We if we are attacking it...
Bedmyr pulls out his pistol, takes aim and fires a bullet at the creature.
Attack (pistol, Point Blank Shot): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
I can't access the map at work, so move Bedmyr to within 30' of the creature.
Unless there is combat en route, I think it best we just head straight there. Don't want to give the impression we're dawdling.
Bedmyr seems a little put out at not getting to put some cultists in the ground, but he supposes this is the next best thing.
Bedmyr squints at the guards for a moment before joining them.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
"What's yer name, lad? Ah'm sure ah've seen yeh somewhere before. Yeh been here long?" he asks the wiry one. He holds his hands out towards the fire.
Bedmyr grimaces as their deception is unveiled but at least they got what they had come for. His concern stems from the fact that they don't know if there are any Aspis spies within earshot.
"Our thanks f'r the dagger, Shofora," he remarks, before inclining his head towards the exit, "Ah think it best if we head back t' Jenks now."
Bedmyr continues to watch the parley back and forth and is rapidly coming to the conclusion this 'negotiation' may go south very quickly. As they discuss things, he takes the time to survey the surroundings, specifically for any hidden guards that may be lurking around.
Woo, I think I should have brought my 'face' character for this scenario! Anyway, if possible Bedmyr will take 10 or 20 in order to look for any hidden threats. That'll give 17 or 27 depending on which is granted. Otherwise, he'll mark the most likely candidate for getting a bullet to the face.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10
"I appreciate th' offer, b't ah dinnae drink on tha' job," Bedmyr says to the butler while keeping his eyes firmly on the woman.
"Reas'n we're here is tha' yeh signed a contract with th' Consortium an' we're here to complete tha' contract," Bedmyr replies, with a nod of his head at the end. "We've no desire t' take up more o' yer time than necessary. I'm sure yeh understand."
Bedmyr looks at the darkening night and ponders on whether or not they should leave the Silken Veils for tomorrow.
"What do you guys think? Press on or wait for tomorrow? I suppose that they might be busiest at night and it might be easier for us to slip in and out without being noticed," Bedmyr says.
Bedmyr raises his eyebrow at just how easy it was to get the mug and then shrugs.
"I agree, let's have a quick one so as to not raise suspicion and then get out to the Silken Veils," he mutters to his companions under the din of the crowd. Bedmyr holds a finger out to get the attention of a waitress and orders a mug of ale.
Bedmyr grumbles; with no ability to cast spells, he couldn't really assist the big man in balancing the cups.
"Keep your feet apart, Roary, it'll lend you some extra balance and lower your balance point a little," he shouts above the roar of the crowd. He looks at his companions for extra assistance.
"I don't suppose any of you can do anything to help our friend out?" Bedmyr drops the volume of his voice to a whisper, careful not to let himself get overheard in the crowd.
Bedmyr follows Crar.
"Aye, it looks like it could be fun," he agrees, hoping his tone is somewhat more diplomatic than Crar's.
Assisting any further diplomacy rolls.
Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (12) - 1 = 11
Bedmyr grins at the sight of the drinking house, and swaggers in firmly planting his feet on the table after they sit down.
"An ale," he orders gruffly at a passing barmaid, before turning to the others. "Any ideas?"
Carefully, Bedmyr scans the crowd.
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12
Bedmyr will spend one point of grit to clear the broken condition from his firearm.
With some choice expletives and the summary of what he'd do to the merchant who sold him the gunpowder that powered his firearm, involving a rabid monkey visiting places where the sun doesn't shine, Bedmyr vigorously clears out his firearm and gets it back into a working order.
"Th' priests got tha' hat on 'em?" he asks Roary after fixing his firearm.
Bedmyr follows Tiasar's pointing motion, casually raises his pistol and shoots the lobster squarely in the cranium.
I'm assuming that as life 'is returning' that it is still immobile and I can deliver a coup de grace?
"Fer th' love," Bedmyr curses, "D'yeh know where the blasted hat is or no'? It has b'n signed o'er t' the Consortium an' we're jes' here t' collect it. We're no' about t' kill yeh, ya daft beggar."
Combat rolls, just in case.
Attack, point blank shot: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
Hoping for that CdG!
"No problem," Bedmyr states flatly, "Now, if ye would be so kind as t' produce the bicorne hat ye signed to th' Consortium, we'll be on our way." Bedmyr figures that taking a blunt approach is best, hoping that the situation the man had been in would persuade him to hand over the hat with the minimum of fuss.
Going to post round one action just now to keep things moving.
Bedmyr moves up to the top of stairs (in a position that will target either D7 or E11, depending on which is still alive) and lines up his pistol before taking a shot. A thunderous explosion is heard as black smoke bellows from the contraption before hurling a small pellet of lead towards his target.
"Ge' tha monsters," he bellows at his compatriots as he begins the process of reloading.
Ranged attack, pistol, Point Blank Shot: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16
Bedmyr takes up position at the rear of the group, his hand ever-present on the grip of his pistol. Otherwise he remains silent and keeps his eyes peeled for trouble.
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
Bedmyr listens to the exchange impassively, resisting the urge to shoot Jenks between the eyes. Although it would probably do the Society some good in Riddleport, it wouldn't do them any good.
"What if they resist?" he asks idly, "Would you prefer to handle it without breaking bones, or do you want a message sent?"
"Same as his," Bedmyr replies coldly, also producing his badge from beneath his coat, "So if yeh're done wi' yer yappin', we'll be speakin' t' the boss." As Bedmyr retrieves his badge, he allows his coat to open just wide enough to reveal the grip of his pistol.
Do you need an Intimidate/Bluff check or is the sight of the badge enough? I figured that if Roary got through unchallenged, then by producing our badges we'd get the same treatment.
Bedmyr nods his agreement, hoping that they don't have to descend into combat as that would not sit well with the Decemvirate.
"We'll just ha'e to try our best, lads," he says, "Nothin' we c'n do if they see thro' our deception."
Bedmyr follows the group, his eyes constantly watching out for danger. As they arrive at the inn, Bedmyr looks mildly interested in the academic activity going on but quickly loses interest as they are largely ignored.
"So, what's th' plan then?" he murmurs to the group.
Bedmyr gives the young boys a meaningful glare intended to cause them to back up a bit. As the others ask the boys for directions, he takes a moment to glance around at their surroundings.
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
Bedmyr read the note in his locker, before discarding it overboard at an opportune moment. He was not built for subterfuge but he knew there were others working for the Grand Lodge on board so he figured that he'd be able to work with them to get the knowledge that Valsin required.
As the boat slides into Riddleport, Bedmyr glances over the side of the ship. He wasn't fond of travelling by sea, yet in this case the mission requires it. As they pass under the Cyphergate, he eyes the towering structure with mild curiosity.
"An impressive structure fer somethin' no' built by Dwarves," he muses, before he turns his attention to the dockside.
"It appears tha' we have a welcomin' party," he states drily, as he motions towards the small crowd of young boys seemingly eager to assist. Other than this small area of interest, Bedmyr is unimpressed by the general state of the city.
"Looks as thou' it c'ld do with a good wash down," he comments as the deckhands tie up the ship next to the dock.
Bedmyr strokes his beard, nodding as he listens to the Venture-Captain relay their mission. Subterfuge wasn't his forté but this was their mission regardless.
"What kind o' knowledge would these bronze badges ha'e? Are we likely t' blow our cover th' first time we open our mouth?" Bedmyr asks, turning one of the badges over in his fingers.
Bedmyr shrugs as the mention of Lissala. Religion interested him little, and human religions even less so. Especially ones considered long dead. He did prick up at the sound of the Consortium though.
"Aspis seems to be at every corner," he ruminates to himself, absent-mindedly dropping his hand to the grip of his pistol.
"So the Consortium has aligned with a cult," he says to no-one in particular before snapping focus back to the Venture-Captain.
"What are we charged with? Uncovering the depths of this alliance?"
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19
Bedmyr listens to the exchange between the servant and two pages before turning back to the others in the room.
"Crar," the Dwarf says with a warm smile, "A pleasure t' meet yeh again. [b]"Drak and Roary have introduced themsel', the others are Talinthas an' Tiasar. How have yeh been since we las' met?"
Bedmyr takes the offered mug and takes a deep drink from it, sighing in appreciation at the brew. "A good ale," he ruminates, looking at the foamy mug.
"So we've t' stay inside th' manor til we're told, eh?" Bedmyr furrows his eyebrows, "Ah don' like tha', we're 'finders, free t' go as we please, or at leas' we should be!" While the servant spoke, Bedmyr listened for any hint of deception in his words.
"Any idea why we've b'n called here then?" he asks the group in general.
Bedmyr looks at Tiasar, then back at the pistol.
"It's called a pistol. Black powder fires a bullet o' metal towards whatever ah point it at. Comes in handy," he says with a grin. He listens to the rest of the conversation, then nods.
"Aye, ah could be doin' with somethin' t' whet mah throat," he agrees heartily, stowing the pistol in his belt.
Bedmyr glances at his Paladin companion before shaking his head slightly. He was all for calling on the gods, especially Angradd, but the man's fervour wouldn't necessarily stand them in good stead as Pathfinders. Sometimes things couldn't be done 'by the book'.
As he waited, Bedmyr cleaned his pistol - an action he often did while bored. He knew that a well-functioning pistol could save lives, typically his own. While many Dwarves were often patient thinkers, Bedmyr was prone to jumping into action and then figuring out a plan.
"So while we wait fer the Capt'n's," Bedmyr offered by way of an icebreaker, "How 'bout we get t' know one another? I like t' know the calibre of 'finder I'm jumpin' into bed with, if yeh get mah meanin'."