Merrik Von Shaktheistraven's page

For a while now, there's been little if anything offered on my chronicle sheets that I couldn't already buy. Am I missing something?

I'm not talking about non standard items, or items from other books and stuff. I've seen lots of core rule book items (stat +2, weapon +2, armor +2) listed for purchase at Tier 8-9. Can't you already purchase all this stuff once you get 27 fame (11,750gp purchase limit)?

And the same with lower tiers. Why mention a pearl of power 1st level on any mid tier chronicle sheet? Since it's so very unlikely to have only 9 fame (1,500gp purchase limit) at 4th level, it seems pointless for pretty much everyone involved.

Why list an item on a chronicle sheet if it can already be purchased by pretty much everyone at that level using their fame purchase limit?

It's blue. You're swaying gently. The sky stretches out above you and the sea stretches out below you to merge in the haze of a distant horizon. The warm sun carresses your face, salt spray cools your brow and the ocean whispers around you.
You're aboard ship. There's a crack above you as the wind fills the sails. A raven haired beauty stands easily among the rigging, wearing a tricorne hat and an eyepatch. A long blue coat over a white blouse, tight black pants and black boots complete her pleasing visage. She smiles grimly and points to the horizon with a jewel encrusted cutlass. "Storm's a comin'."
There's a crack as the sails fill again and the ship lurches beneath you. A bell clangs and bodies rush around you. The horizon has turned dark grey. The crew scuttle over the rigging, pulling at the sails as the sails pull back. The ship crests a giant wave and plummets down and you're tossed to the ground. Cold spray lashes you and needles of rain cut through you. A flash of lightning illuminates the main mast. It bends unnaturally towards you and there's an almighty CRACK!

Aemilia
Lysandra
Mata
Nakon
Sevien
Xantrius

It's black. Your stomach is swaying uneasily. Hard wood sucks the warmth from your stiff bones. The stench of rotting fish stabs at your nostrils, some foul liquid smears your face and salt stings every tiny cut. There's a distant creaking screaming in your ears and your head roars as waves crash inside your skull.
You're aboard ship. There's a crack above you and blinding light lances painfully into your eyes, smashing inside your skull with the crashing waves. The light sways as loud bootsteps thunder on wooden stairs. It's a bullseye lantern, and behind it line up half a dozen humanoid shapes. Wooden pillars and footlockers lurk in the shadows against the wooden walls.

Avast, ye land lubbin' ladies. Thar's work ta be doin'. I'll be havin' yer PCs up on deck afore time. Now, mebbe ye be be knowin' t'others and mebbe ye be on yer own, and all's right by me. Ye'll all be wantin' ta be part o' th' briney blue afore th' year's out, fer if'n th' sea's not in yer blood, then ye'll be walkin' th' plank afore yer time is due.
Now, ye don' hafta be born ta th' sea, but it'll be growin' on ye in time, so if'n yer only aims are ta abandon ship, then ye'll be changin' yer mind right smart or ye may's well be joining th' sharks.

Now I be a purist, I do, an' yer fancy moves and extra flourishes mean nought ta th' likes of me. I'll be toleratin' the core classes and ye c'n ask fer th' Advanced Player's Guide, but I'll be sayin' "No!" more of'en th'n not. I aint'nt got the Ultimate anything so's yer c'n be forgettin' such fancy thoughts right up, though's I must be admittin' I'll change course if'n a fair enough wind blows me way. Ye be gettin' 20 points t' buy yer stats, 2 traits an' average gold fer yer class. The Player's Guide traits be optional, thar flavour changeable and thar suggested skills indispensable.

Ye're all in Port Peril. Born or brought or even bought, 'tis all the same t' me. Fer those not in the know, Port Peril is th' cap'tal o' Th' Shackles, a free land ruled by th' council of Free Cap'ns where everything's got its price. There be more isles in Th Shackles th'n there are rats in a plague, but Port Peril's on the western coast o' the great continent o' Garund, in a bay that backs onto th' mountains th't guard her from the monsters and savages o' th' hot, wet jungles beyond.
Our northern neighbours were wiped out by the Eye of Abendego, the permanent hurricane to th' north th't arrived a hunnerd years ago and it be protecting us from the fat, rich nations o' th Inner Sea. The worst o' these knaves, th' devil worshipin' nation o' Cheliax, has tried afore to tame us an' both times we scuttled any poor excuse fer a navy they'd left after the Eye took 'em. So's the northerner's mostly leave us alone, an' at our leisure our skillt Cap'ns skim th' Eye an' pay reg'lar visits to the fat sloops on t'other side.

Thar'll be no rush, as we be settin' sail only once the hold is full, an' some o' th' wares be takin' thar time. So be askin' yer questions and displayin' yer wares, an' I'll be takin' what I be wantin'. It's a pirates life fer me.