it seems to bring up the idea that you are imobilized if the entangling is caused by something that is stationary - like roots.
This is correct, fail your save and you are immobilised if the entangling object is rooted. However that's not as tough as it may sound, you get a reflex save or a strength check to break free and continue moving on your turn (so the fire giant isn't slowed down for long). The worst thing entangle does is not immobilise foes but slow them down (it makes terrain difficult) and break up their attack into manageable chunks.
It's a powerful spell but very situational. if you are in a forest, a druid is going to own it, because that's what druids do. If you are underground, in a dungeon, in a desert, on a city street...it's useless. So let your druid shine while he can, because come the next chapter he'll be playing second fiddle.
Acid's not actually that much less resisted than Fire/Cold/Electricity in Pathfinder.
Running the numbers over a slightly-old-but-not-that-old database of creatures:
319 creatures with resistance/immunity to fire
305 creatures with resistance/immunity to cold
268 creatures with resistance/immunity to electricity
258 creatures with resistance/immunity to acid
52 creatures with resistance/immunity to sonic (a significant contingient of which are agathions, chaotic good outsiders)
The belief that acid is less resisted than the other damage types is technically true, but not by a very meaningful margin, and is extraordinariliy campaign specific. Because a large number of the total number of immunities/resistances are accounted for by large families of outsiders (devils, demons, angels, etc.), a campaign may have lots of or very few things with resistances to specific energy types, depending on which if any clades of outsiders you most frequently run into.
In my last campaign the DM decided that the druid had to actually see what he wanted to turn into (I was not the druid).....
What that resulted in was the druid having very few forms he could wild shape into, and not being able to use many of the expanded features of his class ability as he leveled. Without completely derailing the campaign he couldn't learn those shapes either... if you decide to do this, I suggest having zoos exist.....
Wild Shape is a potent ability as it is. Boo hoo that the druid had to actually work for it. The Wild Shape ability doesn't automatically give you the ability to turn into any animal you want. I'm sorry that he didn't get to flip through the bestiary, make a Knowledge roll when he found something that he would like to try and turn into because it has some killer attacks, and add it to his list of Wild Shape options.
When you post asking for people's opinions then you make rude remarks about those opinions, well people are generally disinclined to help you.
My advice is discuss whatever house rules you wish to implement with your players before they make their characters. If a DM pulled this on me mid game, I'd be furious.
I think that you are arbitrarily gimping the druid class by treating it's main class ability like that. Knowledge checks are there to portray what a character knows. Maybe the druid spends spare time researching animals from books. The knowledge nature check should be enough to know what the animal is and be familiar with it. That's why different creatures have varying DC's based on their CR.
Do you ask spellcasters to have seen a spell cast before they can cast that spell?
I don’t have a really good idea of exactly what you are saying for half of that Steelfiredragon, or what point you’re trying to make, but part of it seems to be that the ethnicities of Dungeons and Dragons and Pathfinder are not real world ethnicities so why does it matter what skin colour they are - especially when it comes to rule books as opposed to campaign setting books.
Ok ... but why should the default assumption be that everyone is of Caucasian skin tone, which is what appears to be depicted in the majority of rule book art from D&D editions past. Ok, maybe other ethnicities and skin tones existed in the game worlds, why shouldn’t they get more representation in the rule books?
While the ethnicities and cultures depicted in Pathfinder, and the assumed setting of Golarion are of course not real world, many of them are quite clearly and heavily based on real world examples. Anyone who says that the Linnorm Kingdoms are not heavily based on Scandanavia, that Minkai is not heavily based on Japan, that Qadira is not heavily based on Persia, that Vudra is not heavily based on India is truly kidding themselves. I’m very glad that we see people from all these disparate cultures depicted in the rule book art and that they have obviously different ethnicities and skin tones to match.
Now it really wouldn’t matter to me that much if people from the Linnorm Kingdoms had red skin, people from Minkai had brown skin and people from Vudra had white skin, but it would be disappointing if everyone had only Caucasian skin tone, or if that was only what we ever saw in the art, as it wouldn’t feel like it was depicting a diverse and ‘real’ setting, or presenting an inclusive game.
Big ol post, i spent th epast half hour reading the reast, and it reminded me of my own experience, and i thought given some peoples entusiasm they may enjoy it ^^.
Back when I was a newbie to dnd, when I was about 12, playing with an older brother and his friends, ages ranging from 16-25, a particular party member was playing a very light fingered rogue named Roderick. I was playing a Sorceror, I wasn’t great, but I pulled my weight, buffing, and dealing what dmg I could. After a short while, the dm started handing me pieces of paper telling me that I had less gold than I thought I had, at first I figured, ok im new to this, so, its gotta be a regular thing that happens go with it. And they kept happening, and I would shrug and keep doing what I was doing.
It is at this point id like to point out I have a visual impairment, much worse now, but even back then my eye sight wasn’t great, the player running Roderick had been serupticously writing/handing notes to the dm, who in turn had discreetly read them (I really hold nothing against the dm, he liked being impartial, and I respect him for it, meant he could mediate a lot better between us and the world), eventually one of the other players, the paladin, got sick of what was going on and got into an argument with rodericks player, as it wasn’t right, especially since I was so new to the game and didn’t really know what was going on, let alone being confident to stand up to him being significantly older than myself. Eventualy the argument ended and I surprised everyone by telling them, I was fine with it, its all happening in the game, and I don’t know about it, perhaps someone is stealing my gold, perhaps I didn’t count it properly. And so the game continues, Roderick stops using paper notes and just flagrantly states when hes raiding my belongings, the dm takes me aside after a particularly long session and asks whether everything’s ok, he knew id been bullied a lot as a kid, and that I had a hard time sticking up for myself and he was concerned that I wasn’t so much playing my character as myself. We got to chatting and I asked if it would be alright if I could do some things, “out of play” I had heard some of the other players talking about doing things one on one with the dm outside the regular sessions and was wondering if I could take it a step further, listing the actions I was taking in my gaming journal “I kept logs of the things we did, and often got asked to recap what wed done the last session” he was surprised and said it would be ok, but listed off the things I “couldn’t” do, taking direct action that involved other players without their direct input being the main one, so no combat or pilfering of there belongings etc.
And so time wore in, the DM forgot about our chat, and Roderick kept helping himself to my gear. I specifically asked the DM to roll spot checks for me for the next 16 hours in game, as I devoted as much time as possible to catching the thief, eventually, after a degree of fatigue, I cought him in the act, but pretended I hadn’t, not even reading the dms note until after the game. And it was then I begun setting the wheels in motion.
As I leveled I had begun taking ranks in alchemy, a scattering in diplomacy, knowledge skills, gather information, disguise, professions, etc, everything I would need to make informed decisions in game, or to reflect my characters burgeoning knowledge in such skills.
I began making payments to a band of mercenaries, significantly higher level than our party, a good 7 levels higher, to perform a service in the near future, and received a signed copy of the contract. I discouraged suspicion of these payments with the smokescreen of sending money to my ailing mother, which I had already been doing each time our party made a windfall, so it didn’t raise suspicion when I would take a little longer arranging a courier.
Next I bought a significant number of “fools gold” pyrite, and fake lead gold coins, intermingling them with my own store of gold coins, after having sepperated a number for future expenses in a sepperate pouch “silenced bag of holding” that I stored my spell casting reagents/components inside. I paid a small fortune for these fakes, so as to leave no margin for error of Roderick accidently discovering there true nature. Around this time I also sent word for the Mercenaries “posing as bounty hunters” to begin trailing our party, with orders to question vendors, innkeepers and merchants about a Forger fitting Roderick’s description, this would in turn lead to a number of them having their coins checked, and considering the frequency with which Roderick took my gold, and summarily spent it, a high number of fakes would be found, incriminating Roderick.
Around this same time I also commissioned a Bard to compose a ballad of Rodericks deeds, duplicity, theft, flagrent disregard for the law. In short greatly exaggerating the behaviours he currently exhibited, and adding a few damning qualities to the list for good measure. I also Hired a band of up scale thieves, paying them every gold piece I had just earned from our last dungeon crawl, to steal the Dukes ring of office, for one of their troupe to wear a disguise resembling Rodderick as they performed the crime, and to be intentionally spotted by guards fleeing the castle grounds, and to have drugged and left the duke in a compromising and embaressing position “shaving his head completely bald, this duke was a vain man”, the member of the troupe disguised as Roderick would also go to a number of establishments, and spend yet more “fake” gold, making sure to introduce himself, or for the proprietors to hear hhis name in passing, to another member of the troupe.
As we prepared to set out on our next dungeon crawl/quest, I sent instructions for the bounty hunters to specifically seek out the duke, and inform him of their persuit of Roderick, the Duke would in turn doubtless offer them a reward for bringing Roderick to him to face “justice”. The mercenaries could then wait in the town we would soon be departing until we returned.
I also sent word for the bard to begin spreading the tale of Roderick the Red, including “his” most recent activities, which would, doubtless erve as a constant reminder to the poor duke of his embarrassment, and of Rodericks crime, no doubt infuriating him still further with each passing day.
I also sent word for the thieves to wait in the same town as the mercenaries, ready to plant the ring, and a lock of the dukes hair, on Roderick when we returned.
Once we were finished with the dungeon I send a “sending/message spell to each of the hired parties, who were waiting for us.
So in our intermission I handed over my journal to the DM and he read the highlighted parts, my plans and actions taken, his eye brows just rose higher and higher as he read on, by the end he looked pretty damn surprised and taken aback. I asked whether it was all on the level, and he said it was, and that I had paid far more gold for services rendered than I needed to, and I replied that I had done so as I was doing so as a anonymous client in every case, having no direct or indirect contact with them, using go betweens for initial contact, and sending/message spells there after.
when the intermission ended, the dm played it all out, Roderick made a beeline for the tavern, and when he was refused service by a rather irate barkeep, he didn’t think twice about accepting free drinks from “admirers” (local girls hired by the thieves), after he was suitably drunk, the thieves planted the evidence in his belongings. Soon after, the Mercenaries posing as bounty hunters stormed into the tavern, demanding to know where Roderick was hiding, a short fight ensued, the party trying to defend Roderick, but failing miserably, as we were all fatigued from our forced march and our cleric was out of healing juice. So Roderick was trussed up and was led off toward the city, he was confused as hell, equal parts scared and angry, as clearly there had to be a mistake.
The Paladin in our group managed to convince the Duke to give Roderick a fair trial, it didn’t help Roderick much. After the ring and lock of hair were found on his person, combined with eye witness reports of him fleeing the castle, the cornerstone of his defence became his ignorance of the forgeries, something he would soon regret. A expert on forgeries explained that when a certain chemical is combined with Pyrite it changes color, and anyone working with pyrite in sufficient quantities to forge false currency would have trace elements of the pyrite on their hands and so when combined, and he demonstrated on rodericks hands, much to his disbelief, that their hands would change color, in this case a deep red.
Roderick was convicted and sentenced, publicly hung, and his head mounted on a spike outside the Dukes castle.
hiss next character, Rodericks cousin Arthur, a Ranger with a bone to pick, was specialized in rooting out information and tracking people down. And so the next few months our adventures were tracking down and questioning people, slowly picking apart the web of intrigue I had spun, but each party could only give the one name of the man that hired them, Dresper, our party nemesis a powerful Wizard, so after the final lead ran cold, we went on a man hunt, and actually put Dresper to the sword, and that was that, to this day, no one else knows what I did except the DM. He actually congratulated me on the degree of thought and work I put into it, I had after all given him three months of adventuring plotline.
He gave me three levels worth of experience for the collective, roleplaying, planning, prep, expenditure of resources, changes made to my own character, my alignment shifted as my character became increasingly bitter and resentful.. He explained this bonus exp to the others as good role playing rewards, as I had been Rodericks most fervent defender in the ensuing court battles and evidence hearings, even resorting to sorcery to try and get him off, before being talked out of it by the paladin player, and seemingly putting together clues after the trail had gone cold.
On the whole a rather fun experience honestly. And a lesson to be learned, don’t steal another players gold, you never know, maybe there playing a sociopath? And good roleplaying will probably see you hang ^^
Witches with the Endurance Patron get Miracle as their 9th level patron spell. The very idea of casting this spell fills me with child-like terror.
When a wizard casts Wish, it is interpreted by a dispassionate force without an agenda (assuming a GM that is not fixated on twisting wishes). When a cleric casts Miracle, it is interpreted and allowed by the cleric's deity, who generally has the same agenda as the cleric. In both of these cases, you can usually trust that the spell will work out how you wanted. In fact, with the cleric, you can expect the deity to interpret the spell in the best possible way for your character.
However, witches are no where near that lucky. When a witch casts Miracle, it is interpreted and allowed by the source of the witch's power, its patron. Unlike with clerics, witches do not necessarily have the same goals as their patrons. In many cases, they do not even know who their patron is. Thus, they are putting the power of a reality warping spell into the hands of a creature that they may very well know nothing about. This creature may decide to twist its interpretation of the request or simply make the spell fail on a whim.
Any one else terrified by this idea?
Okay, looking back, the Miracle spell does not explicitly mention the spell being twisted but I would interpret that as being due to the fact that your deity is not likely going to want to mess with you like that.
Paladin steps around a corner and looks in. He rolls a natural 1 on his perception check, and has the total result is below 5.
"All clear guys! It looks totally safe."
He moves in deeper. A dire boar charged him from the darkness. He takes a great amount of damage.
"Do I see him now?" Rolls again just for kicks, natural 1.
"Still safe guys! I just ran into something is all!"
Therefore, a fighter can jump across the grand canyon.
He can certainly survive a fall to the bottom.
You forget also that the monk is meant to be a mystic warrior. So a real-life martial artist cannot punch through a breastplate? A mystic focusses his ki energy and delivers the strike so the the shock-waves flow through it and pulverise the body beneath.
The monk is not based on REAL martial arts any more than the fighter's toughness is based on what real people can withstand, it's based on legends, pop culture and fantasy tropes.
IRL could an unarmed martial-artist defeat an armoured knight? Not in a slugging match, no. He could get the knight to chase him around until said knight keeled over from heat exhaustion, or use terrain to come up behind him and drop him on his face (visors had little visibility), but these are not represented well in the D&D mechanics. The blow-by-blow fight is much more fun, so the game gives it to us.
I used to show up to games wearing real armor and carrying a real sword. I also had a pocket full of real silver coins, just in case someone wanted to argue about how much silver pieces weighed.
A few times, when I got really excited, I accidently stuck my sword in the ceiling. Once, the guy I was arguing rules with while holding my sword came back at me with a mace and shield.
I used to game with a guy that had Narcolepsy. Not good when surrounded by a group of gamers with distorted senses of humor.
Have you ever tried wearing black robes and carrying a staff through bar district on a Saturday night. Bonus points if you paint a pentagram on your forehead and wear nothing beneath the robes.
So, i have a crafting wizard and we're playing kingmaker, we just hitted lvl 5 and started building the kingdom.
I'm a LN mage follower of Abadar, the other party member are a paladin a LG oracle, a NG inquisitor and a N druid.
I just realized that every single other member of your party can potentially craft as well. I would politely apologize to them for causing such a stir, admit that your character is too selfish to be trusted with this power and ask the GM to allow you to take another feat instead. Let one of the less selfish characters spend a feat to take on the charity crafting mantle.
“It seemed the most efficient way of removing the danger the beast posed,” rumbles Lightbringer, drawing his attention away from the brooding warrior. “This frame was not built for climbing, but it falls quite well. The tactic also served to draw the creature’s poisonous sting away from my fleshly companions.”
He turns to Ezreal, who seems strangely silent – pensive even – and waits for him to explain what this meeting is all about.
In a long ago 1e game; The party is stranded in the wilderness without a druid or a ranger and have finally run out of rations. Managing to kill a rabbit with a crossbow, one of the fighters takes the entrails and puts them on a rock.
Me (the DM): What are you doing?
Him: I'm going to use these rabbit guts as bait to attract game.
Me: *Blank stare*
Party: *Blank stares*
Him: What? Haven't you ever heard of using food to attract prey?
Other Party Member (OPM): Yes, of course. But...
Him: Well, dumba$$, that's what I'm doing.
OPM: Just exactly what sort of game are you trying to attract?
Him: I dunno, more rabbits, maybe? Some squirrels, maybe a deer?
Me: *trying not to step in and metagame as well as holding back a snicker*
OPM: *Shrugs and walks off* Ok, then.
Later I roll for an encounter check, and on my random table it comes up "Wemic hunting party". The Wemics, smelling the rabbit innards baking on a rock, come to investigate and find the party, who are interlopers in their territory, sitting around moaning about being hungry. The Wemics get the drop on them and attack immediately.
OPM: *during the fight* "Oh! Attract some game, he says! Rabbits and squirrels he says! Next time I'm using you for bait because I think you're nuts!"
Lousy roll, but there is a logic in what you say....
Marrius stares at Lightbringer for a moment, then sighs and gazes upwards. "Dolurrh," he murmers, "Alright, we will stay here. But Karile is your concern. I have washed my hands of her.
"But I'll give you some advice. With her, things are never what they seem. Be on your guard. And you are on her territory - she will have the advantage, irrespective of your numbers."
A voice calls thinly from over the side of the ship - the pilot of the skycoach. "Heeeeelp...." Marrius rolls his eyes.
"Sal, go and get that man." The gname nods and, after handing a pile of Featherfall tokens to Janosz, takes off to rescue the Tharashk employee.
"Lightbringer has taught me much in my time with him, and one of those things is honor and duty. It is his wish to protect the artificer, with his life if necessary, and so I say, if warforged indeed have souls, then his should be rightly received by his ancestors!"
The elf hesitates no further and bolts forward, his already impressive speed amplified by Ezreal's spell...
Even though init is suspended, Runzyl will bull rush Darkheart (which provokes an AoO), hoping to take him off-guard because I'm guessing he thought Runzyl actually had like... compassion or something. If Lightbringer gets killed, Runzyl's prepared to deal with that, since to die in the line of battle is the greatest honor someone can receive in his society. Runzyl is actually trying to save him, however, as the bull rush should knock Darkheart well away from LB, giving Rod time to heal him.
Bull Rush result: 19 + 6(STR) + 2(charging) + 4(AP) = 31. EAT IT! Mothman, you have my apologies if this doesn't work. If the tables are ever turned, I'd expect you to do the same for me.
Contrary to Runzyl’s hopes, the rest of the trip back to Orcbone, while uncomfortable, is relatively uneventful. The same route ias before, except in reverse, is taken, and everyone heaves a sigh of relief as they reach the stub of the bridge on the Breland side. Varssh, the kobold emissary, cranes her head around and sniffs.
“So this is Breland? It looks like Droaam. When do we get to this town, Orcbone? Are there many orcs there?”
The trudge back to the fortress takes a few days, interrupted by a couple of Brelish patrols who look surprised to hear that the party has made it to Droaam and back out again. Eventually, the party make it back to Orcbone, which sits in all its mud-spattered glory under a drizzling grey sky. Autumn is turning to winter quickly in these northern climes. Though it rarely snows in Orcbone, it is probably for the best that the mountains and their treacherous climate has been left behind.
After a brief rest to relax and freshen up, Lightbringer (and whoever wishes to go with him) heads up to the fortress with Anashga’s head in a sack and Varssh, who insists on presenting her credentials to Lord Veirner ir'Tajar, the fortress commander. A look of grim satisfaction crosses his face as Lightbringer rolls his gory trophy across the floor of the commander’s office to gasps from his lieutenants.
“Well done,” he enthuses, clapping Lightbringer on the arm. “I hoped you would succeed, you seemed an upstanding sort. This will make a big difference on the border, and maybe we can push harder and pacify those ogre tribes now that Anashga is gone. You have definitely earned your bounty!” he says, handing over the agreed three hundred platinum pieces. He also buys up Anashga’s armour and weapons, and that of his cohorts. “We don’t want these falling into the hands of ogres again. And they’ll look nice above the fireplace.” (He pays standard price for second hand armour and weapons.)
He is distinctly surprised to be addressed courteously by a kobold, as Varssh explains her mission. “King Choom?" he whispers as an aside, "You mean the little beggar down by the inn? My, my, to think we were sheltering royalty in our midst...
Turning back to the kobold ambassador, he declares, "Lady Varssh, on behalf of the Kingdom of Breland, might I welcome you to Orcbone, and offer you my heartfelt best wished for the success of the embassy. As the commander of Orcbone, I look forward to fruitful cooperation between your people and mine, for both increased security and trade. I will write a letter of introduction which you may present to the Court in Wroat.”
Turning back to Lightbringer and his companions, ir’Tajar asks, “So, did you find your friend? And what are your plans now?”
r18+3=21 damg 8!!! WOOOOOOOT!!! First hand to hand hit EVAR!!!
(assuming....meh...)
A silence falls briefly immediately after Rodergo's hit on the kobold warrior's shoulder. It seems as if reality has altered somehow, the spheres no longer turning in exactly the same way. Eyes bulge in surprise, a hush decends. A pregnant moment, after which nothing will be the same again....
Then the kobold snarls in broken Common, "You die!" at the priest, and normal service is resumed.
"Choom, prince of a nobel tribe of dragon cousins. I am Trose d'Tharashk. For generations House Tharashk has befriended and aided all the peoples of Khorvaire, not holding our aid to the 'so called' fairer races."
"Know this, the Triune will be put to the blade, by we men, or by other's that House Tharashk will send in our our wake. So drag your self from the gutter of the outpost on foreigner's forgotten fronteir, and rise up and aid your people."
"And know this, Prince Choom, you shall not face the Triune alone, nor shall your people ever again face any challenge alone. By becoming my ally and joining me and my companions, you will earn forever the alliance of House Tharashk, and in a single step your people will step from under the heel of interlopers to become the greatest tribe of kobolds."
"And you, you have this one chance, now, to rise up and become King, of your tribe, and of others who flock to your banner as word of your greatness spreads."
"We shall not ask again, Choom, join us now. Or perhaps you would rather wait here, in your stupor, until others come along. Perhaps agents of the Triune, or worse our enemies, agents of other Houses, who will not be so magnanimous in asking the Noble Choom for all he knows."
His eyes grow distant, and he begins, almost a recitation in his broken Common.
"Choom very young, son of chief. Him live underground in Great Mine. Kobolds happy. They mine lots of gold, silver, iron. Tribe strong.
"Triune come. Come from Big Above. Three kobolds, worship the Flayed Dragon - one make bolts of black fire from his fingers, one fight with claw, one make pretty words that all believe. They make pretty words with chief. Him believe them, welcomes them into tribe. But Triune woo other kobolds behind chief's back, turn them against him. But chief is bewitched, cannot turn them away.
"Soon Triune is strong, and kill chief. They kill children of chief, and all who stand against them. Only one survive. Him Choom. Him clever, him quiet. Him know secret ways, tunnels, escape from Triune and Great Mine. Him come to Big Above, with big sun that hurt his eyes. No friends, family all dead. Him travel very far, much hurt, come to human town."
Choom is quiet for a moment, remembering. Then he looks up at the party around him.
"If promise to kill Triune, Choom tell you where secret way to Triune are. And money, give money."
picked spells as follows:
spells:
olvl 3 light, 2 det magic
1lvl sh. of faith, magic weapon(x2),
obscuring mist, (d)sanctuary
2lvl bull str, aid, energy resistance(electricity) (d)magic circle against evil
I was thinking, maybe a nice forest fire would bring the druid around(?) I...think I'm joking.
As the baying of the wolves becomes louder and more insistent, Lightbringer carefully and quietly (under the cover of the noise of the wolves) stands up from the cart, gripping his greatsword loosely in one hand. At the sight (and sound) of the large, talking wolf, he searches his memories and teachings for some clue as to what manner of demon this might be – a lycanthrope he suspects, or perhaps something more deadly?
As the wolf speaks, Lightbringer walks up behind the seemingly panicking Naykim, and puts a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Will you feast on me, dog of Khyber?” calls Lightbringer, stepping out from behind Naykim (but keeping the man firmly in his grasp, and being aware of any attempts at treachery from the man). “Will you feast on steel and Flame? We offer you a feast only of blades and death, for you and for whatever fiend of Khyber spawned you. I think you will not find it easy eating.”
Intimidate: 13+1 = 14.
In a quieter voice, Lightbringer speaks to Naykim. “I have seen the corruption in your soul. Cross us, and you will find only death.”
"Very interesting. (to the group) I'm thinking that, unless there was food on these wagons, these weren't wolves happening on the scene to investigate some abandoned wagons. It seems rather odd behavior for wolves to me. I think these are druid-controlled wolves, or allies of some sort.
If in this city, we can acquire a b&+@~ dog in heat, we can probably draw this wolf pack to us. Then, causing hurt to this wolf pack will incur the wrath of this druid type. We won't have to go over hill and dale seeking him, he will come to us.
If that is the route we wish to take."
Ezreal is lost in thought as he walks outside slowly with the others. The mage climbs onto his magebred mule and looks around scanning the tree and rooftops before he holds his hand high snapping his fingers and calling, "Kadesh!" The large black raven he brought on the train from Sharn soars down from a tree landing lightly on his shoulder, ruffles its feathers and settles into place.
Some minutes after the group leaves the monastery grounds he pulls his mount near to Trose and Rodergo for easy conversational range and says a bit sourly, "Well...now that we are a full day from Sharn I have an idea where 773 is. Goshasanan is a Quori name. Faith mentioned that 773 used that name- but not consistently. The Kalashtar happen to speak Quori. I'm willing to bet that his gibberish language was also Quori. It isn't widely spoken in Khorvaire outside the Kalashtar."
The mage pauses looking around before finishing, "Suddenly we have an explanation for that warforged repair kit Janosz spotted in their enclave."
Brother Mikal leads the party through the grounds. Brown-smocked workers labour in the gardens, wheel barrow-loads of vegetables between barns, or supervise small groups of playing children.
Brother Mikal begins chatting, his accent indicating his rural origins. "Sister Faith works with the younger children. She is very popular with them, very maternal. Most surprising in a warforged, er, begging your pardon, sir," he says with a glance toward Lightbringer, "But I suppose her finding the way of the Heathmother" - Mikal briefly pauses to genuflect as he says the deity's name, "is a most sincere one. Very strong in her belief, she is, and maybe some of that will rub off on the little ones, like it did with me," he says, smiling. "They will probably be in the Childrens' Garden round about now, so we're heading there first."
Wandering between outbuildings and garden walls, a voice calls out in the unmistakable tones of a warforged, though somewhat lighter than Lightbringer's: "Toras, don't go in the flowerbed!"
Brother Mikal grins, "Ah, here she is. Still grappling with little Toras, too. Sister Faith!" he shouts on rounding a corner, "You have visitors!"
The Childrens' Garden comprises a large greensward, enclosed by stone walls and buildings. Young children, all dressed in practical brown smocks, mostly human but with examples of other races, dash about, sing or sit in a ring about a discarded story book. Hurrying from this last little enclave, a warforged strides quickly after a little blond-haired boy who is busy disappearing into the shrubbery. The warforged scoops him up brings him back to the circle of children, scolding him gently but firmly, "If you don't behave, I'll tell the Abbess." A look of terror crosses the boy's face.
The warforged, presumably Sister Faith, wears the ubiquitous brown smock. However, there isn't anything particularly feminine in her appearance: over six and a half feet tall, plated in silver, with the powerful build of a machine designed for war. She looks up curiously as she tenderly deposits her charge on the lawn, and then says to the rest of the children, "I'll finish Feshas and the Dragon in a moment. I just need to see these people." Then she strides purposefully towards the group.
"Sister Faith, good morning to you," smiles Mikal.
"Indeed, and to you, Brother. And to you, gentlemen. May I ask what you wish to see me about?" Faith seems unfazed, exuding calm, though forthright.
Spoiler for Runzyl:
Spoiler:
A few of the temple workers lead the horses and mules to the stables, where they tie them up by a trough and give the animals a feed. The mercenaries seem relaxed, giving terrifying but well-meant grins to passing priests as they tend to their weapons and equipment, except for Drim. She frets and looks tense, finally turning to Runzyl. "They should not go alone. How can I defend the fire wizard if they attack him?"
Meanwhile, more workers bring out food and drink - a delicious fruit cordial with slices of spiced fruitcake. Runzyl sits on a bench, enjoying the sun, the wooden platter and cup beside him on one side, his sword propped up against the seat on the other. In the warmth and following his snack, he allows his mind to wander from its usual state of complete readiness for battle. Idly gazing around the courtyard, from the corner of his eye he sees the shadow of a tree as it plays against a stone wall, moving slightly in the breeze, about 50’ away.
No, wait, what’s that? For a split second, Runzyl is sure he can see a pale elven warrior, dressed in black lacquered fluted plate armour and holding a double scimitar just like his, glaring at him with hungry eyes from that very spot. Runzyl spins, grabs his weapon and adopts a fighting pose, but when he looks again….. It’s just a shadow, shifting against they wall as the tree shivers. Gaining a few curious looks from passing temple workers and the half-orcs, Runzyl retakes his seat, somewhat embarrassed and confused to have been jumping at shadows. Odd, not like him at all…..
she's evil, I just know it!
Ah, Abbess. I am Rodergo Xativa, a humble servant of the Flame. My companions, Janosz, Ezrael, Runzyl, Trose, and Lightbringer,...we seek an acquaintance of hers, an acquaintance who is in grave danger. As such, we humbly ask if we may speak with her awhile, and see if she has any information that may be of help.
You cannot cheat the DM - you would get a markdown of 20% if you try that. My anger is mighty, my judgement is swift. You might be better just hanging on to the credit note - if you can't think what to spend it on now, you will still need to spend it later when you get more cash to back it up.
The summoning circle was flawless. Ezreal was certain that there was no error in the mystic sigils contained within its outer border, yet he circled the diagram another time inspecting each line drawn in powdered silver and crushed brimstone against the notes in his spellbook. The creature called would be bound to his lifeforce in a symbiotic relationship for as long he might live. The bond would never be broken without extreme pain and possibly tearing away some small part of his essence or soul. The possibility of some error in his work leaving a breach through which an unintended demonspawn of Kyhber or fey spirit from Thelanis might leap... would result in a lifetime driven to corruption or madness. The diagram must be perfect in all regards.
Ultimately satisfied, Ezreal donned the formal black robes trimmed in white and began lighting candles and incense throughout the room in preparation. The ritual required a price in blood, and so he drew a small silver ceremonial knife to make a small cut in the palm of each hand. Blood pooled drop by drop in a small bowl lined with runes. Using a quill of raven's feather the mage dipped into the bowl and one sigil at a time copied each mark of power from the circle onto his body and across his face with the aid of a mirror.
The process continued throughout the day. One layer of arcane detail after another culminating in an hours long incantation timed to coincide with the position of the three moons at midnight. During the final words of power the sigils in the summoning circle took on a silvery glow, ultimately bursting into brilliant light as they burned away in a cloud of acrid smoke. As soon as he was able to see again, Ezreal coolly regarded the jet black raven standing in the center of his room, who was also silently appraising him, head cocking from one side to the other.
So I'm guessing that took the rest of the day we were on, then a full 16 hours of work on the following day. So the day after that we can be on the rail as early as possible. Don't think I've ever summoned a familiar IC before and its the weekend with the low post rates so that was some good fun for me. Wroat here we come.
"OK, gentlemen, I guess I owe you," says Croke. (At this last statement, Dornas nearly passes out in amazement.)
Croke and Dornas lead Lightbringer and Rodergo down into the garrison dungeons. It's dark, smelly and damp, the occasional cries of the inmates cracking the gloomy silence. In the lowest portion, down a twisting staircase, past a series of gates manned by grim-faced, heavily-armed guards, lies Solitary. Croke, together with Dornas and the jailer in charge of Solitary, head to one particular cell door, plated with steel with a tiny grill.
"He's in here. I'm afraid we will have to watch you all the way through any discussion. Bastard changeling could pretend to be someone else and slip out otherwise." The jailer takes a key from a jingling bunch on a large keyring, and opens the door. Inside sits a swarthy, bearded man in a prison uniform.
One kobold aims a blow at Ruzyl with its bare hand... The other dances about Runzyl, weaving before taking up a flanking position. It stabs viciously with its kama...
Unarmed Strike, tumbling to avoid AoOs, and a kama... yup. Kobold Monks, kids. Good times.
Well, they can get past you, since I'm assuming Runzyl isn't actually 5' wide. If he is, my mental image of the elven death machine is somewhat awry - more like the spacehopper of doom.
That is horrific. That sounds like a sort of game I run every once in awhile called a Random campaign. But its not meant to be serious.. At all. Or have any continuation. Its just meant to fill a space, and be stupidly funny.
In fact.
Your story gives me an idea for a random campaign.
Are you telling me that, due to me posting that, another group somewhere in the world is going to have to fight wild giant anemones in a forest?
You do know this means I will accumulate so much bad karma that I will reincarnate as a buttscratcher, right?
Oh. NO. Worse things have happened in the infamous random campaign in my group.
Imagine if you will.
You are an orc barbarian. YOu have just experienced the most insane past 3 hours of your life. The last of which, being a duck, that refused to die. And refused to stop quacking. And.. Refused to stop staring at you. Only after finally scoring a critical hit, did its reign of terrible.
The orc sat down on a nearby decaying log. His axe at his side, buried in the mud. He took his head in his hands, groaning with utter frustration at how things could work this way.
At which point a tarrasque walks up. Sits down beside the orc. Crushing that part of the log, then in a typical sad panda voice says.
"Whats wrong buuuuddddy?"
The random campaign is not meant to be serious.
By the way. That orc just sorta went insane after that.
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