|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
Uh... Hey, guys! Don't mind me. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.
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Mordenaar nods, tipping his cask strength three fingers.
An obsidian-haired man of Kellid blood grabs a stout at the bar. His comportment is easy going. He's relaxed in manner, and quick to smile. He keeps half of his hair tied back and his beard with a day of stubble. While the other patrons find him to be friendly and harmless, adventurers can see otherwise. The tops of his scabbards are worn, indicating that he draws steel frequently. The scabbards hold a pair of gladii, a weapon you don't choose out of convenience, only through training. Though lean, the man is muscular. His large deltoid muscles bulge like corded rope. While his eyes linger over the buxom lasses, they also dart to every weapon and spell pouch in the room.
Okay, everyone has checked in, so let’s do this thing!
The Pathfinder Society Master of Spells, Sorrina Westyr, has sent an invitation to each of a select group of Pathfinders to meet her on the rooftop terrace of the estate of Reyshal ik Jalman, a genie who has shown himself to be a valuable ally to the Pathfinder Society. The fact that the estate is located on the Plane of Earth proves to be no obstacle to one who wields such magical might as Westyr, and she arranges transport for the group to the Opaline Vault, the largest city on the Plane of Earth. So great is the Master of Spells’ power, that climbing the stairs to the roof of the estate requires greater exertion than being shifted between the planes.
Luminous crystals shine like stars high above the building as the genie Reyshal ik Jalman welcomes the party and spreads his hands to indicate the surroundings. “From these humble beginnings, we’re going to spring toward future glory—provided we can tame the border region. The war between our beloved Opaline Vault and the treacherous efreet of the City of Brass has devastated this region and crippled its economic potential.” The shaitan strikes his fist against the railing. “Just a few days’ travel from here, on a road called Crystalmaw Pass, the forces of earth and fire collided in a battle so fierce that no military commander has been willing to return to the site. Now that this particular battlefield has been abandoned, bandits have taken advantage of the void to infest the area. This is where our interests align, Sorrina?”
The Master of Spells steps up next to the towering shaitan and addresses the assembled Pathfinders, “Indeed they do, Reyshal. We have recently learned that Crystalmaw Pass is a potential route to a forge called Kandirion’s Pyre. I believe the intense heat of this forge, created by friction between the planes, is the key to breaking apart the Untouchable Opal. I need you to scout a path through the Crystalmaw Pass and, if possible, make sure that the area is safe for both the Society and Reyshal to operate in. Teleportation is unfortunately out of the question due to the violent elemental energies of the planar confluence. The outpost of Lodehollow is about as close as it is possible to get to the Plane of Fire via teleportation without risking disaster.”
“You may find an ally along your journey. I have learned that my former adventuring companion Grave Treader is in the region. I thought that she had perished on the Plane of Earth, as the Society’s initial attempts to locate her failed. However, Reyshal informed me that she had struck a deal to work for his family for a time in exchange for passage back to the Material Plane and her weight in silver. She left his family’s service some time ago. Without the protections of the genie estate masking her location, I managed to scry on her, but learning that someone is standing in a cavern on this plane does little to help find them. Once Reyshal’s agents began discovering pieces of the reward Grave Treader received for her service, a silver statue made in her image, we narrowed down her location to somewhere along Crystalmaw Pass. I would ask that you find her and bring her back with you—if she is willing.” The Master of Spells hands over a sketch of a Shoanti woman with intricate white tattoos on her face. “This is what she looks like. Do you have any questions about any aspects of your mission?”
Reyshal flashes a wide grin and cuts in, “I have magnanimously provided the finest gear and provisions for your journey, these will be waiting for you outside. I have other pressing business to attend to, so I must unfortunately take my leave. I wish fortune on your endeavor.” As Reyshal walks away, Sorrina smiles, shakes her head, and gestures towards the stairs. “Reyshal is quite generous, but I do not know if he understands the meaning of the word ‘humility.’ Let us speak more on the way out, as I imagine you have questions for me.”
Please take a moment to introduce yourselves and describe your characters as we get started with question for Sorrina.
Unlike your first meeting the Drunken half-Orc he is quite Sober this time around. His appears is immaculately clean and he offers a hand to all who take it. Now that the grime and muck that once covered his body from the process of distilling a fine whisky has been washed off you see that along his right arm from his finger tips to his shoulder are a series of Tribal Tattoo one would receive while training to be an orc shaman's apprentice, almost as a contradictory to this however you see on the back of his right hand the Holy Symbol of Torag shimmering lightly as if in time with the glowing crystals about the Earthen estate. On his left arm are the Skin bleachings and tattoo overlays one would see on a Wayang; a few dwarven runes have been tossed in as well with the grand design trailing up his left arm.
Twin Dwarven Waraxes hang from his belt while a pair of Warhammers are holstered over his shoulder for easy reaching. A Steel Shield is strapped to his back just below the hammers emblazoned with the Bronzebeard coat-of-arms, Twin Waraxes behind a foaming mug.
"Oi, Sir, Should This Grave Treader nah wan to be coming back what shall we do? And wa gear be ye sending us with?"
The obsidian-haired man of Kellid blood nods at Ebonwolf's question. His comportment is easy going. He's relaxed in manner, and quick to smile. He keeps half of his hair tied back and his beard with a day of stubble. While the other patrons find him to be friendly and harmless, adventurers can see otherwise. The tops of his scabbards are worn, indicating that he draws steel frequently. The scabbards hold a pair of gladii, a weapon you don't choose out of convenience, only through training. Though lean, the man is muscular. His large deltoid muscles bulge like corded rope.
Seeing no reason to clutter the conversations with words, he awaits the answer to the question. Still he gifts a polite and differential nod, deciding there's no advantage to pride when dealing with genies.
I have run this before, so Mordenaar's laconic nature works out. He also has some gear from the Iron Gods AP, which he'll use sparingly.
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Dirch sits away the group, backpack at his feet, shifting uncomfortably in his acolyte robes. His pimpled face looks around, trying to recognize someone, anyone, and wondering if he’s at the correct meeting.
Er… they don’t look like accountants. I’ve probably just been teleported to the wrong place. But my manager never told me what to do when this happens. Well, no problem. I’m sure these nice folks will help me out.
Uh. Hi, guys. My name’s Dirch.
His voice cracks, insecurely. Dirch looks around, hoping someone will tell him what to do.
Uh. This is my first job out of school. I wanted to study accounting, but my Dad told me that I should study Necromancy...
An awkward silence falls. Dirch glances around. Incredibly uncomfortable speaking in front of all these new people, Dirch searches for something else to say.
Uh. I was the manager for the Geb State Ladies Volleyball Team. Go Shamblers!
Dirch lifts his arm, expecting cheers from fellow alums. As he looks around, it dawns on him that maybe he’s not among Geb State fans. Are these Nex U. fans? Are they going to dunk me??
So, uh, anyways, I’m probably at the wrong meeting. I was sent here by the Grand Lodge to do an accounting of your inventory for the current fiscal year. So, if you nice folks will just point me to the warehouse, I’ll get to work.
Met with stares and silence, Dirch shrinks miserably back into his chair. I've definitely been teleported to the wrong place. How do I contact Mr. Bundesheim to tell him what's going on? Aw, geez... He's going to be so mad at me...
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
A scrappy half-elf dressed all in black scratches an unshaven chin. His cloak hides various alchemical weapons. Dark rings circle his eyes as he takes in the fantastic scenery and tries to look unimpressed.
”Greetings from the shadows. Some call me the Gloomslinger, but you may call me Drizz’n of the Darklands.”
It’s well known from gossip around the grand lodge that no one calls him the Gloomslinger. He may have just made that name up on the spot. In fact, his real name is Kevin Marshall and he’s a total half-Drow poser.
”As you may already know, I just returned from a secret mission to the Deepmacht, where I put an end to the Aspis Consortium’s activities. So, I’m pretty sure I can help scout out some old forge and find someone handing in a cave along the way. I mean, that’s what this boils down to, right?”
Scanning the party he adds: ”I’m not clear on what the accountant is doing here, but he could come in handy. I mean, whatever.”
Just to clarify, the shaitan has walked away, and you guys are talking to Sorrina Westyr. As many of you know already, she is the Master of Spells for the Pathfinder Society, and teleported from Absalom with you to the Plane of Earth.
As she heads for the stairs leading down, Sorrina considers Ebonwolf’s question a moment, then replies, ”Grave Treader may have her reasons for wishing to stay where she is, but I am hopeful she will return. She was part of a Pathfinder team that accompanied me to the Crystal Womb, an Orvian Vault with close ties to the Plane of Earth. Without going into detail, everyone except Graves and myself perished while trying to find a way out. That was also where I became acquainted with Reyshal ik Jalman.” Gesturing ahead as she walks, she adds, ”You’ll see in a moment, the gear Reyshal has provided will be useful in your travels, and includes food, camping supplies and a map of where you’re headed.”
The Master of Spells pauses a moment before the stairs, her attention caught by the seemingly lost accountant who has arrived with the Pathfinders. ”Well – Dirch, was it?” she says with a wry grin, ”As much as we work together often, I’m not sure that this household would appreciate the Society doing too careful an accounting of their ‘inventory’. But you say you’ve studied some necromancy? I don’t know how many beans you’ll find to count on this mission, but those other skills may come in handy.” Her slightly sardonic smile is not typical of the earthy humor of oreads, for that is very much what she appears to be. But stories have made their way around the Grand Lodge that Sorrina Westyr was once human – perhaps that is where her sardonic streak comes from.
Turning back towards the stairs, she gives Drizz’n a nod as she passes, saying simply, ”Ah. Good evening, Kevin.”
There’ll be an opportunity to do some skill checks to get more information, but I don’t want to dive in too much, since I said we wouldn’t really get going until Monday. But we can chat and RP aplenty.
Startled by being acknowledged, Dirch looks up.
Handy? Sure, I can be real handy. I double majored in accounting and necromancy, so I'm real good at wills and estate planning.
And, everyone says my 1049 Forms are the best documented. Trust me. You really want your 1049 Forms to be well documented. I've seen it get bad. I mean, it was like, really, really bad. Dirch shudders and closes his eyes, as he traumatically recalls the nightmare.
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
Drizz’n cringes as Westyr calls him by his surface name. ”Good evening, Master of Spells. So, Graves Treader, there’s got to be some kind of meaning to that name, right? Like Gloomslinger? Or Shadowson, that’s another good one. Does she actually, you know, tread graves? Is that a thing she does?”
He looks to the necromancer and adds: ”Not that there’s anything wrong with that kind of work. I’m just asking.”
"Dirch ya speak very inta restingly. I do nah think I have even seen a 1049 form as ye call it."
Sorrina looks at Drizz’n and replies thoughtfully, ”I have never asked her where her name comes from, or even if it is a given name or one she took upon herself at some point. I know she searches into the nature of all manner of mysteries, and perhaps gave herself the name after some experience she had. As to the other examples you give, I do not know anyone called Gloomslinger or Shadowson – I mean, not who’s really called that, and would not hazard a guess as to why someone would bear such names."
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sorrina gives a slight start as she sees where Rikimaru awaits, appearing as little more than a shadow in the plum-dark evening light. She gives him a nod, impressed by his capacity to go unnoticed, then gestures toward a pile of supplies which one of the shaitan’s servants has uncovered. ”The equipment I mentioned, which should serve you well. Do you have any further questions about your mission or where you’re going?”
All – just so you’re not confused, Rikimaru is Topo’s character, he just needs to create an alias for him, but I wanted to use the correct name in my post.
You can continue with questions, but I thought I’d get us going on skill checks as well.
The seasoned Pathfinders arrange and pack up the assembled gear, and are soon ready to depart. Before sending the party on their way, the Master of Spells gifts them with a wand that will allow them to magically shape stone, always a useful thing on the Plane of Earth. Wand of stone shape with four charges.
With little ceremony, Sorrina sends the Pathfinders on their way, magically transporting them to Lodehollow, a small, simple outpost town not far from where the Planes of Fire and Earth meet. One of the most striking things about Lodehollow is the strength of gravity there, as it is somehow much greater than in the Opaline Vault or most other regions of the Plane of Earth, making each step a struggle. It is possible to move slowly around Lodehollow, to ask questions of the locals and get one’s bearings, but the journey to Crystalmaw Pass may prove very challenging indeed under these conditions.
Assuming you ask around a bit (Knowledge skills can also be applied to these rolls, but you’re in a pretty remote place, so they’re harder than Diplomacy):
All PCs gain a +2 bonus on Survival checks to navigate through the Crystalmaw Pass.
Separate check for what you might know about the Plane of Earth:
All PCs gain a +2 bonus on Survival checks to navigate through a region of heavy gravity.
Topo here. I setup a message board alias as TC-Rikimaru where you'll find my character sheet in the profile. -tc
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
Kn: Local: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (20) + 11 = 31
Drizzn’n, always interested in the latest news, speaks to a drunken dwarf miner and an Obsidian Fist mercenary.
”The dwarf suggested we consider options other than fighting when we’re dealing with the locals. He didn’t say why though or suggest what those other options might be. He used the xorns as an example, if you know what xorns are. Apparently they’re aggressive when defending their gems. And they’re weird looking. I said this dwarf was drunk, right? And the mercenary warned of extreme heat and lava flows along the border to the Plane of Fire, but that seems obvious.”
Kn: Local: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (3) + 11 = 14 Sadly, Drizz’n doesn’t know much about the Plane of Earth. It is his first time here after all.
Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (9) + 12 = 21
"I know a little of the area, tidbits, I've overheard. I know we might see some weird stuff, like locals with an odd number of legs. Just because they're weird, doesn't mean they mean us harm."
Mordenaar tests the gravity effects on his footwork a bit, "What might mean us harm is the plane itself. Be careful, we might find our way close enough to the Plane of Fire to scald. I'm a solid trailblazer though, so on that I'm not too worried."
Once all his gear is checked, Mordenaar signals that he's ready.
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
Seeing Mordenaar test his footwork, Drizz’n tests his own gravity by trying to jump up and down. He then opens his shirt a bit, flexes his muscles, and what appears to be a strange tumorous growth bursts to life on six legs, with snapping pinchers and a spiked tail. It skitters, with some effort, out of Drizzen's clothes and onto his shoulders.
”This is Prick. I made him when I was practicing my fleshwarping. It’s a thing Drow do in the Darklands. You probably wouldn’t understand.” Satisfied that Prick is okay, Drizz’n presses Prick back into his skin and closes his cape.
You may have heard from gossip around the grand lodge that Kevin thought he'd given himself just a regular tumor until the thing sprouted legs and started walking. Then he felt better.
”This might be a difficult trip if we can’t get free of this strong gravity somehow.”
GM seeing as we are playing around on the plane of Earth and near the Plane of Fire, Ebon can speak Ignan and Terran along with having Earth Affinity and Oread's Favor Boons.
Ebonwolf moves about feeling at home among the denizens of the Plane of Earth. Feeling Torag's smile wash over him he goes about Lodehollow trying to find any information he is able to come across.
Gather Information (Diplo.): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (14) + 11 = 25
Returning back to the assembled Pathfinders Ebonwolf speaks of the information he has come across in his gathering. "An Oread lass told me a story of woe. Her groups caravan was taken ta Sundered Stone's camp. The leader was bedecked in spikes, had skin o' crystal and he wielded a large efreeti sword. The strangest thing tha stood aut was ta woman On' was a Ifrit tha otha human with tattoo. Naugh' as good as mine I guess'n." Ebonwolf looks to his arms showing off the work he has had done.
"She also mentioned tha they wa forced ta relinquish most of their cargo. She also stated that was better than tha outcomes from others going through. She heard others lost more than their cargo." a rather mournful look crosses Ebonwolf's face.
With a loud *pop*, Sorrina makes another appearance, this time in the company of a gnome, a big fluffy saddled dog, and a fearsome-looking armored wolverine. The gnome looks rather abashed at the Master of Spells having to make a separate trip, but Sorrina only shakes her head and disappears once again.
After taking a few moments to ensure that the dog and wolverine are well, the gnome beams a friendly smile at the group. "Oh, hello there everyone! I'm sorry I'm late. I suppose I'm not too terribly late, since you're still here! I do hope I'm not in too much trouble with Miss Sorrina, though... she was not happy... oh! Maybe I'll buy her some of Master Alferdson's brownies when we get back! I bet she'd like that. I love brownies, especially when they're all soft and gooey and fresh from the oven..."
She trails off with a sigh, and the wolverine looks up at her and whines longingly.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (13) + 11 = 24
Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
One point Sorrina would have mentioned, since the name came up – the Sundered Stone is the name of the bandit group that has moved into the area of Crystalmaw Pass.
Having completed their researches in Lodehollow, the Pathfinders set out toward the border between the planes. The path from Lodehollow to the border region snakes through the outskirts of gargantuan caverns. Luminous crystals and other strange lights twinkle in the distance like stars in a vast stony firmament, hinting at the actual mind-bending proportions of these caverns. The cavern ceilings climb upwards beyond sight and sheer drops disappear far, far below into darkness. Unfortunately, throughout the journey, the oppressive pull of gravity weighs down every step, taking its toll on the party.
The weight taxes the PCs’ carrying capacity, doubling the weight of their gear. PCs who are carrying a light load are effectively carrying a medium load in this area. PCs who would normally be carrying enough for a medium load are treated as carrying a heavy load, and PCs who would normally be carrying a heavy load cannot move. The effects of this are to lower your maximum Dex bonus to AC, cause a penalty to physical skills and slow you down, with details here.
Everyone please make a Survival check to find the optimal path to reduce the amount of heavy gravity the party must endure (DC 22, remember to include any bonuses from your recent inquiries) and then a DC 20 Fortitude save. If anyone succeeds at the Survival check, all members of the party each gain a +2 bonus on their Fortitude saves vs heavy gravity. If you fail the Fort save, you take 5d4 ⇒ (2, 1, 4, 2, 2) = 11 of nonlethal damage, which cannot be healed until you’re in normal gravity again.
After a couple of days of slow, laborious travel, a chokepoint in the path widens into a small cavern. The remnants of a pair of merchant wagons lie overturned on the ground ahead, surrounded by several bodies. In the distance, plumes of smoke and a red glow color the landscape. A trio of xorns stands near the wagons. One of them is using its massive jaw to chew on the lock of an iron lockbox, while the other two are picking through the destroyed wagons. The first xorn pauses and gives the chest a shake, producing a rattling sound from within, before setting to chewing again with renewed vigor.
As the party nears, the xorn stops its chewing and calls out in Common, ”Stay away! Ours!”
Map is linked by my avatar, where it says ‘Crystalmaw’.
Mordenaar does his level best to cut an efficient path. He's more accustomed to avoiding bandits and giants than he is avoiding extra gravity, but the principles are largely the same.
Survival: 1d20 + 11 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 11 + 2 = 30. Ultimately he gets the hang of it, and directs others to watch for a variety of signs in how rock "droops" and how some areas show metamorphic rock where they shouldn't. Everyone gets a +2 on their FORT saves.
FORT: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 8 + 2 = 30 The slayer, strengthened by his belt and years of adventuring, has no problem with the extra strain.
Mordenaar's left eyebrow rises at the xorn's words, but he looks at others to speak.
Quickly feeling the weight as they travel, Zirt shakes her head and calls Benedict the wolverine over. Rummaging around in her backpack for a moment, she pulls out a dozen or so sheets of paper and a few other items, then hands the backpack over to the wolverine and helps him put it on over his armor. "Thank you, Benedict," she offers, reaching over to scratch him lovingly behind the ears. "I feel better already!"
Zirt can get down to half her light encumbrance by having Benedict carry everything but her armor, spell component pouch, and items of negligible weight. Benedict's light encumbrance limit with the doubling is 56.25 pounds, so he's still lightly encumbered as well.
Fort: 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 4 + 2 = 26
Benedict Fort: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 8 + 2 = 20
*** Xorns (at least they're not xans, but watch your metal rings!) ***
Zirt perks up at the sight of the xorns, standing up in her saddle and waving happily. "Hello! Don't worry, we won't take your snacks! Is it alright if we look over the wagons, though, like the people and such? We aren't here to hurt you or take anything away from you!"
Minor point - you can only get the +2 to Fort saves once, so the rest of you don't need to make the Survival check, since Mordenaar handled it so competently already.
Oh, and I goofed - if you make the save, you still take half of the nonlethal damage.
Status updated and duly noted!
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
Fortitude save: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 8 + 2 = 14 Ugh
Drizz’n, who never had the best posture to begin with, slumps even further under the heavy gravity of Lodehollow. There’s got to be a joke in here somewhere about how his load does not feel hollow.
On seeing the Xorn, Drizz’n says under his breath: ”That dwarf wasn’t wrong, was he? Remember, they only look weird.”
Dirch is visibly struggling with the higher gravity.
Gee... this is just like when we'd go on away games. I'd bring in all the equipment. Those volleyballs and nets and uniforms and stuff were pretty heavy. I dropped it all only a couple of times.
Dirch waves at the Xorn and gives a friendly smile.
Hi, folks. We don't mean to intrude. Please, enjoy your snack. My mom, says that it's bad to eat in between meals, cause it makes you gain weight and stuff. But, you folks seems to be nice anyways, and it's what's on the inside that really counts. Right?
Diplomacy (Gather Info): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26
Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (1) + 12 = 13
Fort : 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 4 + 2 = 9
Diplomacy (Xorn) : 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28
Zirt turns her smile upon Dirch for a moment as she studies him. "It's so refreshing to meet someone who listens to his mother, and can actually repeat what she says!" she exclaims. "Mothers have ever so much useful advice, and most people just don't listen at all!"
Turning back to the xorns, she tilts her head at them and frowns slightly. "Do you have mothers? I mean, I suppose that you must... everyone's got to have a mother, doesn't he? Do they say things to you, too??"
Fort: fort: 1d20 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 2 + 4 = 26
The xorn, still chewing fruitlessly at the lock on the chest, talks with its mouth full, saying, ”Okay, ‘slong as you don’ try’n take the tasty gems in here.” He rattles the chest again, then gives a sort of xorn-shrug, as only a three-legged creature could do, to the other two xorns, and all three of the bizarre creatures move a little ways away from the wagon. One of them, its rough skin slightly reddish in hue, chooses not to walk around the wagon but rather to drop into the earth below it, seeming to swim through the stone and emerge next to its brethren, leaving no mark of its passage behind it. The ‘talkative’ xorn continues to chew aggressively on the lock.
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
perception: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (19) + 16 = 35
Drizz’n takes a good look at the wagons. ”Hmm..The caravan was definitely attacked by humanoids. And it looks like most of the valuables were taken.”
”If someone can convince our friend to let go of that chest, I can try to pick the lock.”
Gosh, it looks like people are hurt!
Dirch rushes heavily with his leaden gear. Checks to see if they're still alive.
Heal: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (5) + 0 = 5
Perc: perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23
Hhmmm, I concur. Sadly, little was left for us, but that chest. It does explains the xorns’ indifference to us. Rikimaru shifts uncomfortably, Tho a very important fact is still elusive. I do not see why the chest is left when all else was taken. There are many questions about that chest and what may lie within. Thoughts?
Perceptinome: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15
Heal: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9
Zirt looks around, but doesn't see much of interest. "If there are gems in that chest," she says quietly, "Do we need to recover them? Or would it be okay for us to give them to the nice xorns as a goodwill token, to show that we don't mean them any harm? It might make it easier to examine whatever else is in the chest..."
Not seeing any reason we'd need to retrieve any such mythical gems... anyone?
The xorn with the chest pauses in its lock-chewing a moment, holding the chest away from its...chest. "We can hear you," it says, its voice as deep as a chasm, as it appears to roll one of its large eyes, before turning its attention to stare steadily at the party. "You open chest, I eat gems? Lock and box of iron, hard to eat. But tasty gems inside!" The creature rattles the strongbox again, clearly convinced that only gems could make such a sound.
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
Drizz’n takes the chest from the xorn and says, ”Let me see what I can do to get those gems for you.”
He pulls out his masterwork thieves tools and fiddles with the lock while he talks.
”Trust me, I know what it’s like to be a misfit, to feel weird and misunderstood around everyone else, unappreciated for all the unique things you do, while they’re off fitting in and being normal and whatever.”
Disable Device: 1d20 + 11 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 11 + 2 = 15 Actually, can I take 20?
Fortitude: 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 10 + 2 = 17
Feeling the full effects of the gravity upon him Ebonwolf bucks up and proceeds further along the trail.
Wow bit of catchup on posting. This will be an amazing PbP game :)
Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Ebonwolf surveys the scene with another mournful expression the same from earlier. Listening to the interactions between the Xorn and his comrades Ebonwolf bides his time waiting for the opportune moment to interject. As they continue he looks among the bodies to see if any still live or if they are not what exactly did them in.
Heal: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25
I think I know what made these wounds thinking he could use some help he calls to the others "S'cuse meh, any of ye trained in the healing arts. I had a thought I 'ad hope'd you might take a listen ta and help me figure out what dealt the fatal blows. I believe they were from a large, a rather large blade and the wounds seem ta burnt the moment the blade rend'd them through. Might'n be this same one the Oread mentioned earlier 'Sundered Stone' I think be tha name."
After the discussion with anyone offering he looks to Zirt and says "Maybe those who ended their lives thought the chest worthless and it could show us insight in ta who be layin here. Plus I would like to ensure a proper rights are performed and notice given ta their familees."
Listening to the Xorn's request Ebonwolf counters his offer with one of his own, spoken in his native language to boot.
"Cyfarchion fy nghrodyr Pridd. A allaf gynnig opsiwn yma? Fe allai un ohonom fy hun yma berfformio'r gweithrediadau angenrheidiol o ddatgloi'r frest. Yn gyfnewid am ein hwyluso agoriad y frest, rydym yn gofyn am y dewis cyntaf ar eitemau. Wrth gwrs, rwy'n deall yr awydd i ddwyn y gemau, pe bai unrhyw beth o fewn, ond yr wyf yn gofyn am gyfle i archwilio unrhyw gemau yn gyntaf cyn rhoi sglein dda iddyn nhw cyn cyfnewid dwylo gyda nhw. A oes gennym Gytundeb?"
"Greetings my Earthen brethren. Might I offer up an option here? One of my own here could perform the necessary operations of unlocking the chest. In exchange for our facilitation of the opening of the chest we request first choice on items. I of course understand the desire to devour the gems, should any be within, but I further request a chance to examine any gems firstly before given them a nice polish prior to exchanging hands with them. Do we have an Accord?"
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23
As Drizz'n opens the lock Ebonwolf offers a little Divine Guidance to help out. Cast Guidance as many times as needed any any who attempt the unlocking of the chest.
Take 10 Perception
Heal: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
As the other talk and examine the chest, Mordenaar speaks to any who listen. "Killed by a giant blade, perhaps flaming, we must be vigilant."
The xorn resists letting go of the chest as Drizz’n pulls on it, but when Ebonwolf begins speaking Terran to it, the creature’s face splits into a grin - or what seems like it must be a grin, though it’s tricky to tell when the thing’s mouth sits on top if its body. He releases the chest and watches Drizz’n work, his demeanor one of intent patience, like that of a predator used to waiting a long time for its prey to appear.
After a couple of minutes, Drizz’n stands back from the chest, the open lock in his hand, and actually gives a little bow before realizing that’s not even a little bit cool. The xorn flings open the chest, revealing gems worth hundreds of gold pieces! He quickly pops a glittering pink one in his mouth, savoring its delicate flavor as he rolls it around in his huge mouth, then crunching down on it in delight. ”Such good gem! Thanking you!“ He reaches for another, then pauses a moment and says to Ebonwolf in Terran, ”You want to see them first? I will still eat them, right?“
Guys? I can speak with these nice dead people. Comes in real handy when adjudicating inheritance disputes. Shall I try to chat with one? We can ask 3 questions. What should we ask?
Dirch turns to the Xorn.
You mind if I take a look at those gems? I won't eat them or anything. I got a pretty good eye at appraising them, you know from doing inventory and all.
Appraise: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (19) + 15 = 34
|Kevin "Drizz'n" Marshall|
”It would be good to know who attacked them and why.”