Daemon looks the man and his compatriots over more carefully to get a better idea of their background, focusing on symbols or emblems. His eyebrow cocked high, having no doubt in Shalelu's capabilities of handling herself, even while intoxicated - but still tensing to prepare for any possible outbreaks. He lowers his hand to his waist, preparing to access his longsword if it so becomes necessary.
Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
More will be said once he understands the above ^_^
He'll also 'sense motive' them after Lirrathan and Andrin's advances towards them to preemptively gauge their intentions.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 7 + 1 = 9
Vandell moves closer the group of toothless gentlemen with his hands up showing that he's not armed. "Now my fellow drinkers, you don't want to spoil this night for all in this bar now do you? So respect my fair gem's wishes and let her go." He winks to Shalelu, "I am guessing you only wish to pay for your drinks and not repairs or spend a night in jail? So follow our advice, let go of our friend and return to your drinking. Then everybody wins." He gives them a friendly smile.
Diplomacy:1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Koveluss nods sagely at the Shoanti. You should back off, friend; I'm afraid your hopes for female companionship have fallen flat. Of course, I just learned goblin females exist." The man pauses to sip his drink before continuing. "If you head into the swamps now, you may still have the experience you desire this night. Though on a much ... shorter ... scale."
Koveluss tilts his head to side, appraising the man. "Perhaps something goblin-sized would be more suited to your needs anyway."
Yosrick cringes when Koveluss opens his mouth. "Jeez, Miko, I thought Lirrathan was the charming one. So, how many tables do you think this is gonna cost? I mean, if you're planning on leaving, might as well go out with a bang, right?" Yosrick sighs, smiles and jumps onto the stair railing. He flips his whip out, snaps it at the nearest ceiling beam, and leaps out over the dining room, shouting, "Whoo-HAH!" He tries to aim his flight to coincide with the Shoanti's head.
Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Damage: 1d3 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3 I guess?
The big Shoanti, his face crisscrossed with a number of scars, his ears puckered like cauliflower, Grins dangerously down at Andrin, his eyes only briefly moving to the other two who have confronted him. Shalelu however, actually tosses a glare at Vandell, "I am no one's 'fair gem' and I recommend you remember that.". She then turns that glare to the Shoanti. "Let. me. go."
He lets Shalelu go, But his eyes don't leave Andrin's, and he holds a hand back towards his friend, "Hear that lads? the priss thinks I should enjoy my drink..."
One of the other ruffians passes the lead man a wide mug of ale, and he takes a draw, licking his lips as grins at Andrin, "I'm not thirsty priss, you can have the rest." And with that, the big thug upends the contents of his glass onto Andrin's head.
He lets out an uprorious laugh, which is joined by the three others behind him! A laugh that is abruptly cut off by Yosrick's boot.
The Shoanti merc tumbles back in a spray of blood. Pulling himself up to his feet, he points to the group, "Beat 'em raw!"
The four thugs charge with clenched fists!
Alright, this is a pretty loose "fight" Each of the four thugs has the stats below, write your actions and resolve them, the thugs will go after. At this moment all of the thugs are unarmed, it is a barfight after all
Fort: +3 Ref: +1 Will: 0
Daemon looks at the lead thug, shaking his head. He casts a spell, but shouting aloud in an angry voice, "You would mind to play follow the leader before one of you gets hurt!"
Daemon casts 'command' on the lead thug - utilizing the 'flee' option to make him run (DC=15 willsave). I'm not casting defensively because I'm presuming Daemon is at the opposite end of the table, out of reach. Also, if possible, he'd like to attach an intimidation check on to his statement, preemptively assuming success O:-)
Intimidate: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
Vandell shoots a look back to Shalelu, "So do you prefer flower then? I am just saying since you didn't oppose that from our toothless gentleman here." As he comments to her lets loose a couple of open hand strikes onto the merc closest to him.
Flurry1(non-lethal):1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15
Flurry2 (non-lethal):1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23
confirm roll on flurry2:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
Damage1(non-letahal):1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Damage2(non-letahl):1d6 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
He yawns at his opponent, "It's your turn to run away before I get serious, hehe."
As Vandell bandies words with Shalelu, Lirrathan adds his two copper, "One more human making moves on my sister is no better than the previous one, even if you are less of a smelly savage." and despite the earlier joviality, he appears serious.
Considering himself the only one smart enough to bring a sword to a fist fight, he draws his blade, but loses his eagerness for a fight when he sees that the others aren't going for the kill. He decides to double up on his grip and just try using a pommel strike. He steps in close and lifts his blade point up, looking like an awkward swing, before he follows through with a two-fisted punch with the weight of a blade handle gripped between them.
Two-handed Longsword attack for Non-lethal on an unoccupied ruffian 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21
Crit confirmation 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18
Damage 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11, crit damage 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8 total 19 all Non-Lethal
rofl - Lirrathan! You should try to do non-lethal damage more often, you're amazing at it! LOL
Andrin's eyes narrow as the towering Shoanti reaches back for his mug. "There's still a chance for you to return to your chair, sir, befo-" but sadly, the nobleman's offer is cut off by a downpour of ale.
All of a sudden the situation explodes into a messy fracas all around him, with Yosrick swinging in like some jungle ape. Everyone bursting into motion all around and yet, Andrin finds himself surreally calm. Oddly, it all seemed to be moving slowly depsite the chaos of a burgeoning bar fight. He observes as Lirrathan growls something to Vandell before dropping one of the Shoanti with a single, ringing blow. Vandell closes with another, the thug hammered twice and hard. The rude one upended yet again by Yosrick, this time by his whip rather than his foot.
He looks to Shalelu and her expression is... unreadable.
Sense Motive (Shalelu): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
Lirrathan's rebuke of Vandell finally registers with the nobleman then, shaking him out of his strange lethargy, the elf's words ringing loudly in his ears. He turns his attention to the grabby thug who started it all.
Combat Maneuver (Dirty Trick): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20 vs Target's CMD (possibly lowered due to being prone?) - looking to pull the oaf's shirt up over his head or splash half a goblet of wine in his face or something similar. Maybe make him entangled for a round or give everyone concealment against him (20% miss chance) for a round or something along those lines.
It provokes, but unless he has improved unarmed strike or is somehow otherwise considered armed, he can't take the AoO.
AC: 11 (11 T / 10 FF)
Channel Energy (1d6) uses left: 6/6
Level 1 Spell Slots left: 5/5
Koveluss laughs at hearing Lirrathan rebuke Vandell and calls to the monk over the din of the brawl. "You missed the elf explaining his aversion to odor this morning! Goldilocks seems to think his kind pisses fine wine and flowers!"
Acrobatics 1d20 ⇒ 9
The summoner attempts to jump back from the table as a Shoanti thug upends it. Koveluss stein remains in hand, but he is unable to save his plate; his meal ends up scattered across the common room floor. Pouting, he looks at his stein and shrugs, then pours it over the Shoanti's head. "I was going to eat that, you know."
Full Defense; I'm afraid I'm not much of a boxer. I'll hold onto the stein, though, in case someone needs clocking.
~I warned you that the beginning was rather common, didn't I? Our caravan set out two weeks later: Four Wagons. Fourteen travelers. Ten friends. Even then, we had no idea the adventure we were departing on. No idea at all...~
The small caravan rolls out of Sandpoint one fine morning in the late Varisian summer. Two of the wagons were simple supply wagons; with old and weather worn wood that had gone grey from months and years toiling against the elements. Another wagon was newer, it's wood still held it's healthy brown sheen, though scuffed and chipped in many a places, with a white tarp pitched atop it. The most prominent of them all though was Koya's wagon. Looking like a small hut on wheels with a steep triangular roof that was painted a bright yellow against the faded red of the wagon's walls.
The wagons were driven by four Varisians, Bevelek and Vankor - who were like family to Sandru, they'd traveled together for so long - while the other two were helmed by Gianya and Viorec, a sister and brother, varisian, who had signed up with Sandru for the expedition.
As the convoy trundled along the dirt road leading to the town's south-eastern exit, Yosrick takes one look back at the Rusty Dragon. "What are you going to do with the old girl?" he asked Ameiko, hitching his pack to his shoulder.
Ameiko sits on the bench of Koya's wagon, beside Koya herself as well as Gianya, and plucks away at the strings of her Samisen. She glances back in the direction Yosrick is looking and smiles, "Y'know Yos... I've been feeling like I've been outgrowing the Dragon for a while now... So I sold her." She grins at her friend, "To Bethana, for one gold piece."
"Well, I hope it's not to late to turn back, because I think she pulled one over on you." Lirrathan quips as he passes from the left side of the caravan to the right. He moves across looking out for Shalelu, maybe she saw some signs of activity from where she scouts. He's seen nothing, and is bored to tears already.
Ameiko giggles, one of the white-blonde bangs falling into her eyes, clashing against the black of the rest of her hair, "I would have given it to her for free if I could have convinced her to accept Lir. It's not like I needed the money, hasn't anyone told you?" she waggles her eyebrows, "I am Sandpoint's most prosperous noble."
Lirrathan cocks his head and smirks, shrugging as if to say 'whatever' "Not if you keep giving away all your most valuable possessions for a gold or less. Besides, once we're out of Sandpoint, most others will only call you as prosperous as whatever you have with you." He gets a gleam in his eye and a smile, "However, that doesn't mean we can't play a little cards, maybe make a wager or two when we make camp for the night."
The now oddly, and neatly shaven Inquisitor removes his armored coat as they depart, and tosses the heavy garment nearby his seat. He smiles as he listens to the bickering between his compatriots, but stays to himself. He had decided he should shave before the trip, as it would have plenty of time to grow to it's usual scruff.
"Cards only get you into trouble, Goldilocks. Especially when it comes to playing with Ameiko - you always lose your pride."
The scruffy Varisian smiles at his new comrades comments, "You best listen to Mr. Grizwold. Your on the routes now, and many will be seeking that gold in your pouch...........if you wish it safe I would avoid cards for now and I could hold on to it for safe keeping if you would like, Sir Locks?"
Ameiko smiles, her fingers still dancing over her luter and she retorts to Lirathan - though in a voice soft enough that her words may be as much for herself as the young elf, "Just goes to show that you and I have very different definitions of valuable."
On his horse by the wagon Sandru chuckles, but doesn't say anything, while Koya gives a short bark of a laugh, "You hold on to that thought deary. Takes most people more years than they got to learn that one."
The caravan's journey is a smooth one for the first day, following the road north through the hinterlands, until the lights of Sandpoint are just distant specks behind them as the sun sets on the western horizon.
As the Caravan climbs a soft hill, Sandru holds up a hand to signal the stop, glancing at the panting horses, and surveying the ground around them with an approving nod. "We'll make camp here for the night."
Andrin nods in agreement with Sandru's assessment, though the gesture is more for himself than anyone else. Despite this all being far beyond his typical and comfortable routine, a feeling of weight he can't describe pulls him onward and buoys his spirits. He helps how he might as camp is readied, offering a hand to whomever might need it.
Daemon sighs as he stands, stretching his arms wide as he surveys the surrounding area. He reaches down, grabbing his coat disguised armor and dawns the heavier coat, the deceivingly protective garment accenting his broad shoulders. He steps over the edge of the wagon and hops down to the ground, landing with an "Ooof!", the long jacket flaring as the tip of his long-sword's sheath flares into view.
He looks to Sandru and announces, "I'll give the perimeter a check, see if there is any potential problems about."
Vandell pulls down his hood and lets out his wild hair out. The varisian hopes down from the wagon with a smile, "Ahh, it's great to be on the road again." He looks over at the Inquisitor, "Good idea lad, if you wouldn't mind some company? I was going to take a look around for some food so we don't have to dig in to our supply." Not caring for his answer Vandell follows him in search for anything he can find while on there patrol.
Survival:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13
The lip of the sun had already dropped past the western horizon, bathing the sky in hues of pinks and purples that were even now shifting to the deeper blues of evening. When Vandell and Daemon return to the campsite he finds that the wagons have been circled up and a firepit constructed, that Sandru now warmly tends to.
The monk’s search was successful, and he presented a small pile of roots, apples, wild carrots and wild tomatoes. A few moments after him, Shalelu wanders into the camp, her bow slung over his shoulder and a catch of six rabbits in her hand.
”Oh, perfect.” Ameiko grins, eyeing the rabbits and vegetables, already unpacking a cast iron pot, knife, ladle and a rack of spices from one of the supply wagons, and sets about skinning the rabbits.
The Tian woman works diligently, humming a cheerful tune as she does, and it isn’t long before a delicious peppery aroma fills the camp. ”Soup’s on!”
Ameiko, Sandru, Koya, Shalelu , Viorec, Gianya, Bevelek and Vankor all ladle themselves up servings into simple wooden bowls, and most take up a spot near the crackling flames. As the stars shone above, Sandru finishes his bowl with a hearty slurp – and starts to ladle himself seconds – while looking over to Koya, ”How ‘bout a story mum?”
Koya glances up from her resting spot on the earth, where she leans against a log, one arm draped over it, the other holding her long stemmed pipe, ”Well why not.” she mutters. Her eyes flash for a moment before she grins like a cat and glances towards Shalelu.
”This is the story old Treerazer, a huge creature towering well over any manand even over many giants at twenty feet tall. He looks like some sort of demonic dinosaur that has sprouted huge dragon-like wings. Wherever he walks a trail of small, diseased mushrooms spring up in his wake, only to disintegrate back into filth moments later. In his clawed hands he wields, Blackaxe, which is carved from obsidian and constantly drips acid from its chipped, uneven blade.”
“Treerazer began life in the Abyss, but little is known of his exploits as a demon before his ascension. Whatever he did, it impressed his Lord Cyth-V'sug enough to risk raising him to the role of a nascent demon lord. Cyth-V'sug's gamble did not pay off, however, as Treerazer was an ambitious creature and attempted to usurp his lord's position. Exactly what transpired is difficult to determine. Certainly, Cyth-V'sug was not overcome, but whether the demon lord banished him or Treerazer fled there to evade his former master is a question for debate, but what is known that he arrived here, on Golarion. In any case, being so completely severed from the Abyss has had an interesting side effect: if Treerazer were to be killed, his essence would not return to the Abyss—his death would be permanent.”
“Banished to Golarion sometime during the Age of Darkness, Treerazer found our realm to his liking and spent many centuries wandering her many nations. It was not until centuries later that he discovered the land of Kyonin and learned of the exodus of the elves. There he learned of a mysterious and great power, and concocted a plan to use this power to return to the Abyss. He was foiled by the return of the elves, but they could not destroy Treerazer, instead pushing him and his forces back to the Tanglebriar in southern Kyonin. There he waits within his fortress, the massive twisted tree known as the Witchbole, serving as the bogeyman of elven culture—a tale with which to scare elven children that may be, unfortunately, all too real.”
As the story ends, Sandru gives a small laugh, shaking his head in amusement at his adopted mother, ”Couldn’t be a happy story on our first night?”
”Happy usually means boring.” she replies with a drag of her pipe.
Daemon sighs after finishing his bowl of soup, a small but genuine smile upon his face after eating, his stomach finally satiated after the perimeter check. As he usually does, he tunes Koya's story out, her drab and always illogical stories never able to hold his attention for long.
His intelligence always got the best of him, even when it came to his own religion. He clears his throat after her story, speaking up to the whole group. "So, perhaps we should discuss our next steps? Where are we headed too, for starters. How are we going to begin our search?"
Lirrathan enjoyed the story, as it is the nasty tales of fabled beasties that make him want to go out and find them. When he does, he can kill them, and get all the fame and glory that comes with it.
After the meal and entertainment, he eases away from the group, hoping to find a good place amongst the wagons to sleep where he won't be disturbed. Let them worry about planning, he'll find out in the morning, or when they get there either way.
Vandell takes a bowl of soup and enjoys the story, as they eat he looks towards Shaleu. "Your quite the skilled hunter, and with my skills in foraging we'll keep these folks feed. Maybe we could go hunting together next time and you could teach me a few tricks." As he finishes up the soup, "Bless the Winding Path for providing."
After a few minutes of setting camp, Andrin finds himself alone and with no one to direct him on how best to help. Shrugging, he retrieves his pack and begins to pitch his new tent. After a handful of minutes, Andrin ruefully realizes the process is not nearly as simple as the man who sold him the tent indicated.
Knowledge (engineering): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20
Despite the unexpected complexity of the task, Andrin methodically sorts through all the poles and ties and in the end is successful. He looks over his work with an appraising eye when finished, "Hmmmm. This is considerably smaller than I'd imagined."
He lays out one bed roll within the tent, then rolls the second one out on top of it. On this, he then lays two of the soft blankets, reserving the third should the night prove chill.
At dinner, he addresses Daemon's question, "We are bound for Brinewall, good sir. Or far more likely, its ruins. If I remember Yosrick's recollection correctly, it should be at the head of the Steam River, to the north. I imagine our search for whatever Ameiko's grandfather tried so hard to secret away will begin there."
I like to think we found Brinewall, liberated it from whatever squatters were inevitably present, leveraged my family's assests into refurbishing the place, and now we live as co-regent kings in a sweet castle that enjoys and protects a booming trade route between Sandpoint and all points north.
Nothing too crazy.