Male Human Oracle (FC) 15 Init: +8 Perc: +0 AC:24/14/20 F:+13 R:+14 W:+15 HP:124/124 Freedom of movement, Resist Cold/30, Air Walk 30'
I can look at picking up inflict light wounds next level as a 1st level spell with my level bonus point.
We just need something to hold us over until that point, the scrolls will probably b fine.
Dren smiles and is genuinely looking forward to seeing the outside world. This is the first time he has really been outside of the city he grew up in and the thought of reeking destruction on the people of Talingarde...well, it just makes him feel warm inside. Also there will be plenty of new things to experience...suffering to give to others...yes, it will be good.
Tiadora's voice remains flat, but something in her posture makes you want to back a few steps away. "Yes. You chose." Tiadora's nostrils flare, and then she leans forward until she is nearly touching Irin. (It is suddenly very clear that she is much the taller of the two, and almost certainly much the stronger as well.) She breathes deeply, as if inhaling the shorter woman's scent. "Yess.. you chose to be here because you have been rutting and swilling, like the dirty little animal that you are."
Tiadora leans back, her face expressionless. "That is, of course, perfectly normal and understandable in a lesser breed like yourself. But your vices have addled your mind so thoroughly that I believe you are indulging in..." she pauses, "sentiment."
Tiadora turns and stares at Jax. It is a very blue stare, and very cold. Jax feels sudden strong urge to get a large solid object between that stare and himself.
"Yes, you have gotten yourself briefly sober and dragged yourself up from your smelly little lair downstairs. You have come to see off the latest in your long line of rut-objects. I suppose you feel sadness at his departure, since once he is gone you will once again be reduced to rubbing yourself up against -- "
"My people do not reject sentiment, tool," says Irin. Her green eyes positively glow with hatred, and her curly mass of hair seems almost to bristle and expand. "We feel it -- and we triumph over it. As we do over every other weakness -- "
Tiadora throws back her head and laughs. You jump! It's such an unexpected sound. None of you has ever heard her laugh before.
"Triumph? If by triumph you mean smoke and snort, gorge and guzzle, rub and rut! Oh, such triumphs! As a sow in the muck triumphs over the filth that she wallows in! Yes, these are the triumphs of your people, sad little mockeries that you are." She shakes her head. "Pathetic. Slaves to sentiment and sensation, every one of you."
"Better to be a slave to sense or sentiment," says Irin softly, "than a slave to the whim and will of another."
Tiadora grows very still.
"Yes," says Irin, more softly still "of course a dull drudge like yourself, knowing no pleasures but cruelty and ambition, will mock what she will never understand. But to hear a slave laugh at freedom... a golem laugh at free will... a stick, a thing, a tool laugh at joy... why, that is passing strange."
"I will tear out your entrails, slowly, and consume them before your eyes," says Tiadora conversationally. "Do you think your little schemes go unnoticed? I will have a Level Five Correction from you. Nine days you will hang in agony, begging every second for the blessed relief of death. You'll scream until your throat bursts. And then, little animal," Tiadora is leaning forward, her hands crooked as if to grasp and strangle, "then you will see true joy -- my joy -- "
The two women are leaning towards each other. Tension crackles in the air. You see the Cardinal raise one hand, and begin to speak. And then...
I have to crash for a bit. Let's leave the two ladies suspended for a moment. (I wonder why they don't like each other?) It seems like everyone is pretty much ready to roll on out of the mansion, which is fine. If you want to jump back and ask a question or some such, you still can. Otherwise, tomorrow we'll resolve this scene and get you on your way.
Hey, Dren is just getting creepier. Well done, Dren. You haven't had a side quest or cutscene yet, but thanks for hanging in there... your time will come.
The Judge looks from one woman to the other and simply smiles:
As cold as they would have others believe their hearts are, both have warm blood. Delicious warm blood. Someday perhaps I shall sample both and see which is better: the cold b!tch or the infernal slut.
When there is a break in the pleasant discussion, the Judge causally turns to the Cardinal.
It is no wonder the Dark Lord fails to rule for long when his loyal followers take control of a nation in this world. When the most talented among his loyal servants would prefer destroying one another, then there is no need for the lowlifes of Mitra to even raise arms. Both of these lovely ladies skills are nearly without compare. One in the arcane arts and the other in the art of persuasion and enchantment. Together they could bring the petty lords of almost any noble house in this despicable land to their knees. It is sad that instead of bringing the greatness of the First to this land, they prefer simply seeking to undermine and destroy one another.
Male Human Oracle (FC) 15 Init: +8 Perc: +0 AC:24/14/20 F:+13 R:+14 W:+15 HP:124/124 Freedom of movement, Resist Cold/30, Air Walk 30'
Douglas Muir 406 wrote:
Hey, Dren is just getting creepier. Well done, Dren. You haven't had a side quest or cutscene yet, but thanks for hanging in there... your time will come.
Thank you and no concerns from this side. When and if anything happens I will welcome it but I got a late start so it is taking a while for the rest of the party to get "used" to him if they ever will and for his character to hit his stride. Trust me the shapeshifting is going to get creepier as he gets higher in level...as well as some of his other abilities.
Lol - I don't do the shapeshifting thing, I summon the real monsters. Hey look, an Ice Devil. Oops it died, hey look 3 Barbed Devils. Oops they died, hey, another Ice Devil.
It is a dwarf. His thick, dark, glossy hair is parted down the middle and falls in slightly greasy ringlets along his shoulders. His beard is tied with a band of gold. He wears a violet silk shirt, open to the navel; several large cold chains hang from around his neck. Over the shirt he wears an open tunic of white satin. His flared trousers are of rich black leather. Rings adorn his fingers. His boots are pointed.
The dwarf steps forward and raises one hand. (You can see that his cuffs are monogrammed.) He smiles.
"Ladies... there is no more reason to fight. Unite your lovely faces in smiles of delight, my girls. For the hour of happiness is here.
There is silence. Everyone stands still and looks at the dwarf.
He strolls forward to the two women. "Ah, such beauty! One so tall and blonde, and the other so... not tall and blonde! How could Smoove ever choose between two such perfect specimens?" The dwarf bows low and puts one leg out. "Lady Irin... and my most special Lady Ti - a - do - rah... know that Smoove does not discriminate. You are both lovely, lovely ladies, and both worthy of Smoove's love.
"Know that Smoove is a master of the arts of love. And to the master, all ladies are equally fine. As long as they are, of course, actually fine. Which both you ladies are.
"Yes, whether you are Booty-licious," he nods at Irin, "or Babe-a-lectable," nodding at Tiadora, "Smoove will love you up just the same. For Smoove is... love."
The dwarf takes Irin's hand (which had been just making a spellcasting gesture) in his left hand. He takes Tiadora's hand (which had been twisting into a claw, to rend and tear) in the other. He beams at both of them. "Yes, ladies, Smoove has come. So there is no reason to fight, ever again. The only question left is," he smiles more broadly, "who's first?"
"RRRRRAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGHH!!!" Tiadora gestures and writhing black tentacles explode out of the ground, seize the dwarf and hoist him high into the air.
"AAAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" Irin gestures and three rays of blazing light stream out from her fingers. They strike the dwarf, and he is instantly enveloped in fire.
"Smoove is Smoove," says the dwarf. He tries to maneuver himself within the tentacles so that he can give the group what is clearly meant to be a charming smile. "Smoove is the Master of Love."
"Smoove is dead," hisses Irin.
"Smoove is dead, after agony beyond mortal description," Tiadora agrees, nodding.
A throat clears in the back of the room. It is a small sound, yet somehow it commands attention. Everyone turns. It is Pilkington.
The accountant steps forward. "I believe that in actuality, 'Smoove' is..."
Female Aasimar Wizard 6 (HP 53/53; AC 18/18/15; CMD 16 Fort +5; Ref +7 Will +8; Init +3; Perception +11; Darkvision 60 ft)
Douglas Muir 406 wrote:
Feel free to ask the Cardinal questions and/or throw some knowledge checks. Sir Edmin, as a former soldier you can make untrained Knowledge checks about things relating to the military -- i.e., the Watch Wall or Balentyne fortress. After all, you've been up north of the Wall twice...
DM which rolls may I make?
I don't think I would want 'Smoove' on this mission. Alas that makes it a certainty.
HP 169/169; AC:37/21/29; Saves: +22/+23/+20; Init +10; Per +28(See Invisibility), CMD 42
Misc:
Effects: Resist Cold 30, Fly 30', Telepathic Bond
Pretty sure Judge said that in mental thought, nto out loud. Otherwise he would!
When Irin walks into the room, Jax grins slightly. Throughout Tiadora's rant, he'll lean casually in his chair and continue eating, smiling and watching her. Fortunately, he knows enough not to speak what he's thinking out loud. Or would, if he didn't have points of wisdom damage.
"Tiadora, exulting in the pleasures available in this life is precisely the reason to have ambition. What use is power, money and control if you cannot use it to delight yourself?"
..Hm..I really shouldn't have said that.
Jax blinks slowly, looking at the dwarf. "What potion or contraption did he play with now to do..THAT to himself?"
"Tiadora, exulting in the pleasures available in this life is precisely the reason to have ambition. What use is power, money and control if you cannot use it to delight yourself?"
..Hm..I really shouldn't have said that.
Tiadora's blue gaze intensifies for just a moment. You have a sudden mental image...
Jax, a sudden mental image:
Tiadora reaches into your chest and rips something out. It squirms and writhes in her hands. It is a little demon-thing, the size of a goblin.
You clutch your chest and fall to the ground. You have changed! No horns, no tail... you're completely human, perfectly normal. And somehow, you understand that you must die now: without the demonic admixture, what's left doesn't quite make a viable living creature.
Human-Jax coughs and gasps and flops on the floor. He takes a long time to die, but eventually he chokes down to an ending, expiring with a few desperate final twitches in an expanding puddle of body fluids. Meanwhile, Tiadora -- smiling very slightly -- begins to slowly tear shrieking Demon-Jax into bloody shreds.
"Doctor Zargo?" You have seen the Cardinal be paternal, charming, stern, thoughtful, and -- for a brief moment -- terrifying. But this is the first time you've seen him nonplussed.
"Sir, Zargo has made a number of requisitions in the last few months for something he called 'Project S'. I believe you see the results before you.
"And I have seen something like this before." Pilkington pauses. His neatly clipped little mustache twitches as he seems to consider just what to say. "In my youth, I was briefly a student at the Academae, as is common for young men of good family and a certain studious bent. After two years I realized that magic, while interesting in its way, would never be able to compare to accounting. But while I was there, one thing I did learn was why the Academae would never admit alchemists.
"It is an open question whether alchemy attracts the mentally unstable, or whether the practice itself, the constant exposure to bizarre fluids and vapors, tends to fracture the mind. Whatever the reason, the fact is that eventually most alchemists go mad. The details vary considerably from case to case. But it is not unusual for a powerful alchemist to attempt to..." Pilkington's mustache twitches again as he searches for the right word, "to perfect himself. To transform into a personal ideal."
The Cardinal blinks. "This is... Zargo's personal ideal?"
"I'm told, sir, that usually the result is a hulking, brutal thing or a ravening beast or some such. However, as noted, the details can vary considerably."
"Considerably, you say." The Cardinal looks at Smoove, or possibly Zargo.
"Give him to me," says Tiadora. "This deserves Correction."
"No, give him to me," hisses Irin. "All she'll do is torture him. You know what I can do..."
"Hold." The Cardinal bows his head for a moment. He pinches the bridge of his nose with one gloved hand. "Pilkington, is the condition reversible?"
"It is not really my field, sir. But my understanding is, yes and no." Pilkington raises one finger and gestures with precision. "'Yes' in the sense that he will revert back to being Doctor Zargo again. 'No' in the sense that he may, in the future, once again transform into, er, Smoove."
"Dark Father, give me strength..." The Cardinal pauses for a moment in thought. "All right. Tiadora... no, wait... Irin. Put him to sleep."
M DEAD KILLED BY DMDM Lore Warden 2/Arcane Duelist 3
Stats:
HP 4/45; AC 20(25 w def/CE)/16(21)/14; CMD 19; Init +5; Perception +4; Fort +7 (8 vs Poison), Ref +9, Will +3; Fire Res 1; BP 10/12; Spells Lvl 1 3/4 Initiative +5
Note to self...approach those two carefully...and do not call either booty-licious...
Not sure whether you skipped my last comment to the Cardinal, or considered the arrival of Smoove to have superseded it.
The Judge smiles watching the ladies of the house fight like cats. In the service of the Dark Prince, only the strong survive.
When Smoove arrives, the Judge is rather surprised:
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Likely unable to figure out the rather unusual character, the Judge simply watches the interactions. Anything that takes the surveillance of the tool away from the Ninth is a good thing in my view.
The Cardinal bows his head in concentration for several moments. Then there is a burst of sulfurous smoke and four squat, roughly humanoid creatures appear. They are obviously devils; though roughly manlike in shape, all are horned, clawed, and covered with rough, red-brown skin. Each carries a long polearm; each has a long beard made of writhing, wormlike tentacles.
The Cardinal speaks to them.
Infernal:
Carry him to his quarters without waking him. Bind him firmly there, but make sure that no harm comes to him. Go quickly.
The creatures, moving as one, lift the sleeping dwarf. Each fiend takes a limb. They rush off with him, swiftly and silently.
Once the commotion has died down, at least slightly, with the departure of the sleeping dwarf, the Judge sits up tall in his chair and stretches his gaunt frame, a frame which appears slightly thinner and more emaciated than it did previously.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
-->after possibly completely misreading the situation, the Judge proceeds to speak
He then looks at Tiadora and Irin.
Ladies, you are both far senior in the service of the Dark Lord than am I or my fellow members of the Ninth Knot. For that reason, I ask what benefit either of you gains from this infighting. There is, and always will be, strife among the servants of the First. However, until we have gained control of this wanton nation, fighting amongst ourselves serves no purpose but to weaken us. I know that you both enjoy using your talents, so use them where they will benefit you and the cause. Corrupt and torture the petty lordlings and servants of the great houses. Seduce the sons and daughters of nobles. Twist their minds and souls through your talents with pleasure and pain until they acknowledge and proclaim the greatness of the Prince of Hell.
Once we have conquered this land, there shall be plenty of time for both of you to plot behind one another's backs. But, if you, amongst the most powerful in the service of our Prince, destroy one another now, then we all may fail. . . . And, I am sure that you both understand the eternal cost and pain that accompanies failing the First.
When he finishes, the Judge simply stops and waits to see how the ladies respond, uncertain whether he may gain some acknowledgment of his statement, or a crushing blow from one or both of the Cardinals senior staff.
M DEAD KILLED BY DMDM Lore Warden 2/Arcane Duelist 3
Stats:
HP 4/45; AC 20(25 w def/CE)/16(21)/14; CMD 19; Init +5; Perception +4; Fort +7 (8 vs Poison), Ref +9, Will +3; Fire Res 1; BP 10/12; Spells Lvl 1 3/4 Initiative +5
Ever so slightly Xenfal slithers a bit lower in his chair.
That judge has a pair the size of a bugbear. Never come between two fighting women. Especially when they can tear out your heart.
I can see something like: The Judges head suddenly flies off his unfortunately still alive corpse and mysteriously in this house of Hell, he finds holy wafers in his mouth.
I just hope the 28 diplomacy saves me for a few minutes.
The Judge says, "Ladies, you are both far senior in the service of the Dark Lord than am I or my fellow members of the Ninth Knot. For that reason, I ask what benefit either of you gains from this infighting. There is, and always will be, strife among the servants of the First. However, until we have gained control of this wanton nation, fighting amongst ourselves serves no purpose but to weaken us. I know that you HURK"
Tiadora seems to fly across the room, so fast she almost blurs. 1d20 ⇒ 91d20 ⇒ 8 She picks you up by the throat and lifts you off the ground. You take 8 points of damage and are grappled.
"Silence, minion!" Tiadora's hand is like a steel clamp around your neck. She is holding you a foot off the ground without any apparent effort at all.
Note that Tiadora is grappling you with one hand. As per the rules, this means she's at -20 on her grapple check. It doesn't seem to bother her.
HP 169/169; AC:37/21/29; Saves: +22/+23/+20; Init +10; Per +28(See Invisibility), CMD 42
Misc:
Effects: Resist Cold 30, Fly 30', Telepathic Bond
If that's indifferent...good god.
Jax writhes in his chair, eyes glazing over slightly as Tiadora harasses him with a nightmare. He lets out a strangled gasp and looks down, biting his lip to hold back a string of curses. With a shudder, he composes himself and resumes eating, the familiar s~%#-eating grin glued back on his face.
Let's roll some Init. The Judge rolls a 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21 Tiadora rolls a 1d20 ⇒ 14 which beats you. So:
Tiadora's hand clamps down on your windpipe, cutting off your air. "It surprises me that you are foolish enough to address a superior in this manner. This insolence requires a Correction. I shall now administer a Level One -- "
"Level Zero," says the Cardinal from across the room, "and no marking. The Judge is leader of the Ninth. He departs in just a few minutes, and I need him conscious, sane and functional."
"Yes, Cardinal." Tiadora turns back to you and, without another word, plunges her hand into your chest.
You try to scream, but she's cutting off your air. All you can do is writhe in agony.
Tiadora's blue eyes bore into yours. Her hand is inside you. You can feel it moving back and forth. You are a creature of parts, minion. I can feel it. I can feel the dark part of your soul... shall I rip it out and show it to you? That would be amusing. Ah, but this is just a minor Correction. So what then do you value... ah, yes. The force and power of your will, projected outwards. Well, not so much for the next little while...
There is tearing, impossible pain as you feel Tiadora begin to literally rip off a small piece of your innermost self. It goes on... and on... and on...
The rest of you watch for perhaps half a minute as Tiadora, smiling very faintly, seems to rummage her hand around inside the Judge's chest. (There is no blood. It's as if her hand has just passed through robes, skin, and flesh.) The Judge's face blackens, and he writhes in her grip, but he cannot escape.
Finally she releases him. The Judge lets out a gasping shriek and falls to the ground.
Okay, let's see. That's... 18 points of nonlethal damage, 6 points of Cha damage, and you have the Sickened condition. Lethal and nonlethal don't stack, right? So you're still conscious.
Edmin sits in his chair as he watches everything unfold, the cat fight then the appearance of smooth with barely the raising of an eyebrow. That is until the judge is picked up by his neck.
"PUT HIM DOWN!" The champion of Asmodeous stands to his feet. His hands encased in a black fire that seem to suck the light from the area around him.
"He is a tool of the Dark Prince! Your petty fighting will stop now! Remember you are a tool of Lord Asmodeous also and WILL follow his plan, not your own!"
