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Tentacledone's page

180 posts (1,053 including aliases). No reviews. No lists. No wishlists. 8 aliases.


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"Nah, they just be having too much to drink and the sight be a harsh one," the dockworker says with a glance over his shoulder at Daxniss. It sounds more like he is trying to convince himself that this is actually the case. "What be yer problem, ya deaf?" he puts a hand on the nearest ones shoulder. The kneeling man falls over wordlessly across the the brainless corpse. The man is dead, enough light coming from the a nearby torch to see that he is no longer breathing. His eyes are opening and completely white.

The sound of a wet clicking noise emanates from the crooked alleyway. The sound raises the fine hairs on the back of your next.

"Oh. S&*#." the worker looking at the alleyway. "Run. Run right now."

While its only 10 to 15 feet to the light of the street, the young girl feels like its miles away. Right after the dockworker speaks, Daxniss hears the man grunt. Turning her attention back to the man, she can see the back of his shirt rapidly blossoms red wetness.

"Oh, this is important to know. Magic is typically forbidden, as is the knowledge of reading and writing. Both will get you killed in one fashion or another," the Old Man cautions as they travel down the spiral stairs. The old man stops, and turns to look down at Wrathe. "I have a..., guest of sorts. Another lost urchin, this one I literally tripped over a few nights ago. It hasn't spoke since I found it, but it does seem to be intelligent, more than just an animal. It was disguised in filthy rags, which I had to use magic to clean, the smell was vile." The old man turns and continues down the damp stairs.

"I don't think that its dangerous, just scared. I figured I give you a fair warning," Wrathe can hear the grin in the Old Man's voice.

Before much longer they two reach a thick, iron-bound wooden door. The old man lays his palm flat upon the door for several seconds. Wrathe can hear a number of thick clunks as the door unlocks.

"Any questions?" the elder asks looking down at Wrathe.

Argon's fever rages, his dreams are bloody and violent, filled with terror and a sense of dread. Several times, he doesn't get away from the Clawed Monster and it slowly tears him apart. In one of the darker dreams, it is Argon that is the Clawed thing that does the slaying. Flaying the skin from his own bones was a mind twisting nightmare. Before long, Argon can feel himself sliding into an Abyss that there was no escape from.

Slowly, a warm light that pulses with it's own heartbeat intrudes upon his nightmares. The nightmares stubbornly try to fight off the warm light. It fairs as well as the night sky at dawn.

The Old Man looks over the transcript of Wrathe's tale, nodding to himself more than once. He glances up to look at the boy, and the sight of the ink covered face causes a grin to find purchase on his wrinkled face. The Old Man takes a few puffs off of his pipe, blowing out a few smoke rings as he contemplates the otherworldly youth that had fallen through his ceiling. Looking up at the hole in his kitchen roof, a frown appears for a few moments.

"Most excellent young Wrathe, most excellent indeed," the Old Man says looking back at the boy. Glancing back up at the ceiling, he mutters a few words that Wrathe is unable to make out. Gesturing at the damaged hole, the old man releases a bit of his magic. Time almost seems to rewind as the debris pulls itself from the floor, through the air and back in it's undamaged place. This takes all of half a minute to do what labors would spend almost an entire day fixing.

A few more moments pass, guardsmen slowly circling the clawed monster. As they complete the circle, the chanting guard finishes his prayer. Hands and head held up to the night sky, it seems like nothing happens. Until the creature screams it's horrid nails-on-blackboard screech, causing most of the guard to shy back a step. The creature flays at the air, screaming, until it is suddenly engulfed in a bright green flame. The flames seem to pull themselves inward as the creature vanishes.

The guardsmen look around for survivors while the chanting guard takes a knee and seems to fall into prayer. Argon feels the onset of the paralytic poison as his body stiffens. The boy realizes that he is still bleeding, as his vision begins to darken slightly and to tunnel. Argon notes a flash of warm light surround the guards for a moment or two. Rising to his feet, the chanting guard checks alleyways for the source of who warmed him. The guardsman arrives in time to catch Argon before he falls face first to the cobblestones.

"What do ya be saying lass? They be right behind me," the dockworker says as he stands to his feet and turns around. Daxniss sees that the four are kneeling by the brainless corpse, arms hanging loosely at their sides, heads bowed, jaws slack. "Oie! What be ya doing, get on your feet! What be the word on those in the alley?" the dockworker says to the friends he had been drinking with. Daxniss doesn't see a hint of movement coming from the four kneeling men.

"We have a great deal to discuss, and would be better suited in more comfortable surroundings. Follow me," the Old Man walks out of the kitchen to the living room. Muttering something, Wrathe is treated to a doorway sized section of the floor lifting up revealing a staircase leading down. The Old Man begins to descend down the spiral stone staircase.

"A tengu? That would make a bit more sense then a Deva," the Old Man chuckles at his error. He does listen with rapt attention as Wrathe tells of his time with Mordsine the tengu in Hell. Repacking his pipe, he leaves the kitchen for several minutes, saying he has to grab a few things. Wrathe hears the rustling of sounds like parchments and several drawers open and closing amid the old man mumbling to himself. The blue eyed rat watches the boy from the kitchen counter.

The Dockworker smiles gently, thinking for a few seconds.

"Perhaps me wife could use a helper, we'll have to talk to her. No promises on her saying yes," the middle aged man helps her to his feet as he gets to his with a slight creak. Daxniss notices that the torchlight from the towns folk that had entered the alleyway has suddenly gone out and it seems very disturbingly quite. And that the other Dock folk that had been looking at the brainless body had fallen eerily silent.

Argon's voice rings out loud and true enough, getting the attention of the guardsmen had called down fire. Looking up and over the man spies the shadowed creature getting ready to pounce off of the wall. Shouting a command, several of the guards in the back draw javelins and attack the figure. They succeed in pinning it to the wooden walls with a surprisingly rapid stream of javelins. Argon's attention is pulled back to the fight as the man begins chanting once more.

The old man returns carrying several battered strips of parchment and what looks to be an ink pen, rather than charcoal or a quill and ink pot . The cost of such an item was staggering, an item that one would not expect to see in the Puddles at all.

"Alright, show me what you know, transcribe what you've told me in every language that you can speak and write in" the Old Man says as he sets down the parchment and beautifully made ink pen. "I don't need a copy in every language, this is more proof of what you know." he says with a hint of a smile.

I'm gonna say that Wrathe knows his Int mod in languages before class training. Sound good?

BTW, I hope you guys enjoying the game so far. I know I'm being a little heavy handed as I attempt to get you guys together. I'm trying to avoid a cheesy "and thus they where all together" thing. Plus, I'm kinda erasing the last vestiges of a childhood in any of the characters. Something to begin their first steps towards their chosen classes.

Oh, EJB throw me a Perception check in your next post.

"Hmm, prideful one aren't you? Still, if you truly desire to aid others and protect yourself, the Arts might offer you more.., avenues to save your soul," the Old Man speaks up after several long moments of silent contemplation. He taps his chin in thought. "That your eyes where forged from silver while you where in the Hells is an odd choice. Clearly not a metal your average devil would choose to use."

"What was this feathered one that you mentioned? A Deva from the higher planes that had been captured?" Curiosity lighting a fire behind the Old Man's sharpe brown eyes. He looks Wrathe up and down for a moment or two. "Also, can you read or write?" The Old Man asks rather nonchalantly, considering it was something that could get a person killed.

Thanks for the helpful advice :)

Yeah, I was aiming to do that when I get everybody together.

And sorry about the late post, didn't mean to hold us up.

Also, Loki, thanks for that link :)

The Old Man is silent, looking at Wrathe from within a cloud of pipe smoke. His brown eyes bore into the boy as if seeking something out of place with his tale.

"So there are members of the cursed tribe that still live. How interesting," the old man mutters, half to himself. "Hold up your marked hand once more."

Argon is surprised to see that newest guardsmen seem to show no fear of the Thing. That was made more impressive since it had painted the mouth of the alleyway and the street it emerged from with the blood and gore from at ten different souls. At a few blows are traded with the monster , it stops it chocking laughing noise. The one guardsmen who was chanting raises his hands to the blackened sky. Several of the guardsmen who where engaging the monster suddenly jump back.

A rolling column of fire suddenly roars into existence around the monster and it screeches in pain. Several seconds later the bright flames vanishes as if they never had existed in the first place. The battle increases in intensity as more of guardsmen join in.

Several people from the circle around Daxniss head into the alleyway to see the skinless woman that had been hung by her feet. Cruel looking nails had been driving into her feet almost 15 feet in the air. A sight that Danxiss had no intention of getting a better look, unlike those that walk into the alleyway after lighting torches.

Daxniss is helped to her feet by the kindly seeming middle aged man after several minutes of almost hysterical sobbing. Once her feet are firmly underneath her, Daxniss notices something wrong. She knows that at least four people had just went into the alley with torches and yet the light is gone. It doesn't look like the man trying to comfort her notices, nor do the other three people standing around them. The three seem more interested in the corpse right at their feet.

With a puff on his pipe, the old man leans back after looking at Wrathe's marked palm.

"So what makes you think that the arcane arts will help you? That's what got your tribe into trouble in the first place, according to the recorded history of the time," the Old Man speaks up after several moments of contemplation. "Wouldn't prostrating yourself in a church before a god and plead for their protection be a safer idea?" he asks the boy. "Nothing quite like the divine to protected ones immortal soul." The last is said with a hint of bitterness in the old man's eyes.

Argon can see from his vantage point out side of the battle that something is crawling down from the roof. He couldn't make out distinct details, it's very form seemed to wrap the shadows around its form. Whatever it was, it looked like it was getting ready to pounce on the chanting guardsmen.

I think the plan was for Rolando or Eloith (or both) to sneak up and do a little investigating with Gloria as back up. If memory serves they are clustered 20-30 feet ahead of Ry'klead and Bertholdt. And I think those 2 are 5-10 feet ahead of the spider.

And the oven is in the Spider so Gloria would have to come back all the way back to the non scouts :P

p.s. Have a good time on the vacations guys! :)

The Old Man puffs on his pipe a few more times, brown eyes never leaving the urchin. He appears to appraising Wrathe, not in the sense of how much he would be worth to slavers, it was something more. It almost seems like he is examining the Threads of Fate that made of Wrathe's existence.

"I might be able to tell you of your lineage. Where you born here on Sel Torin, or where you born elsewhere?" The Old Man puffs on his pipe once more. He turns back to the cupboard and pulls out a cup. Walking over to a water barrel, he lifts the lid and uses the ladle and fill the cup. He sets it down near the plate of food and goes back to the spot he was leaning against on the counter. Wrathe notices that the Old Man stays at least an arms length away, something he seems to do without even thinking about it. Something perhaps a person who had spent their life in the arcane arts might do.

Argon carefully begins to peel of the debris that had fallen on him. Focusing on trying to get away helped, anything other than watching the Thing reduce the guardsmen to bloody pieces of gore. Watching that massacre would not help his mind in anyway shape or form. It croaked out that awful laugh as it made its own art. Argon didn't care that he was covered in piss, bile and his own blood. His back burned and froze at the same time, the wounds pulsing in counter beat to his heart. All he wants to do is get away. Argon feels oddly sluggish, his limbs not wanting to working as fast as he wants them to.

Finally, the boy manages to get out of the pile and using the nearby wall to steady himself, makes it to his feet. A glance at the creature revels it was finishing up with the guardsmen. When the last guard fell to the blood soaked cobblestone, the creature bends down as if admiring its handy work. With horrid ripping sound, it begins to jerk out the spines and skulls of the mutilated guards.

People rush up and surround Daxniss and the brainless corpse laying at her feet. Several people vomit at the sight of the man's corpse. As violent as life may sometimes be, seeing someone with the back of their skull torn free and brains scooped out was a horrific one. Cries of shock and horror are the norm. A kind looking middle aged man, skin burnt from a lifetime spent working the docks kneels down and puts a gentle hand on Danxiss's shoulder.

"What happened here little one? Your safe now, don't be crying," the man says trying to comfort her. He is blocking the sight of the corpse from the young girl.

Argon makes it a short distance, confident that the creature doesn't notice him anymore. He is just about to turn down the next street when a another group of guards coming running around the corner. They didn't seem like the usual guard that he had seen around the Dock ward. Their weapons and armor looked better cared for, and of a much higher quality. They charge down the street at the monster. Argon can hear the strong voice of one of the guardsmen begin chanting. It sounds like some sort of prayer.

The old man puffs his pipe several times, seemingly lost in thought. The rat looks down at the chuck of cheese and climbs down the side of the old man's robe. Retrieving the chuck of cheese, the blue eyed rat climbs back up to his shoulder perch, eating the cheese.

The amulet the Wrathe caught a glimpse of was one of plain silver, unremarkable and forgettable.

"Blues and purples you say," the Old Man scratches his cheek. Whether or not that means anything to him, Wrathe does not know. Once more, he looks down and locks gazes with the child. "I'm willing to bet a weeks worth of meals that you aren't of full blooded human breed, not with those eyes. Yet, you don't appear to be a tiefling. What are you descended from young one?" The Old Man asks a cloud of smoke oozing from his nostrils.

Something about the sight change in tone alerts Wrathe to the subtle change in the question. The boy feels like the Old Man knows exactly what he is and is waiting for him to fess up. It has the feeling of being some sort of test. Wrathe has the feeling that a lie here might not be in his advantage.

Lying upon the sack of farm goods, Argon can only stare as the eight guardsmen attack with polearms, blades, hammers and arrows. From what he can tell, the creature lets them hit it, offering only a token defense. Six of the guard had struck deep into the creature, there weapons still sticking into it's form. A chill runs through Argon as he hears a grating, hacking noise. The monster was laughing.

With a swiping motion, it becomes a black blur of movement, slashing at the legs of the guards, the polearm's wooden handle snap as it spins. With exaggerated motions, it slides it claws across the guards armor and flesh like a painter slashing at a canvas. None of the eight guards survive. Argon swears it takes hours for it to finish it's slaughter of the guards. Worst of all is the horrid grace of it's motions as it almost dances around the group of guardsmen.

Sitting against the wall of a nearby building, staring down at the body of the man missing the back of his skull and brains. Her mouth opens and closes, nonsense falling out turning to gibberish. The mongrel dog turns around and starts barking into the alleyway. Somewhere in her mind, Daxniss can hear the shouts of people behind her in the street running forward to investigate.

Holy s*&*! Well, I guess we know who can handle the sneaky stuff lol.

Do we know what is hiding in there yet? More than likely it's bad news of course. How are people on Stealth? Ry'klead sucks at it, well, he can turn into a cloud of burning gas, but that's a touch aggressive :P

If there is an insanely sneaky person in the party?

And a question for our DM. How loud is Quay's Spider when it moves?

Gravel voice was putting his nasty looking pair of kukris away and shakes his head, looking between the hole in the ceiling and the boy on the ground. He crosses his arms in front of him and glances at the boy once more than basically ignores his existence.

The old man turns and opens up a cupboard, and pulls a plate out. Opening another cupboard and puts some jerky, cheese and flat dried bread on it. Walking over to a rickety table he sets the plate down and points at a chair.

"Sit and eat, it's hard to hear over your stomach," there is a wisp of smile on his face. "Don't worry about the roof, I'll have someone fix it." He leans against the counter and pulls a pipe and pouch out of his robes. Waiting for the urchin to begin eating he uses a tindertwig to light his pipe.

"Tell me about these flashes of light that you see," the old man says from behind a cloud of pungent smoke.

Gravel voice goes rigid and touches an amulet hidden beneath his cloak, visible when he shifts his arm.

"I have to go, there has been an incident in the Docks that I have to look into. I shall return later in the night so that we may continue our conversation," the cloaked man says. Bowing slightly to the old man he turns and leaves.

Laughter bellows out of the old man for several long moments, before it stops suddenly. The Old Man's brown eyes are surprisingly clear for such an elderly man. His hands show signs of the Bone Twisting that strikes the old. The Old Man's skin is like old parchment wrapping loose looking bones. Head barely covered by wispy white hair, cut raggedly short.

"What makes you think that I know anything about the mystic arts, young urchin?" He holds Wrathe in his gaze like a serpent charming a mouse. The rat chitters into the man's ear.

Argon's world suddenly lifts and begins to spin. Four blazing lines of agony suddenly appear across Argon's back. His left shoulder to just underneath his right shoulder blade suddenly burn and freeze at the same time. The youth has time to notice this as he is flung forward from the blow. Slamming into a pile of a farmers bagged foodstuffs has saved Argon's life. Head swimming, breath coming erratically, pulse racing, he slowly realizes the blow had flung him out of the alleyway and across the street. Argon has 1 hp left.

Screams suddenly light up on the street as the thing pulls himself out of the shadows of the alleyway. It throws its head back and roars, a horrible nails across blackboard sound that cuts the mind as well as the ears. Those closest to it actually drop to the ground, ears bleeding and bodies twitching. With sicking slowness, it reaches down and plunges it's claws into a nearby mans back. Screaming, arms and legs flailing, his screams raise several octaves. With a jerk of it arm, the mans scream ends as his spine and skull are ripped free from their fleshy housing, spraying blood and gore on the nearby building.

As it reaches over and begins to flay the another poor souls skin from there bones, a group of the local guard comes charging in to play at being heroes.

Scooting back out into the street, pointing and screaming, Daxniss can do little other than repeat "No skin" when strangers kneel down to investigate what is the matter. It isn't long before several brave souls go into the crooked alleyway. Several cries and screams later, only one of the four that entered comes staggering back out of the alleyway, blood dribbling down his chin. His mouth opening and closing, croaking noise coming from his mouth as he collapses to his knees. With a bone crunching thud, he lands on his face. Daxniss gets a remarkable view of the missing back of his head. The mans brain is missing, the only thing left in his skull is blood.

Argon sucks in his breathe as he dart away from the towering thing that held him in his gaze. The youth can feel the the rush of air that clipped the back of his neck hairs, from a missed claw swipe. Reaching his fleeing ears was the sound of stone be crushed underneath the the powerful blow. Argon's feet beat against the cobblestone as he tries to make it to the torchlight and salvation. There doesn't seem to be anyone in view, but Argon hasn't gotten out of the alleyway.

Daxniss looks up in time to catch the next drop of warm liquid right in the left eye. Sputtering and wiping her face clean, a drop ends up in her mouth. The thick, coppery taste of blood blossomed in her mouth. Clearing her eyes, and stepping to the side, Daxniss looks up once more. And wishes she had not. The skinless face looks back at her, a man's height above her. She can see the body was that of a woman. If Daxniss wants to know more she have to investigate a bit further. Will save vs Panic (DC 12)

Wrathe's plan had gone smoothly, right up until the small youth shifted his weight to lob the small stone. The shifting of his body turned out to be more than the rotten wood could handle. Part of Wrathe's mind filed that his throw was true and the stone bounced down the rat hole. The next thing that the boy realized is that he is on the floor, trying to remember how to get his lungs to work. Falling damage:1d6 ⇒ 4

Gravel voice's body language was definitely one of surprise. Another clue was the short curved blades that were in his hands. Wrathe was pretty sure he was wearing leather of some sort, dyed black. His features where hidden by a deep cloak hood and scarf. The old man looked down at Wrathe, his shaggy left eyebrow arched up to his hairline. His frail looking frame was wrapped up in nondescript tattered robes. Of note, a familiar looking large rat with blue eyes was on his right shoulder.

Crawling forward seems to go smoothly, breath stopping at the few creaks that the old wood let out in protest. While his weight is far from heavy, the old ceiling is almost struggling against anything more than a few rodents. From what Wrathe had noticed in his short time here, the old man's battered home was actually in good shape. For a home built within the Puddles district, that is.

The conversation appears to have continued while his attention was focused on moving silently across the old wood.

"There is the chance that they succeeded, and the outcome was not what was expected," says Gravel-voice. It didn't sound like he really believed what he had said.

"Don't be a fool. If it went cold after communication went dead, then they're dead," the old man says, voice sounding bitter.

A sudden creaking noise from underneath Wrathe grabbed all of the young humanoid's attention at once. The conversation below him stops suddenly.

Turning around, Argon's heart leaps into his throat at the sight that greats him. Perhaps over 7 feet tall, all to thin frame wrapped in tight, half rotten black leather. Claws the length of daggers, dripping with gore, where intentionally being scrapped against the stone wall. The alley seemed much more confined then it did when Argon entered it. Two burning pin pricks glowed where eyes should be, the rest of it's face was wrapped in leather strips the same as the rest of the body. It is clearly aware of you.

Argon can either attempt to run past it, or he can flee to his left or right. The left leads around the building and back into the torchlight and main street. The right leads further into the lightless maze of the alleyways.

Daxniss is hit in the head with another warm drop of heavy liquid.

Daxiness clings against the wall as the guards pass by, leaving the alley and moving into the flow of foot traffic. Peeking around the corner further into the alley way it appears to be empty. Still, the dripping noise was close by. And there was the little mystery of why the guards where in the alley way to begin with. From what she has seen in the last tenday, they were probably being bribed. Perhaps there was some coin the fallen upon the wet ground. A thick drop of water hits the top of her head with enough force to startle the young thief.

Wrathe can make out bits of what is actually a conversation. The old man and someone with a gravel filled voice are talking.

" you mean there gone?!" he catches the old mans voice.

"Unprepared for the trails....think they...and eaten," comes bits and pieces from gravel voice.

"So...sent them...into...Idiots."

"...humbly asks for.... expertise... locating new recruits."

There seems to be a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I... find replacements...for... cause." grumbles the old man.

The sound of two people moving reaches Wrathe's ears. It seems they were moving into another room, shutting the door to the living room. If he wants to follow the conversation, he would have to risk moving across the roof. All he can make out was that there conversation continues in the new room.

Before the echoes of the fallen bell have finished bouncing off the walls of the surrounding building, a cry goes up from the vandalized church. His prank with the bell had gone off fairly well, aside for the appearance of the acolyte. Argon can barely catch the cries of "Murder!" and cries for the guard as he flees. Lanky legs carry the boy away towards a wall to food and freedom. At least so he hopes.

Hidden within his hole in the old man's roof, Wrathe eventually nods off. Watching an old man drink a cup of tea and stare into the fire was not the stimulating sight. A pounding noise startled the beaten youth in to full wakefulness. The faint light of a candle creeps up through the small hole. The grumbling old man is briefly seen and the sound of the door being unlatched comes a few moments later. A muffled conversation takes place, Wrathe would have to strain to hear what speak about, but it has the tone of being something serious.

Wrathe make a perception check if you want to listen in.

Glancing across from where he lays, Wrathe catches sight of a large rat staring at him. It's bright blue eyes stare unblinkingly at the boy. The thought of fresh meat is a tempting one, but it would require him to move, risking the chance of being heard. Before he can commit to action, the big grey rat turns and scurries into a rat hole leading into the houses wall.

Several blocks before reaching the wall gives Argon a view of what he faces. Bonfires where set up on the wall, keeping shadows at bay, Guards keep watching pacing the distance. Being so close to the Umbral Lands, the Guard took no chances with some horror creeping into the city. Trying to sneak over the wall was starting to look like not so good idea. Argon hears the sound of metal scrapping slightly against stone behind him.

Daxniss happens to find herself standing in the mouth of a narrow, crooked alleyway. She had been walking past and was bumped into, narrowly avoiding the backhand sent out by one of several guards. The three guards were walking out of the alley, laughing about something. There is the faint sound of something dripping finds her ears from further down the alleyway, round the narrow corner.

Sounds like it's time for inner party banter for a time stall :P

It's too bad that you won't have a chance to hear the rest of the tale. The story had become popular lately, although if you had the time, you would find it odd that you still haven't heard the end of the tale. Survival has been the first, second, and third thing filling your young mind. Pausing a goodly distance away from where you had been chased off while scrounging to catch your breathe, the stench of the Docks refreshes itself in your nostrils.

The sun was beginning to sink, not quite at the horizon, bathing the buildings in its warm, golden glow. The sight would do wonders to inspire an artist to create something wonderful. You've learned in the short time on your own that there was nothing warm about the light. It made it so much easier to pick out what made you different from the Chosen Ones. The Humans. The Rulers. Masters of all they could get their filthy hands upon.

The memory of the first few days was burnt into your brains, it had be "Goblin-Burning" day. Packs of goblin young had been released to be hunted down. And at the end of the day, they tossed the young onto a bonfire. The whole day is met with great cheer and merriment, lots of feasting and drinking, a great day. If you where human that is. Nonhumans are wise to hide on the day, its not unknown for "accidents" to happen.

As the light is beginning to fade, thoughts of finding a new shelter take place. Your last had been taken over by a few homeless humans that are bigger than you. Meaning its better than to run then try to fight over a few planks of wood leaning against a wall. Night itself didn't really cause much reason for concern. Well, at least the lack of light anyway. The predators, both two and four legged were much worrisome.

Most of the buildings in the docks are close together, creating tight alleyways, filled with refuse and dripping with shadows. Housing space was tight in the Dock ward, forcing buildings to be several stories in most areas that weren't dominated by massive warehouses. Looking up, you can't help but feel the pointed roofs almost look like claws reaching for the sky, trying to gut the clouds.

There are a few different places that you can attempt to find a new hide. You could try to find a new place in the Dock ward. There is also the place known as the Puddles and then there is the known as the Precipice. Both the Puddles and Precipice wards had been hit by a earthquake years back. Mages where still cursed for the disaster. The Puddles had sunk, and the once nice cliff side area became bay front property. Over half of the ward had snapped off and fell into the hungry depths. All three of the wards had their own unique opportunities and dangers.

Alright folks, at this point, feel free to post. Throw in a description of yourself in all your orphaned glory. Each of the characters have been alone in the city for about a ten day. All alone (Mwahahahaha!!!) in the lovely city of Caern. Your existence has been pretty s$*!ty, and yet, still you haven't given up the desire to survive. You haven't met each other, and have no idea of the others existence. Yet, anyway.

Sorry about the late post guys :)

Happy 4th!

Now, onto gaming matters.

So, Grendel's thoughts are on helping the paladin, hitting her with Endure Elements / Energy Resistance and snagging a couple of holy items and bam! we have another ally in our quest to close the portal!

Of course, he doesn't know that it is the paladin, and just thinks it's some Cal knows, or soomebody with information.


1 person marked this as a favorite.

Everybody have a great 4th of July!

Even if your not in the States, have an awesome weekend :P

I love it when I forget to hit save after leveling up and vamping out and close the Myth-Weaver sheet.

Oh, and Ry'klead has Rope Trick to cover our Extra-dimensional nappy times.

Volcanic Storm, a spell I've always wanted to use, over several character and haven't had the opportunity :)

its fun!

Hey Philo, here is the link to Ry'klead

Should have the alias page finished tonight.

I just have to finish buying equipment and backstory and I'll be all set. Well, after I transfer my sheet from Myth-Weavers to a Paizo alias :)

Gotcha, so use the original Half-Blood from the book, minus the Growing of New Symbionts and add +2 to any single attribute. Just to double check, the 4 gestalt levels are still in play, correct? Also, is the favored class fixed on Rogue, or is it open, similar to humans?

And, Hello! to everybody else :)

I'm planning on playing a Daelkyr Half-Blood, of the fighter/probably-sorcerer nature.

Philo, I noticed that the RP points for the Daeklyr Half-Blood are 15 according to the Eberron Pathfinder conversion site. Did you want me to drop the 4 gestalt levels to balance the 4 RP points over?

Hey Philo, I'm still interested in joining. I just have to familiarize myself with Eberron once more. It's been more than a few years since I played it :)

I should have an outline and backstory for you later tonight.

Yeah, number 2 would be right. Its not like there going to suddenly forget that Dandelion isn't able to hear.

Personally, I'm wondering if Cure Blindness/Deafness is going to solve this little issue for us :)

On that note, I should check to see if druids get that spell, or if it's just clerics :P

As far as the riddle goes, I could only think of "in the dark" for an answer, how about you guys?

Lol, those pesky Daelkyr just get into all sorts of people's bloodlines.

I have a few other options rather than going on "Highlander" on the Daelkyr Half-Blood. Unless your cool with multiple half-blooded Daelkyr, Philo :) (There not all nuts. Okay, I might be wrong about that :P )

oooo.... Daelkyr half-bloods and symbiotic life forms... hehehehehehe....

I'm very interested :)

Considering he had no idea that we were using the underwater passage, no, he hasn't provided anybody with Waterbreathing. I thought the hidden passage was the way into Stormhold, not Muaem.

"It's a headache, not a tumor!"

"You got a tumor!"

lol, nothing like a roomful of 5 years to wipe out any tough cop.

And moved Nagrish's info to an actual visible spot on Grendel's sheet.

I put Nagrish's info under private notes on Grendel's character sheet. Still have to finish it up a little.

You only have to concentrate to bring down the bolts from Call Lightning, plus the bolts are doing 3d10 due to weather conditions, (standard action concentration check), and he tried to move back on the defensive.

Dare I ask what the d100's are for?

i just need to pick what spells Grendel has in his melon, other than that he should be all leveled up and spiffy. Ready for the next chewing by undead creature!

There's an initiative penalty for being deaf? I guess if you couldn't see it coming that makes sense, but seems like it would be a dependent on the situation.

Oh, no worries, I forgot about the no rolling when I was feat hunting. Just need to switch out a feat :)

ebil, ebola chains, totally.


Pretty much leveled up, just need to figure out spells.

Oh, concerning Hero Points, do we get one a level, max of 3, correct?

And final question, are we using the mana pool system?

Sorry I didn't post this weekend. I think I was sick, because all I did was sleep, not exactly how I wanted to spend my days off. Tried to post Sunday, but the site was down when I checked on my phone, and then it wouldn't let me log on from my desktop. So I'm guessing I was trying to check when they were updating. I have awesome timing like that :P

Sorry about the late post, my phone wasn't connecting to the website.

Been killing those heal checks :P

Dandelions wrote:

Bad Cthulhu!

I can't help myself :)

Sorry about guys, I was trying to get that post out last night so that EJB would have a chance to respond before he passed out. Obviously, that didn't quite go according to my plan. My bad :P

Sorry about the late post :)

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