peoples' attention - it is quite dark enough a day as it is.
He leaves the inn and begins to make his way toward the Restlands. At least the weather's miserable..., he thinks, stooping to hide his height under his cloak and pulling the his wide-brimmed hat down to cover his features.
As he approaches his destination, he sees that several others have arrived beforehand...and realizes that one of them looks quite familiar. Ah, Anton, what did you do to land yourself here, I wonder?
Pretending not to notice Anton and relying upon his disguise to perhaps keep himself from being recognized, Drosnil makes his way somberly to the small gathering, surreptitiously casting glances at Anton to try and catch the look that would appear when and if his identity became known. Just because someone died is no reason to miss an opportunity for a good laugh later over a couple mugs of ale.
"Miss Lorrimor? I was so sorry to hear about your father's passing. Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss - he was a great man, and we are all the poorer for his death." How hollow our words sound, he thinks. Ah, well - they are all I have, for the moment...
|Drosil the Grey|
Drosnil glances at Anton to see if he overheard the name, then admits, "Yes, Miss Lorrimor, I am. I hope that you can excuse my appearance - it was not my intent to deceive you, only to spare this small gathering any undue attention involving pitchforks and torches."
He winces, "Ah, please forgive my poor attempt at humor. This is neither the time nor the place for it, and I hope you realize I meant no disrespect." He sighs, shakes his head, then steps aside.
Dextrous and flexible as I am, it will never cease to amaze me how easily I can stick my foot in my mouth.
"No need to apologize sir." Humor? Whatever could he mean? No matter, at least he's here. Kendra has a slightly confused expression for a moment, but then her weary smile returns. Turning to the group she does a quick head count and says, "Well that appears to be everyone. It looks like we can start. Again, thank you all for coming." She looks as if she might start crying for a moment, but then swallows it down and continues, "No one else saw fit to make the journey, and few enough of our own local people are here." She seems genuinely appreciative of your presence. "I'll need at least four of you to act as pallbearers for my father's coffin. Father Grimburrow is awaiting us at the burial site. Why don't you decide amongst yourselves, and let me know when you're ready. I'll be just over there with the others." she says, pointing the short distance to the group of somber and suspicious looking townsfolk. She gives another smile and brief nod then moves off to converse with the locals while the group of new arrivals works things out. She appears to be reassuring them.
Need a minimum four people, though everyone can help if they want. There is enough room for six sets of hands on the coffin.
Did he say he was Dantrian Almaeus? I wonder if he will recognize me?
Taking stock of each of the new arrivals, she beigns to catalogue them: Janos, ill spoken hick; Anton, dusty vagabond; Tibideau, Taldan fop; Drosnil, the awkward; and Dantrian the school-teacher.
Truth to the idea that great men have ecclectic friends? But what of Master Almaeus; could that be coincidence?
B'yelka adjusts her silk gloves and states, I will need to concentrate on the song and will not be able to our friend's remains. I will come behind the coffin, and before the mourners.
As the pall bearers ready themselves B'yelka stands still in the cold, slow rain her eyes closed. She begins to slowly mouth the words of her song paying no heed to the dark velvet of her dress soaking up the rain. Her hands raise to her chest, clasped in supplication and she begins to sing as the procession moves into the cemetery:
Κοιτάζετε στο σκοτεινό ουρανό
σε μια αναλαμπή φαίνεται τόσο εύκολο να πετάξει
μύγα μακρυά από εδώ, μακρυά από εδώ
Ακόμα περιμένοντας έναν άγγελο για να έρθει
για να καταστήσουν όλα αυτά τα μακρυά γεγονότα ανατρεμμένα
με πάρτε μακρυά από εδώ, μακρυά από εδώ
You gaze into the dark sky
in a blink it seems so easy to fly
fly away from here, away from here
Still waiting for an angel to come
to make all these hurtful events undone
take me away from here, away from here
(lyrics from In Strict Confidence's "Away from here")
|Tibideau Maroon LeClerc|
Tibideau stares, stupefied, at the spot Kendra has just vacated. He nearly vomits at the thought of acting as pallbearer, but exchanges his dry heave for a mighty hiccup at the last moment. "OH my! Excuse me." He seems nearly oblivious to the obvious stir he has caused among the locals. He turns to Janos, Anton, Drosil, and Dantrian, resisting an intense urge to wink at Janos. "Of course I can assist as pallbearer," he declares, drying up his tears with his sleeve.
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22
Anton was too busy talking to the other mourners to notice Drosil yet.
At mention of pallbearers, Anton is glad to volunteer.
"Miss Lorrimor, I can see how heavy this day sits upon your shoulders. Let me bear some of that weight. I will gladly take him to his final rest, I'm sure these good gentlemen will help me whilst m'lady..." he gestures to B'yelka with a smile, "..graces us with song."
Despite his honeyed words, Anton looks fertively at the coffin.
Praise Desna, never let me end up in one of those. I would rather my ashes were freed to ride the winds to who knows where. The very least I can do is carry him.
"Gentlemen, he says to the others, "My name is Anton. Would you be so kind as to help me take the good Professor?"
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Janos makes room for the newcomers, stunned at the collection of people. Besides the beautiful singer, there was a nobleman too! He looks down at his worn boots and dirty breeches. No one told me I was meeting nobility today. Not that I have much better. He looks at Anton and a small smile crosses his lips. At least he wasn't the only one who didn't anticipate this being a fashionable affair.
When Kendra asks for pallbearers, Janos looks around in confusion. "Miss Lorrimor, you're asking us to carry him? I'll gladly do the service, I owe him that much. But I would have thought there dozens of people here in Ravengro closer to your father than I. He was an accomplished and respected man." Janos moves up to the coffin to take a place on the right side.
Forgot to turn on sharing for the Kendra pic. It should be viewable now. Also in case it wasn't clear, the villagers aren't talking to any of you and are standing distinctly apart. They look to be distrustful of strangers. I'm also assuming the singing hasn't started until the procession begins.
Pausing before going to stand with the villagers, Kendra says to Janos, "Unfortunately our town is very small and sometimes people are suspicious of those who deal with magic. These five are the only ones who saw fit to come. For reasons I'm still unsure of, my father wished it to be you six who attended him in death."
Janos looks around at those standing away and looking at them. "Yes, I know what you mean. People can be cruel when it's something they don't understand. Well, I'm here, and so are these others. Your father meant something to me, so I would be honored to help lay him to rest."
Dantrian regards Janos from the corner of his eye, Cruel indeed. If these uneducated yokels only knew what the professor had been helping me with... He sighs then, wordlessly stepping forward to take his place as a pallbearer. He arches one eyebrow incredulously at Tibideau as he takes in the man's appearance for the first time. Unwilling to subject himself to that for very long at all, he then averts his attention to Kendra and offers a weak but sympathetic smile.
"Are we to begin then?"
With Janos, Anton, Dantrian and Tibideau in place Kendra responds to the Alchemist's question. "Yes, please lead the way." The four men manage to lift the heavy coffin easily between them, and begin to walk down the path at a stately pace. There is a small sign labeling it the Dreamwake. B'yelka follows behind the pallbearers, her beautiful voice filling the air with the rich sad sounds of an old Azlanti dirge. Kendra, Drosnil and the townsfolk follow behind their heads down and silent.
The group follows the winding path a few hundred feet, passing several mausoleums and many gravestones on both sides of the path. The Restlands are devoid of trees and the icy whipping wind makes the task of burying the Professor here doubly unpleasant. As the procession reaches the halfway point along the Dreamwake, rounding a corner onto a path called the Eversleep, they see that the way ahead is blocked by a group of a dozen surly looking locals. The tallest of these toughs is a wiry elderly man, with the straight postured clean cut look of a retired soldier about him. He speaks out as soon as he sees the procession. "“That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!”
Kendra looks to be about to speak up, but one of you may interrupt if you please. Once everyone declares their intentions I'll post more. Pallbearers are considered to have both hands full. Setting down the coffin is a full round action from everyone holding it (we're not in combat, it'll just take several seconds).
That's Azlanti. Hmmm, I wonder if the primadonna even knows what she's singing. The lyrics are passably appropriate, so it's possib- what's this then?
Dantrian slows his pace and then comes to a stop as he regards the crowd before them.
"And why shouldn't the late professor be afforded his internment within the Restlands?"
The Professor certainly had some eclectic aquaintances, commonerrs and nobles alike Anton thinks, casting a glance at the fellow pallbearer and listening to the strong, dulcit tones of the singer behind. Why so few to say farewell at the end I wonder?
The procession comes to a sudden halt as the group of toughs stand their ground in the entrance to the Restland.
Anton is outraged at their audacity, at their churlish attempts to spurn the rights of this man to have his final wishes honored.
Can't they see how upset the Lorrimor girl is? Who are these fools to demand where her kin is buried?
Anton levels his pale blue eyes at the leader.
"I don't know who you are, friend. Frankly, I don't care. This man wished his final resting place to be here in the Restlands and I would see that honored. There has been enough pain here already today but unless you would see more dealt, you should stand aside. Now." The last word was little more than a snarl.
Intimidate: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25
"Don' see how it's any of yer bidness stranger. We won't have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. Now get outta here!" He moves forward, and the mob follows him waving the blunt ends of their farming tools, anger glinting in their eyes. The townsfolk behind Kendra cower in fear and begin screaming.
Anton:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
Drosil:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
B'Yelka:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Dantrian:1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
Tibideau:1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Janos:1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
Kendra:1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
Mob:1d20 + 0 ⇒ (20) + 0 = 20
The man in the red square is the leader.
We'll treat Anton's intimidate as a Dazzling Display in the surprise round. All the thugs are shaken.
Begin Round 1
The thugs quickly move up and surround the funeral group. Four of them swing blunt objects at Anton and Janos in a clumsy attempt to subdue them.
Attack (Nonlethal) on Janos 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (8) - 5 = 3
Attack (Nonlethal) on Janos 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (11) - 5 = 6
Attack (Nonlethal) on Anton 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (12) - 5 = 7
Attack (Nonlethal) on Anton 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (18) - 5 = 13
These men are clearly not fighters, frightened by Anton they only manage to cause a furious whiffing noise as their pitchfork and shovel handles strike air.
Okay, Dantrian, Tibideau, Anton and B'Yelka can act.
Pallbearers are considered to have both hands full. Setting down the coffin is a full round action from everyone holding it.
Dantrian looks at the muddy ground and seems reluctant to want to set the coffin down. He balks at the man's claim, "A necromancer? This is what it has come to then? False accusations and brazen cowardice?! If we are forced to set this coffin down here in this road, you will all regret it."
Intimidate (demoralize): 1d20 ⇒ 10
AC: 15 (11 T / 14 FF)
Hero Points used: 0/1
Bombs used: 0/4
Prepared 1st Level Extracts (1+1): enlarge person [ ], open [ ]
First round action
Anton can scarcely believe what is happening, being set up by a bunch of thugs at a funeral. Incredulous, he shouts;
"Sir, I will give you more than you deserve - one more chance. But if you choose not to walk away and you strike any one of us, we shall have to dig more graves!"
Intimidate: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
Anton doesn't want to set the coffin on the ground. Neither does he want to spill blood on an occasion such as this. He has been in fights before - even when he was a child he knew the roads were dangerous - but they had mostly been scuffles, more often resolved through threats of violence than actual bloodshed.
But these men seem intent on hurting us, killing us even if they decide to use the other end of those pitchforks.
Mostly, he is horrified at the spectacle this is causing for the mourners, but most of all Kendra.
How dare these ruffians interrupt me!
B'yelka changes her song to Bardic Performance-Inspire Courage and readies her scorpion whip in case she needs it.
B'yelka almost freezes when she realizes what is happening. Don't hurt them; they don't know what they are doing!" Recognizing the futility of stopping a fight already started, she starts a rowdy Andoran tavern song,
"Brother - I'll always look out for you
if I feel it back
Sister - we'll brave the outside world
off the beaten track
When it's us vs. them
you can always count on me When it's us vs. them
it's a global unity
Open the extended family
the family is growing fast
friendship will transcend the borders
the world is shrinking fast
Cities merge on state of mind
there's nothing wrong with that
don't need any more stupid division
don't fall for their trap"
While she sings B'yelka unlimbers a nasty looking tool of Chelish nobility-a scourge.
Please let this end without making a mess of things here...
HP 9/9; Inspire Courage +1
1 round of Bardic Performance used
Sick of it All, "Us v. Them"
|Drosil the Grey|
Drosil watches with dread as the events unfold before him. I really should have paid more attention when being lectured at in combat training. Seeing that the ruffians' leader is intent on his course of action, he pulls his sap out from under his cloak and moves to protect Miss Lorrimor as his first priority.
First, an explanation - my assumption is that when he was trained in sneak attacks, he would have been taught about favorable positioning, etc. While he hasn't had any practical application yet, he still knows the specific benefits it grants him.
Movement: Drosil will move off the edge of the map (sorry) to get to position N9 to flank #9 and #11, using acrobatics to avoid attacks of opportunity.
Acrobatics: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26
Attack: Drosil will swing at #11 with his sap.
Sap (nonlethal, bludgeoning, weapon finesse): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25
Critical confirmation: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25
Damage (1d6+1)x2 (sap) + 1d6 (sneak attack): 3d6 + 2 ⇒ (2, 2, 6) + 2 = 12
Leave it to me to possibly kill someone right off the bat, with a nonlethal weapon
|Drosil the Grey|
Just a friendly reminder, Drosil, when you use acrobatics to avoid attacks of opportunity, it cuts your speed in half.
Right - I assumed I could go from N6->O6(5')->P7(5')->O8(10'), then tumble to N9. If that's not the case, let me know (and excuse my misremembering :-P).
EDIT - and, fwiw, I should have been more specific about my path in the first place, so no worries.
|Tibideau Maroon LeClerc|
Furious at the thugs who would crash a funeral, but scared of his first real brawl, Tibideau is petrified for a moment. He doesn't want to set down the coffin for fear of disrespecting the dead, but he also wants to give in to his urge to back away from danger. Not yet! I must not be a coward! What will Frederique think? He bellows in a harsh arcane tongue, "KRRRROP!"
Standard action cast Slumber hex on the leader, DC 18 Will save or asleep for one minute.
Status: HP 8/8
We need to set this coffin down quickly. Set it down together on the next round?
Dantrian threatens the thugs, to little effect.
Anton also gives the men one final warning, which they ignore.
Will Save 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
Tibideau attemps to hex the leader of the mob, whose eyes drift closed heavily before snapping back open. "They's witches!" the old man screetches in terror.
B'Yelka begins her song of inspiration. Everyone +1 to hit and damage, +1 on save vs Fear
Kendra slaps tries to slap the man who is assaulting her "How dare you!" she hisses, tears streaming down her cheeks.
AOO on Kendra 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (17) - 5 = 12
Attack 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (2) - 4 = -2
Damage (Nonlethal) 1d3 ⇒ 3
Her open handed slap snaps the man's head to the side as he clumsily attempts to fend her off with the handle of his mallet. She steps back out of his reach after the slap.
Drosil moves behind one of the thugs and thumps him soundly at the base of his skull, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
Because B'Yelka doesn't have a weapon out that threatens and Kendra moved, no sneak attack. That's why I didn't call for your and Janos' actions yet. Because the battlefield will have change before your turn. Not a big deal, but in the future if you act ahead of time, be ready for me to edit your actions appropriately. In this case it didn't make a difference but sometimes it will, please wait for me to ask for your action in the future :)
Okay, need Janos' action to finish out the round.
|Tibideau Maroon LeClerc|
I think we should use the next round to set down the coffin. Kinda wasting a round but it's better than 2/3 of us being unable to use our hands or move. I can keep casting hexes without my hands but I'd really like to move out of melee range.
"Have you no shame or manners? This is a funeral!" Janos shouts. When the thugs attack him, he spins under the coffin, using his shoulder to brace it. He looks at the others. "Lower the Professor's coffin. If these men want to disrupt the service, they should face us all."
Janos will spend a full-round action to lower the coffin. If we begin lowering it now, he'll be able to act next round, right?
Janos begins to lower his corner of the coffin.
Yeah, long as the others lower it too you'll have an action on your turn.
End of Round 1
Begin Round 2
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27
Buzzing down out of the sky come three foot long orange creatures. They resemble giant mosquitoes with two pair of bat-like wings each.
B'Yelka Perform Check 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (14) + 11 = 25
Two of the critters attack members of the mob, while the third goes for Drosil.
#2 Attack on #5 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
#1 Attack on #3 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
#3 Attack on Drosil 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
All three of the insectoid creatures manage to attach themselves to their targets, inserting their long proboscises and begging to suck blood from their victims.
These things are tiny (no reach), so you can take an AOO as it enters your square to attach to you Drosil. You are considered grappled by it and take 1 point of constitution damage as it drains your blood.
Knowledge Arcana to identify these creatures.
"The wiches have called down their demons to kill us all, run!" The elderly mob leader shouts, sprinting off. The other members of the mob scatter in terror, except for the two who are being drained. They just drop to their knees and start screaming and trying to claw the creatures off themselves.
#3 Grapple check 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17
#5 Grapple check 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
One of the men manages to rip the creature from his neck, leaving a dark bloody puncture there. The other stuggles vainly against the creature's tight grip.
Dantrian, Anton, Tibideau and B'Yelka can act now. Since Janos has begun lowering the coffin, if the other pallbearers don't do the same there is a chance the coffin will be dropped.
This coffin is either going to be set on the ground or dropped when these fools beat us unconscious - what the blazes is happening now? Are those...
Knowledge(arcana): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27 BOOOOM! They sound like stirges, are they stirges?
stirges? Oh wonderful.
"Demons? You blasted fool, they're naught but stirges. Rip them off quickly though. They'll drain the very life out of you if you let them!" Dantrian addresses his fellow pall-bearers specifically then, "I agree with Janos, let us set the good professor down while we deal with these new pests."
Full Round Action: Lower Coffin
AC: 15 (11 T / 14 FF)
Hero Points used: 0/1
Prepared 1st Level Extracts (1+1): enlarge person [ ], open [ ]
Round 2 actions
Anton begins lowering the coffin along with his fellow pallbearers as a full round action.
”ENOUGH! If you fools want a fight, you’ve earned yourselves one.”
The stirges descend and the air is filled with screams. Now what? Can this man not be laid to rest in peace?
As the mob scatters, Anton does his best to remember each of their faces. Don’t think this will go unpunished, curs.
I’m not sure whether this requires a roll of some description or not so I’m going to opt for a Wisdom check.
Wisdom: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15
|Drosil the Grey|
Drosil sees one coming for him and attempts to swat it away.
Sap (nonlethal, bludgeoning, weapon finesse): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
As it attaches itself to his neck, he begins to feel faint...
Con: 11 (-1 from blood loss)
|Drosil the Grey|
Drosil managed to whack the one that attached to him as it was coming in. Gimme some damage.
Huh...really thought I'd missed. Not that I'm complaining, mind...Damage (bludgeoning, nonlethal): 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
"Hellfire! What are those things?"
A second's hesitation and B'yelka's scourge lashes out toward Drosil. I practiced, this should work!
Standard action attack the stirge on Drosil. Free action continue Performance.
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19 / 1d4 ⇒ 4