GM Alice's Wrath of the Righteous

Game Master Alice Margatroid

A few brave heroes band together to save Golarion from the worst of fates, standing against the hordes of the Abyss at any cost.

Current Map - The Kenabres Underground


1 to 50 of 749 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | next > last >>

Excitement has been building for several weeks in the city of Kenabres, northern border city of Mendev, as the festival of Armasse approaches. Smiles on faces normally marred by downcast eyes and furrowed brows have done wonders for city morale in the past month, and recent days have seen a flurry of activity all across town. Billboards, stalls, and stages are raised and decorated to the backdrop of marching bands, cavalcades and military units put the final polish on their upcoming performances.

Armasse, an old holiday from the Arodenite faith, was traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past. Since Aroden's death, this holy day has been co-opted by the Iomedaean church, and modern celebrations typically focus on training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle re-enactments, and other exciting festival events. In Kenabres, the festival is eagerly anticipated, for it provides a much-needed distraction from the horrors of being on the front line of war.

Today is Arodus 16th, and the festival day is blessed with perfect autumnal weather. The festival officially begins at noon, but the day is nevertheless a filled timetable with events scheduled from dawn until dusk. Locals know to arrive at Clydwell Plaza, the centre of the event, well in advance if they want to get a good spot to observe the opening ceremonies. The Plaza is overlooked by the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell, a massive stone church with a green copper steeple and stained-glass windows portraying the imprisonment of various horrific demons. The priests here typically involve themselves in healing wounded crusaders and performing blessings on those that head out into the 'Wound. On the opposite side of the district stands the Temple of Iomedae, a far less visually outstanding building that handles the more everyday and mundane duties of the church.

You're here in Clydwell Plaza somewhere, losing yourselves in the crowds of townsfolk and crusaders alike enjoying the festival. Perhaps half an hour remains before Lord Hulrun Shappok, Kenabres' famed prelate, is due to take centre stage before the Grand Temple, and excitement is beginning to build—and not to mention viewing spots are starting to dwindle. The minor attractions lined up through the Plaza are running a busy business—the area is filled to the brim with everything from apple bobbing and shooting galleries to caricature booths and Harrow readings. Further afield you can still see the temporary arenas set up for jousting and archery, and the discordant sound of at least two different musicians mixes with the wafting scents of fresh-baked food.

Welcome to Kenabres! Please introduce your character and let us know what you're doing here at the festival today!

Aurica:
The festival is finally here! You're lucky enough to have the day off from patrol duty today, and your father grunted something about it being 'too damn noisy to do any work' and shooed you out of the forge. There's almost too much to see and do: lots of free food and booze (although mostly watered-down trough-water that human foreigners seem to like), of course, but there's also an archery competition scheduled that might have caught your eye as well.

Flynn:
A holy day of your church! No doubt you're excited to be here, out and about helping with the event where you can. Commander Ciar Cobelen, de facto (although not official) head of the Everbright Crusaders now that Tensler is gone, is surprisingly good-natured towards you despite the dark rumours some of the others of the Order still spread. He may join you on your rounds, or you may be watching as he ordains a couple of new paladins from the Church of Saint Clydwell into your ranks.

Jens:
As a man who trains crusaders and members of Kenabres' army, this is a day of mixed feelings for you no doubt. Today, many of your 'kids' are going to graduate; you know from past experience that this happy day will be the last time you see many of them ever again, for the Worldwound dearly loves fresh recruits to corrupt and dismember. But perhaps there's something good at this festival you're looking forward to besides; perhaps the chance to judge the horses brought to trade from Valas' Gift to the north, or maybe just an opportunity to avail yourself of the copious amounts of free alcohol on offer today.

Osric:
As a man of the church, you're no doubt heavily involved in the more 'official' events going on at Armasse. Some of the young recruits being trained as scouts and inquisitors are due to get their advancement from cadet to full crusaders today, and you might be helping with that in some way. Your family is likely out here too, using their carpentry skills to set up a stage or fix up a broken barrier that some drunken reveller has run into.

Reknar:
You haven't been in Kenabres for long. Maybe a week or two—enough to see the festival blossom before your eyes and get your bearings of the area, but little else. You've been staying at Defender's Heart, the largest inn in the city, a business that caters to mercs and crusaders (so... your kind of place, really). Today, for whatever reason, you've ventured out to see what all the fuss is about. Maybe you're just sick of hearing people talk about it, or maybe your stomach got the better of you (and the rumours of free food up in Old Kenabres, the central district, wouldn't have helped with that.)

Voren:
You've arrived very recently, perhaps only a day or two ago. You heard on the road that Kenabres was not the most welcoming place for people with your... taint, but with the city distracted by the festival you've had an easier time of it than you would've expected. You would've liked to have explored the Librarian of the Broken Black Wing, the premier library for demonology and planar travel research in Mendev, but the librarians there (upon seeing your demonic visage) shunned you and made up some excuse about needing a "member's card" before they would allow you entry. While you figure out how to obtain one of those, you might as well check out the stalls and performances going on around here...


Male Human, Ulfen Init +3 Senses +10, AC: 23, T: 12, FF: 23 vs traps 25, hp 91, Fort +8, Ref +5, +7vs traps, Will +5

Dotted with permission so I can read along.


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

Woot, showtime!

Aurica strolled through the streets munching on a sausage kebab. She even ate the grilled onions and slices of root vegetables that were impaled on the stick as well-- Yndariel had lectured her many times now on eating 'the green stuff'. The city was awash in new faces, and while the Kenabres-cynic in her said that half of them'd probably be dead in a moon's time, she was still young enough to feel excited over the sight of so many foreigners, so much new blood.

The city usually had less than three dozen dwarves in its population: the festival had boosted their numbers too, and Aurica offered a nod to various stout folk merchants who were hoping to profit off the festival by equipping some of the newly-ordained knights. She inspected some wares, talked shop, but eventually wound up watching the archery competition, her longbow cradled in the crook of her arm as she munched the last bit of sausage from her kebab.

Humans, half-elves, elves... all the usual suspects. A half-orc with a mighty bow that Aurica doubted she'd be able to pull on her best day... no other children-of-Torag for this game, not that she'd expected any.

With the last bite of sausage disappeared, Aurica tossed the greasy kebab stick into a brazier that was burning merrily nearby, and approached the person overseeing the archery.

"There a fee to compete, or can anyone draw their bow?"


Most of the others Aurica spies around the archery contest area look to be relative rookies. Some are obviously just here because it's a bit of fun; she can immediately tell by their awkward stances and incorrect grips that they've probably never fired an arrow in their life before today. At least that half-orc looks like he could give her a run for her money.

There's a couple of judges (marked so by cloth tags hung around their necks) watching those who are ready to take their chances at aiming at the distant targets, but both look busy. Aurica eventually locates a lanky man carting out a dozen quivers from within a nearby tent.

"Eh, you want in? Odd sight for a dwarf," he replies to her question. After unceremoniously dumping his load in front of the 'firing range' and wiping his hands on his already dusty overalls, the brown-haired man leads Aurica over to a sign-in booth. "Just a single copper bit to put your name down, lass. This is the prelims, mind--we're weedin' out the folks who ain't got it in them. Real thing's gonna start in a couple of hours, y'hear?" After getting her details, the man sets Aurica up at a target with some flight arrows and stands by to watch her fire.

"Ya get four shots! Get at least ten points and yeh'll be good to come back at half-two."

Just make some attack rolls, and we'll see how you go with that.


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

"Wash your mouth out! I'm not a dwarf, I'm an elf who stopped at a reasonable height, and ate proper meat and things to get some meat on my bones," Aurica says breezily as she fishes in her belt pouch for a copper and flips it the man's way.

She picks up her bow and squints at the hay-stacks with crude targets on them. Her bow's nothing fancy: serviceable, it does the job, but it's not a patch on some of the stuff her father's made Jormur. This doesn't bother her: he's told her he doesn't know much about the bowyer's art, but for two years now he's been trying to learn, asking Yndariel for pointers. He's working on a bow, for her-- she's seen some of his failed attempts broken into kindling. She knows that when he's done, she'll have a bow as fine as any in the city, because her father doesn't stand for second-rate gear.

Maybe by next Torag's Day, she thinks, as she picks up one of the flight arrows and nocks it. Maybe then she'll be ready to take it out to truly fight demons, too.

Focus. Remember Yndariel's guidance...

+1 if within 30', but I doubt that if he's giving me flight arrows. :P

Twang!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Twang!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
Twang!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Twang!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

The first arrow is a beautiful shot. Aurica accordingly gets cocky, and the next several shots are.... definitely not so beautiful. Aurica looks dismayed, and throws some glances over her shoulder to make sure that nobody she knows is watching.


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

Like all Ulfen men, Jens was fond of a drink, and on this day, he was proving that fact well. It took plenty of ale to affect a man of his bulk, though, and as such, the two mugs he'd already drunk had left him with little more than a bitter taste in his mouth. This wasn't aided by the fact that several new crusaders graduated their training today - young men and women he'd helped train, knowing all the while that few of them would see another year.

Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, he wanders the streets, a giant of a man clad in furs and shining scale mail, his impressive mane and beard shining red-gold and silver in the late morning sun. A third mug of ale seemed tiny in one of his large hands as he strode past the archery range, where a red-haired dwarf was trying her luck - and didn't seem to be doing too well. He briefly considered trying his own, but decided against it - he'd never been much of an archer. The jousting was more his forte, but that wouldn't be starting for several more hours. After putting his name down anyway, he decided to go see what the horses from Valas' Gift were like - northerners tended to breed good stock, as he knew well.

Upon arriving, he looks over the beasts with a practised eye, trying not to think about the fact that many horses, like their riders, would never return from the 'Wound. These were hard times, and a hard heart was needed.


Flight arrows was more a flippant turn of phrase rather than a reference to the in-game item, but that said... Wikipedia tells me outdoors archery contests typically have distances of 30 to 90 metres (100~300 feet). Much bigger area than I expected! I suppose that's what I get for basing my mental image of an archery competition on Brave. :P

Aurica's first shot is a full-on bullseye! Right in the exact centre of the target, a perfect shot worthy of many drinks worth of boasting. The judge whistles impressively at the dwarf's perfect form, and even the half-orc practicing with his massive composite bow nearby stops to watch the spectacle.

Well... alas that it quickly becomes a spectacle indeed. The three other arrows miss the board completely, whizzing off behind until they lodge into the protective back-padding set up for just that reason. The half-orc goes back to his own business with a grunt, and the judge smiles in that comforting way you'd usually see adults making at children learning to do things for the first time. It's almost plain as day on his face what he's thinking: beginner's luck.

"First shot was great, lass. I reckon you might have it in ya to be a good archer - natural talent an' all that. Maybe a bit more practice and you'll be spot on for next time, eh?"

******

Jens - Kn. Geography: 1d20 ⇒ 10

Valas' Gift, located maybe a day or two's travel north of Kenabres, is an important place in Mendev, for much of the nation's food comes from the area. Their spring water runs red like blood, but crops watered by the liquid grow bigger and stronger than anywhere else.

The main horse breeders are a husband and wife duo who come down to Kenabres every year to show off their latest stock of working breeds. This year, they have their daughter with them; a young thing, maybe six years old, with bright red hair and brilliant blue eyes. She's surprisingly stunning; perhaps there's a touch of angelic blood in her, having been born and raised drinking the blessed water of Valas' Gift?

The horses are of mixed quality, but there are a couple that stand out from the crowd: one warhorse, with a particularly powerful physique, and a spry and lanky foal apparently bred from a paladin's horse - they almost always came out above average at least. The potential is there, at least...

I will be frank here and say that I know approximately zero about horses, so I will abstain with too much in the way of description here. Or archery, for that matter. :P


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

Aurica's cheeks flush a dull red at the judge's condescending reply, all the more embarrassing since she's well aware her follow-up shots utterly deserved such dismissal. She's highly tempted to glare down at her bow, but she knows what Malkus would say to that: A poor craftsman blames his tools.

And Yndariel would say, Your head isn't in it. Walk away. Come back without your pride in the way, you little stone-head.

Well, neither her father nor her captain are here at the moment. Aurica looks the judge in the eye as she lifts the bow a fifth time, draws one of her own arrows, and nocks-draws-and-looses in one smooth motion.

Twang!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24

....alright, not her most mature moment ever, but damn, it feels good.

"I think you're right," she says airily to the judge. "I'll come back when I'm a bit more practiced. Oh, do I need to pay ye for the last shot, seeing it was my own arrow?"

Haha, I love it when the dice cooperate!


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

We used to have two horses, so I know a little. What's more awkward is when I play my violinist bard, when I know almost nothing of the instrument, nor classical music!

Jens looks over the warhorse critically, turning the beast's head from side to side, inspecting the teeth and hooves. "This one would make a fine charger," he says appreciatively, before turning his attention to the foal. Here, his face is gentler, his hands softer on the small creature. "Sired by a Paladin's mount? Aye, that explains the intelligence in her eyes." He strokes the filly's neck gently, chuckling as she nuzzles into his hand, large nostrils flaring. "You have good stock this year. And I see your little one has come along as well!" He crouches down to the child's eye level, his heart twisting as he does so. "You be sure to keep her safe - its easy for a child to get lost in the crowds this time of year."

Ha! Nicely done, Aurica!


Male Human Fighter 2 | HP 27/36| 19 (21 with shield raised) | Fort: +9; Ref: +7; Will: +5 | Per +7 | Spd 25 ft. |Hero Points: 2

"New beginnings" - Reknar pondered to himself, as if he heard Lucian's voice in his head - "Making a difference" - it sounded again, the remnants of a conversation held not so long ago, just before he left Absolom.

The weight in his backpack was a poignant reminder of his old friend - he had stuffed it with books - "One can never know too much my friend" - it was surprising how he ever managed to maintain his joviality and optimism after all that they had been through together, but the man seemed to look ever forward, and some of it had definitely rubbed on Reknar, though not that much...

As he crossed paths with a couple of mock duels, and young men trading blade slashes, more than one look was drawn his way, as the huge man seems veritably an implement of warfare - a well used, enormous hafted spear laying across his backpack in easy reach; multiple weapons dotting his simple, travelling attire - a mace to one side, a sword and a sling to the other, all complemented by a well polished but dented metal buckler shield, strapped to his arm.

In spite of all the carried gear, he is walking casually, sporting only a lamellar armor, made of overlapping strips of leather, to protect his torso - his massive frame seems to have no difficulties in carrying the great load, as he horse plods along.

His dark hair is somewhat disheveled due to the days on the road, and his skin is quite tanned by the sun - none of it dims the glow in his dark, black eyes as he observes the two nobles engaged in combat, offering a sneer and shaking his head with a grim smile.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Amongst the throng, he could not deny that some of the celebrating feel had sunk in, even though he did not give in to it - finding a stall with a few tapped kegs of ale, he asked for a mug - "Well met friend - get me a some of your coldest ale if you will? I have some dust in my throat that needs some serious cleaning - the road dust never really goes away, does it?"

Moving along to survey the premises, he offered a silent toast to his only friend - "New beginnings indeed Lucian" - muttered to himself. His attention is drawn by a giant of a man to one side, well protected by furs - he cannot place his ethnicity, but the fact that he holds a beer in his hand surely means he must be a fine person - Reknar chuckles to himself at his own joke, then stops - You're getting crazier by the day Reknar... - he ponders.

Further along he notices what seems to be some sort of archery competition, and one dwarf seems to be claiming most of the attention - What was his name again..? - he tries to remember the name of a young dwarf who had fought beside him in the Badger Company, an expert marksman as he had ever seen - had told him he was following the One way or some crap like that - the name didn't matter, truth was that he could really lay down the hurt with that bow of his... Until a Troll bisected him with one clean strike...

And it seemed this one could too, the man realized noticing the first amazing shot - drawing closer he noticed the three crazy ones that followed, and by the time the judge was offering his opinion, Reknar was close enough to hear it, and retorts without skipping a beat - "Clearly you have never seen actual battle my good man" - he pipes in, taking a gulp from his ale - "You would be surprised at how random some things turn out to be, no matter how good you are" - his tone is not aggressive nor challenging, as it seems he is merely stating a fact.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

TWANG!

The bow echoed again, and again with an amazing shot. Reknar grinned looking at the judge - "There you have it"

Aurica Firehand wrote:
"I think you're right," she says airily to the judge. "I'll come back when I'm a bit more practiced. Oh, do I need to pay ye for the last shot, seeing it was my own arrow?"

At the words from the dwarf he actually breaks into a short laugh - "And like that, you got served" - he adds to the judge, then turns to the dwarf - "Amazing shots. It was well done, and there is nothing more to it" - he winks, and moves away with his ale in hand.


Male Human Inquisitor 2 | HP 17/17 | AC 18 T 13 FF 15 | Saves: F: +4 R: +3 W: +5 | CMD: 16 | Init: +5 Percep: +7 | SM: +8

Osric had been busy since early morning. The day began in prayer, as he sought the Inheritor's guidance and blessings like he did every morning. He then left his apartment on the back side of the temple grounds and ate a simple breakfast with his fellow priests and inquisitors in the temple kitchens.

After that, the tall man with brown hair that was starting to get a bit thin was as busy as a bee. He had been asked to oversee a squad of cadets who were going through their initiation. He inspected the line of six young men and women with a practised eye. As he strode down the line, he fixed each with a stern look and then spoke:

"These are troubled time, friends. Now, more than ever, the church needs those who are truly faithful and righteous. The Inheritor needs her holy crusaders to be ready and able to fight the true enemy - the demonic horde and its supporters. We cannot make the mistake of harming innocents or refusing mercy to those whose hearts have been softened. We have the chance to be instruments in her hands to deliver divine justice to our foes! Now go, enjoy the festival for a time and return to complete your initiation!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Osric then found a quiet chapel and offered his mid-morning prayer. He left the temple and wandered around the crowd a moment. Dressed in the simple white robes of his order, the image of a glittering sword with a sunburst hilt embroidered on front, he would be hard to distinguish from the rest of the Inheritor's clergy. Except for his eyes. The gaze that never seemed to stop questioning, even judging, weighing each person it fell upon.

He walked towards the square and saw some familiar folks assembling a stall.

"Father! Bedwyn! Hello!" Osric rushed over to greet his father and brother. He embraced each of them quickly and shook their hands. They chatted for a short time about the festival and about the church's latest batch of trainees and recruits. Osric took his leave, and arrived at the square in time to see the preliminary archery contest. He observed from the back, silently noting a dwarf who showed promise.


Male Tiefling Hedge Witch 6/Archmage 1 | AC 15/12/13 | hp: 40/51 | F +5, R +6, W +8 (+2 vs death/insanity/confusion) | CMD 15 (17 with m.o.v) | Init +6 | Perc +1 | darkvision 60ft | SM +1 | receiving healing: +2 hit points/die rolled | giving healing: +1 point

A strange hooded figure walks around, gazing around at the various stands. All of the new sights and sounds are overwhelming. He does keep an eye out and keeps his distance from obvious members and warriors of the church, not wishing for anyone to find out what he is. He grabs some food from the various stands, munching while he walks, faint clopping sounds ringing out.

He walks past a large man inspecting several horses. Seeing the human is 6 inches taller than him, Voren shrinks back and walks around the large man. He sees an archery competition in progress and decides to watch. In the crowd, he sees a human dressed in the garb of an inquisitor. Voren becomes nervous, trying to put as much distance between him and the inquisitor as possible. He continues to watch, a female dwarf taking his attention. She seems to be talking to another human.

Sorry I'm late to the party.


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

Aurica arches a brow at the big, well-armed human that speaks of the randomness of battle.

"That's as may be," she says, "but I've no excuse for missing those first shots. My cap'n wouldn't let me get off with talk about the 'craziness of battle', that's for certain," she sticks on in a mutter to herself.

Aurica drops a hand to her hip quiver, running callused fingers thoughtfully over the red-fletched arrows there and staring at her single arrow buried in the target at the other end of the set-up. No matter if it had hit its mark, the last shot had been childish, she thinks. That's what her mother would call it, and Jormur, and Yndariel also.

Ah, it's Armasse. Everyone's entitled to a little showing off.

"You look to have weapons enough to stand missing a few times yourself, though," she calls to the large human. "Any of those cold iron? If not, I can tell you where to buy the best in the city!"

She pitches her voice to carry, because whether or not he's interested, there's surely some in the gathered crowd who have arrived ill-equipped to fight demons, and Armasse is a good day for her father to make money.


The breeder's wife smiles at Jens' compliments, her husband busy haggling a deal with a young knight who looks barely old enough to be drinking. "Thank you. It's been much easier on us both this year—Lucie's finally old enough to leave on her own for a time so I can help much more," she says conversationally, looking down at the red-haired wonder with a loving smile. "Are you in the market for anything in particular? My brother-in-law's sent some leather tack down with us, if it's not the horses themselves you like."

Lucie grins up at Jens, one front tooth missing. "That one's Cin'mon! I named her that!" She points at the proud little filly. "She's got a big brother you know. Mama named him Brandy, but he's not here 'coz Papa wants to keep him. He's so soft and nice!"

******

Osric's squad give him a trained salute; in each of their faces he can see a flurry of emotion. They've all been working hard for this day—he knows that personally, for he's often been the one to direct them on one task or another. "Sir yes sir!" The almost-graduates scatter off, excitedly chattering about what to do and what's to come.

His family is happy to see him, Bedwyn complaining about some "stuck-up jerk's crazy demands" before their father cuffs his son over the back of his head to get him to shut up about it. Both are excited for the graduation ceremonies, and promise Osric that they'll be there to see them. "Your mother's always proud of you too," his father says with a gentle smile. "She might not be able to get away from her job at the temple, but I'll make sure she knows all about how today goes."

******

Reknar snags himself a mug of cool ale; it's obviously watered down, could hardly expect much more out of something free, but it has a pleasant, lightly bitter taste to it. "That's why I settled down here, friend!" the server says with a laugh as he hands the mug on over. "Get yourself a wife and you'll be wishing you had the dust again!"

With that, Reknar makes his way over to the archery field...

******

Some smart-arse comes over and offers his words of wisdom, to which the judge merely rolls his eyes. That's enough of a distraction for Aurica to get her own smart-arse retort in, though, as she draws an arrow from her own quiver and lines up the shot. The judge raises his hands in a half-hearted attempt to wave Aurica to a stop, managing perhaps a single "Hey—" before he's completely shocked into stunned silence. Another perfect arrow, right through the second one – Aurica will be happy to note that her own arrows are clearly better made than the cheaply-made ones being used for this competition.

"Uh," the slack-jawed man swallows heavily, staring at the target with awe. "No. No, that's... that's fine, lass." He stops mid-way through crossing out the dwarf's name on his score sheet, partly from surprise, partly because it's hard to deny someone of that skill on a technicality.

With a brief shake of his head and an awkward clearing of his throat, the man gathers his wits back up. "Half-two, come back and see us then. Don't be late or ye'll lose ya spot!"

******

Voren's nervous flinching and generally suspicious garb earn him more than a few odd looks as he traverses the festival. He hears a couple of old retired crusaders muttering as he passes them: "Ya see that? He's got hoofs! Hoofs, ya see 'em?! Must be one of them demon spawn!" The other spits after him.

Avoiding the older men, Voren watches a rather stunning shot go down at the archery exhibit. As he stands around, though, a thickly-accented woman calls out to him behind: "Hooded man! Yes, you!" Set up on the other side of the path he's on is an old Varisian woman, garbed in a flowing dress and a long, intricately-embroidered silken scarf. Sitting cross-legged on a colourful blanket, she has a deck of Harrow cards in one hand and a small green parrot perched on her shoulder. "I see great misfortune in your future... the cards tell me! Come, you must hear more. For only two silver links..."

******

I'll give Flynn an opportunity to chime in before I continue.


male human Paladin of Iomedae 1,
stats:
Hp:12/12, Ac:17T:10Ff:17, F:+4,R:+0,W:+4,Init:+0,Perc:+3

Flynn begins his day, getting dressed for the Festival. There are tears in his eyes as he dons the tabard of a Paladin of Iomedae. He lovingly brushes it down over his simple scale mail armor, then belts on his weapons. He has a dark metal flail hanging at his waist, along with three small throwing hammers along the back. A silvery dagger balances the flail on the other side, along with a heavy wooden shield embossed with the sun and sword of his chosen Lady. A longsword hangs down his back, the sheathe strapped under his backpack.

They laugh at me sometimes, for wearing my pack everywhere, along with all of my gear. But when the time comes, and we are miles from safety and our lives may depend on what we carry, I will be accustomed to having the weight burden me. They won't be laughing then. At least I hope I get chosen to go.

His thoughts are interrupted as an old man carrying a little boy wanders into the Temple Smithy...
" You should spend some time with Io, Flynn. I mean YOU are his father after all....." Again Baraak the old caregiver tries to weedle Flynn with the knowledge.
Flynn takes the boy into his arms for a tight hug, before handing him back.
" Baraak I would like nothing better than to take the two of you around and enjoy the festival. Buuut.... Commander Cobelen has me making the rounds, keeping the peace. He even has me wearing the uniform, which some still feel I have disgraced, myself included. I must admit it makes me happy to be wearing it again, tho. Here go buy yourself and the boy some hot meat pies for breakfast and I will see you later." He hands the old man some coins as he starts to walk away.
" And stop spoiling him so much. He needs to be tough to be one of the next generation of knights."

Walking his paces around the Festival, Flynn sees much and little at the same time. His eyes see all that happens, but his mind is turned inward to recent events at the Temple.

Commander Cobelen actually said I should wear my tabard over my armor, something I haven't worn in over a year. The shocked looks on the other knights faces was incredibly gratifying. To be accepted again is a great feeling, even if it is just the one man, he's the Commander.

Hearing the old men accost the robed man, Flynn approaches them with admonishment...
" You should not be so quick to judge my friends. Heroes come in all shapes and sizes. And as you well know we need all the heroes we can get. Besides your both old enough to know better. Never judge a book by its cover, and always judge a man by his deeds! NOT his appearance."
He then quickly makes an exit, fearing that they might indeed recognize him, and start with his own deeds...

In his pacing he notices a female dwarf taking a turn at the archery contests, and has to smile at the result..
Hah. Nicely done. Since returning ..'home'.. I seem to be seeing redemption of one sort or another everywhere. It warms my heart.
With a nod at the stunned Judge he continues on his way..


Male Tiefling Hedge Witch 6/Archmage 1 | AC 15/12/13 | hp: 40/51 | F +5, R +6, W +8 (+2 vs death/insanity/confusion) | CMD 15 (17 with m.o.v) | Init +6 | Perc +1 | darkvision 60ft | SM +1 | receiving healing: +2 hit points/die rolled | giving healing: +1 point

I imagine that the robes would go to the floor, hiding his hoof feet. But, whatever.

Voren freezes at the old men's words and shudders at the other one's spit. He hears the feminine voice of his scorpion familiar intone from her place in his robes. 'Ignore them, child. When they bleed and you show them your gifts, then they'll be bowing and groveling to you at your cloven feet.' The "young" witch replies back, 'You're right, Ayne. But I don't want them to bow or grovel. I would just do the right thing. I just want to find out who I am and who my parents were. I just... don't want to hang... or burn.' However, hearing someone stand up for him, Voren can't help but turn around... to the sight of another paladin. He stares at the newcomer. If the paladin looked at Voren, then the holy man wouldn't be able to see what the robed one looked like due to his big and deep hood covering his entire head and casting shadows on it. Voren tilts his head in confusion before shaking it and walking in his original path, at a more rapid pace.

Hearing the old woman calling him, Voren turns. He tilts his head in curiosity. He asks his familiar, 'Should I do it?' His familiar responds, 'Go ahead, child. I won't stop you. After all, you want to experience what this age has to offer, correct? Now, don't bother me for awhile. I need my beauty sleep.' Making sure his hood's secure and hiding him, he takes tentative steps towards the fortuneteller. "M-misfortune? My f-future? The c-cards? What do you mean, ma'am?" He hands her two silver, sitting down into a fetal position, bringing his knees to his chest, being careful not to crush Ayne. 'Damn goat legs. Can't cross them. Too uncomfortable.' He asks, "Could you tell me more about this mark on my arm? I tried to find out more at the Library of the Broken Black Wing. But they wouldn't let me in. I heard that this was called the Sign of the Seeker's Spiral and that it meant my parents were Riftwardens, though I don't think that there were any Riftwardens where I come from. Nor do I even know my parents." He carefully brings his left arm from his sleeve, showing her his birthmark, hiding it from any passerby. His skin is red and scaly in texture. Though it does have hair, like a human's arm does. His fingers end in clawed points, neither long nor sharp enough to be weapons on their own. True to his word, there is a birthmark on his forearm. It looks as if someone either carved it into the arm or burn it as a brand. Though, on closer inspection, it really is a birthmark, just with the appearance of an old scar. He whispers, "I-I apologize i-if my a-appearance f-frightens you."


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

"Cinnamon, eh?" Jens asks, raising his eyebrows at little Lucie. "Now that's a fine name. I wish my horse had a name like that." For all his intimidating appearance, he seems to have quite a gentle manner with the child. "Maybe I'll get you to name my next one." He gives the girl a conspiratorial wink and a smile that pulls his whiskers.

To her mother, he says, "Well, I'm actually in the market for a new sadde. I'll just fetch my horse, if you don't mind - she's rather on the large side." With that, he takes his leave, heading back to the stables next to the barracks.

He returns several minutes later, an immense horse in tow - a mighty mare, some eighteen hands tall, with a rough bay coat, a thick, arched neck, and one white sock. She immediately takes note of Lucie, leaning down and sniffing the girl's brilliant red hair, snorting and flicking her ears.

"As you can see, her tack's getting rather old," Jens continues, pointing out the worn leather of the horse's bridle and saddle. "I've been using it for too long, but since I don't ride her much these days, I've let it fall into disrepair. I think a new set is in order - wouldn't you agree?" Alfsígr snorts against the side of Lucie's head, bumping her cheek with her nose. "Oh, and I think she likes the little one," he adds with a chuckle.


Male Human Fighter 2 | HP 27/36| 19 (21 with shield raised) | Fort: +9; Ref: +7; Will: +5 | Per +7 | Spd 25 ft. |Hero Points: 2
Aurica Firehand wrote:

"You look to have weapons enough to stand missing a few times yourself, though," she calls to the large human. "Any of those cold iron? If not, I can tell you where to buy the best in the city!"

She pitches her voice to carry, because whether or not he's interested, there's surely some in the gathered crowd who have arrived ill-equipped to fight demons, and Armasse is a good day for her father to make money.

Reknar turns back to face the red-haired dwarf - "I guess you can say that - I've had my share of missing along the years" - he nods - "Fortunately, I end up hitting more than I miss, and that is really what matters - if you hit more than the one trying to take you down, right?"

At the mention of cold iron weapons, he smiles, now this is a matter he knows one or two things about - "Actually this one is, or at least the metal end" - he comments, nodding to the longspear at his back - "Are you a weaponsmith yourself? Or do you know any particularly good one around Kenabres?"

Extending one hand, the man takes the chance to introduce himself - "I am Reknar by the way"


Io seems a little disappointed that he can't go around the festival with his 'father', but when Baraak slips him a coin for pies he cheers up quite significantly. Before Flynn leaves, the young boy shows off some of his new 'heroic' moves—he's been starting the basics of swordplay lately, apparently, and is proud of his clumsy blocking moves against an imaginary demon.

For the most part, Flynn finds his rounds to be relatively peaceful—excepting the occasional drunken reveller needing to be moved on, there's little of concern. When he reprimands the couple of retirees, they look rather guilty but nevertheless refuse to apologise, obviously muttering angrily between themselves as Flynn leaves them. Well... you can't win every battle. The cloaked stranger stares at Flynn for a few moments before dashing off without a word. Odd indeed.

******

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

The Varisian harrower arches an eyebrow as Voren reveals his history rapid-fire to her, but... well... he did pay her the money she asked for, so she seems to decide to humour him for now. She peers at the mark on his arm while shuffling her deck of Harrow cards. "My dear, I'm afraid I don't know more than what you do," she says with an apologetic smile. "But perhaps the fates can give you some guidance..."

Sorting through the deck, she selects nine cards, each of which features an eight-pointed star, and then shuffles them separately. She then offers the cards to Voren to select one. "Your question is of your past, and of forgotten knowledge, so for that we must rely on the north star for wisdom," she explains. "This card will tell you your role in the present and near future."

Voren's Pick: 1d9 ⇒ 2

"The Midwife," she says, revealing a card depicting a halfling woman delivering a demonic babe. "She represents the nurse that helps bring new life into this world, or the key that unlocks knowledge that was once hidden. Soon, you will meet, or perhaps become, the key that unlocks the secrets of your past..." The Varisian smiles cryptically. "But you may not like what you find." She taps the demonic babe on the card pointedly.

Draws: 9d54 ⇒ (54, 15, 41, 21, 51, 29, 42, 48, 19) = 320

Taking the Midwife back, the harrower shuffles all the cards back into the deck and begins to set out a spread, face-down. She first reveals the top row, explaining that these represent the positive things in your future. The top left shows a snake-woman with a bouquet of flowers; the top middle, a well-dressed rabbit with a broken sword; and the top right, an owl holding a threaded needle in its beak.

She seems particularly fixated on the top left card, the card of your positive past. "The Liar," she murmurs, "in an opposite match... an interesting portent indeed. She represents love at its most treacherous—love that rips the heart in two. A relationship was formed; perhaps a love that few could accept. Perhaps your parents were not meant to be, and yet... they joined together in matrimony anyway. A tragic relationship, in some ways, but one that persisted despite the odds."

She reveals the second row, those cards showing portents that are unclear or of mixed blessings. The middle-left shows a sphinx at night; the middle, a masked fiend dressed in noble attire; and the right, a centaur bedecked for adventure.

The Harrower taps the middle card with one long-nailed fingertip. "Ah, the Courtesan. A powerful woman is making moves in the world that will one day come to affect you. Whether for good or bad... I cannot say. All I can say is to beware, for this is a card of intrigue, and those webs can be particularly tangled. Perhaps she knows the truth of your past."

Lastly, the third row is flipped over, cards telling of negative events in your life. The bottom-left depicts a child at a bizarre circus; the bottom-middle, a resting unicorn; and the bottom-right, an angel blowing a horn.

Immediately the woman focuses on the bottom-right. She looks quite concerned by its presence here. "The Trumpet, misaligned and in an opposite match; a terrible portent indeed. You will face, or even be aligned with, those whose motives are not noble and just, and their actions will undermine your own. Your future is not something that is grey; you will either succeed greatly, or fail with such force that there will be nothing that can be done about it. Whatever secrets hide in your tattoo, demon-touched child, your route to finding them will be a hard one."

The spread of cards stares back at you, silent in their accusations as interpreted by the Varisian seer; perhaps they are truth, or perhaps mere chance... who knows?

******

Lucie giggles as Alfsigr nuzzles up against her, and the little girl reaches up to gently pat the horse on the nose. Despite her original excitement at the possibility of naming Jens' next horse, it appears she's much more excited by having a new friend to play with and chatter away to. Jens: 0, Alfsigr: 1.

Her mother smiles at the sight, but quickly puts her parental side away and reverts to businesswoman mode. "You're definitely in need of a new one," she says with a twinkle in her eye, leading Jens over to where a rack displays an assortment of various saddles. They all seem to be made of good, strong leather, with copious soft padding where it matters; most are plain brown or black, but there are a couple with some embroidery work done around the edges. "Any that strike your fancy? Or need a recommendation?"

There are pack saddles (5 gp), military saddles (20 gp) and riding saddles (10 gp) here. Take your pick.

******

Shortly after a Harrow reading is completed, a saddle is haggled for, a new acquaintance is made, and others make their way around Clydwell Plaza's festivities, there's a loud sound that echoes over even the hustle and bustle of the festival ground. The bells of the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell are tolling, signalling the arrival of noon. The crowds congregating in front of the temple swell as more people join the mass waiting before a tall stage set up for the upcoming opening ceremonies.


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

A flashed, white grin at the hapless judge's words-- Aurica gives him a jaunty salute before shouldering her bow again. She'll be here.

With Reknar... Aurica glances to the spear and nods approvingly. "Too many folk come to the 'Wound without good iron," she explains. "'S good business for merchants here, equippin' 'em, but only if we get 'em before they go out the gates and find themselves in a battle they can't win."

But, clearly, that's not his problem, as he did come equipped. His question on knowing of a good weaponsmith in Kenabres makes her look at him with wry disbelief. I'm a DWARF, aren't I? her arched eyebrow says.

Aloud, she says, "I'm only 'pprentice level myself, but aye, I know a good one: the best one. Malkus Gritstone, under the sign of the Cracked Anvil-- only dwarven smith working in Kenabres, finest workmanship for a hundred miles around. Got all the cold iron weapons you could use, and the best mail you'll find north of the Five Kingdoms!"

(Aurica is clearly giving a practiced, rapid-fire sales pitch, one she's said many times before, although she means every word of it.)

"He's my master at the forge. And also my father, but that don't change a lick of his skill. Aurica Firehand, pleasure to meetcha, Reknar," she finishes up her quick-paced speech and puts her own callused, stubby hand firmly into the big man's for a hearty shake of greeting.

...

Eventually Aurica makes her way with most of the crowd to before the church, to join with the others in watching the ceremonies unfold.


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

"This one would suit us both well," Jens nods, picking out a large black saddle with white embroidery work. It seems to be of military quality, the type he'd encourage any one of his 'kids' to use themselves, with stirrups large enough for his feet and a strap long enough to fit around Alfsigr's belly. He also picks out a new bit and bridle, and just as he hands over his coin, he hears the church bells ringing, signalling the opening ceremonies.

"Well, I'd prefer not to miss this," he says apologetically, "so can I leave her here for a while?" Alfsigr doesn't seem to mind the suggestion, bumping her nose against Lucie's hand gently - don't you stop that, now. "I'm sure this one wouldn't complain," he chuckles, watching the girl and the horse with a smile.

Assuming the couple won't mind, he shoulders his pack again and heads to the temple, footsteps heavy on the stone streets. He finds a nice spot with a good view and a bit of shade, and settles in to watch the opening ceremonies.


male human Paladin of Iomedae 1,
stats:
Hp:12/12, Ac:17T:10Ff:17, F:+4,R:+0,W:+4,Init:+0,Perc:+3

Finishing his rounds near the edge of the crowd, Flynn spies a nice plot with some shade. It's already occupied, but he doesn't mind.
" Hey there oldtimer." He says to the large Ulfen man."Mind if I share your shade? " He pauses for a moment but sits before the warrior can respond." Seen you around before. You train some of the new recruits. I believe my church had you train ours in horseback riding, tho I wasn't here for that part of it...."he trails off as he realizes where his talk is leading him. Then he sits quietly and watches the ceremonies begin.


Male Tiefling Hedge Witch 6/Archmage 1 | AC 15/12/13 | hp: 40/51 | F +5, R +6, W +8 (+2 vs death/insanity/confusion) | CMD 15 (17 with m.o.v) | Init +6 | Perc +1 | darkvision 60ft | SM +1 | receiving healing: +2 hit points/die rolled | giving healing: +1 point

Voren stares at the cards before him. 'Key to my past? My parents not meant to be? A woman who knows my past? Those who would undermine me? This is a lot to take in. But, it's nice to have the foresight.' He smiles at the fortuneteller. "Thank you, ma'am. It means a lot to me that I have a chance to know who I am and who my family is or, rather, was. Life for me has been full of hardships. What's more to me?" Hearing the bells, Voren understands that something important is happening. Seeing others head to the cathedral, he decides to go. He stands up. "Thank you for your time. I apologize. I haven't told you my name. I'm Voren. I hope to see you again."

He arrives at the crowd, staying some distance away and keeping an eye out for the Church. Seeing the paladin from earlier (Flynn), the hooded man stares before returning his attention to the stage.

Oh. I'm starting to love Harrow readings now. I also might have an idea on who this woman might be. I do have Lost Kingdoms, after all. Though I won't use that knowledge in game, don't worry.


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

Jens chuckles at the newcomer, shifting to allow him more room in the shade. "Well-met. You're not much of a rider yourself, I take it?" He speaks in a friendly tone, his voice a deep rumble, though his eyes remain fixed on the plaza.


Male Human Fighter 2 | HP 27/36| 19 (21 with shield raised) | Fort: +9; Ref: +7; Will: +5 | Per +7 | Spd 25 ft. |Hero Points: 2
Aurica Firehand wrote:

A flashed, white grin at the hapless judge's words-- Aurica gives him a jaunty salute before shouldering her bow again. She'll be here.

With Reknar... Aurica glances to the spear and nods approvingly. "Too many folk come to the 'Wound without good iron," she explains. "'S good business for merchants here, equippin' 'em, but only if we get 'em before they go out the gates and find themselves in a battle they can't win."

But, clearly, that's not his problem, as he did come equipped. His question on knowing of a good weaponsmith in Kenabres makes her look at him with wry disbelief. I'm a DWARF, aren't I? her arched eyebrow says.

Aloud, she says, "I'm only 'pprentice level myself, but aye, I know a good one: the best one. Malkus Gritstone, under the sign of the Cracked Anvil-- only dwarven smith working in Kenabres, finest workmanship for a hundred miles around. Got all the cold iron weapons you could use, and the best mail you'll find north of the Five Kingdoms!"

(Aurica is clearly giving a practiced, rapid-fire sales pitch, one she's said many times before, although she means every word of it.)

"He's my master at the forge. And also my father, but that don't change a lick of his skill. Aurica Firehand, pleasure to meetcha, Reknar," she finishes up her quick-paced speech and puts her own callused, stubby hand firmly into the big man's for a hearty shake of greeting.

"Well met" - the man reiterates, shaking her hand - "I would be interested in taking a look at what the Cracked Anvil has to offer - I know my way around Kenabres, so just tell me where to look and I will search for it - most likely after the festivities. I intend to be around for a while, and good smiths are not that easy to find"

Aurica Firehand wrote:
Eventually Aurica makes her way with most of the crowd to before the church, to join with the others in watching the ceremonies unfold.

Reknar followed the dwarf a tad behind - after all he is also interested in taking in whatever it is the town has to offer, and Armasse seems to be a big part of it - he will have time later on to look for groups going out into the Worldwound - surely there is no shortage of those around - he pondered to himself, moving along, mug still in hand.


Male Human Inquisitor 2 | HP 17/17 | AC 18 T 13 FF 15 | Saves: F: +4 R: +3 W: +5 | CMD: 16 | Init: +5 Percep: +7 | SM: +8

Osric observes the assembled people, finding himself particularly drawn to the group watching the archery. He spies a somewhat familiar face among the those by the beer stall. He walks over that way.

"Excuse me, but you look very familiar. Haven't I seen you around the temple before? Flynn is it? My name is Osric. I work in the temple, so I usually know those sworn to the Inheritor's service."


As the sun reaches its zenith and the bells of the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell begin to toll, many townsfolk and roving travellers take up a position on the grounds before it. The bells ring twelve times, once for each of the twelve guises of Aroden: beggar, thief, fisherman, hunter, shepherd, farmer, soldier, merchant, tailor, craftsman, artist, and scholar. With each great and echoing toll, the crowd quietens further until there are scarcely whispers across the district of Old Kenabres.

The aged inquisitor Lord Hulrun takes to the stage once the bells come to a standstill, clad in shining, resplendent armour. He clears his throat, and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can finish his greetings, his speech is interrupted by the queerest of sights. The crowd murmurs and shuffles uncomfortably as a strange, bright light shines over the city from the west, almost as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun's shadow falls huge and distorted across the cathedral's facade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion rips through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.

Screams go up among the crowd; some people are already bolting, while others gape and point to the western skyline. The sight meeting you there is something you never imagined could happen: the fortress known as the Kite— the location of Kenabres’ wardstone— has vanished. In its place, a brilliant and yet horrible plume of bright fire, sizzling lightning, and choking smoke erupts into the heavens.

A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied by a welcome sight rises from the crowd—Kenabres' greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appears, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, grips a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity is immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, has come to Kenabres!

The crowd begins to scatter, civilians dashing for their homes and crusaders reaching for their weapons in a mass of chaotic movement. The ground rumbles and opens up beneath your feet, spewing forth hordes of horrible demons into the plaza. The sky blackens as sudden thunderous stormclouds— nay, the droning wings and haunting shadows of a thousand demons— block out the sun. All around you, panic and destruction reigns freely.

Events are happening kind of chaotically all around you! I'm going to treat this loosely as "combat", but I'm not going to hold to strict initiative and am fairly loose with what constitutes a "round" (i.e., if you wanted to take two standard actions to do something, that would probably be okay.)

A terrible, corpulent, pig-faced brute of a demon careens overhead, flying with wings that seem far too small for its elephant-sized body. It laughs in a deep, booming voice as it effortlessly picks up a couple of oak trees and throws them into the screaming crowds that Reknar and Aurica just passed by. A young crusader gapes up at the careening bough falling directly on top of her!

Voren finds himself surrounded by a screaming, fleeing mob of people. A small child trips over in the panic, somehow unnoticed by the unruly horde; he screams and attempts to scrabble to his feet, but he's overwhelmed by the veritable stampede.

Jens and Flynn (and Osric, if I understand your post correctly) were sitting particularly close to a place where the ground fissured, releasing demons into the Plaza. The three of you managed to leap out of the way, but an older man near you was not so fast, and he fell with a terrified cry into the ravine. He hangs about half a foot down, clinging desperately onto a rocky outcropping, but he doesn't look like he'll last long. It looks like some kind of red-skinned demon with a leering grin is climbing up from below, eyes locked on what looks like an easy target.

A goat-like horror menaces a young woman near the three of them, having crawled up from the cavernous maw directly behind him and is now hefting his halberd up high with a high-pitched snicker. He seems to be taunting her, bringing the swing down multiple times but not going near enough to hurt her, just to hear her scream...

What's everyone going to do?


Male Human Fighter 2 | HP 27/36| 19 (21 with shield raised) | Fort: +9; Ref: +7; Will: +5 | Per +7 | Spd 25 ft. |Hero Points: 2

Unfortunately, many of the pathfinderwiki links are not working for some reason...

War - Reknar's mind races. He had expected it, but not here, and definitely not now - he was planning to go out and meet the demons in the wastes of the Worldwound, not in the middle of the city!

Even before realizing it, he is moving towards where the massive oak has crashed, screaming to anyone closeby - "HERE! On me lads! Someone is caught under this wreckage - get a hold of yourselves and help me lift it - NOW!" - his commanding voice rising above the screams.

While he dashes towards the fallen crusader, barking orders to those around him, his eyes survey the scene - There's too many of them - he ponders to himself, not voicing his feelings as they are irrelevant at the present time.

Noticing the red haired dwarf closeby, he shouts at her - "Aurica! Gather some archers, find cover, and keep that thing at bay! Stand fast, as he WILL be going for you!"

Again looking around to those closer to him, his voice rises - "What the hell are you waiting for?! Come on now! I need a hand here!"

Diplomacy if needed: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19


Yeah, seems like the site just went down. Check back later, or else turn to your Bestiary and have a look in the demons chapter for inspiration. ;)

Reknar sends nearby stunned crusaders and civilians alike running. The fallen tree has left a large cloud of dust where it crashed, making it hard to locate the poor woman left in its wake. When Reknar finally locates her, at a glance she seems... alive, if only just, but isn't moving.

The haphazardly-gathered mob positions them alongside the fallen bough, preparing to shove it off of her as ordered.

Wanna make a Strength check, Reknar? Or are you just giving orders?


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

As the chaos erupts around him, Jens' blood turns to ice. Memories flood his mind of the day, over twenty years ago, when the Storm-King attacked and the Wardstone was cracked. It doesn't take him long to spring to action, sword drawn, shield in hand.

"Help him!" he shouts at the paladin near him, pointing to the old man, before charging at the goat-like demon with the halberd.

Attack!: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20
Damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8

Over the din, he bellows for Alfsigr, praying that wherever she is, the horse can hear him.

Of course, it's up to the GM whether she does. :p


Jens pays no heed to his own safety, throwing himself at the goat-demon with a mighty attack. His sword sinks into the fiend's chest, splattering dark ichor on the Ulfen's shield, and the beast stumbles backwards. The cliff crumbles underneath its hoofs as it teeters dangerously on the edge of the precipice.

The demon bleats in pain, turning red goat eyes and froth-rimmed teeth in his direction. With a shriek the goat-creature attempts to slice Jens in two, but meets with sturdy scale mail that makes that a tall order. Now that her tormentor is being provided with a distraction, the terrified young woman scrambles out of the way and flees as fast as her legs can take her.

GM:
1d20 ⇒ 4

Jens glances around for Alfsigr, but his mighty steed does not make an appearance...


Male Human Fighter 2 | HP 27/36| 19 (21 with shield raised) | Fort: +9; Ref: +7; Will: +5 | Per +7 | Spd 25 ft. |Hero Points: 2

"There she is!" - Reknar roars, moving to plant his feet solidly, and assisting with lifting the massive tree branches - "Now... HEAVE!"

Strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10

Muscles and veins bulging furiously, he does his best to alleviate the weight on the crusader, enough for someone to pull her out - "If we manage to lift this, someone pull her out of there!" - he bellows.


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

Jens curses loudly in Skald, the harsh, guttural symbols rasping on his tongue as the halberd glances off his armour. From the corner of his eye, he's relieved to see the young woman scramble away, fleeing the terror he now faces alone. He digs his feet into the ground to brace himself, and slams his shield into the goat-demon's chest, attempting to force it back into the pit from whence it came.

Bull rush: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5


Male Human Inquisitor 2 | HP 17/17 | AC 18 T 13 FF 15 | Saves: F: +4 R: +3 W: +5 | CMD: 16 | Init: +5 Percep: +7 | SM: +8

It has come. The fated day we have all feared in our darkest dreams. No defense is perfect, not even the wardstones.

Osric moves like lightning, dropping into a programmed response he has practiced for years. He half-closes his eyes and makes a beeline for the dormitory where his gear is stowed. The is little he can do against demons unarmed and clad only in his habit.

He has memorized the route from every possible spot in Old Kenabres, and could find his was there blindfolded. Once he arrives, he carefully dons his armor and gathers his weapons: his bow and an old but well-cared for iron dagger. He grabs his rounders bat as well. Never know when you'd need to give something a good thumping.

This may take many rounds. So be it. Osric has an extreme sense of duty to the greater good. He will not sacrifice himself vainly.


I assumed everyone would have their gear on them. It is a festival of military displays after all; you may have participated, or simply wore it to look the part.


Male Tiefling Hedge Witch 6/Archmage 1 | AC 15/12/13 | hp: 40/51 | F +5, R +6, W +8 (+2 vs death/insanity/confusion) | CMD 15 (17 with m.o.v) | Init +6 | Perc +1 | darkvision 60ft | SM +1 | receiving healing: +2 hit points/die rolled | giving healing: +1 point

Seeing the demons attacking, Voren can't help but panic. However, seeing the child in danger, he moves through the crowd as best as he can to the child. Getting to him, he says, "Don't worry, child. I'm here to help. Come with me."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16

He tries to guide the child to the nearest crusader for safety.

As he moves with the boy, Voren waves his hand, forming gestures. His eyes begin to glow white under his hood. From his gestures, he summons a radiant eagle, emitting a powerful screech. Seeing the goat like demon attack the young woman, he yells to his summon. "Attack the demon! Save the woman!" He also racks his brain for information on any weaknesses that the demon might have.

Knowledge (planes): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

The celestial eagle flies to the goat headed demon. It attacks with its talons and beak.

Attack: Bite: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
Attack: Talon: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
Attack: Talon: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

Damage: Bite: 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5 +1 if target is evil
Damage: Talon: 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3 +1 if target is evil
Damage: Talon: 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4 +1 if target is evil


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

In the time leading up to everything going wrong, Aurica happily keeps chatting with Reknar-- telling him where to find her father's shop, discussing various other smiths in the city, the gossip she's heard from the front lines...

Then all hell breaks loose.

Aurica stands rooted to the spot for a breath, two-- standing in frozen disbelief. The Wardstone. The Wardstone. It-- it can't fail. That's impossible. That's....

Reknar's barked words force her into motion, trained response to hearing orders.

"Route Patrol! To me!" she cries, not really because she thinks there are any of her squad here, but it's the instinctive rallying cry that comes to her lips. It's just like all the drills Yndariel insisted on, and Reknar's orders now dovetail with: get behind a tree, fire-- except there's no trees here. Instead Aurica drops behind the bulk of a wagon.

Her numb fingers hunt for one of her arrows-- the cold-iron ones. She's loosed arrows at true demons very rarely, in her life. Quasits, other such things... never anything like the flying horror over her head.

Steady. Steady. Wait for it to swoop low... Focus, and loose...

Cold Iron arrow vs flying demon: 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 4 + 2 = 26 +1 if within 30'

...makin' it count!

Confirm crit: 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 2 = 10 (I suppose another 20 was too much to ask fate for.)

Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 2 (+1 if within 30')


male human Paladin of Iomedae 1,
stats:
Hp:12/12, Ac:17T:10Ff:17, F:+4,R:+0,W:+4,Init:+0,Perc:+3

" Heh. No horses and I don't seem to get along ......."
He gets the vague impression of another man speaking to him as he is being interrupted; the ground breaks open near them.
Sluggishly he responds to Jens shouts for him to help the old man, momentarily believing he sees Baarak and wondering where Io might be......
" Arrgghh." He cries as he charges and slides up to the edge, offering his hand to the old man."Grab my hand. FAST man! Time is of the essence." He shouts down at the elderly man.
Look at me old one. don't look down.
He thinks as he pulls hard to bring the oldster to the surface.
str check: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21


Reknar and his team of five heave and struggle, throwing their bulk against the tree trunk as best as they can. Somehow - fortuitously - they manage to shift the fallen bough enough for an onlooker to rush forward and drag the crusader free from her confines. There's cries for help as the group search for a medic--a healer--anyone who can help the poor woman with numerous fractures and worse. Some are muttering something about fashioning a makeshift stretcher, with one dashing off to a nearby stall tent that has somehow not yet been ripped to shreds.

With soothing words to calm the beleaguered and sobbing child, Voren manages to pick him up and guide the boy through the stampede to safety. An Iomedaean worshipper dressed not unlike the paladin that had defended him earlier picks up the boy in her arms, shouting her thanks before rushing off with him and disappearing into the panicked crowds.

Voren, I'm going to say that helping the kid probably takes longer than it does for the next part to occur - so save your spell slot for now.

The tiefling spins and rushes towards the action, seeing a strong Ulfen man fighting with a demon that had been threatening a young woman. She's scampering away, thankfully, but he seems to be locked in a desperate struggle of brute strength. The goat-headed creature's mouth dribbles vile spittle as it flails at Jens, but through some miracle he is able to deflect even those deadly blows behind his shield.

In the interests of getting this "opening gambit" through, I'm going to assume you try that one again. :)
Jens - Bull Rush: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

Running as fast as his legs can take him, Osric dashes towards the dormitories near the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell to retrieve his gear. It's some miracle that he lives nearby, for he returns in time to see a middle-aged warrior - the one that had been speaking with a familiar paladin from the church, in fact - finding the strength to thrust a goat-demon from atop a gaping crevasse into the earth.

At the same time, not too far off, Flynn kneels over the side of the fissure and drags the poor old man out from the face of certain death. Mere seconds later and the red-skinned demon would not be red-faced as now but instead be drenched in red blood. Osric joins him, adding another hand to the powerful paladin's strength and helping to guide the old man to safety. But there's bigger fish to fry than just that...

A few archers and mages have been taking pot-shots at the grotesque monster spreading wanton destruction from the skies, but most seem to be falling short, deflected by the demon's warty hide or absorbed by its bloated girth. Aurica waits for just the right moment - it swoops down to pick up an entire carriage, horse still attached and neighing fitfully in abject terror, ready to throw. Right then, she looses an arrow--and a miracle occurs, for she strikes it right in its blood-shot left eyeball. The demon pauses for a moment mid-air as the tiny arrow, like a toothpick in size, pricks it, drawing a tiny droplet of blood on a wound that almost immediately heals. It slowly reaches up to remove the splinter, and then turns, staring down directly at Aurica with a bemused and deranged grin.

"HuahAUHaauhAHAahhaAHAHUAHUAHAHA," the pig-demon chortles, crushing the arrow between two of its fingertips. "The MORTAL got LUCKY! HAUAUHAHAUHAHAHAHUAHAHA!" It guffaws, its corpulent belly swaying and roiling with every move. It's stopped tossing random things around for now, at least...?

As the ground continues to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon-guardian Terendelev and the balor lord Khorramzadeh clash above your heads. For long minutes the two continue their fierce battle, neither side giving and inch. And yet... the aerial fight eventually draws to a close in a few harrowing moments as the balor, with one lucky strike, cuts deep into Terendelev's body. Khorramzadeh, his eyes gleaming with the adrenaline of sure victory, swoops down to strike the dragon and arrest her charge. They share a few more blows before the titanic duo begin to spiral downward towards the crowd.

The sight of the dragon smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. The rainbow of shattered stained glass was almost beautiful amidst the horror of bleeding bodies and screaming victims as the stone building falls to pieces and crushes many innocent onlookers. Voren realises in horror that the young boy and the crusader who helped him had gone in that direction; Osric too realises that mere minutes before, he too would have been beneath the path of the toppling building.

At that moment, as the pained roar of Terendelev intermingles with the deafening crunch of thousands of glassy shards crashing to the ground, a titanic demon erupts at the far end of the plaza, instantly reducing several buildings to ruins as it smashes into this world. The rift it creates shoots across the plaza, and this time there is no escape—no place to run, no ledges to grasp, and nobody to help you. The vast chasm opens below your feet, angling away into the darkness; and thus you fall into shadows.

Even as you fall, the great dragon notices your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she deigned to seize this final chance to save a few more souls. She utters a few arcane words and stretches out a bleeding talon, and then you feel her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remains as inexorable, and as you drift downward into the depths, the last thing you see is the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head falls to the ground and showers the plaza in a fountain of the purest sapphire blood that may have ever been shed, the rift above you slams shut, and the light of the world above disappears in an instant.

This is where the title credits roll... Welcome to Wrath of the Righteous!

...

...

You find yourselves in complete darkness. Your heads throb with thunderous headaches. Your ears ring. You're having trouble breathing. You can't tell if the darkness is because you can't open your eyes or if you've been flung into the Abyss itself.

After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust and the coppery scent of spilt blood, abruptly flood the void of sensation that is your being. Your senses are gradually making a return to you, and yet the world around you remains pitch black. Feeling around in the darkness, you can make out the rough and scratchy texture of rubble and debris surrounding you on all sides.

For how long you were out it is hard to tell. The strain and shock of the attack has left your heads woozy and your souls heavy. But for now... you seem to have survived. For now...

GM:
Str Assist: 5d20 ⇒ (20, 10, 19, 13, 15) = 77
Drag: 1d20 ⇒ 6
Attack: 1d20 ⇒ 3


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

The demons. They were everywhere; the dragon above him was bleeding, her sapphire blood spraying him as he watched in terror; the ground itself was swallowing him, he was falling, falling...

Jens comes to slowly, his head pounding, his entire body aching. His old bones groan as he pulls himself to a siting position, coughing violently, hacking dust from his protesting lungs. After forcing his eyes open, he's dismayed to see only darkness.

He fumbles around blindly for his pack, and finds it, not too far from where he fell. Digging around in it produces a torch, and his flint and steel; after a moment of struggling, he manages to light the torch, the flame spluttering feebly to life in the darkness. The sudden light stings his eyes, but he immediately feels better for it.

He's still armoured; his shield and weapons haven't gone far. He arms himself quickly, standing and holding the torch aloft. "Hello!" he calls, his booming voice carrying in the darkness. "Who else is here? Come toward the light!"


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

The silver dragon, Terendelev, has been a fixture of Aurica's life from birth onward. On some other plane of existence, children grown up with the benevolent myth of Santa Claus... in Kenabres, you grow up knowing the story is true, that there really is a powerful, noble protector in the city who watches over you. Some childhood lecture had included the idea that she should always be on her best behavior with everyone she met, lest they be Terendelev in disguise.

Watching the dragon be cut down over her head makes Aurica's fingers slip numbly from her bowstring. Nothing else seems to matter. Not the fact that she miraculously shot true against a demon, not the fact that the demon was barely even bothered, not the fact that it was likely now to rend her limb from limb...

The Wardstone has fallen, and now Terendelev also. The two bedrocks of safety in Kenabres, safety and life for Aurica's fifty-some years-- have shattered.

She stands there waiting to wake up from what can only be an utter nightmare. She is still waiting, when the earth swallows her whole.

....

She sits up. Groans. She was spared the fall itself, but not the bruises and scrapes of tiny bits of rubble. Aurica wheezes for breath and stares around her, peering through the blackness. Yet there seems to be little to see. Rocks. More rocks. Broken bits of masonry that must have tumbled down with her, broken bits of her city, her home. She sits there unmoving, hands limp on her bow.

Doesn't make any sense. Doesn't... she's supposed to go to Torag's forge, when she dies, isn't she? Her family will join her soon. Or are they supposed to go to Pharasma's Spire? Get judged before being sent to Torag, and their souls reforged?

Only the flare of light, from a torch, and a man's raspy, rough voice break the numb blankness of Aurica's thoughts.

Slowly, she turns to look. A man? A human. Was he in the city? Is he dead too?

Aurica gets to her feet haltingly, pebbles and stone-dust rolling off her body.

"I'm here," she says, voice harsh as a crow's. "Wherever here is."

If it's not a dream, a last-second hallucination before death...

Slowly, she picks her way towards the man, because... what else is she supposed to do? It feels like she's moving through a fog.


Map - The Kenabres Underground

You should be able to edit this map. Please move your character around as you need to. I'll add a link to it at the top.

The flickering torchlight (or your keen night-vision, for the tiefling and dwarf) reveals that you are in a large underground cavern, one wall of which is an enormous mound of rubble. The air is filled with dust, and now and then small rockslides of gravel tumble down the mound. Here and there the arms or legs of poor, unfortunate souls protrude from the debris, crushed by the falling ruins. As your eyes adjust to the sudden illumination, you notice that you are not alone. There are eight other people here, all groaning and moaning much as you are. It seems you are the lucky ones...

Besides the six of you, you can see three others: a short-haired woman who seems surprisingly calm and quiet given the situation; a white-haired elven man who moans with pain as he clutches at his eyes; and a richly-dressed man who is already on the verge of blubbering.

The moment the torchlight sputters into reality, the nobleman's head jerks up, and he pitifully crawls over the rubble to clutch at Jens' leg. "Oh, please, please, you have to save me, you have to get me out of here..." The elf doesn't react, but the young woman blinks a few times, adjusting to the new light source. She remains silent, but is clearly watching everyone warily, dark eyes serious and expression guarded.

Long shadows fall from a disturbing figure in the back of the cavern. Nearly the size of a horse, what appears to be an immense black spider with red markings splattered across its back crouches still and silent on the ground.

Perception DC 11:
You catch a wift of an awful rotting stench; your best guess is that the spider is dead. But... it's moving. Sort of. Disturbingly enough, there's a bulge wriggling around inside of the spider's abdomen, combined with some kind of... sound. It's like... like the sound of someone chewing something while keeping their mouth fully shut.

Perception DC 15:
An odd silver sparkle from beside you catches your eye as you stare around the cavern, reflecting the light from Jens' torch. There seems to be something hidden under the rubble here...


Male Human Fighter 2 | HP 27/36| 19 (21 with shield raised) | Fort: +9; Ref: +7; Will: +5 | Per +7 | Spd 25 ft. |Hero Points: 2

Small victories - the lesson echoed in Reknar's memory, as he noticed with satisfaction that they had been able to get the crusader from under the tree bough. She was hurt though, but that was the next challenge - he would take them one at a time.

Already feeling the tingling of magic at the tip of his fingers, he began moving towards the fallen crusader - "I'll handle this" - his voice echoed confidently, while even amongst the chaos he managed to spot the dwarf's amazing shot, and the massive demon's reaction - "He's gonna be pissed Aurica! Shift position!" - he shouted, while still moving towards the fallen one.

It was a feeling before it became a certainty, the shadow of the massive dragon passed over him, leaving a bone chilling sensation - before kneeling down to heal the woman, he decided to look back - just in time to see Terendelev crashing against the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell, and understanding that this time small victories probably would not make a difference.

The massive shape that surfaced across the plaza sent dozens into the air - the screams and sound of crashing buildings seemed to muffle out everything else - he knew he was still shouting, but couldn't even hear himself - "Shift to the sides... Ground... Rip... Wounded... OUT!" - then he went down, the ground opening up impossiby wide, allowing him no possible reaction but to fall down, slowly, but surely...

Was the dragon looking at him? - he remembered thinking, before being swallowed up.

---------------------

Muffled voices, he was sure of it - there was someone else there, he could hear it at the edge of his conscience. Shaking the dust and debris, he felt around the rocky floor for some stability, then above and all his body to make sure he was not trapped - sometimes men lost a leg and didn't even realize it, he didn't want to be the last to know - but all seemed in place, se he stood up.

Feeling around his back, he reached for the longspear, and couldn't help a cynical smile - "Much use this will probably be..."

With a few short words, he lit the tip of the spear with arcane magic, and wondered at the mere fact that he was able to do it - what did Lucian call it? Ah yes, spontaneous magic... So he, the lowest of the lowest ranking soldiers possessed an innate tendency for arcane magic? He shook his head at the crazyness of it all, then plodded along, answering the words from before - he had heard two sets of voices, and one seemed familiar - "One more here!" - he shouted, noticing another spark of light coming up ahead.

Light cast on the longspear.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8

As the richly dressed man starts blabbering about, Reknar reacts immediately, snapping - "Keep that one in silence. There is something BIG... There" - he points his spear at the massive spider corpse, taking one single step ahead, poised for defense - "Those who can, fall into defensive positions around me, while the others check the wounded" - he growls, staring at the massive form, gripping his weapon tightly but moving no further.


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

For Aurica, there's the sensation of both walking in a fog, and also everything being painfully, crystalline sharp.

Dead body. Dead body. Wounded man. She steps over the corpses feeling nothing. Probably because she's dead herself, she thinks, with empty pragmatism. Over there there's a sparkle of light in the man's torch, and over by the spider something's moving...

"Something shiny over there," she says with an uncaring wave of her hand in the direction where she glimpsed the glittering under the rubble. Her voice is completely calm, if hoarse still from all the dust-- completely nonchalant, as if none of this mattered at all, as if she was just saying whatever flitted through her mind.

"And something's about to rip its way out of that spider's belly. It's not a belly, though, is it? That's not the right word," Aurica murmurs almost-dreamily, staring fixedly that direction. "What's it? Abdomen. That's right. On account you've got your thorax an' your abdomen, and the palpus, and all that, Yndariel knows all the names, you know..."

She trails off as she comes to a stop by the old Ulfen, paying no attention to anybody but him right now (well, not really paying him much attention either, if we're honest), staring at the spider, her bow still dangling at her side in one hand.

Moving betwen Jens and Reknar, doesn't appear I can move my token.


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

Jens is relived to hear another voice, seeing a red-haired dwarf woman picking her way towards him over the rubble. The relief is short-lived as he hears the moaning of the Elven man and the blubbering of the noble. The short-haired young woman seems to have a good head on her shoulders, though, and he calls out to her as he drags the noble to his feet.

"Can you move?" he calls, casting his eyes around the cavern as he hears another voice answering him. "You there, elf - can you see? If not, follow my voice - we'll be safer if we stick together!" Lowering his voice to a more reasonable tone, he addresses the noble - "It's going to be alright - we'll all get out of here." I hope, he adds silently.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

When the newcomer starts barking orders, Jens visibly stiffens, his tall frame straightening. "I'd appreciate not being ordered around, pup," he mutters darkly, positioning himself in front of the man with the spear, shield held in front of him. "When this thing lies dead, you and I will have to establish the chain of command." Then the dwarf woman is at his side, murmuring about shiny things and spider bellies, and he frowns, beard drooping as his mouth arcs down sharply. "Get yourself together, lass," he says in a concerned tone, shaking her shoulder gently. "Got to keep a calm head on your shoulders in times like this."


Okay, NOW you can move your tokens. :P

I will give the others a chance to react before posting too much more!


Dwarf Hunter 3 * AC 20 - CMD 17 * HP: 24/24 * F+4, R+7, W+3 (modifiers apply) * Per +8, Init +3, Stealth +4
Austru mini-stats:
AC 22/15/17 | HP 15/15 | Per +9

When the human shakes her shoulder, Aurica slowly turns her head, looking from the spider corpse, up into the warrior's craggy face. She says nothing for several breaths, looking up at him blankly.

"You're in the wrong place," she says at last. "Humans don't go to Torag."

Or maybe she's in the wrong place. Aurica tries to think through the fog, to all those talks on the gods, the pantheons, the afterlife, the Inheritor... Pharasma's Spire is supposed to be hanging in space, isn't it? Not a great big cave with... with a spider. Her eyes inevitably track back to the spider once more.

"D'you think the demons laid eggs in its belly? I mean abdomen?" she asks in that same detached tone.

(Token moving is now operable here!)


Male Human Fighter 2 | HP 27/36| 19 (21 with shield raised) | Fort: +9; Ref: +7; Will: +5 | Per +7 | Spd 25 ft. |Hero Points: 2

Reknar raises an eyebrow at the man - "No pups here grunt. The name is Reknar" - he growls - "Those were not orders but mere common sense, as you would gather if you weren't so worried about chains of command" - he shrugs, as the man steps in front of him, effectively denying the benefit of his reach weapon.

Seeing the dwarf daydreaming, he adds - "Stay close with that bow of yours - whatever that is, it won't get to you"

Token moved, according to Reknar's actions from the previous post.


Male Human (Ulfen) Cavalier (Honor Guard) 3 (Order of the Dragon) | AC 20, T 12, FF 18| HP 29/29| F +4, R +3, W +1 (+2 vs emotion effects) | CMD 19 | Init +2| Perc +6 | SM +0| Dragon's Challenge 1/1 | Tactician 1/1

I can click on things, but can't move them on my tablet. Can someone please move me one square down and to the right?


Your wish is my command~

1 to 50 of 749 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | next > last >>
Community / Forums / Online Campaigns / Play-by-Post / GM Alice's Wrath of the Righteous - Gameplay All Messageboards

Want to post a reply? Sign in.