Corvin Killgannon's page

Ah, this is the right one ... my character for the first pbp game run on these boards. Shiny will recognise him.

Yo, bro.

"Hmmmm..."

"Hmmmm..."

"Yeah, me too. Feels like we've been standin' around for a whole bleedin' year."

"Hey, why'd everyone just freeze like that?"

Anarath chews at his lip and shrugs. “The mysteries here are beyond anything I have encountered. You’re guess is as good as mine … still … the chamber where we fought the Overseer … those door-like panels, I do not recall – this place seems to do odd things to my memory and sense of time – did we investigate them? They looked like doors … perhaps they are?”

"I think we, uh, checked 'em. Maybe our friend here can make 'em open."

Corvin emerges from the short tunnel, then turns to Anarath.

"What do ye think, boss?"

Way to pass the buck, Corvin.

Sorry for my lack of posting; I've had a busy few days preparing for a trip. I'll be completely without internet access until the 20th, at which time my posting should return to normal.

Don't sweat it.

After a moment's hesitation, the young man follows you, trying to keep a safe distance between Anarath and Corvin. He remains silent, seeming a little dazed by the course of events and what he sees in the peculiar tower.

The tower is quite silent and still as you leave the out of place room and presumably, unless there's something else you'd like to do descend down the bony ladder.

Where does the ladder go again? Sorry, it's been a while.

“This keep – Grimmbold Manor I believe it is called – is a monster infested ruin that we have spent the last several days exploring. Through there,” he points to the door, “is a strange chamber whos purpose I cannot divine; it does not appear to be part of the original manor house. This room we are in should not even exist within the confines of the building, at least not within the normal three dimensions. I know little more than you as to what is happening, but there seems little reason for us to linger here any longer. We are going back through there, you are welcome to come with us if you wish. Or stay, I care not.”

Anarath prepares to head back through the door / tunnel.

"Yeah. ... What he said."

Corvin follows Anarath.

Talius shakes his head. Taking a deep breath he speaks "No. I don't know another way out. Who are you people? Why have you invaded my father's keep? What were those things?"

"We were hopin' you could tell us. Y'know, this bein' your fancy house and all."

Corvin stares pointedly at the young man cowering on the other side of the room as he speaks to Anarath.

"I say we torch the f*#+in' things. You can do that, right?"

Anarath inspects the battered corpses, noting that their armor, while appearing to be metal, is more ceramic in quality, with the helmets formed from what seems to be tin. Cautiously lifting the helmet from one of the guards, he is greeted with the horrific site of a partially, poorly mummified human corpse. Strange, slick vines twist up out of the false armor's chest plate, winding in and out of the leathery flesh of the man's ripped out throat. It wraps around his face; twisting into his mouth and nose to emerge from his hollow eyes and pierce his skull.

Corvin gives one of the corpses a vicious kick to the head. It snaps off.

"Huh. Didn't see that one coming, now did we."

"I'LL KILL YA!"

Corvin leaps onto the back of the armored figure, his bone and metal spines digging deep into the armor's joints as he grips with crushing pressure.

Grapple: 15 + 6 = 21; damage (armor spikes): 1d6 + 3 = 7

Bump. We're back in business guys.

Yeah, still waiting for PbemDM and whassisname. Want me to see if I can bug them?

I'm moving today (about f#!%ing time I got out of this miserable hellhole), so I'm hoping to start the game up again by the end of the week.

Cool, take your time. I can appreciate your situation (I'm finally moving out of Ticonderoga in September).

I have returned, and I apologize for my unnanounced abscence. I got busy with school and then work, and for a little while I honestly didn't feel like or have the energy to spend time on messageboards. I'll continue the game for any interested.

I'm still in.

Hello?

PbemDM wrote:

I'm going on a business trip for about two weeks, so I won't be posting for a little while. Things seem to have stalled a bit, so I hope everything is OK, and the game picks up by the time I return.

Yeah, I haven't seen Arctaris in my game for a while either. Hope you're ok man.

Have a good trop PbemDM.

He's probably just backed up at work. Still...

Corvin grins, staring down the guards. Suddenly, he launches himself at the closer one, raining blows down upon the head of the armored figure.

"YOU...MESSED...WITH...THE...WRONG...M!&$+#~#@!#~!"

Attack (spiked gauntlet): 18 + 6 = 24; damage: 1d4 + 3 = 7
Attack (spiked gauntlet): 17 + 4 = 21; damage: 1d4 + 3 = 5

Tallius seems to have already come to this conclusion on his own and looking guilty at Anarath when he speaks, hand frozen mere inches from a bell-pull. In one sudden motion, he yanks the tassle and a distant bell can be heard clanging.

The reaction is surprisingly swift; within a minute two men armored in elaborate plate suits barge into the room, axes raised. Wordlessly one approaches Corvin while the other steps menacingly towards Anarath.

"You don't have a ruttin' clue what ye're doin', do ya?"

Corvin grins, menacingly.

Initiative: 11 + 2 = 13

"I'm confused. Can I come down now?"

"I wonder if one of us could climb up to that skylight and look out..."

"I'll give it a whack."

Corvin attempts to climb up the brickwork, his armor scraping noisily along the stone.

Climb: 15 + 2 = 17

4706, sorry

Tallius laughs again "Crawlspace? Good sir, if that hallway is a crawlspace to you, I am in envy of your home."

"The f&@+ you say..."

Dohrlok sighs, suspecting either the man's "illness" is one of the mental variety, or, more likely, that he's some sort of undead creature trapped in a perpetual state of self-delusion. Either way, striking him would avail little.

"No." Dohrlok answers, calling down the corridor.

"Meh... 'Suppose you're right. Could be one o' them time-dilation things..."

"Should I hit this guy? He's scarin' the s&$!e outta me."

The young man laughs at Anarath "Good sir, I don't believe that I'm the loony in this situation. The butler is still here, as are all of the other people who should be. I must wonder though, how did you get this far into the Manor? Did you sneak in? I find that unlikely; this place is as much a fortress as a manor."

"Uh, no... We kinda just, y'know, walked in. Well, mostly. Had to kill a whole s~&&eload o' kobolds, plus those... what were those again, 'Narath?"

"You're a loony."

The young man fiddles nervously with the quill in his hand "Uh, excuse me...sir...but the only one who is allowed entrance here is the butler and the doctor. I'm rather ill, you see. So, I have to wonderm who are you, why are you here, and how did you get this far into the Manor?"

Corvin looks at the man, then back through the shaft.

"You gettin' this, Anarath?"

When Corvin pulls himself into the room the man turns around, his impatient and annoyed expression swiftly switching to one of shock. He looks like he's young, early twenties by your judgement. Staring at Corvin with piercing blue eyes, he seems speechless for a moment. "You are...not the butler."

"What's your point?"

Corvin clambers into the small opening, his broad shoulders nearly unable to fit, and begins to crawl along the tunnel's lenght. His armor grinds and clatters along the rough stone walls.

"This f!!*er's gonna blast me, I know it."

"Well ... shall we see who it is?" Anarath makes to crawl into the tunnel.

"Wait. Me first. If anyone gets killed, it's gonna be me, not you."

"'The hell?"

Perception: 11 + 2 = 13

'Wha?"

I've had this happen before- I make some sort of awesome plot piece, trap, or puzzle that just so happens to be beyond the players' ability to comprehend. Remind me to relate to you the harrowing stories of the cube-trap and the cracked room. Anyway, in other words, you may have to throw us a bone if we don't figure this one out in a day or so.

Sorry if I seem a little *on edge*. I've just spent the last four hours praying to the porcelain god while having to listen to the horrid Christmas music blaring throughout my folks' house.

Corvin traces his finger along the intricate runes engraved into the wall.

"Hey, 'Narath! There's a crack o' some sort in the wall here. Maybe a door. Spikes seem pretty fixed, too. Come have a look."

Corvin approaches the spikes unhindered. They seem to be a simple set of iron spikes set into the wall.

Corvin, could I get a Perception check from you.

Perception: 14 + 3 = 17

Anarath shakes his head. “No. Given the power that chair emanates, it was not made for torture … or at least that is not its primary function. It does something. We need to find out what, either to make use of it, or prevent others from doing so as the case may be.”

The elf turns to Corvin. “If you are feeling confident, you might want to go in there and look at the spikes that Tzoltan found. See if they can be manipulated in some way.”

"Right, then."

Corvin cracks his knuckles and steps into the room, moving towards the spikes.

“The entire chamber is intensely magical,” Anarath answers, “with the focus being that chair. It is probably the most powerful artifact I have encountered. I believe perhaps my former master would have an idea of what it might be for, exactly … but he is not here, and alas, my knowledge is not as great,” the elf shakes his head.

“Beyond that, I saw something … else. Something I have never encountered before, I do not know what to make of it. It appeared to be a figure, humanoid, but not quite. It too radiated intense magic, very strong, enough to be visible above the high background power of the chamber. I can only guess what it was … some sort of energy signature caused by Tzoltan entering the chamber? An invisible entity wreathed in extremely powerful enchantments – visible under my arcane sight, while the creature itself was not? Or more disturbing … an entity composed of pure magic?”

The wizard shakes his head again. “Whatever, this chamber could be extremely dangerous … but also valuable beyond belief, if we can determine what it is for. The secrets of this Manor culminate here I believe. We have come this far … can we turn back without trying to discover more, even if there is danger, and we may be entering a trap?”

"If it's livin', I can kill it. If it's a trap, I can break it. All I know is that I ain't turning back."

The wizard staggers back, shielding his eyes as the strength of the auras in the room threaten to overwhelm him.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, then calls out. “Unless that patch of wall you are looking at is extremely interesting, I suggest you come out of there Tzoltan. The chamber fairly reeks of necromancy.”

"Hey, boss, what did you see in there?"

Upon closer inspection, the lock itself proves to be the weak point, and after a few minutes work with his hammer and chisel, the lock is broken and the heavy door reluctantly swing inward on poorly oiled hinges. Beyond the door is a large, circular room. The walls are covered with carefully etched runes, although they don't draw attention from the room's macabre centerpiece.

Standing at the apex of the slightly slanted floor is a massive iron chair, respledant in chains and spikes. It is shaped so as to accomdate a roughly man-shaped person, and hold them fast as well.

Radiating outwards from the chair are a series of lines arrayed in a careful patern; all perhaps a quarter's inch deep and leading to a slightly deeper canal at the base of the wall that rings the room.

"Got a real bad feelin' about this."

"Hmmph." Tzoltan frowns, watching the moss drop away. "I've studied dungeoneering - it's an interest of mine. I've never read about killing moss with blood."

"You really are new, aren't ya?"

Watching Corvin cut himself on the blade turns Tzoltan's stomach. "That's it. What in the Nine Hells is wrong with you?"

"You don't wanna ask that. This bloody manor has f~#%ed me up worse than you can imagine."

Knowledge (dungeoneering): 20 + 3 = 23
Perception: 20 + 2 = 22
I really think the die I used was f*+#ed up... That has never happened before. EVER.

"Ah."

Corvin thinks for a minute, then extends his hand. Placing his palm on the blade, he presses down, drawing blood.

Oddly enough, there doesn't seem to be any mechanism attached to the blade. It appears to be a simple blade crudely attached to the moss-encrusted door.

"Lessee..."

Corvin cracks his knuckles loudly, takes a step forward, and delivers a punishing roundhouse kick to the fixed blade.

If needed, unarmed strike: 19 + 6 = 25

Tzoltan holds his hands up in front of Corvin. "No, no, no. Just hold up a tick. Crikey! You might be made of steel, but if you set off a trap then we could all get shredded, and I want a long and lucrative career, thank you very much."

"Whatever, kid. Your future career just might be lucrative, but it sure as hell won't be long. I'm twenty-f+@+in'-seven years old, and I'm bloody amazed I've lasted as long as I 'ave."

“Do you think you can remove, or bypass that?” Anarath asks Tzoltan, once the blade is pointed out.

"Smash it. Doesn't look dangerous."

If he can do so without touching the moss, Tzoltan will check the staircase for traps. He will also attempt to check the new door fro traps once he gets up the stairs, if Corvin doesn't jump the gun and crash into it first.

Oddly enough, that was the original character concept. We didn't have a rogue, so I made a fighter designed as a trap-breaker.

“Interesting,” murmurs Anarath, peering up the staircase. “Non-terrestrial geometry.” His gaze focuses on the door. “That moss looks ominous,” he comments, “and Corvin, it appears that we may need our locksmith again, and shortly.”

"Locksmith? We don't need no f@%@in' locksmith. I got yer lockpicks right here."

Corvin pounds his fists together.

Sorry 'bout the delay. Got caught up in some RL stuff.

Yeah, what's your bloody problem? ;P

It takes a while of working at it, but Tzoltan at last manages to get it to click open.

The heavy iron door opens easily enough to reveal a steep stairway spiraling impossibly into an up that shouldn't exist within the apparent dimensions of the tower. At the top of the narrow stair way is another door, tightly shut.

The door is covered in a thick layer of some sort of green moss, with only a small square of bloodstained iron poking through. What looks like a lock is encrusted with a heavy sheet of the green moss.

Corvin nods at the young rogue.

"Nice. Now stay back and let the professionals take over."

He starts cautiously up the stairway.

Correct me if I'm wrong in any way. I have problems operating in three dimensions; just ask Mike Beeler.