Vilya the Taker's page

The group so far, things could change so sit tight everyone!

Artemis
Orelan
Larkspring
Triska

Any spots left?

Any spots left?

"Hey, look at that guy. He's drunk, and he's got a funny hat."

Durnan keeps the drinks coming to the table and hands Toranaga a vial of blue liquid and says This is on the house! Andros should be here soon so go ahead and relax and order some food if you wish. He moves away from the group around the new comer and goes back to the bar.

"Don't drink it. It's probably poison."

Vilya sticks her long, black tongue out at the newcomer.

"Perhaps we should head back to the surface for now. Regroup, eat, and give respect to our fallen comrade. A mighty warrior such as Dron deserves no less."

"Yes. Dibs on his gear."

Updated.

Vilya points at her fallen compatriots with her sword.

"I say leave them and take their stuff. Who's with me."

By the way, Vilya in battle looks something like this.

"Tentacle this!"

Short sword: 18 + 1 -2 = 17; damage: 1d6 + 1 = 7
Handaxe: 5 + 1 - 2 = 4. Damn, that handaxe sucks.

Vilya's teflon sword gets a 22 on its reflex save.

Attack 1 (short sword): 19; confirm threat: 18 + 1 - 2 = 17; damage: 2d6 + 1 = 11
Attack 2 (handaxe): 4 - 2 + 1 = 3

Vilya pounces on the indescribable, tentacled thing. Her first strike digs deep into a tentacle, but her follow-up swing misses by a wide margin.

"What is this THING?"

Init: I GOT A 4. + 3 = 7

Vilya is quite distracted by something shiny on the floor.

Vilya giggles, pointing to the mirrors.

"Look, they're all broken. Shame. The faces are all smiling."

Her voice drips with sarcasm.

Vilya rubs her cheek against the stone wall, running her fingers over each brick and block. She grins happily.

What's Our Marching Order? Mog should not be up front.

"Dron, would you say a few words for the departed?"

Toranaga whispers to Dron and out of the earshot of Mog, "Check if the goblin is really dead."

By the way, have we recruited an arcane caster?

Vilya's in front.

Vilya in the back ground can be heard cursing under her breath when she hears the noise in her direction.

"Khot kol nai golov tesh..."

Move Silently: 12 + 3 = 15

Vilya begins to tiptoe down the steps.

Vilya creeps along the hallway, stopping at the staircase. Pulling a coil of rope from her belt pouch, she ties one of the goblin's rusty, broken weapons to the end. Vilya swings the rope in a lazy circle, tossing it down the staircase. Tugging slowly, she bounces it on every step from the bottom up.

The rope is thirty feet long. Just FYI. Dex check (if needed): 14 + 3 = 17

"Oh, he was just too dumb to get out of the way..."

Vilya continues to mumble and cackle to herself as she rummages through the belongings of the goblin she killed.

Vilya springs from the shadows like a hunting cat, her kukri and short sword scything out from either side.

Attack 1 (kukri): 4 + 1 = 5; Attack 2 (short sword): 17 + 1 = 18; damage: 1d6 + 1 = 5

She pounces on one of the charging goblins. The long, curved knife in her left hand goes wide, but her leading weapon digs into the goblin's warty flesh in a spray of blood.

Initiative: 11 + 3 = 14; hide: 13 + 3 = 16

I'm still here. Don't know what's going on, either.

Vilya grins ear to ear, ducking into the shadows, ready to nab the next of the small creatures to attack.

Vilya lights her torch, waving it in Dron's face and giggling. Her jet-black eyes glimmer like jewels in the firelight.

"Ha ha... Vilya has a torch and she is first!"

"I will. Because I am invincible. I can't be vinced."

Yoshi Toranaga wrote:

Toranaga takes some of the food and torches, a vial of the healing potion and the ring.

"Vilya, quit grabbing my hand. I know you're a beautiful girl and all and I am me. But I am not the marrying type."

"Rar."

Vilya lets go of the shiny object. She can't help herself sometimes.

The bag contents:
1) enough food for each of you for three days
2) three vials of healing
3) two sets of bracers
4) a wand
5) a ring
6) a dagger
7) a quarrel of arrows
8) five torches
9) a climbers kit
10) a master work set of rogues tools

Vilya's face lights up at the sight of all of the free supplies.

"You are most gracious hosts!"

She begins to snatch up all that could possibly be of use, including the remaining healing potion, one set of bracers, the ring, the dagger, and the rogue's tools.

After shoving most of the items into her belt pouch, she bows, still grinning.

"When do we begin?"

"Who said anything about gambling? You can have my stablehand when I'm done with him, Vilya."

"After you're done with him? No thank you."

"I'm going to get some sleep. Alcohol and gambling are for losers."

"On second thought, I recall Kraeg was just given one."

That's what I get for having such a low Wisdom score.

"Nice one, smarts. Hehee..."

"If we get home."

"What a jerk. Why does he not just send all of us back. We must Do Something For Him, first. Vilya does not like this. Is ...arrogant."

"Yes, I am a pretty lady. I like you. That doesn't mean I trust you."

Vilya takes a thin crystal flute of water from the tray, not daring to drink it.

"Vorov a manedny... Why do all of these magic people have to give themselves big names? They are not important as they say. ... He is dead, yes?"

Your attempt to put your feet up on the desk falls short so to speak.

Rollo turns to you after greeting Toranaga and says..You are in the City of Waterdeep which is on the continent of Faerun which is located on the world we call Toril, master dwarf...

Vilya steps from the shadows, moving around to the side of Rollo's desk. She leans forward, placing her hands on the desk's surface, her face close to that of the pale elf.

"Ha. Is a funny joke, really. But now, Vilya is playing serious. Where in Golarion are we, and how do we get back home?"

Vilya stands in the shadows, sulking.

"Ok. That that's been settled. Shall we go in? Wouldn't want to keep our 'host' waiting... that would just be plain bad manners."

"Fine then. Let's go."

Vilya the Taker wrote:

"It was a rhetorical question. And right now, I could insinuate that your height is directly proportional to another of your physical attributes, but I won't. Because I'm a nice lady."

"You've got me there. Certain physical attributes of mine are nearly as long as I am tall."

"You're impossible."

Vilya scowls, cracking her knuckles.

"What's the fun of arguing when you don't win?"

Kraeg's mouth stretches in a wide, toothy smile.

"You must be slippin', lass. My insinuation was quite clear."

"It was a rhetorical question. And right now, I could insinuate that your height is directly proportional to another of your physical attributes, but I won't. Because I'm a nice lady."

Vilya the Taker wrote:

Vilya speaks her mind. As usual.

"She's not normal. I don't like her."

The dwarf snorts. "If we used 'normal' as a bench-mark, you'd still be back in Varisia," he says in a light-hearted and playful tone, he seems to enjoy giving Vilya a hard time.

"What are you insinuating, stubby?"

Sarcasm works both ways.

Vilya speaks her mind. As usual.

"She's not normal. I don't like her."

"I say we go. If it's some sort of ... ambush, we're equipped. At least, I am."

"Ah, a gift for Vilya."

She snatches the envelope from the table, opening it.

Vilya stares at the man. Her long-fingered hands rest on the handles of her 'heavier' weapons - a short sword and a small, wicked-looking tomahawk.

"I don't like it."

As you finish up with your meal and the wenches takes away your empty platters, a stranger appears entering the door looking around as if seeking someone. He is wearing dark clothing and the hood of his cloak is pulled up covering most of his head. He spots your group at the table and makes his way over, looking each of you over one by one he finally speaks. I am here to guide you to my boss who seeks an audiance with you...

"Oooh. And who would your 'boss' be, exactly?"

The Taker sips demurely from her beaker of ale.

"Not my problem..."

And then its when in the turbulent FR history we are? Its a bit like Star Trek this. Who's wearing red?

...

S!#&.

Vilya scans the room furtively. She mumbles to herself quietly.

"They don't even know where they are, and they've already started drinking. Typical."

Markedly ill at ease, Vilya follows.

Vilya looks from the guard to the half-orc, then back to the guard.

"Huh."

Thank you, Malcolm Reynolds...