Fang and Shackle (Inactive)

Game Master Kagehiro

As the aggression between Molthune and Nirmathas boils over, something far darker stirs in the depths of the Fangwood.

Current Map: Cathedral Dining Hall


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Male Gnome Sorcerer 3

Zeltresh finds himself spending more time at the feast than he ever intended to, alternating between listening to the stories of his companions and watching the small flame dance at the top of the table's lone candle. It was a tiny little thing, but it flickered and swayed in such a seductive way it was easy to lose himself in it. He made sure not to go too deep into his cups - he did not want to risk simply watching the flame to change into reaching out to it......

The young human's story especially catches his attention. The similarities to his own story are hard to miss, and again Zeltresh is reminded how little he believes in coincidences. 'The flame chose him? Is this a better find than Desmodius? Is this why I was led here?'

Once the young human is done the gnome takes his turn to tell his own tale of powers accidentally discovered. There is a reserved tone to the story, as if something is being left out. Not details, but maybe some of the emotions he had felt as a youth, emotions that plagued him longer than they should have. The night continues on as they spend time together, none even moving to leave as the rest of the tent begins to empty out.

'They seem like good people. The kind you want at your side when the forest is burning down around you. This might not be my war, but I might be getting more out of this than just knowledge'


Male Chelish Human Arcane Duelist Bard 1
Stats:
HP 9/9; AC 15, Flat Footed 13, Touch 12; CMD 14; Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +3; Perception +5; Initiative +2

Having imbibed not a single drop of alcohol the entire night, Viktor is likely alone in sobriety beneath the pavilion - except, perhaps, for the lone guard remaining. Viktor had been drinking rainwater, chilled and flavored through plentiful use of Prestidigititation, a spell that Viktor is over-reliant on for simple comforts. He had already cleaned his uniform to perfection after entering the pavilion, and has been avoiding soiling it further by standing underneath one of the numerous holes that have now breached the pavilion's defenses.

Cursing beneath his breath at the poor manufacture, quality, and maintenance of the tent, Viktor stands alone, watching those around him with his iron gaze, keeping an especially close eye on the quasi-humans, as he would call them. The gnome, he watches for illusion and trickery - though he is well used to Vincent's use of such waste of magical talent, gnomes are known for being far more disruptive with such pranks. The halfing he watches for thievery - their kind are always up to no good, in Viktor's eyes. The half-orc he watches for signs of a drunken rage, having had to break up such fights in the past. Watching the 'brute' dilute his drink with rainwater relaxes Viktor only the tiniest amounts - he cannot be too careful, even if Arzazel isn't inebriated to a large extent. Luckily for Nathmir, Viktor has yet to realize his inhumane nature, and doesn't watch the priest with nearly as much scrutiny as the rest.

Having been quiet for far too long, Viktor walks over to the lone guard and, as casual as someone like Viktor can be, commends the soldier on his vigilance, using his inside voice to keep the discussion relatively between the two, also asking the guard if he has seen anything going on he should know about, asking of his rank, name, and other official business.

As he does so, Viktor's gaze never leaves the others, keeping them all - especially the 'quasi-humans', under his keen vigil.

__________________________________

Diplomacy Check to Influence the Guard: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27 +2 if the soldier is a Molthuni national, which I assume he is, but did not include in my roll just in case.

Hot damn thats a good roll!

Also, as you may notice, Viktor's a bit of a racist. XD


Male Aasimar Cleric of Nethys 3 l HP: 24/24 l AC: 20 (FF: 17, Touch: 13) l Fort: +6, Ref: +5, Will: +8 l Hero: 4 l Per: +13 | Init +3

Nathmir watches without much to add. He was not one to give away knowledge of himself, not for any sinister reason or need for secrecy. Rather he saw no point in exposing his past, it was done with and would have no effect on the present. His focus was on the future and other matters. None the less he listened well as he sipped on his conjured water. He found the thought of a less then able healer to be most insulting if not dangerous. Then again his palate was more discerning as well when it came to drink, desert wine from the south was far more flavorful and light compared to the heavy overpowering fair that was the norm of the north.

He quickly returned his thoughts back to focus as he remained silent and watching.

What can I say he has little to say right now. Also really the rainbow man is considered human. Or are Nethys priest so rare that they think he is normal for one. xD


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

Vincent notes Adurus showering mood and Eldred's drunken mumbling a, and decides another avenue of entertainment must be found, even if it must be by his own hand. He noted the gnomes interest in the flame, and made a subtle gesture with his hand, and suddenly, a portion of the flame leaps out, appearing as a miniature stag made of flame.

It lands directly in front of the gnome and rears up on it's hind legs before running around on the table, "making it's rounds" to people to put on an impromptu magical show. However, it specifically avoids Adurus, Eldred, and Sampson. Vincent figured they were either not in the mood or not a safe target for jest at the moment.


HP: 31/31
Stats:
AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

Sampson had been sitting alone, but over the course of the night the storm intensified and the amount of people present diminished. At some point it became awkward for him to be sitting at a massive table all by himself. Not awkward for him, but he could see the way the others left in the tent were staring at him. He gets up and pads silently over to the table shared by the other off-duty soldiers, his movements resemble those of a great cat more than a man. "Excuse me, might I sit down with you gentlemen?" he asks, eying an empty spot on one of the benches next to Vincent. His speech is perfectly clear and his posture rigid, there has been nothing but water in his cup all night.


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

Vincent, maintaining his minor cantrip, looks up at the Sampson, and says nothing for the slightest moment.

"This is it. This is how I die."

He then realizes Sampson had been sitting alone for some time. The possibility the man was lonely weighed heavily on Vincent for some reason.

"This man is a stranger to these lands, yet serves her army well. He deserves fair treatment, despite his social awkwardness."

Vincent rises and welcomes the man that towers over him, looking him in the eye as he does so. "By all means, welcome. I do not believe we've really had a chance to talk. Tell me about yourself, if you would like!"


HP: 31/31
Stats:
AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

Sampson thunks down on the bench, nearly lifting Vincent's side off the floor like a see-saw. The huge sergeant smiles, though it's like looking at a statue carved with a smile, there's no feeling there. "What would you like to know, Field-Squire?"


Male Human Oracle 1 | 19/19 hp | AC 20 (ff 18, t 12) | F +1, R +3, W +4 | 2 Hero Pts | Per +1 | Init +2

Adurus watches the pretty little cantrip dance around the table, his eyes drawn to the flame. It stirs something inside his heart, seeing that tiny stallion made of flame rearing and vaulting all over the table. He slowly snaps out of his deep funk, settling into a shallow and melancholy mood. He continues to watch the flame until that massive man Sampson is standing right next to him.

Adurus looks up to him, briefly gazing at his eyes before lowering his gaze towards the man's weapon kept securely at his side. The one he had not long ago ended another man with. Adurus knew this man to be dangerous, and yet despite his reservations his face is not as fear-stricken as before. Somehow Sampson's manners were a bit disarming; he did not do anything presently to indicate he might draw his weapon again. Instead, he sits down, surprisingly ready to have a conversation with Vincent.

Despite not being asked the question, Adurus looks around Vincent toward Sampson and, his voice cracking, asks, "Why did he attack you?" He says it with a tone one part skeptical and one part in awe, as if he didn't actually believe that Sampson had killed someone in front of him. His burn-scarred eyes gaze toward Sampson's, seeming to try and make a connection there.


Half-orc Brute | HP 31/31 | 2+1 Hero Points
Stats:
AC 18/14/14 | Fort +6 Ref +7 Will +4 | Init. +3 | Perception +8, 60-ft. Darkvision | CM +8/21 (+3 vs dirty trick)

Arzazel stares at the flaming stag having never seen magic up this close. He listens intently to the conversations with a well-practiced ability to focus attention somewhere other than where he was looking. As a slave, one gets beaten for looking at someone.


HP: 31/31
Stats:
AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

Sampson turns to the smaller scarred man, considering for a moment before answering his question. "I'm not certain, but I suspect it was a combination of his drunkenness and the habit of deriving his own self worth from being the..." Sampson pauses, searching for a polite way to say it. Not finding one he continues, "..."baddest m*therf+**er" in the room, or tent, as it were in this case. He seems to have derived particular offense from the fact that the people sitting around me were keeping their distance." The massive warrior offers one paw for Adurus to shake, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced, or if we have I've forgotten your name. I'm sergeant Sampson Klein, heavy weapons platoon, First Company, Fifth Infantry Battalion."

Knowledge (Nobility/Local) DC 14:
That platoon is known as the Black Death, due to leaving nothing but bloated rotting corpses in their wake. They have a huge casualty rate and get only the most dangerous missions.

Just making stuffs up, if I've overestimated the size of the army or making up a platoon isn't cool just tell me GM.


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

Vincent loses focus on his conversation with Sampson after Adurus asks his question, maintaining focus on his spell as it has apparently been quite an interest of the half-orc. He does manage to catch Sampson's last name.

"And where are you from, Mr. Klein? What brought you to Braganza, and citizenship and land don't count as answers, ha!"

__________________
Knowledge (Nobility): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6


Male Gnome Sorcerer 3

Zeltresh watches the flame beast run around the table and smiles despite himself. 'Sometimes I forget to create. So much easier to destroy.' Suddenly the giant warrior is there and introducing himself. The gnome is surprised at his voice, not at all what he expected from the man based on the look of him and his recent actions.

He listens to Sampson talk with curiosity. Such an unusual man. Not exactly cold and unfeeling but definitely a vast difference from the emotional gnomes he grew up with. Zeltresh wonders what that must feel like, a sense of dispassion allowing you to act on pure logic and intellect instead of being driven by fiery emotions. Thinking back to all the times he reacted on instinct and emotion, Zeltresh can certainly see the value of not being a slave to them.

The stag is still running around and it clearly has Arzazel's attention. Zeltresh closes his eyes and reaches into himself, down into the source of magic within himself that all gnomes have. It is bittersweet: this power is one of the first things he discovered as a youth, the same power that every other gnome has. A power that made others think he was just like them. Before they knew he was different.

Using the same minor magic that Vincent is using, a small flame vaguely shaped like a winged dragon suddenly begins chasing after the stag. Each time it gets close it breathes small jets of flame at its quarry. Creation and destruction, such a fine line.......


Male Chelish Human Arcane Duelist Bard 1
Stats:
HP 9/9; AC 15, Flat Footed 13, Touch 12; CMD 14; Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +3; Perception +5; Initiative +2

Vincent, are you using Dancing Lights for the flaming stag effect? I'll have to make Viktor spellcraft that and counterspell it next time I see it ;) Can't do it now, obviously, but he'll probably ready an action for it if you keep it up.. hahaha. :P


Male Gnome Sorcerer 3

Im hoping prestidigitation, cuz that what I wanted to use just there also


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

I was just using Prestidigitation, just for fun magical affect, not trying to shed any light or anything.


HP: 31/31
Stats:
AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

"I am from Hermea, do you know it? I am in Braganza because I was ordered on extended leave after nearly dying from a battlefield injury, an arrow to the chest." Sampson's dead eyes trail the small magical figments flitting around the table. He seems puzzled. "Why are you two creating small facsimiles of fiery creatures and causing them to walk about the table? Is this some sort of custom?"


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

"Just having a bit of fun, friend."

Vincent has the stag actively flee the dragon for a few moments, before guiding it to flee directly at the half-orc before leaping off the table directly at Arzazel and appearing to disappear into his chest.


Half-orc Brute | HP 31/31 | 2+1 Hero Points
Stats:
AC 18/14/14 | Fort +6 Ref +7 Will +4 | Init. +3 | Perception +8, 60-ft. Darkvision | CM +8/21 (+3 vs dirty trick)

Arzazel's smile gets bigger watching the stag and dragon interact. Then his eyes widen as he stares the stag disappearing into his chest. He checks his chest but does not stop smiling like a little kid.


HP: 31/31
Stats:
AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

Sampson quirks one eyebrow. Fun? After all these years I still don't get it.


Hearing a voice calling to him from behind, the guard retrieves the halberd that had been leaning against his shoulder and prepares to deal with whatever drunken lout had foolishly decided to pester him this night. Eyes go wide as they seize the culprit behind the words of praise. Catching sight of a winged skull on the man's rapier, the young Molthuni realizes how drastically he has misstepped.

"S...sir! Thank you, sir!" In a bit of a fluster, he offers a salute to the Commissar before him as he begins rambling off credentials. "Guardsman Renthmir. I serve under Captain Bulimar's unit in the Braganza City Guard." Renthmir seems a bit young for a guard, likely not even into his twenties yet. His standard-issue brigandine armor shows no sign of wear, and the smooth haft of his halberd looks to have seen similarly little use. His hair is hidden beneath a cap and coif, but his face still carries a hint of youthful naievete and wonderment, green eyes shining out from the shadows of a prominent brow to take in the sight of the foreboding individual he currently shares conversation with. It is likely he is a fresh recruit, given an easy assignment to get his feet wet.

Guardsman Renthmir's hesitance begins to settle a bit as he realizes Viktor offers his scrutiny not to he, but the table behind. "Nothing seems out of sorts tonight, sir. No trouble from the foreigners, other than a few issues with illegal contraband in the caravan that's still outside the eastern gates. Although..." Renthmir, realizing he is speaking out of his depth and of a matter that is likely not his business, seems reluctant to finish the thought, but the opportunity to impress a Commissar, much less one belonging to the Most Noble Order of the Exalted March, is an opportunity he won't miss out on. "I saw Ser Eodric Teldas and Prince-Archbanker Cole Ravnagask having a heated discussion this afternoon on my way to assignment. There was a third person there—a short woman there who looked like she was from the Commissariat too. Now, I didn't stop or gawk, sir, I made my way straight to where duty called. Whatever she said to Ser Eodric, he didn't seem happy, though."

__________________________________________________

The intensity of the thunder picks up significantly, and the oppressive booms begin to rattle the very city as they surge directly overhead. The occasional cries of panicked merchants securing their stalls can be heard, muffled through the overwhelming spray of heavy rainfall against the tent. Even more rarely, drunken yells go up through the pitch black night offering challenge to Gozreh.

Perception (DC 25):
Though the thunder is powerful indeed, your ears detect that some of the fainter rumbles are not thunder, in fact, but gunfire.

Perception (DC 15) - Eldred Only:
To less trained ears, it might get lost in the thunder, but not so for Eldred. Gunfire is something you're used to. You grew up in it; thrive in it. Strong as this storm is, it doesn't hold a candle to what Lake Encarthan throws at the Southern Fangwood—at Fort Ramgate. Barely audible through the rest of the noise, there is sustained gunfire ringing out through the city from somewhere. By the sounds of it, pistols.


Half-orc Brute | HP 31/31 | 2+1 Hero Points
Stats:
AC 18/14/14 | Fort +6 Ref +7 Will +4 | Init. +3 | Perception +8, 60-ft. Darkvision | CM +8/21 (+3 vs dirty trick)

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25

Arzazel cocks his head to the thunder and asks the table of soldiers, "is that gunfire in the city? Is that normal to celebrate with gunfire?"


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

Vincent turns to listen to the storm, but can only hear the thunder and rain against the canvas of the tent.

________
Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16


Male Aasimar Cleric of Nethys 3 l HP: 24/24 l AC: 20 (FF: 17, Touch: 13) l Fort: +6, Ref: +5, Will: +8 l Hero: 4 l Per: +13 | Init +3

Perception vs DC 25: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (17) + 11 = 28

Nathmir was about to take another sip when he stops midway. He heard it the gunfire, their was no sense for training to be taking place in that weather. In fact the entire city had been taking it easy for a change. It was the perfect time to attack or attempt something, the weather only added to the advantage. He put down his drink instantly.

"That is gunfire. I would like to be proven wrong but I think their could be some sort of trouble. I intend to go check on it."

He cursed at not having his shield or armor on him. Still he had his spells, weapons, and faith. That would due under the conditions.

"Would anyone wish to join me. I rather not mistake a late comer for an enemy."

He swing his staff into the leather sling on his back while he drew a crossbow and fitted a bolt on it. Cocking it back into a ready position in a practiced and fluid motion.


Male Human Oracle 1 | 19/19 hp | AC 20 (ff 18, t 12) | F +1, R +3, W +4 | 2 Hero Pts | Per +1 | Init +2

Backtracking a bit because you guys have taken off on me. :)

When offered a shake by Sampson, Adurus somewhat hesitantly accepts, gulping before saying in response, "Hello. I am Adurus Krupt, recruit of the Most Noble Order of the Exalted March." His voice wavers as he says this automatically, and his eyes fix on Sampson's massive hand which seems to swallow his own whole. He seems to wilt a little under Sampson's scrutiny, and is happy when the big man goes back to speaking with Vincent. 'How intense...'

Knowledge (nobility): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

'And someone from that company to boot... I suppose it would be a good fit for someone like him.' Adurus watches the play between the dragon and stag distractedly, his thoughts instead focused on recalling rumors he'd heard about the ruthlessness of Sampson's platoon. He barely hears the conversation between the guardsman and Viktor, and doesn't register any of what they're saying.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3 Formality roll, unless a nat 20 could pass it per your crit rules.

Adurus sits and listens to the conversations, the dull rumble of thunder passing overhead. As he begins to inspect a half a loaf of bread and determine whether to eat it, both Arzazel and Nathmir voice concerns over hearing gunfire. Adurus hadn't heard it himself, but both of them seem quite serious, so he believes their words. He stands up, feeling along his side until he finds his sling. Unfortunately he doesn't have his armor or weapon here and now. He says to Nathmir confidently, "I'll come along to help," as he loads a sling bullet. Though only a teenager, Adurus looks like he might be passable in a battle, with a ready stance, a sure grip on his weapon, and a scared-yet-determined look on his face. No longer is he moping. 'Is this going to be my first real fight then?' He takes a deep breath of the cool night air to steady his nerves.


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

Vincent notes the others preparing weapons, and thinks more on the situation. "A second person claiming to hear shots. No Molthuni would waste such a precious resource on a celebration. If they did hear gunfire, then there is indeed trouble."

Cursing himself for not wearing his shield and armor to the lower class tents, Vincent stands and looks to Eldred, Sampson, Adurus and Viktor. Adurus was already preparing his sling.

"We had best look into it, just in case there is trouble. Eldred, Sampson, I trust you will be joining us?" Vincent knew he could count on Eldred in the field, but he had not worked with Sampson before.

He then looked to Nathmir, Zeltresh, and Arzazel. Nathmir was readying a crossbow, so Vincent figured he could count him an ally for now. "Master gnome, Master orc, perhaps you would join us as well? Your strength and magic could be helpful if trouble has come out for the festivities."

He looks to the guard, and says, "See these civilians to safety, if you would guardsman?"

He then draws his own longsword, and looks out into the storm hoping this is all just a confusion for thunder.


Male Human Gunslinger 3 | HP 31/31 | AC:17, T:13, F:14 | CMD:16, CMB:+3 | Save (F+6, R+6, W+5) | Init:+4 | Hero: 1/2 | Grit 1/1 | Perc: +7 | (+2 Curse/Fear/Emotion w/gun in hand)

Ack, ninja'd by Vincent! I'll adjust quickly...

Eldred takes another swig of a fresh flagon of ale, setting his stance as he does so. Outside the tent, thunder crashes and echoes, merging with the miasma of his memories. All that is missing are the cries of the dying...

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14 The thunder in the distance tickles at his mind, but he can't discern the memories from reality. He thumps his half-drank flagon down on the table and wipes his heels into the corners of his eyes.

Arzazel, voice deep and gruff asks, "Is that gunfire in the city? Is that normal to celebrate with gunfire?"

The gunslinger is about to reply that using gunfire in celebration is about the dumbest thing he'd ever heard when a calm and disciplined voice replies into the rolling rain and thunder... "That is gunfire. I would like to be proven wrong but I think their could be some sort of trouble. I intend to go check on it." Eldred sees Nathmir glancing outwards into the rain. "Would anyone wish to join me. I rather not mistake a late comer for an enemy." The Aasimar loads his weapon and readies to leave.

"Nonsense," Eldred responds, wiping some ale from his chin and lips. "Only an idiot would depend on a gun in this weather."

Then he sees the certainty in their eyes. Eldred, considers for a moment...

Next Adurus speaks up, standing and readying his own weapon. "I'll come along to help."

...you've got to be ki...

"We had best look into it, just in case there is trouble. Eldred, Sampson, I trust you will be joining us?" Vincent inquires.

Aww, hells... Eldred nods to Vincent and then draws his father's dagger. He checks under his longcoat to ensure ole Lia is ready, drawing her and checking the load, then slipping her home so she's closed up in her oiled-leather holster. Then he checks that his pouch of reloads is likewise secure. He grinds his teeth knowing his armor is high and dry in his quarters along with this short sword.

"Okay, my thought would be it's coming from the Guntank's yard, but since you two heard it straight off, give us a direction." The gunslinger points to Arzazel and Nathmir then steps to the tent flap. Holding a hand up to the others as he takes a knee and peers out to spot any danger. "Better have a look-see so we don't go charging into a hail of bullets..."

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20 ...looking / listening through the pouring rain...


Half-orc Brute | HP 31/31 | 2+1 Hero Points
Stats:
AC 18/14/14 | Fort +6 Ref +7 Will +4 | Init. +3 | Perception +8, 60-ft. Darkvision | CM +8/21 (+3 vs dirty trick)

Being the only civilian among this group of Molthune soldiers, Arzazel's party is over when they leave. Maybe there is more entertainment elsewhere when they start drawing weapons. He finishes his diluted tankard and sets it on the table before standing up. He easily towers over the lot except of Sampson who has him by a couple of inches. Arzazel does not trust most of these soldiers with his life, so he stays near his gnome friend. He puts Zeltresh in his old master's position: a half step ahead of him to one side within easy grasp if necessary. Good thing I'm wearing this Molthune armor. I look like I fit in with these soldiers, he thinks while he readies to accompany them.

"I heard the gunfire in that direction," he says to confirm with the soldier with the odd-changing eyes who also heard the gunfire.


Male Gnome Sorcerer 3

Zeltresh notices the reaction of Arzazel and Nathmir before he hears anything himself. Knowing enough to trust the battle-honed senses of these men he quickly rises to his feet. He remembers watching the Fusiliers at their practice and knows just how much damage guns can do.

'I'd better protect myself once we get closer.' He looks around at the group of warriors with him, most in casual dress better suited for feasting than combat. "Is it nearby? When we get closer to the trouble I might be able to help anyone who left their armor at home. And still provide arcane assistance to the battle, of course." That fiery glint is back in his eyes again as he follows the group to the tent exit.


HP: 31/31
Stats:
AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

Sampson was on his feet at the first call that shots were going on. He says nothing, simply resting one hand on the hilt of his smaller blade. He mentally kicks himself for not wearing his armor or bringing Betrayal. When the others ask if he'll be coming he looks at them like they are stupid, "Of course." is his simple reply. He moves behind Eldred, who has opened the tent. "Got your back, Corporal. Move out."


Male Chelish Human Arcane Duelist Bard 1
Stats:
HP 9/9; AC 15, Flat Footed 13, Touch 12; CMD 14; Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +3; Perception +5; Initiative +2

...back a few moments before everyone started hearing gunshots..

Taking note of the guardsman's comments about Ser Eodric, but not commenting on them, Viktor instead focuses on the illegal contraband issue. "Illegal contraband outside the east gate? I haven't heard of such an incident. Good work, I'll investigate it whe-"

Viktor interrupts himself when he hears the half-orc speak up about gunfire. Looking over at the halfbreed in annoyance, not hearing any sort of gunfire himself, Viktor is about to scold Arzazel for speaking nonsense when the priest also speaks up about gunfire, confirming it. Far more willing to believe a priest, and a human, than a half-breed orc, Viktor stops himself from delivering his intended berating and instead goes to loosen his rapier, though he lets it remain in its scabbard for now.

Annoyed that Vincent got around to issuing orders before him, as he had been momentarily distracted by trying to hear the gunfire, Viktor finally pulls out his rapier, intending on joining the others.

"I hear nothing of gunfire - but unless I am in a tent filled with people hearing ghosts in the wind, there could very well be something going on. With most of the city enjoying the feast - and getting drunk at the same time, now would be the best time for Nirmathi scum to strike." Viktor looks over at Vincent, now a smug look on his face. "At least I had the initiative to stay in uniform. You would do well to learn from this, Vincent."

_____________________________

Thats what he gets for focusing too much on the demi-humans - he didn't notice the gunfire, nor was able to get off orders quick enough. XD. He'll follow whoever can hear the gunshots.

Perception Check: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16


Male Human Gunslinger 3 | HP 31/31 | AC:17, T:13, F:14 | CMD:16, CMB:+3 | Save (F+6, R+6, W+5) | Init:+4 | Hero: 1/2 | Grit 1/1 | Perc: +7 | (+2 Curse/Fear/Emotion w/gun in hand)

Eldred doesn't take his eyes from the small opening he's created in the tent flap, but he grinds his teeth at the Commissar's comments. Well, sir, would it be so kind of you to lead us out? I have a hankerin' for a bullet soaker...

He keeps the comment safely stowed behind his teeth and continues his scan of the area just outside the tent. Then something occurs to him and he wants to slap his forehead for being a drunken idiot.

"Hey, Arzazel, Nathmir," he calls over his shoulder. "I could use your nighteyes up here to make sure the way is clear."


Half-orc Brute | HP 31/31 | 2+1 Hero Points
Stats:
AC 18/14/14 | Fort +6 Ref +7 Will +4 | Init. +3 | Perception +8, 60-ft. Darkvision | CM +8/21 (+3 vs dirty trick)

Arzazel arches an eyebrow in reply to the corporal. If the gunfire was right outside the tent, everyone would have heard it. Let the soldier who heard the noise lead, if you won't, he thinks to himself.


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

"Yeah, you probably sleep in it too," Vincent says as he walks over to Eldred.

He turns to face the gathered ramshackle troop, and sees the guard ushering the rest of the civilians out of the tent, as he had been instructed.

"Stick together, we don't know for sure if anything is wrong yet. We will be moving swift and steady towards what you guys heard, until we find out if it was really gunfire or not. Everyone keep your eyes and ears sharp, just in case."


Male Aasimar Cleric of Nethys 3 l HP: 24/24 l AC: 20 (FF: 17, Touch: 13) l Fort: +6, Ref: +5, Will: +8 l Hero: 4 l Per: +13 | Init +3

Nathmir mostly did not pay attention to the conversation as he moved towards where the sounds were coming from. His sharp senses and natural ability to see in darkness made it a simple matter to sneak towards the source. He kept his crossbow ready for any surprises, until a threat was confirmed he held off on using any spells. Nethys never considered the use of magic to be wasteful, still when one had a limited supply of spells it was simply good sense to conserve it. He was sure his god would forgive such a small slight, if he cared at all that was. Whispering to those who came along.

"We should arrive soon. Try not to give away our position. When the threat is confirmed I will give the signal."


Male Human Oracle 1 | 19/19 hp | AC 20 (ff 18, t 12) | F +1, R +3, W +4 | 2 Hero Pts | Per +1 | Init +2

When Eldred calls to Arzazel and Nathmir, Adurus says, "Um... I can see through the darkness too, but my range of vision is lesser." He steps up and walks in position behind Nathmir, who seems ready to take off already. He peers ahead, trying to move quietly as he goes.

______________________

Stealth Check: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
Perception Check: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7


Male Gnome Sorcerer 3

The gnome stays quiet, scrambling to keep up while remaining as quiet as he can. He was not quite sure how he was expected to act and react as these career solders gave orders. He has spent quite a bit of time drilling and casting with the other battlemages but they had not spent that much time working with an outside chain of command.

He did know there was something afoot in the city, and he knew he could be part of the solution to whatever problems that might cause. Realizing it might take him a few moments to provide protection to himself and the others he continues to look and listen for clues of where the trouble was coming from.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22
Stealth: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22

How close are we to the sounds? Want to Mage Armor myself and offer it to others before combat starts but with only 1hr I dont want to pull the trigger too quickly if we need to search the city or something...


Male Human Gunslinger 3 | HP 31/31 | AC:17, T:13, F:14 | CMD:16, CMB:+3 | Save (F+6, R+6, W+5) | Init:+4 | Hero: 1/2 | Grit 1/1 | Perc: +7 | (+2 Curse/Fear/Emotion w/gun in hand)

Eldred dry washes his face and moves on with the others. No tactics, then? Sounds good. I'll let you go first so you can get the first volley ...

He keeps his grumbling to himself, wondering if he'd been too cautious. The brim of his hat was already sieving water as they approach.

Stealth: 1d20 ⇒ 11
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9


Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

Stealth:: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18
Perception:: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20

Since others were getting those rolls out of the way, figured I should too.


Male Aasimar Cleric of Nethys 3 l HP: 24/24 l AC: 20 (FF: 17, Touch: 13) l Fort: +6, Ref: +5, Will: +8 l Hero: 4 l Per: +13 | Init +3

Perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (9) + 11 = 20
Stealth: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18

Ditto


HP: 31/31
Stats:
AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

Take 10 on both, for a 10 perception and a 14 stealth


As Eldred opens the tent to peer out, his self reprimand proves truthful. Between the overwhelming dimness of the night and the torrents of rain hammering Braganza, there is little to be seen by human eyes.

The guardsman and Viktor's conversation, cut off by the sudden interjection of Vincent and the growing congregation by the tent's entry flap, comes to a sudden halt. Hesitating at the Field-Squire's orders, the younger Renthmir sighs before nodding and begins gathering the citizenry and others up for a guided march through the city.

Those peering outside of the feasting pavilion are availed to little by way of eyesight. Even those who have no trouble seeing through the veil of darkness are met by a second inconvenience: curtains of thick, punishing rain. The still lit lanterns and lamps of the street, accompanied by an overabundance of lightning directly above, serve as occasional beacons through what scant reprieves appear in the descending onslaught of rain droplets. Those buildings that were only recently constructed yet loom with faint outlines in the umbral cloak of night, little more than silhouettes given definition by the steady spray and splash of water along the roofs and walls. Sounds, however, are a far different story.

With the tent flap now opened and the outside world now exposed, between vicious gales of wind and the general nuisance of the rainfall, far off shouts can be heard, accompanied by what can now clearly be identified as pistol fire. The neighing of terrified horses and even fainter screams of men and women echo from further down the street; much to everyone's surprise, the noise emanates not from the newly minted garrison of Molthune's Guntank Brigade, but further in older districts of Braganza. A rare peal of steel crossing steel explodes from further within as well, lending credence to the notion that the city is, in fact, under some sort of attack or siege.

Those who beat a Perception DC of 19:
Something even more unsettling occasionally affords a glimpse up through the sheets of falling rain. Only noticeable in the company of a bright flash of lightning, and seldom then, can multiple swirling pillars of ember-choked smoke be seen descending into various parts of the city. These pillars seem fixed on specific locations, not heeding the terrible gusts of wind that should otherwise be dispersing them.

Guardsman Renthmir seems to have managed to wrangle some measure of order over the civilians behind him, though as he approaches the now cracked entry into the pavilion, he seems hesitant to follow Vincent's orders. Waiting for a break in the discussion of tactics by the assembly now fully arrayed before him, he finally manages the nerve to swallow down his trepidation and clear his throat to voice a protest. "Noble Sers, I beg your pardon a moment, but... I can't see a sodding thing out there. I'm not sure what the trouble is, but if it's something serious I cannot attend to the safety of these people on my own in a storm like this. Furthermore..." Renthmir swallows hard again, and his eyes hesitate to meet Vincent's before he continues. "Furthermore, my orders are to stay here and guard this tent. Until relieved, I am expected to maintain my post."

__________________________________________________

I've not yet moved the scene beyond the tent, in case someone wishes to try to flout authority over the defiant guardsman—though I will remind everyone that as a city guard, none of you have any jurisdiction over him (though that's not to say a well placed Intimidate wouldn't motive the greenhorn). Furthermore, you're not only dealing with the darkness outside, but heavy rainfall, which has created two hazards:

  • Downpour: A downpour obscures all sight beyond 5 feet, including darkvision. Creatures 5 feet away have concealmant (20% miss chance).
  • Dim light: In an area of dim light, a character can see somewhat. Creatures within this area have concealment (20% miss chance in combat) from those without darkvision or the ability to see in darkness. A creature within an area of dim light can make a Stealth check to conceal itself.

    The downpour has been in effect now for 3 hours; the consequences of this have yet to be realized entirely, but it's a safe bet that the city will be facing some flooding problems—perhaps drastic ones if the rain doesn't let up soon.

    Hidden Roll:
    2d4 ⇒ (4, 1) = 5


  • HP: 31/31
    Stats:
    AC 18 T 14 FF 14 / Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +1 / Percep. +7 / Init +5

    How far is this tent from the apartment that Sampson has been lent by the military to rest up in?


    Half-orc Brute | HP 31/31 | 2+1 Hero Points
    Stats:
    AC 18/14/14 | Fort +6 Ref +7 Will +4 | Init. +3 | Perception +8, 60-ft. Darkvision | CM +8/21 (+3 vs dirty trick)

    Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13


    Male Aasimar Cleric of Nethys 3 l HP: 24/24 l AC: 20 (FF: 17, Touch: 13) l Fort: +6, Ref: +5, Will: +8 l Hero: 4 l Per: +13 | Init +3

    Nathmir's keen senses pick out something strange through the powerful weather that hampers even his sight. Breaks and flashes of lightning giving him windows into the distance.

    "Does anyone else see those pillars of ember smoke coming down from the sky, unaffected by the weather. Could be some sort of magic involved."

    Can I make a knowledge (arcana) or spellcraft role?


    Male Gnome Sorcerer 3

    Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

    Zeltresh squints into the sky where Nathmir indicates but sees nothing. 'These guy see everything. I've got to work on that.'

    "Can you tell how far off?" He glances back at the guardsman, wondering how often following orders and doing the right thing come into conflict. "Those screams don't sound good, and someone needs to do something."


    Male Human Oracle 1 | 19/19 hp | AC 20 (ff 18, t 12) | F +1, R +3, W +4 | 2 Hero Pts | Per +1 | Init +2

    Adurus does not chime in on the pillars of smoke which can apparently be seen. He assumes the question was directed at those with less limited sight.

    Ready to move out whenever. Adurus is okay with leaving the guard here, though he won't say anything in opposition to Vincent or Viktor should they try to convince the guard otherwise.


    Male Human Gunslinger 3 | HP 31/31 | AC:17, T:13, F:14 | CMD:16, CMB:+3 | Save (F+6, R+6, W+5) | Init:+4 | Hero: 1/2 | Grit 1/1 | Perc: +7 | (+2 Curse/Fear/Emotion w/gun in hand)

    Eldred can hear the thunder of the guns, the screams of the panicked civilians...as they often do, his thoughts go back to the fortress city of Ramgate. Of course the people there were used to the fighting. Hells they jumped into the task of keeping the city from burning!

    Nathmir wrote:
    "Does anyone else see those pillars of ember smoke coming down from the sky, unaffected by the weather. Could be some sort of magic involved."

    Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9 Looking for the pillars of smoke...

    "I got nothin'..." He glances at Nathmir. "Not to say I don't believe you."

    Renthmir wrote:
    "Noble Sers, I beg your pardon a moment, but... I can't see a sodding thing out there. I'm not sure what the trouble is, but if it's something serious I cannot attend to the safety of these people on my own in a storm like this. Furthermore..." Renthmir swallows hard again, and his eyes hesitate to meet Vincent's before he continues. "Furthermore, my orders are to stay here and guard this tent. Until relieved, I am expected to maintain my post."

    Intimidate: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23 ...on Renthmir...

    Eldred rounds on the guardsman. "What's your name again?"

    "Guardsman Renthmir..."

    "Well Renthmir, good, I wanted to know the name that should be assigned to your medal. Not sure they have one for watching over civilians in an indefensible tent," The gunslinger hooks a thumb towards the armored Commissar behind him. "Hells I don't even think Lord Vikki here has one of them hanging from his breastplate."

    Knowledge(local): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23...considering a good location to to which to take the civilians.

    Before the guardsman can utter a response, Eldred steps to an uncomfortable proximity and speaks with a firm, resolved voice. "Shut those pair of meat flaps and listen up. You're gonna get these people out of harm's way which is your first directive!" He stabs a finger towards the opposite direction Nathmir had indicated. "There's a shop called the White Oak three blocks that way. Owned by a cheese guy...well, he's got a strong basement where you can stow these people for safety. Now I suggest you move out."


    Arcane Duelist 3| HP: 23/24 | AC: 18 (FF: 13, Touch: 13) | Fort: +2, Ref: +7, Will: +3 | Hero: 3 | Per: +5

    Vincent barely caught glimpse of the smoke columns himself, and when Nathmir mentions them, he starts looking closely towards the last location he spotted one. With the next flash of lightning, he was fortunate enough to be looking near where one was, and noted that the smoke indeed seemed to be crawling towards the ground rather than away.

    "That's not possible..."

    Not caring what the guard and Eldred were talking about now, Vincent says to Viktor, "Something bad wrong is happening, Viktor. We need to move."

    Turning to Nathmir, he continues, "What sort of magic could cause this phenomenon, priest?"


    Guardsman Renthmir's mouth goes flat as he endures the sarcastic remark, though the wisdom behind the words does not appear to be lost on him. Owing to his own inexperience at the station he serves, and being stared down by eyes that have witnessed far more horrors than the young man could even begin to fathom, he ultimately concedes to Eldred's suggestion. His shoulders slump slightly and he manages a nod to the gun toting Corporal. "O-okay. I'll get em to the cheese shop, sir. But if I catch hell for this I'm gonna send my superiors your way."

    Not having the stones to own up to whatever retort that last jab might elicit, the guardsman spins on his heels and starts directing the civilians, who have up until now been milling about with concern and hushed murmurs behind the assembly of imposing figures sharing discussion and wary glances outside of the comfort of the tent. Nevertheless, they seem more than happy to oblige Renthmir's direction, all preparing to move as one through the rain-choked streets as soon as they are given leave to do so. Renthmir holds his position at the fore of the crowd, likely waiting for the motley crew of knights, soldiers and ex-slaves to give cover to whatever madness has them all on edge.

    __________________________________________________

    So where will our illustrous heroes be going from here? Sampson hinted at retrieving his gear from his accommodations. As mentioned previously, the sounds of combat and strange pillars of smoke and ember seem to be coming from deeper within the city. The wide street that comprises the center of Keymaker's Promenade merges onto that of Braganza's main thoroughfare all the way to the center square at the heart of Braganza. From there, in addition to the Promenade there are four other districts in four quadrants (with dozens of sub-districts within these, but we won't cross that bridge until it becomes more relevant): The Vaultspires ("Northwest"), Old Town ("Southwest"), The Foundry ("Northeast"), and The Warrens ("Southeast").

    Keymaker's Promenade extends out of what had been the city's northern gate, and as such sort of exists apart from what had comprised the city prior to this Building Season. Any further questions about a district in particular, feel free to pipe up. I'll give a brief overview beneath in Spoiler form.

    The Vaultspires:
    Playing home to the various shrines and temples (including the Golden Glory of the Law-Giver; the chief bank-cathedral of Abadar), this district features heavily the concept of building upwards. Towers, spires, and various monuments tower over much of the district—many of which remain vacant like much of the rest of Braganza.

    Old Town:
    The first effort at expanding Braganza's sprawl began here. Most of Old Town is purely residential, though there are a wide array of specialized shops and craftsmen to be found within. The buildings are typically squat and solid with steep roofs—a style common to much of Molthune. Old Town also plays host to the city's best watering hole: The Bulbous Steed.

    The Foundry:
    A residence-turned market-turned residence, The Foundry is the latest attempt in an ever growing trend of overhauling the city's Southwestern portion en total. Currently, the fringes of the district vary little from the overall design of Old Town, though the closer one gets to the heart of the district the more closely things begin to resemble the steam-and-smog styles of Alkenstar. Networks of immense pipes and vents snake about The Foundry, all feeding into one massive sprawl at the dead center called Rud's Wastewares. Though impressive in scope, the building looks little more than awkwardly formed masses of metal and scrap. The fires of forges are lit nearly constantly, chiefly responsible for the barely breathable air that lingers around the place before dispersing into the skies above Braganza.

    The Warrens:
    The closest thing Braganza has to a slum, Prince-Archbanker Cole Ravnagask once thought to expand his city down into the earth. As a result, dwarves, gnomes, and halflings tend to flock to the area when afforded their choice of residence or board. Unfortunately, a later addition to the sewage systems of the city despite the protests of urban development planners visited ruin in a tangle of sometimes-buildings, sometimes-sewers tunnels that are so extensive that they defy any practical purpose. Worse still, some of the deepest reaches may have breached into an upper section of the Darklands. Sightings of subterranean horrors are often voiced and dismissed twice as quickly.


    Male Aasimar Cleric of Nethys 3 l HP: 24/24 l AC: 20 (FF: 17, Touch: 13) l Fort: +6, Ref: +5, Will: +8 l Hero: 4 l Per: +13 | Init +3

    Nathmir keeps his eyes scanning everything around them. He could only guess as they were not near enough for him to study the strange occurrence. Still he gives replies with the scrap of information he can give.

    "It is not natural, anything more is mere guesswork on my part. Once we get closer I may be able to learn more. Until then I would keep my guard up."

    He ignores the wind, lightning, and pouring rain as he grips his crossbow. Wondering what was in store for them.

    Got ninja'ed by the DM, for Vincent regardless.

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