"From under the Ice" PFS # 6-18 (Inactive)

Game Master lucklesshero

This is a PFS scenario for Tiers 1-5 it takes place in Ulfen lands and Irrisen.


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male Snows of Summer

Here's where we start:

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

"My name is Jamir Montajay." The halfling's voice is a little deeper than the listener might expect. His accent sounds Taldane, mostly, but is so flavored with hints of other lands that the more one hears him speak, the less certain one is about his nation of origin. He pronounces the J in his first name so softly it might almost be a Z, but the J in his surname is clearer and harder.

"My friends," he continues with an easy smile, "call me Hamstring. And I am sure we will be friends, yes? So call me Hamstring if you like, or Jamir. But either way, make sure to call me when you open a fresh keg of ale!" His laughter sounds like an invitation to join him in the joke.

The Exchange

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Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

It's the beard that you notice first: large, wide, jet-black - a proud beard, and one that does a fine job at obscuring the tusks protruding from the lower jaw. One might even think that that was its purpose. The beard frames a square jaw, topped with a broad nose and a pair of brown eyes under a heavy brow crowned with a simple coif of the same jet-black hair. Handsome, and almost-human at first glance.

It's the skin visible around the eyes and forehead that breaks the illusion, a distinct blue tone shining through. He swings his large legs off of the seat of the wooden chair that he had been sprawled across and leans forward.

Staring already, eh? You're likely to see stranger than me in these lands, Southern Half-man. Guess I should make nice.

Frostkin, he says, in answer to your unspoken question. There are a few of us in Kalsgard, and more still near the Spine of the World, where I come from. He raises a tankard and cocks an eyebrow. Well met, Hamstring, is it? He cocks his head at the empty chairs at his table. The lager here in Kalsgard is strong enough to loosen a stone giant's tongue and warm a frost giant's heart. Let me welcome you to the North with a pint. He straightens his impressive frame and waves for a serving girl with his tankard-less hand and bellows. Wench! Two more pints over here!

What if you're wrong? What if he's not from the Society? Just play it cool...

He lowers his voice suddenly, returning to his original hunched position. A vertical worry line appears in his heavy brow. You are here for Captain Benarry's job, right?! I was told that other agents would be coming. He abruptly closes his mouth, a flat expression on his face.

Donkey balls. Real smooth, mouth-breather.

Silver Crusade

Mutagen:
+4Con, -2Cha l hp30/30 l AC21, T12, FF19 l Fort +7 // +4 Str, -2Int l AC21, T12, FF19 // +4Dex, -2Wis AC23, T14, FF19 l Ref +8, Will +2
Dwarf Trap-Breaker3 l hp 24/24 l AC19, T12, FF17 l F +5 R +6 W +3 Ini +2 l Bombs 8/8 l Perc +7* SM +1

Three tables down, Craggark's comments catch the attention of a dwarf who'd been nursing an ale and glancing around every few minutes. Hopping off his stool, the brown-bearded fellow approaches.

He boasts a dark brown beard as well kept as his clothes are ratty--a light grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, with myriad stains and scorch-marks visible. His black trousers are little better, and a sturdy pair of black boots completes the ensemble--though you hear the clink of chain-links only barely muffled by the cloth. A pair of goggles sits atop a mass of unbrushed hair, and his wears a belt and bandolier weighted down with vials, jars, and pouches of various colors, some filled, some not.

"Oy, and to think I've been at the wrong blasted table for an hour now!" he exclaims, plunking himself down beside the halfling. "Torvald of Clan Stonecask, at your service. I'll be us on this little venture. Where in the blazes is our good captain anyway?"

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

A Qadiran dressed in blue and gold desert garb with a scimitar hanging at his hip looks up from his coffee at the mention of the venture captain's name.

"Greetings, gentleman... and child, I presume?"

He is buying ale for a child. Well, I knew I was going to encounter strange things outside of Qadira. Just observe and learn.

"I couldn't help but overhear that you are waiting for others from the Society. I also have been sent here for an assignment. I hope you don't mind if I share your fire."

The man sits down, somewhat stiffly, and sips his coffee.

"My name is Jawhar Dhakir. Well met, Hamstring, and ... Frostkin, I believe you said your name was? Blessings of the Dawnflower upon our quest. I am sure we will become fast friends.

This is my first trip to Irrisen. Tell me, does it ever warm up?"

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

Hamstring leaps onto a chair next to the half-orc and claps him on the shoulder.

"Well met, my friend, and you have my thanks! But what will you drink now that your mug is dry?"

As the barmaid brings the two pints Craggark had ordered, Jamir winks at her, grabs them both off the tray, and makes to drain them both at once. With the arrival of the dwarf and the Qadiran, he stops clowning and quickly slides one of the drinks over to Craggark.

"Yes, of course I am here for Venture Captain Benarry's orders. The Society beckons, and Jamir Montajay springs into action, eh? At least, I spring into very active waiting around and freezing my ... toes off."

Turning to the new arrivals, he says, "Greetings, Torvald and Jawhar! At least we shall not lack for companions to drink with while we carry out our very important waiting! Although," he nods at Jawhar's coffee, "I am not sure we will all have the same tastes when we do. The last time I saw anything that looked so dark and bitter, it was the glare of a barmaid I knew in Magnimar when I told her I must sail for these frozen lands and would not be able to spend another night in her fine company."

Finally catching the cleric's words, he looks over his shoulder towards the entrance of the tavern, then turns back to the group. "Someone has brought a child into a place like this? That is just..." He shakes his head as though at a loss for words. "I tell you, my friends, some people simply should not be allowed to have children." He winks at Craggark, then tosses back half of his pint in one long gulp.

Silver Crusade

Mutagen:
+4Con, -2Cha l hp30/30 l AC21, T12, FF19 l Fort +7 // +4 Str, -2Int l AC21, T12, FF19 // +4Dex, -2Wis AC23, T14, FF19 l Ref +8, Will +2
Dwarf Trap-Breaker3 l hp 24/24 l AC19, T12, FF17 l F +5 R +6 W +3 Ini +2 l Bombs 8/8 l Perc +7* SM +1

Taking in the Qadiran's garb, Torvald dryly notes "No, never warm here. By the by, you're not Irrisen, friend. We're in the city of Sveinn Bloodeagle, maybe the most powerful Linnorm King. If we were in Irrisen, to hear the bards tell it, we'd be rubbing elbows with a lot more trolls, witches, and winter wolves."

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

Just noticed that Torvald posted while I was creating my first post. Didn't mean to leave you out

"Torvald, my greetings to you. You appear to be a dwarf, is that correct?

I apologize if that is a rude question. We don't see many people other than other nomads and Ifrit out in the steppes of Qadira."

Turning to Jamir, he continues "A bitter drink, it is, my small friend, yet it is warming and invigorating, putting the mind in a place well suited for realizing the glory of the morning.

As well, enduring the bitter makes the sweet that much sweeter, if you take my meaning."

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

Jamir nods his understanding. "Of course! Like drinking bitter ale with a meal, and then enjoying a nice glass of port afterwards."

Silver Crusade

Mutagen:
+4Con, -2Cha l hp30/30 l AC21, T12, FF19 l Fort +7 // +4 Str, -2Int l AC21, T12, FF19 // +4Dex, -2Wis AC23, T14, FF19 l Ref +8, Will +2
Dwarf Trap-Breaker3 l hp 24/24 l AC19, T12, FF17 l F +5 R +6 W +3 Ini +2 l Bombs 8/8 l Perc +7* SM +1

Torvald's eyebrows raise in surprise. "How'd you get all the way across Avistan without encountering a single dwarf? But aye, I'm a dwarf out of Janderhoff, my clan are traditionally brewers and alchemists. I've spent the last few years as representative of my clan outside the Sky Citadel--first in Magnamar, then a stint in the gas forges of Riddleport." Torvald's mouth twists at the pirate-city's name, as though it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Anyhow, after my apprenticeship I was recruited by an associate of Benarry's, and now here I am."

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

Tusk walks in and sees another Dwarf. What up, homie.

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

"I came here by boat straight from Qadira. The idea was to get as far from home as possible. Well, this certainly qualifies.

We made some stops along the way, and there may have been some Dwarves in those cities, but you'd be surprised how much you miss when you can't stop staring at all that open water and all of the strange architecture.

I suppose I must seem like quite the tourist, but then, I am.

Perhaps, Torvald, as you seem more knowledgeable of this fine land, yu might help me to equip myself better to deal with the cold weather? What type of equipment should I look for before we set out?"

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

Good job, Tooth-face. You're now on the hook for three more ales for your new "friends". The Welcome Wagon is an expensive ride for the driver, it would seem.

Ha-ha, Hamstring. Good one.

A smart-ass fur-foot. Great. Make that "four more ales".

Wench, a round for the new-arrivals to my table. Whatever they're drinking. The burly half-orc shuffles his chair under the table and addresses the group as he stares into his half-empty mug. Um, my name is Craggark, thanks. His glance lifts to Jawhar. I often catch people staring at my skin, wondering if I'm part ice troll. That's my Frostkin ancestry. His gaze flits to Tusk. We're orcs, not trolls. His forehead knits together in consternation. I mean, I'm part-orc. My mother was Erutaki. Yeah....and I'm Craggark, he finishes lamely.

The serving girl floats by the table, plonking down a second ale in front of Torvald, and a second cup of coffee in front of Jawhar. She positions herself behind Tusk, and raises her eyebrows, awaiting his drink order.

Oh, and one more....for me, Craggark says, turning over his empty mug - not noticing the full mug previously returned by Hamstring.

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

Tusk whispers something to Torvald

whisper:
Keep and eye on that one, he is part orc, we all know how Dwarves hate Orcs, not sure how I feel about halves though.

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

I wonder why the priest asked Torvald about this land, when I clearly identified as being from here. Oh well - some people think the worst of my heritage...

Craggark raises his mug to his lips, surreptitiously attempting to hear the unnamed and unintroduced dwarf's whispered words over the din of the pub.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

The brown eyes narrow.

Torvald, is this your lackey, or am I misfortuned to be buying a round of drinks for someone without basic manners?

The narrowed brown eyes lock on Tusk.

If I hear the words whispered, I'll let the wench know to bring a pint for me only. Otherwise, the 'free drink for Tusk' offer stands.


male Snows of Summer
Craggark wrote:
If I hear the words whispered, I'll let the wench know to bring a pint for me only. Otherwise, the 'free drink for Tusk' offer stands.

you don't hear the whisper

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

Jamir makes no effort to hide his eavesdropping.

If his Perception check succeeds:

As soon as Tusk finishes whispering, Jamir exclaims, "Craggark, my friend, did you hear? Our newest comrade has offered to buy a round for the table! How generous! Of course, it would be terribly rude for us to refuse." He grins and bows to Tusk to show his thanks.

If his Perception check fails:

He says exactly the same thing as he would have if it succeeded.

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

Dc 15 to hear a whisper, according to perception rules, so you passed.
Tusk just looks at Jamir with a confused look. You mean me, I thought that weird half-orc was going to italicized means thoughts for those not used to seeing it, though I doubt anyone would cast detect thoughts on me for no apparent reason.


male Snows of Summer

indeed Jamir hears Tusk whisper

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

Craggark's steely stare softens, his face breaking into a smile.

Ha! I've heard tales of the dwarven penchant for quality lager! It seems our newest colleague wants to test the Great White Northern casks! Craggark raises his newly-full tankard to the still-unnamed dwarf. And here I thought you were just being a jerk! Ha ha!

Thank Abadar! Balance restored. A shy dwarf with a good soul. I should learn to not judge the scales until the weights are set.

The half-orc drains the mug and slams it on the table as he stands up. Wench! Bring a cask of Rimeflow Lager! We shall toast our dwarven brethren! Well met, Torvald! Well met....um...?

Craggark looks at Hamstring, perplexed.

What is that other dwarf's name???

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

Ah, the power of beer!

Jamir drains the last of the ale in his tankard and slams it onto the table almost exactly in time with Craggark. At the questioning look from the half-orc, Hamstring thinks for a moment - By the barmaid's tiny skirt, what did he say his name was? Oh, right, odd sort of name for a dwarf - and booms, "Well met, Wattup Homay!"

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

Ah, didn't introduce myself. The name's Tusk. And well I do like my beer, I enjoy drinking with a whole entire group of Dwarves, where we can all drinking contests.

Silver Crusade

Mutagen:
+4Con, -2Cha l hp30/30 l AC21, T12, FF19 l Fort +7 // +4 Str, -2Int l AC21, T12, FF19 // +4Dex, -2Wis AC23, T14, FF19 l Ref +8, Will +2
Dwarf Trap-Breaker3 l hp 24/24 l AC19, T12, FF17 l F +5 R +6 W +3 Ini +2 l Bombs 8/8 l Perc +7* SM +1

"I don't truck in lackeys, sir, you know as much of our newest arrival as I." Frowning sadly down at his ale as the Great White Northern is mentioned. "Alas, after years of drinking exotic sludges for a living I've afraid I've lost any semblance of a palette."

Draining his mug, Torvald takes on a pensive look. "On the other hand, my liver probably considers alcohol a welcome respite as far as toxins go, so I imagine I would handily drink the lot of you under this table."

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

The cask arrives at the table, along with a clattering of more empty tankards. Craggark inexpertly works the tap, drawing off a mug full of suds.

Our meeting with Benarry isn't until this evening, I think. Plenty of time for liquid entertainment!

There's a payback mug for swiping my earlier order, Hamstring! he bellows, perhaps too loudly.

Ah, goblin nuts, the Sarenrite ain't drinking with us. Maybe if you offer him a beer directly...

A guilty look flashes across the half-orc's face. Sorry, Jawhar. I see you've got two coffees there, but you're invited to taste the Great White with us if you'd like. It's like a religious experience...

His attention drifts to Tusk as he passes full tankards around the table.

I've got to ask. Don't be RUDE. But I've got to ask...

So, Tusk...I've not met many dwarves with moustaches and no beards, much less ones dressed up in bowties - and you'll pardon my question, but is that dress you're wearing going to be enough protection in the snow?

our description of Tusk so far:
Nothing

This ale is stronger than I remember!

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

Edited because I was ninja'd by Craggark!

Hamstring reaches for the fresh pint Craggark hands him, and blows the foam back at the half-orc with a grin. Turning his smile towards Tusk and Torvald, he says in Dwarven,

"Mae hynny'n ddoniol, yr wyf yn mwynhau yfed gyda grŵp o dwarves, oherwydd eu bod nhw mor cute pan fyddant yn pasio allan wrth y bwrdd."

Translation:
"That's funny, I enjoy drinking with a group of dwarves, because they're so cute when they pass out at the table."

Returning to Common, he asks Torvald, "And what in Cayden's name could be so important for you to imbibe that it would be worth destroying your appreciation for fine ales?"

Despite his braggadocio, the halfling drinks his second pint at a considerably more measured pace than his first.

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

Naw naw naw, Hamstring, Craggark guffaws, it's JAWHAR who's drinking that brown swill, not Torvald! Those two don't even LOOK alike! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

The half-orc seems to be enjoying himself, and completely misses the point of Hamstring's comment.

Was that Dwarven? Or maybe the Halfling language? Do Halfings have their own language?

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

I realized that my introduction of Hamstring did not include any physical description at all, just his voice. I wrote this so that you all don't spend the next several weeks thinking that he actually looks like Belkar.

The halfling is around three feet tall - "Hey! I'm three-foot-one!" - and wiry. His hair is thick, dark, and curly, and his skin is tanned and weathered from long exposure to sun and wind.

In this frigid climate, he wears a fur-lined leather duster over his studded leather armor, thick woolen trousers, a heavy, hooded cloak, and thick-soled, fur-lined boots. He does it like the boots, as they hide the luxurious patches of hair on his feet, but he is not so vain as to risk frostbite. The duster has a long slit on the left from the waist down to keep it from getting in the way when he draws his rapier. Except on long marches, he generally wears his pack on one shoulder to make it easier to drop when necessary (and always does so at the start of any combat, or when he has need of his natural agility); his small buckler is slung over the other.

Jamir rarely sits down at the table, preferring to stand on his chair or stool unless the majority of his company are other halflings, gnomes, or people of similar size.

He is quick with a grin and a wink, and even quicker to draw his blade in the face of a perceived threat. He does not lack for courage, and in the face of overwhelming odds he is far more likely to come up with some unlikely plan than he is to retreat unless his comrades can talk him out of it (or physically drag him away).

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

Tusk, shaves his beard, but not his mustache, he is use to warm weather, so he does dress like he'll be in 80 degree weather, with light clothing. His skin is between white and tan. He is not wearing a bowtie like you see in the avatar. He does have the darkbrown hair now turning blacker due to age and is 4 feet tall. He is not quite as fat as most dwarves, but if he was human, he would be considered obese according the BMI. His voice is not as deep as a Dwarf, but not as strong as a human. Tusk is in fact part Human, but there are no Half-Dwarves in PFS, and is more Dwarf than Human. Father Dwarf, Human Mother, and three of his four grandparents are Dwarves. Leaving him with mild human heritage or rather looks. He does like his beer, but like I said, only drinks with a bunch of Dwarves. He does fit in with the Dwarves, but they can tell he's slightly off from what a Dwarf normally is. He does not like to anger anyone, but doesn't trust certain people. You can see his gun in his holster down to his side and his axe on his back, and he has a slight western personality/side, but more like the sheriff wester type of guy.

He answers Craggark's question. Nope, now that you remind me, I ain't from around here. By the way, not a dress As he answers in a deep but not quite as deep Dwarven voice. He returns a minute later with cold gear on. He buys a cold weather outfit before the official game starts, he's got more than enough gold to do so.


male Snows of Summer
Tusk Aran wrote:
He buys a cold weather outfit before the official game starts, he's got more than enough gold to do so.

I'll note it on his character sheet

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

Hunh. And I thought I was odd, thinks Craggark as Tusk abruptly leaves the table and returns a short while later sporting furs, the dress no longer in sight.

Who's down for another rown?? the bluish-skinned half-orc grins, sloshing ale onto the table.

Whoa. Almost spilled one. Good catch, you.

Craggark abruptly drops the cask onto the floor, lager spewing from the still open tap, a beery fountain spraying all over his non-descript brown layered outfit.

Ah, he manages, shifting his fur-wrapped pack out from under the table as he fumbles to right the cask and return it to the table.

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

Ah, all over you. Ah, maybe there's a wizard in the bar that can predestitation that if you ask. I'm not one of them though He says to Craggark seeing it in time.

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

"Craggark, I welcome you for your generosity, but I will stick with my coffee for the time being. I need to be able to observe clearly if I am going to gain any measure of how society works outside of Qadira."

Seeing Tusk head toward the door with mention of new clothing, Jawhar stands up to follow.

"Tusk, I hope you don't mind if I follow along with you. I also am in need of warmer clothing."

Jawhar will also purchase a set of cold weather clothing

Returning more appropriately dressed and seeing the state of the celebration, Jawhar stops a server and requests food for the group.

"I've got a fierce appetite, right now, perhaps the rest of you would like to join in. Strangely, they don't appear to serve camel's milk, but I have requested some tea to allow you to cleanse your palates."

Liberty's Edge

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M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

"Quite right, Tusk. We still await the final member of our merry band, perhaps we will be lucky enough to be joined by a wizard. How could we fail with such a team? Why, with Jawhar calling the Dawnflower's blessings onto us and her fiery justice onto our foes, and a mage bending reality to his will, the rest of us may perish from boredom, there will be so little for us to do!"

The small fighter slaps the table with his hand, his smile slipping for the first time since he appeared in the tavern. "No! Jamir Montajay will not allow others to carry his burden! He will not sit idle, with a jug of wine in one hand and a winsome lass on his knee, while others do battle with unnatural forces on his behalf! No, I say, a thousand times no! Though I have no more magic than what the gods gave me in my hands, and feet, and other parts, though I have no blessing but my dashing good looks and Cayden's mead, I will be the first to engage our foe using nothing but my wits and sharpened steel! And I know my friend Craggark will be at my side!"

Hamstring claps Craggark once more on the shoulder, then leaps onto the table. He draws his tiny blade and points at Jawhar, and then to each of the others in turn.

"What of you, my desert dervish? Do you long to test your scimitar and flames against the icy denizens of the Witch Queen's domain? And you, Torvald, will you rain fire and death upon the enemies of the Society? Tusk, you magnificent moustachioed madman, will you raise your..."

Hamstring trails off, squinting at the holster on Tusk's hip. He sees what must be the grip for some kind of weapon, but he has no idea what it might be. He shrugs and continues.

"Your... what in the Abyss is that, some kind of elaborate hand crossbow? Ah, of course, a hand crossbow. Will you raise your hand crossbow and take aim at those who would thwart our Very Important Mission?

"And finally," he lowers his voice dramatically, "what of the mysterious sixth member of our group? What will he bring, literally and figuratively, to our table? Will he be a conjurer or a rogue, a monastic or a musician, a spiritualist or a naturalist, a rager or a tracker? Perhaps, most dangerous of all, a librarian? But whatever his skills, whatever arcane powers he may have, whatever dark forces he may consort with," Jamir raises his voice once more, "he shall not beat Jamir Montajay to the killing blow against our adversary!"

With that, Jamir leaps backwards from the table to the floor, splashing Craggark's spilled beer onto everybody's shins. He sketches a mock bow, then turns to look over his shoulder, fully expecting that their missing sixth will have been standing behind him the entire time.

After a slight pause to give the last member a chance to make himself known, he says in a more casual voice, "Splendid idea, Jawhar! A bit of supper sounds like just the thing. It would be a shame to go off heroing on an empty stomach." He glances once more in the direction of the tavern door, then sighs quietly, hops back onto his chair, and takes a drink of the tea Jawhar has ordered. "By the many-colored lights of the Starstone, Jawhar, how can you call yourself a holy man and expect me to drink this? It tastes as though there isn't any alcohol in it at all!"

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

Jawhar stands and bows to Jamir.

"Well stated, Jamir. I can only hope that sword you carry is as sharp as your wit.

What boons and curses as I am able to bring to the table, I will dispense with all splendor. I can only hope that my contributions will be useful toward furthering the Society's mission.

One thing is certain, our enemies will certainly know who it is that has smitten them."

Turning his attention back to the food, he smiles slightly. "Ah, the tea is a subtle vintage that will certainly leave your head in a different state if you drink it long enough."


male Snows of Summer
Jawhar wrote:
Jawhar will also purchase a set of cold weather clothing

noted and purchased

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

Tusk looks at Jamir for a second. It's called a gun, I keep it loaded at all times, and I keep it in my hand when adventuring so I don't waste my time pulling it out. It can pierce through any armor. The downside is that it takes a while to reload and only holds one bullet. That is why I have this my greataxe. Fire the first bullet at the most armored guy or if that is too far away the first guy I see, put the gun back in its holster, pull out the axe while moving towards the enemy and start swinging. Reload the gun when combat is over and keep it in my hands and repeat. Mechanically speaking, First round of combat, fire gun already in hand, so I don't spend a move action pulling it out, then put it away while moving towards an enemy, and second round pull out axe while moving towards an enemy if I'm not already in melee with it and swing, 3rd round of combat, swing with axe, reload gun between combats and keep it out when not in town.

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

Jamir considers Tusk's explanation. "It throws bullets? Sooooo,it's more like a hand-sling than a hand crossbow? And you keep it loaded all the time? That sounds uncomfortable, but to each his own." He pats the end of his trusty sling staff, sticking out of his pack. He takes another cautious sip of his tea, makes a face, and surreptitiously pours the rest of it onto the floor.

Liberty's Edge

Male Dwarf #135676-4 Gunslinger-Pistolero 2: Hp:24/24, Speed:20, Init:5, AC:18, FF:14, T:14, 1 Fire and Cold resistance, 7 Spell Resistance, Fort:7, Ref:6, Will:3, CMB:3, CMD:16, Perp:6 Darkvision, Grit:2/2

To answer your question Jamir, it's more like a handcrossbow, not a hand sling, since in a crossbow you can keep it loaded and have your hand on the trigger. The best thing to remember is keep it clean, if too much dirt gets into the gun, it will malfunction

The Exchange

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Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

I don't know about all that, but THESE are my handguns! Craggark offers up his clenched fists as he stifles a belch. And let me tell you, he continues conspiratorially, they're ALWAYS dirty.

Yes!!! You're KILLING it! Pathfinder Society Hall of Heroes here we come! Woo-hoo High five!!!

Craggark high-fives himself with a celebratory hoot.


male Snows of Summer
Craggark wrote:
Yes!!! You're KILLING it! Pathfinder Society Hall of Heroes here we come! Woo-hoo High five!!!

GM silently giggles :)

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

Mmmm. Food. OM NOM NOM

Silver Crusade

Mutagen:
+4Con, -2Cha l hp30/30 l AC21, T12, FF19 l Fort +7 // +4 Str, -2Int l AC21, T12, FF19 // +4Dex, -2Wis AC23, T14, FF19 l Ref +8, Will +2
Dwarf Trap-Breaker3 l hp 24/24 l AC19, T12, FF17 l F +5 R +6 W +3 Ini +2 l Bombs 8/8 l Perc +7* SM +1

Torvold goes slightly crosseyed upon having the point of a rapier waggled before his nose, but politely applauds at the conclusion of Jamir's stirring delivery.

"Bravo! Bravo! Though perhaps the encore can wait until after the entrée," the dwarf says as his own stomach rumbles. Accepting the tea Jawar ordered he takes a sip, then blows on it, then downs the whole thing in a single gulp. Though he doesn't comment, his disappointed expression makes it clear that he share's the halfling's assessment.

As Jamir resumes his seat, Torvald strokes his beard thoughtfully. "To answer your question--lots of good uses for a proper alchemical solution! No doubt you're aware of the most famous items like chemical acid or tanglefoot bags, but a proper alchemist is always on the hunt for new discoveries! My clan's primary export is a sort of gel that gives off heat and light, but no smoke--a handy thing when one dwells underground.

As for why I drink my experiments, well...I have heard of some who use rats or other creatures as test subjects for their experiments, but that just seems so unethical...on the bright side, we dwarves have cast-iron stomachs, and after so many years I've perfected a number of formulas that take advantage of the subtle uniqueness of my own physiology. I have a copy of my notes here, if you'd care to look..."

As Tusk goes on to describe his pistol, Torvald leans in excitedly. "Fascinating, I've heard of the devices, and rumors say that clan Steelsmoke in Kraggodan has acquired a few prototypes, but I've never seen one in the flesh. Is it true, about them being fueled by an alchemical powder? Would it be too much trouble to examine the stuff?"

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

Jawhar eats a modest portion of the proffered food while quietly observing his companions.

He responds politely to any small talk, but does not seek to engage the others.

When finished, he belches and pushes the plate away.

Noting the conversation between the two dwarves, he keeps a careful eye on them, making sure he isn't too close to any explosive powders.

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

Craggark laughs heartily (and somewhat inappropriately) at some of the conversation that's going on as he shovels stew into his mouth. Within his ale-addled brain, he considers things:

I guess these are my new friends! Adventuring is great! I hope Venture-Captain Benarry is great! This stew is great!

The half-orc rises with an abrupt announcement, I've got to piddle, and strides outside.

Liberty's Edge

M Halfling (Fleet of Foot) | Swashbuckler (Mouser) 5/Halfling Opportunist 1 | HP: 46/46 | AC:26* T:17 FF:20* | CMB:+9 CMD:23* | F:+5 R:+12 W:+4, +2 vs fear | Init:+7 | Per:+11, SM: +4 | Panache 3/3; Charmed Life +3, 2/3; Mantle of the Black Rider (CHA+2) 1/1 | Speed 30' | +1 rapier +14 (1d4+7/+5 Precision/15-20) | darkwd longbow +12 (1d6/×3) | *Active: Barkskin

Jamir hops off his chair to make room for the big man to pass.

"Off you go, then! As my old fencing master used to say, 'Never refuse a chance to eat, sleep, or piss.' Actually," he continues, jumping back onto his chair, "his list was much longer. I think the number of things he insisted we must never refuse a chance to do was so long that if his students had followed his instructions precisely, we would never have time to do anything else."

The Exchange

Male Half-orc, Frostkin Brawler 2 | hp 10/21 | AC 19(t12;f17)| CMB+5 CMD 19 (f17) | F+5 R+5 W-1 *immune cold weather | init+2 | Perc+4 | SM-1 | Surv +1 | Speed 30 | Melee unarmed strike +5; 1d6+3

Craggark returns to the table and lands with a satisfied sigh and a thud.

Think I spied another member to our party hanging around outside, he offers, hefting his sadly-empty tankard to his lips. Looked kinda lost and out of place. Wizardy type.

I hope this mean buzz clears up before meeting up with more people, especially Captain Benarry. Not going to be very impressive if I'm all boozy.

Are you gonna drink that extra coffee, Jawhar?

Craggark takes pains to nurse the coffee.

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

"By all means, help yourself, Craggark."

Raising his voice slightly, "It would probably be best if we were all fresh and had out wits about us when our employer arrives. Not to mention putting on a good first impression for our new companion."

Silver Crusade

Mutagen:
+4Con, -2Cha l hp30/30 l AC21, T12, FF19 l Fort +7 // +4 Str, -2Int l AC21, T12, FF19 // +4Dex, -2Wis AC23, T14, FF19 l Ref +8, Will +2
Dwarf Trap-Breaker3 l hp 24/24 l AC19, T12, FF17 l F +5 R +6 W +3 Ini +2 l Bombs 8/8 l Perc +7* SM +1

Torvald blinks at the half-orc. "And...did you invite them in? Are they even our missing final member?"

FTR: Torvald has the Con mutagen brewed at mission start, and the Shield + Cure Light Wounds extracts prepared

Sovereign Court

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Male Elf Evoker 1 | HP 9/9 | AC 12 T 12 FF 10 | Fort +1* Ref +1 Will +2* | CMB -1 CMD 11 | Init +8 Perc +1 | Spells 1st 4/4 | Force Missile 5/8 | Arcane Bond 0/1

Faenethor Sera exhales forcefully, watching with delight as his breath fogs before him in the icy air. The slightest flurry of snowflakes dance around him as the never-ending winter of the Thanelands welcome him here, in the frozen heart of the Linnorm Kings.

The way a crow shook down on me the dust of snow from a hemlock tree has given my heart a change of mood and saved some part'f this day I've rued.

A line of rhyme from last night's reading, a collection of Ulfen poetry, strikes him as particularly apt. For today is his initiation, his trial by ice? His first expedition among the ranks of the Society. Last night he had wondered--was he truly an adventurer? Was his destiny hidden away in the icy north, far from his home city of Korvosa and its stinking Jeggare River? The answer was unclear, but in the end, he had decided that even this is better than floating face down in those filthy waters.

Anyway, Kalsgard isn't all bad, he thinks, eyeing the handsome ivory-hilted dagger he has just acquired in the Jade Quarter. Its blade is forged from cold iron and reflects his face as good as any mirror. He stares back at himself. His skin is pale, his deep-set brown eyes like two bronze coins. His silky, straight hair is the color of smoke, worn in a practical but carefully-crafted style. His prominent elfen ears advertise his lineage, while his ornate blue robes and furs suggest his economic status.

"You're getting old, Sera," he mutters to himself.

Sighing once more in resignation, he sheathes the blade, runs his long, elegant fingers through his hair, and steps into the pub in search of Captain Benarry.

The mismatched, motley crew cannot be mistaken for anything but a collection of Pathfinders. Trying his best to swallow his nerves, he strides confidently and with precision, like a well-crafted clock, toward the table. "Greetings. My name is Faenethor Sera. I'm searching for one Captain Benarry. Might you point me in his direction?"

Grand Lodge

Male Human Cleric 3 | HP 18/18 | AC 17 T 10 FF 17 | Fort 5 Ref 2 Will 7 | CMB +4 CMD 14 | Init +0 Perc +3 (Ioun Torch) Effects: None | Channel (2d6) 5/5 | Rebuke Death (1d4+1) 4/6 | Touch of Glory (+3) 4/6

Apparently there are no humans in the north anywhere. Or is it just the Pathfinder Society? Quite strange. I do recall seeing that a majority of people in town are human...

"Greetings, Faenethor Sera. We also are awaiting the arrival of Venture-Captain Benarry. You are welcome to pull up a chair and wait with us.

Allow me to make some brief introductions. I am Jawhar Dhakir, priest of Sarenrae. The small one is Jamir Montajay, who likes to go by Hamstring."

I am still not sure how you hamstring an opponent using a piercing weapon.

"The large one is called Craggark. The dwarf with the full beard is Torvald of the Clan Stonecask. The dwarf with the moustache is Tusk.

With your arrival, I believe we have the full complement of six. Surely the Venture-Captain will be along shortly.

Please, join us."

Jawhar signals to the servers to bring another serving of food for Faenethor and pours him a cup of tea.

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