Fate comes to with The Good Doctor hovering over her. "Ugh...good vork, Herr Doktor. Your loyalty to Fate has been noted." She notices the body of her foe, skull crushed in by Crystal's mace. Fate jumps up to standing and starts dusting off her cape and armor. "Excellent vork dispatching the foe, ladies and gentlemen."
The priestess laughs off the comment by Victor, amused. "I make no secret of my desire to sit the throne. However, I am more than willing to share power. If I seem...overly possessive, I am merely speculating that I am the only one of us, besides possibly Fate, that truly would like to actually RULE this city. You would use it as a means of acquiring your undead army. The Doc there would like an endless supply of...experiments and patients. Sarcon would like to do as he pleases and be showered in gold pried from the fingers of the masses. Do you deny my logic?"
”You do me dishonor, Lady Shalhoume; I would not merely gather an army. Doing so would make us a target of Taldor, Andoran and perhaps even those pompous self-righteous elves. It would be most unwise; rather I would use this as a staging point for my employer’s future operations.
Victor holds his hand over his brow, shielding his eyes with his cupped hand; “Oh, behold. I think I see the town in the horizon.”
She bows her head slightly before sitting upright again. "Please accept my apology for my mistake on your ambitions, but the meat of my context still stands. As long as your employer, and by extension you, can do their work here, I doubt you care what goes on in The City. So long as taxes finance your endeavors, and you are given freedom to perform your work, that is."
Crystal sighs as she spies the town in the distance. It had been an exciting day, but she was looking forward to relaxing.
Victor seems practically astonished for an instant, his otherwise composed expression shifting into a grimace of bewilderment. But then without a transparent cause, his eyes flashes up in a flicker of amusement and he answers: “I suppose that you are right, I would merely content myself with the pouring in taxes and appoint some manner of steward to oversee the daily doings. As you might or might not be aware, my employers serve a single cause; the freedom of a single being. A being so splendid, so perfect that the mind cannot understand his magnitude.”
Crystal flicks her blue eyes over to Victor, indifference apparent in her stare. She served Asmodeus, whose perfect doctrine for the multiverse had been shattered by his arrogant brother. Any other beings were of no consequence to her.
She pulls up, looking around. "I guess we're back, everyone. That was quite an adventure, with quite a payoff, as well. Who shall be wanting this fine cloak?"
The blonde turns to the doctor, pulling out 25 gold of her portion of their 'earnings'. "If possible, I would like to commission a potion that will distort my form, making my enemies increasingly likely to miss me." Potion of Blur.
“I must admit that the piece in question is uninteresting, you can quarrel over it. I, for one, will locate a warm basin and tend to my aching feet. If you should desire to visit me over the coming week then I suggest that you either find me in my home or find the nearest social gathering. And please, if you do visit me. Find something a bit more…. fine to wear.“ Victor Von Ravenport gives Crystal a deep bow before heading off towards his home.
Within an hour his feet could be found within a tepid bowl of water and Victor could be seen writing hastily on a yellowed piece of paper, if a viewer was to behold his words then he would surely have been puzzled by what he read for it is clearly written in some manner of clandestine language. Symbols seemingly without rime or reason would dot every line and ever page. If we were to skip forward yet another hour than this very same letter could be found in the possession of a filthy gutter rat, a few minutes later it could be found in the brief of a respectable gentleman in Varisia.
A chain was set in motion and soon it would be heading in the direction of the Immortal Principality of Ustalav; to be exact; to the region of Virlych and the dark tower that continues to contain the darkest lord that have ever ruled in these lands.
Bluff: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11
Victor's week is spent at the local high society, he gathers information and spreads a few lies to a select few individuals. The weak willed, the covering, those that can be corrupted. After each day he writes a correct and rather detailed letter and after the week has passed he receives a small envelope of coins from his distinguished employer.
|The Good Doc|
Doc was silent most of the way home, engrossed in visualizing what he needed to do. When Crystal offers him 25gp and asks for a form of distortion he takes the money and agrees.
I will have to do some reserch but yes, I believe I can create something that will benefit you. I am just suprised the lovely Crystal woukd ask for something to hide that beauty.
blur is a lvl 2 extract so the cost will be higher, but I will bill you for the extra afterwards :)
So iI a just figuring out exactly what I can do/not do in regards to crafting and will get everything for this "week" figured out in the next few posts.
Let's just make it a Cure Light potion...for some reason my brain wasn't working. LOL
Profession (Courtesan): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Crystal spends her week wining and dining with the movers and shakers of The City, the men paying well to show off a lovely young piece of eye candy to their fellows. While she smiles and waves and puts up with the ogling eyes of older men, Crystal makes note of which of them wields real influence, and which are pretenders.
As she moves from party to party and man (and occasional woman, Crystal was not discriminating) to man, the priestess listens out for tales concerning the surrounding areas, asking polite 'dim-witted' questions about the tales. She pays particularly close attention to the stories of magical armor. Her deep blue eyes glint with excitement, like the expensive jewelry she wears, as she hears a particularly juicy tidbit.
Diplomacy for loot-generating: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Victor, ever witty as he is, remains in a cluster of the more scholastic-minded individuals, regaling them with tales from abroad and the most peculiar pieces of lore. He goes in great details about the wondrous phenomena that are the fairy dragons and how they tend to disturb the restful tranquillity of upstanding dignitaries.
As time passes he feigns a need to step off to tend to nature’s call and passes by Crystal, he appears to trip rather clumsily and presses a small folded up lap of paper into her hand. “Pardon, my Lady. I might have enjoyed a bit too much of our host’s good wine.” He inclines his head towards her apologetically before moving into the depths of the hall, only to return within a moment or two, looking refreshed and rested.
Crystal spies Victor as he shuffles towards her, a smirk on her face. In this element, she appears much different, almost unrecognizable. Her hair is artfully done, pale curls hanging tastefully to the each side from a neat stack of hair set with a bejeweled comb. Her lips are a deep red color, and fine coating of light blue powder covers her eyelids, accentuating her eyes. Pale cheeks have a red glow artificially added, and her ears and fingers are bedecked with semi-precious gems. She wears an expensive gown of high quality, the cut of the material accentuating her fit physique, highlighting her curves, hinting at what lays beneath without brazenly flaunting it.
In short, she appears very feminine and quite pretty, a sharp contrast to the priestess Victor just traveled with days before. Even more apparent, she knows it and can be seen enjoying the attention.
"Quite alright, good sir. Our host is too generous with his bounty, surely." She drawls out, humor lighting up her eyes as he shuffles away. She tucks the note away for future perusal.
|Sarcon the Enduring|
|The Good Doc|
this post is for filler and fun:)
Doc had planned to head to his clinic but inatead found himself outside his home.
Sighing (wait, Doc doesnt breathe) groaning he resigns himself to head inside for some relaxation, light experemintation and finally to shuffle off the mortal coil, so to speak.
Insise he pours himself a cup of wine Hmmmm. We never had that celebratory bottle. Ah well. I will bring it for our next excursion.
Sitting in his comphy chair by the fire he begins to write a list.
[b]*research abjurcation elixir for Crystal.
*continue research project for envigorated potions. cant believe i forgot to get the crafters fortune extract :S
*restock healers kit.
**sac of flour.
**map of the outlying area.
**Curative Elixirs potion of CLW
*Remind Sarcon to come back into my clinic to further patch him up.
Afterwards, Doc retreats downward into his basement, past the secret door to his underground labratory and torture chamber and to the musty cellar. Inside is a pool of stagnant water, and at the bottom is a submerged coffin. Climbing into the water, and sitting in the coffin, the man known as Doc exhales. He then takes his last breath before sinking below the surface...
Fate attends to the affairs of her estate back in Barstoi via mail and magical communication, focusing on the staff this week. She confers with various loyal subjects, all of which are spying on one another, and attempts to glean from the wealth of back-biting and politicking which subjects have performed well in her absence. She orders the punishment of incompetent servants and peasants and rewards those that show the proper degree of reverence, obedience, and competence to serve Fate.
Profession (Benevolent Dictator): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
In the evenings, she heads out to the back-alley bookstores and basement libraries of The City, where occult mysteries and whispers of the Dark Tapestry tend to congregate. She travels with her mask, cloak, and tunic, but she leaves her armor so as to not attract as much notice. Especially after being put to sleep by that last foe and left at the mercy of her fellow villains, Fate wishes to find methods to protect herself against mental attacks in the future.
Diplomacy for Loot-Generation: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28
|Sarcon the Enduring|
Sarcon's customers don't have anything really interesting to tell him.
Diplomacy for loot: 1d20 ⇒ 8
He does however get info on a hat maker that may be usefull
craft (tattoo): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
Had Victor not heard of a magical piece of armor recently?
Knowledge(Local): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (10) + 10 = 20
"Aha! I do recall hearing about that enchanted piece. But where exactly was it again?"
Knowledge(Geo): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22
"Indeed, indeed. I think I know where it roughly is."
|Sarcon the Enduring|
While wondering and probing his mind for such information, Victor soon found himself back at the burnt out fire they had all started out at. After a bit of wrestling with a wooden stump; certainly not made easier by his frail stature and lacking strength; he had made himself a somewhat comfortable seat near the edge of the ashes, just close enough to keep warm. He raised his eyes to the darkening sky while he gathered dried leaves and twigs for the new hearth. Soon he could be found besides a roaring fire, looking worn, exhausted and just perhaps a tidbit too proud of himself.
“Where in the name of the Nine Layers of Hell are the rest, Sarcon? This is the correct hour, is it not?”
I assume that you are with me, seeing as you are responding to my pondering.
Crystal's blue eyes shine as the flickering flames in the sacrificial firepit burn brightly before her. This week there had been no sacrifice, unfortunately. Prudence demanded that she keep such activities discrete, for now, and a steady disappearance of the affluent would surely garner attention she did not crave at the moment. She removes her jewels and dress, feeling the heat caress her bare skin, the sweat beading before gravity pulled it inevitably downward. She prostrates herself, offering praise to the Prince of Darkness.
Roughly an hour later she rises, nearly dehydrated. She has some water, then bathes quickly before donning her vestments and armor. Gathering the remainder of her adventuring gear, she saddles her horse and rides the short distance to the firepit, finding the half-orc and necromancer have already arrived. She dismounts, whispering "stay" to the horse before joining them.
"Greetings, my fine fellows. A gorgeous night, is it not?" She looks much different than when Victor last saw her. Gone are the make-up and jewels, and the hair is tied back in a simple tail. She still is pretty, but gone is the feminine doll from a few nights previous.
|Sarcon the Enduring|
"It is a lovely night, however I miss the lullaby that the interrogation building provides my home."
Sarcon remembers the lovely tenor that was performing last night. He is eager to get started, hopeful that he wont miss the next performance.
Abandoned, Haunted, Mysterious, Little Known: 1d4 ⇒ 2
Cave, Dungeon, Temple, Village, Tower, Peak: 1d6 ⇒ 4
Lone, Group of, Tribe of: 1d3 ⇒ 2
Madman, Cultist, Primitive, Monster: 1d4 ⇒ 2
4d6 ⇒ (6, 3, 2, 6) = 17
After a week of questionable and profitable work, the party gathers 'round the fire once more. This time, the topic of armor comes up, and is generally agreed upon as an important investment for one seeking to claim the throne of Finders' Keep. Victor shares his knowledge of a haunted village South of town where a group of cultists is said to reside. Although the tales are all cautionary with grisly and gruesome endings, it is common knowledge that beyond the dangers of this village there lies a precious treasure of magical armor, though the details of such are unclear.
Victor Von Ravenport makes sure to seat Crystal beside himself, his clothing having changed from his usual academic attire to a more practical, and in the same manner, low quality clothing. His garb’s framework is little more than sackcloth; it has seemingly been reinforced and repaired many times over. Having grown exhausted by the constant struggle with his robe in the thick undergrowth and not desiring having to fight to release his flaps from nauseating branches and thorny bushes.
The outfit consists of a loose blouse, a Phrygian cap and a piece of loose-fitting breeches. A coat of wool covers his unfastened shirt alongside a vest, making his entire seem composure seem far less respectable than it usually is.
The campfire’s cackling flares light up his silhouette and he seems to be nipping at a steaming wooden bowl of chicken stew with a fork. Nodding as Crystal addresses him, he sets the bowl aside on the ground and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief that he drew from his jacket.
“My deepest thanks for your compliments, however, I fear that they are unbased. Only a fool would not have picked up few stray pieces of trivia. Which reminds me; I don’t assume your horse can carry two bodies on the way there this time? My feet are still as sore as Hell’s first layer.”
|Sarcon the Enduring|
Sarcon sits across the fire from Victor and Crystal, pulling a couple sandwiches from his sac he bites into one, grimisis at the taste, and tosses it into a neighboring fire. He reaches back into his bag and pulls out a map, crossing off a building he mumbles to himself.
"What are they feeding orphans nowadays, that was just awfull."
Her eyebrow arches in amusement, blue eyes glint with stifled mirth as she replies, "I'm afraid my poor horse couldn't bear the weight, my dear sir. Perhaps you should take some of your new-found wealth and invest in one of your own."
Her nose wrinkles in distaste at Sarcon's comment, but she is wise and prudent enough to say nothing. Her own...activities certainly wouldn't be any more favorably viewed.
|The Good Doc|
Doc is going to be having a busy week, and i have to write everything! His week will look like this:
1. Do shoping, 2. Craft stuff, 3. Day job with the left over time, 4. Meet up with the others.
I might write things out of order but thats how it will go.
Also, i must apologise. This last week has been incredibly stressful and posting in pathfinder has suffered.
Rising early Monday morning Doc sets out, intent on getting the items on his list. First je heads to the baker and purchases a small sac of flour (2cp, 1lb). He then hunts around until he finds a small shop containing what he is looking for, an old map of the City! And its surrounding area (Mwk tool. K. Local. 50gp, 2lb) and a piece of parchment containing the last secret needed for his extract of envigorated potions (extract of crafters fortune. 10gp).
After hunting around to no avail to find a sutable abjuration for Crystal he gives up and heads for home.
|The Good Doc|
Once at home, he heads down into his basement and stops halfway down the hallway, next to a certain flower decal on the wall. Pressing in the topmost pedal reveals a hidden door, inside resides his sinister labratory and torture room.
Inside he begins working on his next craft.
Craft potion of CLW (DC 7): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29
I created 1 potion of CLW. Cost 25gp, 2 hours.
Craft potion of CLW (DC 7): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (20) + 12 = 32
I created a second potion of CLW. Cost 25gp, 2 hours.
I think i did that right. Now to try my hand at a spider sac...
I drink an extract of crafters fortune, then attempt to create an accelerated Spider Sac.
Craft Spider Sac (DC 30): 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (2) + 17 = 19
Result of 34x30=1020.
So i complete it 3.4 times faster than 1/week... So that means it took me 2 days to finish...
I pay 10gp and have spent 2.5 work days so far...
Mundane crafting is complex! I dont think i am going to craft anything mundane anymore
Finally, i spend the rest of the time doing a day job (1/2 of a week)
Amputating arms...: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11
18gp/2=9gp gained from working this week!
Gained: 2 potions of CLW, 1 Spider Sac, 1lb of flour, extract of Crafters Fortune, Mwk tools (K. Local)
Phew. That was about as hard as i expected. Now i can meet up with the rest of the crew and continue on with the weekend :)
That will be in the next post tho...
Edit: The last 2 numbers changed on me.... Originally i rolled a 17 and a 9. Why it did that, i have no idea. But i really dont want to re-do all that so i am just going to say i fudged the rolls, just this time...Are you ok with that?
|The Good Doc|
Using a sizable chunk of his wealth Dock will bring along more of his "Sergeons Attire"
I am going to spend 150gp for the privilage to take my Doctors Outfit out of my clinic (and combine it with my leather hide, so i am just wearing the one item)
Grimancing as he finishes up his patent. He had an emergency surgery to attend to and it was causing him to run late.
Hmmm. Late. I hate running late. All too often speed is the deciding factor on wether someone lives or dies. I will have no time to change out of my surgeons wear today.
After finishing up with his emergency surgery, Doc collects up his tools and heads out at a brisk pace to the tavern they had all met at earlier, and were meant to meet at again tonight.
Upon ariving and apologizing to the pub owner Apologies for my appearance, there was an emergency surgery. Poor Phillip had called me up complaining of a bad toothache. He chap had contacted gingivitis in his gums. The only option was to remove his lower jaw! Still. He will survive as a result now.
After excusing himself, he heads over to the group, he is wearing a blood splattered white smock and blood red gloves that almost seem to be dripping...
Apologies for my tardiness, i had to attent to an emergency surgery for poor Phillip the Pastor. I fear he may not be giving any sermons anymore. Such a pity. I see everyone is here except Fate? Now what might be our planned excursion for the morning? I fear I have not had any oppertunity to ferret out any leads this past week.
Doc then retrieves a bottle of ale and hands it around the group, a red handprint on the side....
And an extra potion to Crystal Potion of CLW
Crystal prudently ignores the bottle of ale, reaching eagerly for the potion instead. "You have my gratitude, Doctor. I trust your work goes well?"
The priestess paces impatiently. That other woman, Fate, liked to make an entrance, and made it a point to keep them waiting. She could foresee the inevitable clash of wills at some point. Regardless, she made a fine ally and another target for enemies to shoot at, so she would hold her tongue, for now.
With a small apologetic smile Victor rejects the ale decanter, but not before wiping off the blemishes with his already discolored handkerchief. Already knowing a bit about his “chums”, he doesn’t seem to eager to accept any liquid from the Good Doctor but, nonetheless, he does send the flask onwards to Sarcon without any complaints.
"With the exception of our overly dramatic Fate, it seems we are all gathered. Shall we expend a bit of time by seeing if we have learned anything that might aid or hinder our future plans? I fear that I have been sharing tales from abroad with the local gentry, but it doesn't seem as if they know anything concerning the Keep itself."
He remains seated on the stump, lazily watching Crystal pacing back and forth as he once more picks at his bowl of chicken.
Boots clank against the ground, louder than usual, as if their owner was intentionally stepping heavily to enhance the sound. "'Overly dramatic? The people see power in drama. They vould rather see grand movements than see the truth. It is a tool like any other." She folds her arms. A hand made of force--clearly a Mage Hand--picks up one of Victor's pieces of chicken and deposits it in Fate's mouth, her arms unmoving. A few awkward moments pass while she chews and swallows before speaking again. "Fate vould be lying to say she does not enjoy such tools, however."
|Sarcon the Enduring|
"Woohoo! Pre fight drinks!"
Sarcon drains the bottle before tossing it at a random person. He notices fate has arrived with her usual air.
"At last, the moody one has arrived. Vic knows where we can find some armor, and I happen to be familier with the area. That's the plan"
Sarcon waits to see if anyone was offended by the throwing of the bottle.
Victor seems a bit distressed as an enigmatic hand steals his food, his nose wrinkling slightly as he beholds Fate’s action. For a moment he seems as if he might retaliate, however, he breaks into a chuckle: “You /are/ certainly prone to taking theatrical actions, Miss Fate.” Without further comments he pats his hands together, using his now bloodstained and greasy handkerchief to clean off his hands. With a quick waft of his hand, he throws the bowl, the remaining chicken and his former handkerchief into the fire with little caution. The stench of burnt flesh quickly spreads around the campfire.
With great trouble he rises from his improvised chair, groaning as his back jolts by the sudden movement. “Sit equitum” His lips barely move as he speaks and his finger wiggling seems to be precise and clearly something that has been done a thousand times before. In the edge of the campfire’s illumination, another light steed seems to be drawn from the darkness itself. The horse is as dark as the night, has already been saddled and instantly heeds the whistle of its elderly master.
Victor’s decript and withered form sluggishly move up on the saddle, his body aching in torment as he moves. After a while, he finally finds himself unsteadily on the horse. He seems to wobble back and forth. “Damned… Could somebody hold this infernal beast’s reins for me?”
|Sarcon the Enduring|
Victor, still quite unsteady in his seat, clings desperately to his steed only barely managing to stammer out: "You can ride this one, for free. As long as you do not take all the space: I need at least a plot of horse to stay on."
I hope your ride check is better than mine.
Crystal watches the unfolding events with a bit of humor. With Fate's arrival, her impatience is gone, and excitement once again creeps through. Cultists seemed like reasonable folks, and possible future subjects? This campaign was full of promise.
The party has no trouble finding the location, arriving just a couple of hours past lunch. In what amounts to a vast but shallow sink-hole, a small village of straw huts surrounds a central hall of tanned leather stretched over jagged bone. Based on the holy symbol emblazoned on the hall, Crystal easily recognizes the village as followers of Asmodeus. Villagers can be seen about, milling around and tending to daily duties of living beyond civilization. They seem generally unperturbed by the small band of adventurers at the top of the hill as they ride the trail towards the village.
|Sarcon the Enduring|
Crystal grins in reply, almost beaming at her good fortune. "We shall see..." She dismounts as they approach the village, firmly telling the horse "heel!"
She prominently displays her holy symbol over her vestments as she walks into town, hopefully with her fellows beside her.
|Sarcon the Enduring|
"Ah, welcome wagon!"
Sarcon says has he moves between the robed man and Crystal, not enough to block conversation, but enough to be in the way if fighting starts.
"Are you in a hurry sir? Or may we take some of your time?"
Sarcon asks as he looks the man over, looking for any obvious sights of weapons, and trying to see what the man was reaching for.
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
Crystal's eyes narrow slightly as she tries to follow the man's hand. No real problem if he was reaching for a weapon, she just liked to know if people she was conversing with could potentially stab her.
Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
"I am glad to have come to your village, sir. Followers of the Great Asmodeus are sometimes hard to find. We seek to spread the worship of the Prince of Darkness to the surrounding lands, and we seek a treasured item rumored to be close by to aid us in our cause. Do you have any guidance or information about such an object?"
Ok, so SHE was the one seeking to spread the worship of Asmodeus...the village bumkins would likely take it better if it seemed they were all in the service of her Dark Lord.
"Well, we're not much for proselytizing and such, but we pay our dues to the Dark One and he keeps the sickness away. Seeing as most folks don't make it out our way, figured you for bringing offerings to cure the sickness in your village too."
He pauses to think for a moment before continuing.
"Treasured item you say? Well, they say the wanderer, that is, the priest who brought us Asmodeus and saved the village, they say he had some fine things, some armor and robes and such. Sealed himself away more than twelve seasons ago, no one has seen or heard from the fellow since. Being a priestess of the faith, I imagine he won't take too angry if you go knock on his door." the man says, indicating the bone hall.
She grins cockily at the man, nodding. "Don't mind if I do. Thanks for your help, good sir." She walks over to the door, inspecting it for any signs of traps while she waits for the others to gather around.
Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
The gift that just keeps giving. When I actually need these rolls I'll go back to rolling a 4. LOL
|The Good Doc|
I thought for sure I had sense motive... oh well....
While Doc cared little about the religion, devulging such knowledge would not do much to help him here.
Doc also knows all too well the pains of a life without the luxury of food, warmth and air.
You say you have time? Well, why don't you sit with us a while and share a light meal. I would love to know a bit more about your village and your priest before we enter and possibly offend.
I personally wonder about this priest, when you say he locked himself up, do you send him tribute of food and wine? A normal man would perish after such a time in solitude, but I know not how much greater this priest is than a normal man.
As/if they sat down, possibly sharing any food or drinks, the Doc takes out a flask and drinks from it. (Cognoagen, +4 Cha, -2 Dex. Lasts 20 min.)
Deplomacy: 1d20 + 13 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 13 + 2 = 31
I would also be very interested in this plague you speak of, being a doctor myself.