Rowwwrrr. A sound comes out of the wolf, half demanding, half begging; half growl and half whine.
No, Dantes. We are making sure no patrons are hassled this evening. We need to stay sharp. You get water, not ale.
He then turns his back to the bar, ignoring the wolf's disappointment, and surveying the crowd with an inflated sense of duty about him.
Initiative: When combat begins I will roll initiative for all combatants including PC's. Actions will be resolved in order. Players are free to wait their turn or post ahead of time (including options if they'd like). If a player has posted before their initiative and things change before their actual initiative comes up, they are free to change their action with a new post.
Cover: Soft cover applies for ranged attacks. Cover is calculated drawing a line from one corner of your square to all 4 corners of the defender's square without passing through any objects/people.
Hard corners: Provide cover and cannot be bypassed with a 5' step.
Attack modifiers: PC's should modify their die rolls as appropriate for cover, shooting into melee, flanking, attacking from prone, etc. While being prone is technically an AC modifier, feel free to calculate it in as long as you advise me.
Format for posts:
Please list:
-Round and initiative (i.e. Round 1, Init 15)
-Status as a spoiler including buffs/penalties, HP, AC, weapon in hand, spells used and/or remaining (i.e Bless, HP=9/9, AC 16, dagger in hand, spells left=Magic Missle).
-Then your actions
Dice rolling: Dice rolling is done via the message board dice roller (see BBCode tags below the text box when you post). Please explain any modifications to the die roll. (i.e. If you normally fire your bow as 1d20+4, then you would need to explain a 1d20+5 (bless). I really prefer but won't require something like:
BAB +1, STR +2, Bless +1, Flank +2
End of turn: Once you post and your initiative comes up, your turn is done. As a friend of mine says, "I play the villians perfectly and I expect you to play your characters perfectly." I won't go back in time adding damage/effects and won't accept them.
Play your character: Have fun! Enjoy your creation. Listen to the advice of others, but do what you want. However, be sure to play your character as built. The 8 Int/Wis fighter should probably not be figuring out the puzzles. The 7 Charisma dwarf should not be the lead diplomat. Feel free to assist (especially out of character), but remember who your PC is.
Play your own character: It's fine to make general requests, ask for a flank, suggest a tactic, beg for healing, but refrain from "Next turn you should cast bless, pull out your mace, and take a 5' step to the north to give me a flank."
Let people play their characters: Just because the PC is an ignorant clueless snob doesn't mean the player is. Their motivations might not be the same as yours. They might not care at all about the law and/or the greater good.
Don't play NPC's or other characters: You only control your own actions. You might think your diplomacy roll of 20 will make the lady swoon, but maybe it won't. (i.e. Doctor Wonderful walks into the room with his 20 charisma and uses prestigitation to spin beautiful colors around the barmaid's head. She swoons before me and I embrace her.)
NPC's lie: I know this might be a shocker, but it's true. I will be honest with you as the GM, but NPC's might actually deceive you.
Amaku accepts the symbol from Dyant and gives him a glass of his best rum. "As many as you'd like tonight."
Dyant keeps his head low, accepting the drink.
Lifting up his glass, he gives himself a cheer, "This one is for the hypocrisy of the Church, for putting words above action." With that, he fells the drink in a gulp, choking on its strength.
*cough*
*cough*
When his coughing fit ends, his face returns to sorrow.
"Barkeep, another!" Dyant lifts his hand to get the man's attention.
Mariselle leans in and lowers her voice so only people at the table can hear. "A few weeks back they found him among the rubble of the cave in at the entrance to the dwarves' place caused by those Stormblades a few months back. Might've been wild animals, but supposedly the parts they found were arranged in some kind of pattern."With that she stands tall and annouces, "I'll bring you another round of drinks right away." and heads off to the bar.
Sir du Chabannes' rigid posture almost evaporates as he lowers his head and closes his eyes. He silently prays for the soul of his occasional comrade in arms, wishing him the peace and rest he never found in life.
He opens his eyes but they do not seem to rise beyond his glass. He spends the next few minutes idly staring into the diamond glinting of reflected light off of the amber liquid. As Mariselles returns with his rum, he polishes off the last glass in a single gulp. Taking the new drink, he asks, 'Do you know who found him?'
Fraiser wanders through the crowd, vigilant for mischief, but aimiable to the crowd.
Pardon me, sir. Your purse seems to be open there; you may want to tighten that up! Miss, your drink seems to be empty there. May I get a refill for you from the bar?
Aeneas looks at the man coughing at the bar.
"That is either a very sad or a deeply angry man. Time to go get my nose bitten off. Gentlemen." He nods to his companions and walks to the bar.
Aeneas leans on the bar next to Dyant. Not looking at him he speaks to the optic.
"A man walks in to this bar at this time on this night and starts to drink himself to death with no practice at it has a story he wants to tell. If he wanted to die there are enough gin dives and rum pits for anyone who wanted to to vanish into, no questions asked. A man walks into a party and starts what you have started invites questions so I am accepting your invitation. What do you want to talk about?"
Much as I would love to be in another game with Painlord, it looks like there's a little too much going on here, so I'll bow out and wish you all the best.
"Ever work your entire life towards one goal? Ever focused every second of your entire being towards a cause and something that you believed in? Well, have you?!"
Dyant lifts his glass again, toasting the air: "This is for the bastards who decree without merit and without review. To those too cowardly to judge a man without seeing for themselves what he is capable of."
Dyant takes his second shot, draining the glass, in a gulp.
This time he only coughs half as hard.
"So do you know, you?" Dyant turns to the speaker, as if to regard him for the first time.
"You might know the joy of striving toward a goal with the entirely for your purpose. But do you know how it feels when that is stripped from you without word or cause?! DO YOU!?!?"
Dyant yells for the barkeep again, "Barkeep! Another!" Dyant turns the glass upside down upon the bar, empty.
1.)Medium Load. I'm redoing my gear, including scrolls. I thought I could scribe my own scrolls for 25gp at the start but I'll change that.
2.)My mistake. I had enlarge person written down twice. Hero Lab doesn't have burning disarm as a level 1 spell :/
3.)The 1 extra language is coming from linguistics.
4.)I was assuming I could scribe scrolls of spells I know (at 25gp) instead of buying them for full (50gp). For what it is worth I'll probably just redo all of my gear and purchase scrolls at full price. I'll mark which ones I bought and scribbled into my spellbook.
5.)If the gate crashed he'd be pissed but he'd get over it. He wasn't the one who designed it. He wasn't chief architect or anything. He dreams of one day leaving his mark on this world with the greatest..something.. the world has ever seen. He needs to see the world and get inspiration to achieve this dream as well as improve his rudimentary proficiency with the arcane arts. If his friends (Aeneas and Finneas) need his help for anything he will much oblige them. He'd stick around because although Cauldron is pretty lame, it is where he mostly grew up and feels obligated to help it in one way or another, regardless of situation.
"Well Finneas, he wasn't there long, but there was an accident at the academy. Some sort of alchemical mix-up. A professor died, even. Sad stuff. He left the academy shortly after and I don't know what has happened since. Everyone said he became a sociopath or something but that is just talk."
His eyes taking in the spectacle, Hathin is deep in his thoughts. A small rodent pops its head out of the satchel at his side, and he drops his free hand down to scratch it behind its ears. The warmth of contentment flows into Hathin's mind from his link with his familiar.
Hathin's eyes close for a few fleeting moments as he lets the borrowed emotion wash over him.
"Greetings...Karu? My friend Aeneas was just telling me he'd seen you around, but I'm afraid I don't recognize you. Where do you call home?"
"My friend, we be brothers! Karu replies, bowing and gesturing to his cloak's clasp - an emblem of four spears crossed with four clubs.
"Karu has seen ya at 'de temple, for ya'ard to miss, ya bein' taller than e'en he is!"
As Aeneas excuses himself to attend to Dryant, Karu doesn't hesitate to plant himself in the now empty chair. Looking about the common room, he spots the wolf backing down from the bar at the behest of it's owner.
While most ordinary people would balk at such a wild creature being within the common room, Karu had spent much time in the jungles south of Cauldron, where the creatures of shadow were every part of his tribe as it's members.
The large man clucked his tongue as he regarded the canine. "Mbwa njoo hapa" he whispered, while trying to make eye contact and holding his rather large hand outstretched. As he stretched, the scars of a slave could be clearly noted on his hands, arms and shoulder.
An old half elf notices the loud exchange at the bar and pauses his activity at the fruit platter, where he had been eating his way through the large houses. Taking a cantaloupe church in his juice stained fingers he makes his way over.
"I hear anger, and injustice. We all have our problems..."
He moves closer, gesturing with the carved fruit building.
"... but what will you do about yours? Drown in sobbing tears and shouts for drink? Are you entertainment, spitting out furious words while others nod with smug complacency?"
Now in a quieter voice:
"You are not alone, I too have faced setbacks of faith. Heed the advice of an older man, and stoke your anger like a fire, so you burn with a new purpose. My name is Silfr, and I suggest we speak soberly of our troubles. Do you agree?"
The old half elf goes to eat the cantaloupe church then pauses as the smell reaches him. With a quick motion he tosses it on the bar and then smashes it with the base of an empty glass.
"It has gone bad," he says to no one in particular.
Dyant yells for the barkeep again, "Barkeep! Another!" Dyant turns the glass upside down upon the bar, empty.
Aeneas turns to the now clearly angry man.
"No. Guess I've been lucky. But then I also have never cared enough about something to dedicate my life to it. It must be horrible to have that feeling of belonging taken away. Who were the bastards and can anything be done? I know several folks in this bar who might be interested in lending a hand in a good cause. Names Aeneas by the way."
Aeneas holds out his hand. He chooses the hand that will force the angry man to use the hand he was drinking with. Disrupt his pace if nothing else.
An old half elf...
I went with Middle Aged, but did not change my stats. If you are employing the stat changes, my initial stats would have been:
"No. Guess I've been lucky. But then I also have never cared enough about something to dedicate my life to it. It must be horrible to have that feeling of belonging taken away. Who were the bastards and can anything be done? I know several folks in this bar who might be interested in lending a hand in a good cause. Names Aeneas by the way."
Dyrant stares at the offered for a moment, but reaching to take it with his own.
"Well met. My name is usually Dyrant, but today it is now 'Failure'. Or 'Life's Mockery', if you would prefer." Dyrant smiles at his own jest, quickly fading, before returning to sorrow.
"You want to help, eh? Well help me call over at deaf bartender, the fool has been ignoring this side of the room. I can still remember and so he has not yet accomplished what I paid him for." Dyrant looks again for the missing barkeep.
It is amazing this place is so full when the service is so slow.
Dyrant regards Aeneas again.
"So you think you can help this poor fool? You think you can change what cannot be changed? You think you can change the will of a God? No, I do not think you can help me." Dyrant scoffs, and chokes back another round of tears.
Dyrant looks again for the barkeep. "Barkeep! Another round!"
Dyrant gets more uncomfortable as the old half elf sits near and offers words of mockery.
"And what of you, old man? Enjoying the show? What do you know of the Gods? I have served St. Cuthbert since I was able to first speak, then preach. I have studied all this works, memorized his prayers, tended to his flock for years. I have done *NOTHING* else with my life but serve him. I can tell you all of his heralds and all his decrees. I know them all by heart. And what does he give me in return?"
Dyrant's rage fades as he whispers the answer.
"I have nothing but rejection. There is no divine spark in me."
"I have nothing but rejection. There is no divine spark in me."
Aeneas tries to reach the man again. The would-be drunk clearly has a tale to tell but is strangely reticent.
"That is something I can't help you with. I've never had much to do with gods so I don't know if they operate by different rules than the rest of us. But if you are complaining that folks in power are petty and arbitrary and corrupt then I am afraid I have to tell you this is not news. Now is there an actual solvable problem here or are you just sad because someone didn't give you a nice toy. If it's the former, we can do something about it, If it's the latter then we can commiserate. In neither case however do you need to ruin the evening for the rest of the nice folks here.
You want the bartenders attention? Then be polite. The more you shout the less the barlord and the more the bouncers hear."
When Frasier hears the angry voice at the bar, he heads that direction to make sure it is isolated, not a disruption to the establishment. When he hears some of the exchange, he adds Pardon, sir, but I couldn't help but overhear. Truly, the loss you've experienced must be devastating. But I hope in time you will find that you've actually been liberated, and have a world full of choices ahead of you. But in the interim, I'll get that barkeep for you.
Frasier moves away quickly, flagging down the barkeep. The dejected gentleman down there is asking for more drink. Can I have a bottle of whatever he's drinking? It will give me an excuse to keep an eye on him, and it'll keep him out of your hair. What do I owe you?
He removes his widebrimmed hat, opening a small pouch tucked into the crown of it, ready to remove the coins necessary to pay.
The storm passes, leaving water still enough for reflection.
"And what of you, old man? Enjoying the show? What do you know of the Gods?
"I too championed the divine in my youth, and with other grand paladins braved the weird nightmares that prey upon the flocks like you once tended. When necromancy drained the strength of our band, and stole our spells and might, was Hieroneaus obligated to restore it? No. That is not the relation between men and the divine."
Silfr pauses to look over Dyrant, wondering if he misjudged the situation.
"In kindness, I suggest you turn your thoughts from what you are owed to what you can do. Before did you limit yourself to Cuthbert's followers, while now you are free to see all of the Cauldron as a worthy flock to tend?"
As he gets up to leave Dyrant in peace, he mentions "At least accept the aid of those like Aeneas here, who might help in future bargains. I notice they took your symbol as payment for drinks, even though generous Lord Vhalantru is covering all costs."
Silfr makes space to move about the room, looking for those who might make common cause against the less justice practices of the plantation cities.
"My friend, we be brothers! Karu replies, bowing and gesturing to his cloak's clasp - an emblem of four spears crossed with four clubs."Karu has seen ya at 'de temple, for ya'ard to miss, ya bein' taller than e'en he is!"
Ah, it is good to see you my brother. I admit I haven't been around the church much with the tasks of the construction. How are things at the temple?
Seeing the gathering at the bar Finneas will look over and take note of the newcomers as well as the large wolf that seems to have wandered in without causing a panic.
That is very...unusual.
Frasier moves away quickly, flagging down the barkeep. The dejected gentleman down there is asking for more drink. Can I have a bottle of whatever he's drinking? It will give me an excuse to keep an eye on him, and it'll keep him out of your hair. What do I owe you?
Amaku pauses long enough to hand Frasier a bottle of rum. The ice sculpture has half melted and created quite a puddle around the table it was on. A couple gnomes have taken to playing some kind of war game with the fruit structures and are catapulting melon balls from one table to another while providing extra effects with prestidigitation. He sighs with relief at the sight of at least a few patrons beginning to pass out in their drinks.
"You want the bartenders attention? Then be polite. The more you shout the less the barlord and the more the bouncers hear."
Dyrant looks at Aeneas as if he (Aeneas) were mad.
"Pretty speech and polite talk? Is that all that it takes to convince this man to do his job? Really?"
Dyrant leaves his chair and stands faces the barkeep and begins to orate, a strong voice that carries throughout the room.
"Oh barkeep, Oh barkeep! If I promised you puppies and faeries, kisses and flowers, hugs and kind words, would you do me the kindness of pouring me another drink? I know you are busy and are ever so important that I must humbly ask your service." Dyrant bows obsequiously.
Dyrant sits back down.
"There." Dyrant speaks softly to Aeneas. "Do you think I have the fathead's attention now?"
"That is something I can't help you with. I've never had much to do with gods so I don't know if they operate by different rules than the rest of us...If it's the latter then we can commiserate. In neither case however do you need to ruin the evening for the rest of the nice folks here."
"Now, you can sit and drink with me if you wish, but I was not ruining the time of anyone else here. I have only asked for the same drink that everyone else was getting. I am happy to drink alone or drink with you...it is no matter. My world will never be as I wished it anyway. If the barkeep would ever attend this corner, I would buy you as many drinks as you could take. You could join me in suffering. On the morrow, you'll feel like I do now."
Dyrant nods for Aeneas to sit.
Turning his attention to the old half elf, Dyrant ponders what the old man has to say.
"Pardon me, but did you just throw away your cantelope church? It had 'gone bad'? HA! HA! That is just what was done that to me!!!" Dyrant smiles for a moment, the alcohol takes hold. "That is probably exactly how they did it. They just tossed me, an unripe fruit, against the wall to rot away." Dyrant then sniffles a bit, more tears coming to his eyes.
"In kindness, I suggest you turn your thoughts from what you are owed to what you can do. Before did you limit yourself to Cuthbert's followers, while now you are free to see all of the Cauldron as a worthy flock to tend?"
Dyrant thinks upon the words of the old man, letting them sink in.
Quieted, he awaits his next drink.
"So Aeneas, what makes you even care what happens to me? I am a failure. My healing and sermons have kept my flock together for years. And now it is gone, taken from me. What use have you for a broken shepherd?"
That's it for now. I'll think on it also. He could be a normal zen archer who goes blind around the 11th level to work around the team slow down.
Fraiser returns with a bottle of rum, and wastes no time pouring another drink for the bitter soul. He'll hold onto the bottle though, keeping it out of reach. It sounds like a harsh hand dealt to you. And you've given up so much so you could serve. What else did you give? Up dreams did you leave aside to serve?
Greetings Chris,
I still would very much like to play this build regardless of his handicaps. It may be easier to make him a melee based character with something eventually like this homebrew feat, http://www.dandwiki.com/wiki/Improved_Blindsense_%283.5e_Feat%29, that allows him to fight very close quarters semi normally. (Although racial feat scent would do similar-good thread link)
Other then that I will have to overcome his vision which is actually one of the most exciting reasons to play him. So don't expect me to whine if a role goes sour, with Acrobatics up to 10 (which is a cool idea) his problems won't spill over to the party. + track by scent.
Even if you choose to go with full blind penalties or not, with blindsense/darkvision plus feats a wisdom based character could go far.
-After reviewing that thread you posted I would probably take several levels of horizon walker to get both blind-fight + Tremorsense but the req would take a touch of investment.
Appreciate you considering this all.
Nik
That's it for now. I'll think on it also. He could be a normal zen archer who goes blind around the 11th level to work around the team slow down.
Fraiser returns with a bottle of rum, and wastes no time pouring another drink for the bitter soul. He'll hold onto the bottle though, keeping it out of reach. It sounds like a harsh hand dealt to you. And you've given up so much so you could serve. What else did you give? Up dreams did you leave aside to serve?
Dyrant looks up to see Fraiser holding a bottle of rum.
"You're not the barkeep. I'll take your rum nonetheless, the barkeep is as daft as a tulip. It's a wonder this place still stands as the customers are never served."
Dyrant offers his glass for a refill.
"Do you pity me? Well, if you do, stand back, I am accursed. A failure. And both St. Cuthbert and his followers will have no more to do with me. I am no longer welcome to tend his flock. No longer welcome to speak of his glory."
Dyrant opens his pack, pulling out a book from within. He shows it to both Aeneas and Frasier.
"See this? It is Saint Cuthbert and Common Sense, the tenets of the faith of St. Cuthbert. I have always followed all its principles, all of the tenets...yet, even such, I am unwelcome as a Priest of St. Cuthbert because I lack the divine spark. Which means this book is useless to me. I will never be welcome as a Priest in the Grand Cathedral. I will never utter high prayers with the Cardinal. I will never be seen as equal to those who have the spark."
Dyrant attempts to rip the book in twain with his bare hands.
Strength check
At his failure, he drinks again, coughing and choking down the drink. A weary look of resignation fills his eyes.
He holds out his glass again for Frasier to fill. He seeks to turn the conversation from his failure.
"You. Drink pourer. What is your name? And why would you care for one like me? A failure and a burden, I am. Surely, you have better things to do. Maybe I should pour for you or take that bottle from your hands so you could go elsewhere?"
...haven't been around the church much with the tasks of the construction. How are things at the temple?
Karu shrugs. "Me time in de temple 'as been short but de men there be stong. It 'elps dat a warrior god 'as good stories,
and it seems dis Kord 'as a-many."... What do you know of the Gods? I have served St. Cuthbert since I was able to first speak, then preach. I have studied all this works, memorized his prayers, tended to his flock for years. I have done *NOTHING* else with my life but serve him. I can tell you all of his heralds and all his decrees. I know them all by heart. And what does he give me in return?"
The lithe Amedian pauses from his drink when he hears mention of the God of Retribution. Since coming to Cauldron, he had noted the following of this "Saint Cuthbert" and had been interested in learning more. In the shadow of the jungle, he had bent his head to a god of retribution to punish a rival tribe that had raided his people. He suspected this dark god had answered, inflicting a pox upon all tribes in the area, including Karu's own. It had seemed to him, the God of Retribution was one to be careful with.
"I 'ere dis Cuthbert, he also be 'de god of juhudi..., Karu paused searching for a better word.
"Zeell?" For the first time tonight, Karu frowned. The emotion was short-lived as he found a better word.
"Dedication."
He took a drink, finishing his cup, while regarding Dryant.
"As a sheep-tender of 'dis Saint, did ya not believe 'de words ya were speakin'?"
"I 'ere dis Cuthbert, he also be 'de god of juhudi..., Karu paused searching for a better word.
"Zeell?" For the first time tonight, Karu frowned. The emotion was short-lived as he found a better word.
"Dedication." "As a sheep-tender of 'dis Saint, did ya not believe 'de words ya were speakin'?"
Dyrant stops his licking the rum glass for the last few drops long enough to notice the tall man now speaking to him.
This one? He wishes to argue the theology of St. Cuthbert? With me? Why don't I have another 5 shots of rum to make this a fair fight?
"Of dedication, I have tons. Of service, I know nothing but. Of commitment, I have been loyal. For 24 years, I have tended to the flock, healed their wounds, and taught them of St. Cuthbert. Tis not I who does not have dedication. Tis not I who does not have heart. Tis not I who rejects a servant for not being able to show a divine spark. Tell me, man, who are you and who are you to question what has happened to me?"
Dyrant looks again to the man holding the bottle of rum, outstretching his glass to aid in its refill.
These men think I can change the will of a God. Or think I can change the will of the Church. I wonder which is most impossible? Answer: getting more drink in his bar.
"Whether it is old rule or new, you should know that the laws and orders of St. Cuthbert are sacrosanct, and this new one was revealed to me this day, a day I thought I would be ordained: 'Only those with the divine spark has tend to the flock.'" Dyrant again tears up.
"I shall never attain what I seek or what I strive for. Ever."
Dyrant picks up the book in his right hand, the holy book of his order and tries to throw it in the fire.
The book opens in flight, the pages catching the air and knocks it off course. It falls to the ground, many feet from the flames.
"Of course. Failure again."
Pray sir, educate me. I am not a man of the cloth, nor a student of your Saint's holy word.
The speaker stands up from a high back chair, a few feet from where fell Cuthbert's psalms. A willowy man, to be sure. He has the look of elves in his features, making it difficult to determine his age. Twenty? Fifty?
His bearing shows him to be a man of letters. Which is to say, one who must work for his station. He walks easily with a fine cane—clearly it's strictly ornamental.
He fetches the book from the floor and a bottle of finest agricole from a side table. He joins Dyrant at the bar.
I would pour you a drink myself, if you don't mind. While you drink it, perhaps you could tell me: who serves the God of Dedication best? The golden robed archbishop whose every prayer is answered as he tends to his flock? Or the humble friar who perseveres in his faith, even when surrounded by his own failures and infirmities?
What I mean to say, good sir, and what I believe this rather large fellow may intend with his lovely patois, is that clearly you have more to work with in the realm of dedication, than some prettily dressed pontiff. Perhaps you must lead us by example, instead of by word.
But pray forgive me, I do not pretend to be a theologian. No healer of souls am I. I am but a humble cutter and knitter of flesh, healer of infirmities, and traveler of byways. Toffitt. Docére Abner Svengalu Toffitt. Pleased to make your acquaintance.
He holds out to Dyrant a glass of fine rum, filled to the brim.
"Tell me, man, who are you and who are you to question what has happened to me?"
Gone is the grin that was permanently affixed to Karu's face upon his entry into the Morkoth.
"Many years, Karu prayed to his old gods. 'e would ask 'dem for 'tings. Many years 'dey would not listen."
Karu's shoulders pull ever so slightly forward, and he appears to look slightly smaller.
"But 'den a friend of Karu come, and 'e explain Karu's gods may not see him in new lands. And 'e says pray to 'dese new gods. Karu is desperate, so he makes 'dem an offer."
The Amedian's shoulders and posture return, along with his smile.
"Some'ting happens at last".
While talking, Karu walks over and picks up the copy of Common Sense, flipping the pages of the small book, driven by curiosity more than anything else.
He nods.
"Dere be good wisdom in 'dis book." The Amedian saw the intention of several of the parables were good, although he wasn't particularly fond of their treatment as 'Laws'. He felt it best to keep this to himself, though.
Barrion moves closer to the larger emotional man at the bar and listens and pays attention. He feels sorry for the man, but knows better than to argue about the will of the Gods.
And this is precisely why I believe in the virtues of mathematics and the arcane arts.
He sips his wine and recalls a great lesson from one of his classes back in school.
"If in other sciences we should arrive at certainty without doubt and truth without error, it behooves us to place the foundations of knowledge in mathematics."
Abandoned in favor the the commotion at the bar, Finneas moves near the fire.
"Amaku, another water please"
Listening to the anguish in the preacher's voice Finneas counts himself lucky to have a simple philosophy and no call to tend beyond the occasional thumping of the thick skulls Kord tends to attract.
Seeing others begin to pass out and the night begin to wind down, Finneas feels safe detaining the barkeep for a moment longer.
"Tell me Amaku, who is this man, that he draws others to him like this?"
"You. Drink pourer. What is your name? And why would you care for one like me? A failure and a burden, I am. Surely, you have better things to do. Maybe I should pour for you or take that bottle from your hands so you could go elsewhere?"
I'm Frasier. My friend there is Dantes. We came to this port because we were less than welcome in the last. I'm just here helping the owner keep things aimiable, in exchange for a spot by the hearth when all have gone home.
To answer your question, I certainly don't pity you. And if I may be so bold, you may be better off without that grand cathedral. I've found when a lot of folks lock themselves inside pearly walls and agree on everything, they go further from the truth.
He listens respectfully to Toffit's comments and introduction.