Radik Aurel's page

8 points of damage total. As I've got the Ability Focus (poison) feat, the Fortitude is DC 15, primary and secondary damage is 1d6 Dex.

Easily made the save (rolled a 19).

Shenker wrote:

(not Radik) If I'm reading that right (over 50), they should be be Radik stabbins'

The bad news is Radik's AC won't benefit from his dex bonus at the moment, so yeah, they're hits (and a poison save).

How much, and what DC?

Radik lies in the mud, twitching slightly.

"I had him. Had him good..." he mumbles.

"Son of a B%*!@."

Strength check: 14 + 4 = 18

Reaching down, Radik takes hold of the ribcage. Turning around, he holds up the grisly object. Looking at Shenker in particular, he proclaims, loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Look at this! If I hadn't valiantly stepped in and saved us all, we might have all been KILLED by this deadly pile of ROTTING BONES! Unbelievable..."

The blow to Radik's ego is too much to bear.

With a snarl, he strides forward, pushing past the thri-keen, and shoving the creepy little man out of the way, the massive gladiator kneels and begins to gulp down handfuls of the dubious-looking water.

"No."

I think we're okay now, since Zuko has conjured water and Ka Chik the Aarakocra has purified our...waste to make it fit for...reintegration. Plus, that kank is about to bear honey!

By the way, what was that word you were trying to say earlier?

Issiki walks up to Radik, looks at him and says simply, "You are very insulting, even for a drylander." in the manner of a child. He then goes to throw in his lot with those heading to Raam.

"I insult those unworthy of my respect."

The fighter shoulders his club, following the Raam group, but several paces behind.

"Go with."

"Look, O my droogies, I think it's trying to talk. Stupid dog."

"I once killed twenty men with my bare hands. I don't think I'd have any problem dealing with a filthy, scrawny degenerate like you."

"Ach! *cough cough* were you raised by a T'liz? Guy's got the willies. Go pud off in your mekillot head!"

"If I had half a mind to, I'd slit your throat and drink your blood for the water. But I won't, see? I wouldn't want to off-put our mutual acquantences."

"Would someone shut up that yapping dog?"

Radik's eyes burn like two violet flames in the darkness. As he turns to follow the departing group, the taciturn fighter uses his tiny flint razor to make a second tiny cut on his palm, next to the first. He watches for a second as the blood soaks into the sand, then picks up his pace, keeping up with the others, but several paces away.

That one only take, only give eat-hole noise.

A strange expression crosses Radik's face.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

A pause.

"Take what you can. Give nothing back. It's the only way you can get anywhere in the world."

He whirls around and stalks toward the carcass of the mekillot, the massive head of which he has claimed as his 'territory'.

"Elves. Zombies. Halflings. Bugs. Degenerates. What next, clowns? Or tavern wenches, mayhap?"

The large, dangerous-looking human looks from one member of the motley group to another, looking them direcly in the eyes.

"I could take any one of you down. Don't make yourselves my problem, and I won't make you mine. Savvy?"

"hrrmmm.....the thing makes honey....I thinking about,.... parasite nix, symbiote aye."

"....hrrmmmm...."

"Degenerate..."

Radik scowls at the thri-keen's 'glad declaration'.

"Just what we need. Another parasite using up our supplies. Stupid bug."

One can't be sure whether that particular comment was directed at the kreen or at the kank.

Radik crafted and took the chitin armor, as well as a bone greatclub that for some reason didn't show up on the gear list.

By the way, how many cutthroat britvas does Shenker have? He's like Alex B, only with worse social skills.

Retcon/backfill

Radik awakes in the same position that he fell.

Judging by the postion of the sun, he notes that it is once again time to renew his eldritch pact. Kneeling, he traces the intricate scarring on his chest. The face of a stern, yet beautiful woman materializes in the sand. Searching around for a sharp implement, Radik finally finds a tiny piece of flint. Using the flint, he slices an inch-long cut into the palm of his hand. As the blood drips into the waiting mouth of the sandy visage, tendrils of greyish-violet smoke rise from the sand, pouring into Radik's eyes, nose, and mouth. After a few minutes, the massive gladiator rises, his mottled skin crackling with energy.

Picking up his makeshift club, he strides toward the group of assembled ex-prisoners. He speaks to no one in particular, in a voice reminiscent of grinding stone.

"What are you waiting for?"

It sounds more like a statement than a question.

Binding check for later: 14 + 1 = 15. Just made it.

Radik tears a large quantity of leather from the howdah, then moves toward the mekillot once more. Climbing onto the back of the desiccated hulk, he tears free several of the beast's chitinous plates.

Still atop the beast's body, he begins to work, first fashioning a few of the leather strips into a crude loincloth, then beginning to strap pieces of chitin onto his massive form.

Craft: 12 + 4 = 16

Once finished, he begins to stride purposefully toward the horizon, makeshift club in hand.

He doesn't make it twenty paces before falling, unconscious.

Radik, completely unscathed by the mekillot's assault, calmly moves over toward one of the beast's forelimbs and begins to work at the dessicated flesh. After a surprisingly short time, he is able to work loose the creature's upper arm bone. Giving it a few practice swings, he appears satisfied, and begins to stride back toward the howdah. On the way past Zuko and Holdrus, he can be heard to mutter something that sounds an awful lot like "waste of a good spell."

Where would the materials necessary for chitin armor be found?

A quick search of the howdah reveals none of Radik's belongings. Unruffled, the fighter turns, striding purposefully toward the undead monstrosity, picking up speed.

Note: Ronove grants the ability to move at 40 feet per round instead of 30.

Radik's eyes flash violet once more, as his muscles bulge, and his fists darken to the mottled gray of raw iron. With a roar of fury, he aims a powerful blow at the mekillot's massive, low-slung head.

Attack (unarmed strike): 14 + 7 - 3 = 18. Damage (lethal due to Improved Unarmed Strike): 1d4 + 4 - 3 = 4.

Kirrish-Kreshk-Skiklik wrote:

Dude, they sold your s#*%.

One more reason to hate them. Might show up later though...( <-Dots o' Foreshadowing)

Ooh.. Shiny new plot-hooks. I loooove plot hooks. Oh, and James, that was well said. No big deal, I was just wondering where everyone's stuff was. *readies unarmed strike*

Radik Aurel wrote:

Did the slavers take Radik's mace, or will he have to lay the beatdown on the mekillot by hand?

If they thought they could sell your hair they’d have shaved that off too.

So... Is it in the howdah, or in the "cargo compartment" inside the mekillot?

Did the slavers take Radik's mace, or will he have to lay the beatdown on the mekillot by hand?

I looked up the break DC for rope, and yeah, Radik made it. Also, at the beginning of combat, Radik is at K-13. Init: 13 + 3 - 3 = 13.

With a brutal tug, the massive human snaps the rope binding his hands. For a second, his eyes flash violet, and his omnipresent grayish pallor deepens. Radik clenches his fists, snarling.

"I need a weapon."

Calmly, he begins to stride purposefully toward the fallen howdah.

Now at F-19

If Radik can't tear free, Skarsnikt will help him get loose.

"Quick-quick, softshell. Beast come!"

"I'm not blind, bug!" yells Radik, still struggling with the the extra-heavy rope used to bind him, "I can see the giant mekillot zombie bearing down upon us!"

The big man gives on last hard tug at his bonds.

"Ronove, give me strength..."

Frak me. I'm really sorry, but this has been my first chance to post since around noon yesterday.

Radik is jolted from unconsciousness by the roar of the undead beast. Rolling onto his back, he somersaults upright, and with a roar of frustration, attempts to rip through his bonds.

Str check: 15 + 4 - 3 = 16. Does that succeed? Also, Initiative is at +3.

Oh, and I'm really lucky that Ronove grants Improved Unarmed Strike as a vestige power.

You can't eat all that.

My mace-head is halfling-sized.

Radik's character portrait.

Hey Shiny, any chance you could downplay the references to metal in Radik's background (then again, it is a great excuse for a mugging / beatdown)?

Just waiting on Rad's char now, and possibly Val, little fluff on Illyen. Monday still ok with all of you (obviously things will be a bit sparse over the holidays, but then we'll pick back up)?

Fixed.

Radik's base stats (5d4): 19, 16, 15, 11, 11, 10

Radik's final stats: Str 19, Dex 17 (15+2), Con 18 (16+2), Int 11, Wis 10, Cha 12 (11+1)

I will prevail.