Action 1:
“... a protest?”
The word, overheard by chance, roused Eirik from his work. He could hear the sound of conversation outside the door fade into distance, and considered rushing after the Abadarian brothers to ask for details, but immediately decided against it. The news would still be there later, and there had been little of urgency in the voices – thus, a good chance the event was to take place later, and not unfolding even now. Besides, he still had work to do. Not that he rated high the chances of the apothecary brothers in the case of Deval versus House Jarvis – the noble house had decided, for a reason known thus far only to them – to pick a bone with the two elderly brothers, and they had gold to spend.
And gold, in this city, could buy justice.
Frowning in annoyance, Eirik took a sip of tea from a cup perilously balanced on the tiny table, fighting for room with heavy leather-bound books and Eirik's own notes. Cold. Figures. Once again, he had lost himself in his work. He wasn’t actually representing the people himself, but he had offered to help do the groundwork for the honorable Brother Peronius.
’Ever the knight to charge in to fight battles one can not win, eh?’ Eirik thought glumly. ’Now, what does that say about me, I wonder?’
Idly, Eirik wondered exactly what the Deval brothers had done to get the Jarvis crowd so riled up. Most likely, in his mind, they just happened to own property the nobles had decided should rightfully belong to them, and had been too slow to accept their offer. For clearly, the charges presented reeked like a herring left in the sun.
Sighing, Eirik closed his books and stacked them neatly, gathered his notes, checking first to make sure the ink had properly dried, blew out the candles and rose to his feet, stretching shoulders stiff from long hours spent scribing. Arms stretched wide, his fingers brushed the walls of his tiny monk’s cell. His eyes roamed across the room, taking in the simple bed, the tiny working table and chair before the room’s small, high window, the rough-spun wool rug on the stone floor, the small chest for his few personal belongings. All at their proper place, positioned just so.
Taking comfort in the display of order, the monk smiled, close his eyes and stood still. He stilled his body, then his mind. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, then exhaled slowly, feeling his tension ease. Eyes still closed, mindful of the lack of space, Eirik began the slow, smooth dance of the basic forms first taught to him when he set foot on the Irori’s Path of Perfection. Soon, he had gained a comfortable rhythm and allowed his mind to wander, considering the implications of the half-hard conversation.
Protest... things were coming to a boil. And could he blame the people? Previous major vanishes. New ruler arrives, declaring martial law as his first act in power. Then the edicts. As a student of law, those were particularly puzzling to Eirik. Some of them even made sense, but the others…? Sheer stupidity, or a convoluted way to actually drive the people to voice their dissent, so that the Paracount got a legitimate reason to stomp on the citizens even harder? Eirik could not make up his mind, not yet. The one about drinking tea was a source of particular frustrated mirth to him. And the latest one, about mint?
Chuckling, Eirik shook his head, forcing his thought back on track. Unless he was sadly mistaken, things would get a lot worse before they got better, and he wouldn’t bet a copper half-penny against a gold bar the Paracount would take a public protest lying down. Such a gathering, such an attempt of the people to seize power would elicit a response. And somehow, he doubted the people would like it. If nothing else, such a protest would give the city officials a great chance to imprison a few dozen people, perhaps by random, to be made into warning examples.
At least, that’s what Eirik would do, were he a despot-in-the-making, eager to leave his mark. The history was ripe with such examples, if one knew where to look.
Still, there was no question that he would attend. History read from the books was fascinating enough. But this? This was history in the making, whether good or bad. Such a chance was not to be missed.
Action 2:
The following day, Eirik made his way to the Park, a short enough a jaunt from the House of Golden Veils. He headed off alone, though he knew several brothers from the temple were sure to attend. For professional interest if nothing else. But he preferred from staying apart.
Hood thrown back despite the drizzle, Eirik didn’t mind the weather a bit. Indeed, he felt invigorated.
Nodding to the occasional passerby who he knew well enough, the monk took advantage of his height to peer over the crowd, trying to find a good vantage point where he could follow the proceedings. A moment later, he settled on a slightly elevated spot in the southern edge of the crowd. Not even trying to push his way through the crowd, Eirik took his time and circled around. As he walked he listened to the various conversations, not lingering long enough to follow any to its conclusion but gauging well enough the mood of the crowd.
Fear mixed with resentment and expectation. Was the crowd really ready for a confrontation, or did they just thing they were? Either way, they would surely find out, if for no other reason that because the racket would eventually get on the Paracount’s nerves. Eirik applauded their bravery, ever as he questioned their commitment.
Finding a place that provided him with a decent enough a view in most directions, Eirik settled on the spot, crossing his arms to hide his hands in the sleeves of his dark robe. He was clad in his usual grey trousers and short black robe, something the city’s new ruler could apparently appreciate, considering his Fourth Proclamation. The somber clothes, combined with his sheer size and girth, his roughly-chiseled features, outlandish braided hair and beard, and the fierce frown on his face as he fell lost in thought and speculation saw to it that the surging crowd avoided bumping into him.
- Eirik
With permission I'll upgrade Caleb's Holy Text.
Also, is it reasonable to assume we have somewhere reasonably safe and secure to sleep and store stuff? I was going to do Caleb's on a rooftop.
Finally, seems like Callistrians might well do "in the event of my death..." letters. Is that fair as well?
It's safe to assume that you have somewhere safe to 'live' (for now anyways).
Alright, only got Actions 1 up so far. Sorry for the delay. Is this okay?
---
Perched by the fountain the man in the yellow coat examined the passers-by like a jeweler looking for flaws in his gems - or perhaps more like a gambler trying to see his opponent’s cards through their back. Ostensibly his purpose was clearly indicated by the hat half full of coppers at his feet, and the rough chalk drawing of operatic masks behind him. His inexperience was just as clearly advertised - the fountain was old, the square it was in all but abandoned, and few of the grim and angry throng on the main road came to have their heart lightened. There was no question that while he might be a fine singer, he was going hungry tonight. His ostensibly clear purpose, however, was a cloak.
If you hungered for something you could not buy in a shop, and you knew who to ask, then you might be told to seek one of the Yellow Jackets. Normal looking folk, doing normal looking things, wearing a yellow coat. Tell them what you hungered for, and they might help. Perhaps. Approach the same person when they’re wearing anything else and they wouldn’t know what you meant. To a Yellow Jacket the square was perfect. Clear visibility to many people, but room to have a conversation. Good lines of sight, but multiple exits.
Caleb straightened as the woman came closer.
”Any requests?” he asked, smiling. He had a handsome smile - he had a handsome everything. He looked like one of the Perfected, come down to earth and weathered into approachableness by fast living and hard drinking. The petitioner looked around, her nervousness betraying her unfamiliarity as she uttered the code phrase
”Fast romance?” she queried ”By Havieleri?”. So thought Caleb, noting the catch in her breath and the hard v in the composer’s name. An affair, is it? And for the first time or you’d know that phrase better. He eyed the woman up and down Married for money, and regretting a lifetime of boredom?
”Ah - perhaps not. One of the other composers? Which ones do you like?”
”The young one. The Ulfen hero. The woman.”
Caleb noded. Oh, I see. Hmm. Difficult. Let me think. There was the mercenary - not Ulfen, but Jadwiga… close enough? ”I’m not sure I know that one - do you mean the Jadwiga hero?”
The petitioner thought for a second, and nodded.
Caleb’s eyes closed as he wandered through his memories. Always dangerous to do that when you’re with a petitioner, but one of his Blessings was awake and keeping an eye on her. He concentrated a second longer as names fell into place for him.
”I’m afraid I don’t know any songs by Trudiana” he apologised and why she chose that stupid bloody name as an alias I’ll never know ”But if you ask at the Three Legged Devil tonight, I believe there’s a performer there who knows the pieces.” Translation: go there tonight and ask for Trudiana. Even if you’re new you’d know that. ”This is similar in style though…” and he launched into a rendition of one of the Skald-pieces from the Odrჾc saga.
The woman nodded appreciatively at the end, and dropped a gold coin into his hat. Calmly he nudged the hat and the coin slid under the coppers. Not a lot of money for the risk, but then I’m doing this for Callistria, not Abadar.
It was a few minutes later that the next client approached. ”Any requests?” Caleb asked.
The woman looked at him carefully ”Are you The Cage?” she asked in reply.
Instantly Caleb was alert. There were very few people who knew that name, given to him by a priestess of Callistria when she worked out what he had been turned to. And there was this - of the people who knew that name, Caleb knew ALL of them, and he did not know this woman. He nodded, already gathering strength to destroy her. Instead, she destroyed him, with a letter.
The Yellow and Black seal. His name - ‘The Cage’ - and how to find him on the front. The elegant elvish shape to the beautifully handwritten characters. It was a Final Retribution. An “in the event of my death” letter, to be handed out when someone died or vanished. He knew who it was from before he opened it. Really, there was only one person it could be from. Thaeldriel. The Callistrian Priestess who had saved him. Missing for four days now. If this letter found him, she thought she’d be dead by now.
It wasn’t a long letter, for a goodbye. A page, a map, and a key. A page of instructions. A map to where in her house she kept her secret stash. A key to open it and disarm the traps. It says to hurry - damn. If this is her final request, it’s only going to take minutes to fulfill.
He got to the house, snuck in, found the stash and opened it. Inside was a large box, and inside that was envelope after envelope, each carefully labelled with opening instructions. Typical of Thaeldriel to try to micromanage her own… The thought cut off as he saw what lay beneath the letters.
The Book of Joy.
Not simply some Penny Bible, or mass printing. The Book of Joy she had spent her long elven life preparing. Full size folio. Hardened hand tooled leather covers, gilt edged thick parchment, literally hundreds of beautiful sketches and paintings. Each word of the Callistrian Holy Text wrought in Thaeldriel’s gorgeous script. In Elven.
Caleb Cage spoke three languages. None of them were Elven. He spoke Chellish - the ugly common western Taldane had become, learned from a mother he didn’t remember. He spoke Halfling - the much prettier language learned from the woman who saved him. Finally he spoke Infernal - he’d never learned that, it just came to him when he needed it or was trying to sleep.
Thaeldriel had laughed at the idea of children. The Book was as close as she came. She was her own model when painting Callistria, and the book charted her own life. To give this book to Caleb for safekeeping indicated a trust and respect he never would have expected. To arrogantly assume he would learn Elven simply so he could appreciate her genius was so much more the woman he knew.
The top envelope read “Read Me First”, so he did.
Caleb.
If you are reading this, I am dead, or I might just be held up.
DO NOT READ THE OTHERS UNTIL THEY SAY TOO. I’ve too many secrets to give away if I might be able to use them, and had more than enough time to accurse the envelopes.
There was another rougher than the others , and it read “Read Me Right Now”
Son
Friend.
Caleb Cage.
Stay quiet and fast
I’ve no time for length.
I loved a Silver Raven, once.
I’m off to see about Barzillai Thrune.
If I get back tonight, I’ll destroy this note.
The Ravens will meet outside the opera house.
On the day of the second of the Rough God’s month.
A man with black leather on his right hand and none on his left.
Shall tell how to get my revenge and yours on thrice damned Thrune.
I give to you the daggers, and the book, for you have already the wasps.
I will die before I talk, but they may be stalking my house like spiders stalk locusts.
Away with book and box, quiet and fast, let none know Caleb Cage knew dead Thaeldriel
Sure, in a hurry and still found time to write elven poetry. Caleb was gathering the book and box as he thought - if there might be Order around, it was best to already be gone. Time to spend a few days lying low. Despite his rush he cradled the box like one might a child. Thaledriel was acerbic, arrogant and annoying, but she had also been one of his few friends. She saw past the Blessing. She almost saw past the Curse. If Thrune had killed her it was one more bloody mark to add to the red ledger he kept in his head.
Alright, only got Actions 1 up so far. Sorry for the delay. Is this okay?
This is more than OK. No need to apologize about a 'delay'.
@everyone: We haven't talked about posting times so now's good time.
You all have 48 hours from when I post the turn recap. That should give me a day to compile responses and write the new turn recap (about twice per week).
Of course, if you write sooner then we'll have more interaction which makes for a better game but don't feel rushed. I am more than happy to wait for the quality of posts that we're getting.
Questions?
Game on!
Turn 00
Action One
Vandomir gazed at the newly placed picture of the Paracountess, ”she’s an attractive enough woman, I suppose, particularly among the Thrunes, but who knows what agreements she has with the devils beyond to keep her on the throne.”
”A woman like that is probably a bit too much tiger to handle though,” he glanced around the room quickly, not sure if he had spoken the last aloud. ”One never knows if the walls are listening. I suppose it was bound to happen, Bainulus’ flagrant disregard for the edicts coming out of Westcrown was good for trade and business, but I guess not good for her longevity.” Putting up the picture had been easy. A simple, but meaningless sign of devotion to the Wiscrani directives issued earlier in the week. ”No mint? And no evening tea? And I’m to wear peasant garb is it?” For a man fond of dressing nice and sipping a glass of mint tea while reading in the evenings, these were indeed hardships.
He flipped through an appointment book, comparing it with the bills and receipts to ensure they had been properly paid for several jobs done during the last month. ”What I wouldn’t give for a good chance to go out and build something amazing! Instead I spend my time repairing, mending, and patching. Ahhh well, whatever keeps Aunt Belcara happy and off my back I suppose.”
He looked up and noticed one of the servants wearing the house livery who had been patiently waiting to be recognized. ”How long had she been there?” He put on his best face and asked, ”Yes? What brings you here?”
In a deferential tone, the servant stated, ”sir, your father instructed me to inform you that there are rumors of a possible protest to be held at Aria Park tomorrow morning.”
”Very well, tell my father that I will see to it,” instructed Vandomir with what he felt was a properly haughty tone, ”and inform the kitchen that I shall need breakfast quite early on the morrow and in my room. Bacon crispy, eggs runny, and the damn biscuits had better not be rock hard again.” He waved his hand dismissively at the servant who understood the gesture and left without a further word.
Action Two
A light knocking on his chamber door had awoken Vandomir. ”Enter,” he commanded. Two servants came in the room. One went around and lit several lamps, while the other placed breakfast on the table. ”Is there anything else you require sir,” asked the younger of the two. Vandomir responded, ”how does the weather feel this morning?” Unsure of how to answer, the boy looked to the older servant, ”sir, it is a bit damp, but it is not raining like it had yesterday. At least not yet it isn’t.” Vandomir considered the response before directing, ”I’ll have some clothes laid out. Simple breeches, put my tools into a backpack. Perhaps an extra bowstring? I’ll carry the bow unstrung as a staff, as usual. No embroidery!” The older servant nodded his compliance and left the room. The young boy, finally finished with lighting candles and lamps, put on an impish grin, ”Mather knows you’re not as mean as you let on.” Vandomir smiled, ”and here I thought it was our little secret. Now get out of here you scamp, and be sure and tell the others how I barked at you for dripping wax on the carpet.” As the boy turned to leave, Vandomir asked him ”how are your studies going Wix?” Wix smiled, appreciative that Vandomir had been teaching him to read, ”good I think sir, I was almost caught reading the spines on some of the books yesterday, but I played it off like I was just looking for dust and cleaning them.” Vandomir nodded and waved, and the boy left.
Teaching a commoner, and a servant, to read wasn’t illegal, but it certainly wasn’t something that Vandomir thought his aunt would approve of. ”What she doesn’t know, won’t hurt me I suppose.” He sat down, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The smell of the bacon was just what he needed, and the biscuits weren’t too hard. They weren’t light and flakey, but better than some. And the kitchen had sent him up coffee, in lieu of his usual cup of morning tea. He would have to see about fixing that.
About the time he was polishing off the remains of his breakfast, the old man, Mather, returned with some clothes and laid them out on the bed. Brown leather breeches, a linen shirt, boots with a hard leather sole and soft sides, and a hat. ”Will that be all sir,” asked Mather. ”Yes, that’s fine. If father asks where I’ve gone, tell him I am off to Aria Park to assess the damages.” Looking a bit confused, Mather responded, ”Aria Park sir? Yes, sir, of course sir.” And with that, Vandomir was alone again.
Many members of the nobility preferred the assistance of others to get dressed, but Vandomir enjoyed the quiet time to himself. Mather had correctly interpreted what he wanted for clothes, just as he had hundreds of times before.
Standing before the long mirror, Vandomir combed his hair with his hand, bringing the dark widow’s peak to a point on his forehead. ”Just a few grays starting to peak through,” he thought. ”I’d rather keep them and have them all go gray, but I doubt that is to be. At least the grays would match my eyes” He admired his lean form, still kept that way by a regimen of exercise to make up for his lack of hard labor out in the city like he used to have. ”Ahhh, a nice rugged oilskin hat, with a broad brim. Mather has thought of everything.” Picking up the boots, he frowned, ”not these for today I think, I will grab the soft ones on my way out.” Vandomir liked the way he could feel the cobbles of the roads through the soft soles of some shoes. He could feel the rhythm of the wagons in the hum of the stones, and it allowed him to connect with the city. Placing the hat on his head, he opened the door and entered the hallway. Right outside, where he expected to find them, were his backpack with a quiver tied to it, belt with pouch, and the unstrung bow he loved so much. ”Hmmmm, a protest, could turn violent, better take this,” and he leaned back inside his room and grabbed the baldric hanging on a hook and the sword that came with it. A quick look inside the backpack confirmed his tools were in there along with some food. He lifted the gear onto his back, adjusted his hat, and walked down the hall.
His first few steps out the door were an adjustment. His adjusted his armor a little where it was binding, his sword and his backpack had been rubbing him a little wrong, and he adjusted his breathing to longer deep breaths to smell the air. It was only roughly a 40 minute walk, but it took him from one world to another. From the world of privilege, power, and money, and into what he thought of as his “dream world.” Why he called it that, he wasn’t sure, because it was actually the “real world” with real people. Children, and loves, and animals. Not like the world he was raised in. He drank in the city with all of his senses. He felt the stones beneath his feet, "good choice on the boots," he heard the animals and the shod hooves of horses, he smelled the damp mustiness of yesterday’s showers in the thatch roofs, he could see the dawn of the new day breaking through the towers and minarets that reached to the sky, and he could already taste the street wares that the merchants would soon be hawking everywhere. But beyond all of that, which anyone could experience, Vandomir had a further sense, part of his connection with Kintargo. He felt a thrumming in the air, an excitement in her people, something that went to the bones of the city. A feeling, a sense that today something was different. Different than yesterday, or yesteryear. It was strange, and disorienting. He wasn’t sure what it meant. ”I’m probably just feeling the effects of that coffee. I suppose I will have to get used to it.” He took notice of scratches in marble and stone. The family wouldn’t be repairing those, the common people couldn’t afford it, but his mind couldn’t stop just noticing the city. He didn’t take the most direct route to Aria Park, preferring to see more of the city before he reached his destination. ”The journey is often more important than the destination,” his mother had once told him. He hadn’t understood it then, but he definitely got it now.
Midway through his walk, he crossed the Bleakbridge. ”I shall have to get some food here later, on my way back home.
Another 15 minutes finally found him approaching Aria Park from the northwest, with the Opera House to his left. ”It’s a shame he thought,” considering the place’s new resident, ”I had been hoping to catch a show in the near future.” Intended to bring nature, to the city, the park felt strange to Vandomir. Elves and squirrels live among the grass and trees, it was no place for men. Still, it made the people happy he supposed. He circumnavigated the whole park, his mind drawing a picture of the facades of the buildings in his memory. Best to know the status before the protests, so he knew what had been damaged and could properly assess the cost of repairs. With that done, he found himself a quite stairway to sit and wait, while he chewed some jerky and drank in the city with his whole self.
Ok, so there's my offering. Hopefully that's the sort of thing you were seeking.
I'll be interested in seeing what all of that turns into. Do I need to read each of the other player's posts, or will it all get transcribed into the turn?
Fabian will write all this up in one post (and resolve possible conflicting postings), but how could one resist reading all of these as they come out? This stuff is great! ;^)
Fabian will write all this up in one post (and resolve possible conflicting postings), but how could one resist reading all of these as they come out? This stuff is great! ;^)
Yeah, I need to up my game to keep up with these great posts!
Fabian will write all this up in one post (and resolve possible conflicting postings), but how could one resist reading all of these as they come out? This stuff is great! ;^)Yeah, I need to up my game to keep up with these great posts!
Yes, I'll wrap all the posts in a turn recap where I will add a one or two more 'scenes' for you roleplay.
There's no need to read the other players' posts for THIS turn. However, once you are all 'introduced' and are playing with each other, you will want to read players' posts as they appear so you can act (talk, take action, etc.) on them.
I'll try to get a turn recap out tonight since you've all posted in record time.
Questions?
Game on!
PS: Remember to roll perception...
I added my +2 to perception for the protest. If this was wrong then it'll just be the +4.
Right, had to check my "Reason to Protest" again. Since I'm just Staying up on Current Events my bonuses are +2 on Diplomacy and Perform. Not my two best attributes, hahaha.
Now that you brought this up...
How will your familiar communicate something she sees? Will she notice odd things? What's odd for a bird? Is it trained? I know 'your trush' can talk...
I must admit that I always have issues playing with animals/familiars and carrying on conversations. I know familiars have intelligence of 6 (more than your typical animal) but what is that? Is that equivalent to a 2-year old or a 'dumb redneck'?
Thoughts? (I welcome others' input as well not just Tillia)
If you look [url=www.d20pfsrd.com/basics-ability-scores/ability-scoreshere[/url] it gives a decent rundown of what a given score would tend to be like. It's custom content, but it is viable.
We're dealing with what would be roughly a late childhood (pre-teen, maybe 7-8ear old intellect at this point). As far as noticing things, that's wisdom based and something she's far better at than thinking logically/critically.
In this particular case since the thresh isn't close enough to be heard most likely it's the empathic link ability working wich is not words but feelings. In this instance if something is threatening me then she can give me an impression of danger and probably a vague direction like something is sneaking up on me from behind or to one side, but no actual words can be passed along.
If you look [url=www.d20pfsrd.com/basics-ability-scores/ability-scoreshere[/url] it gives a decent rundown of what a given score would tend to be like. It's custom content, but it is viable.
We're dealing with what would be roughly a late childhood (pre-teen, maybe 7-8ear old intellect at this point). As far as noticing things, that's wisdom based and something she's far better at than thinking logically/critically.
In this particular case since the thresh isn't close enough to be heard most likely it's the empathic link ability working wich is not words but feelings. In this instance if something is threatening me then she can give me an impression of danger and probably a vague direction like something is sneaking up on me from behind or to one side, but no actual words can be passed along.
OK, I have a better idea about your familiar and its relationship with you.
I liked that ability summary; how come I've never seen it before?
I wonder if those PC that dumped either INT or WIS will roleplay their PCs that way. :)
How will your familiar communicate something she sees? Will she notice odd things? What's odd for a bird? Is it trained? I know 'your trush' can talk...
I must admit that I always have issues playing with animals/familiars and carrying on conversations. I know familiars have intelligence of 6 (more than your typical animal) but what is that? Is that equivalent to a 2-year old or a 'dumb redneck'?
Thoughts? (I welcome others' input as well not just Tillia)
Long ago, and in a version of the game that probably predates 50% or more of the current Pathfinder community, I read an article that discussed the various scales for each of the stats.
Strength was relatively easy, go out do a bench press, see where you fall on the scale, and boom, that's your strength score. Most likely well below an 18, and certainly not an 18/00.
In many ways, that author did the same thing with intelligence. 3d6 averages out at 10.5. The IQ scale is set so that 100 is "average." so, the rule of thumb for intelligence was that drop a 0 onto the intelligence score, and that is your IQ.
Ok, so is a 6 INT the same as a 2 year old? Absolutely not. The 2 year old could be a genius, but doesn't yet have the wisdom and experience to be able to show you its genius.
An "animal" is given an intelligence of 1 or 2 usually. At 3 they are considered to have obtained "sentience." I won't spend the time reciting half a semester of a College philosophy class as to what exactly sentience might be.
But let's go back to the IQ example. A 60 IQ is generally regarded as "Educable Mentally Retarded." Wikipedia tells me that with a 60 IQ an adult can be expected to "harvest vegetables, repair furniture." Show me a dog, or a horse that can harvest vegetables (not just eat them, but harvest and collect them) or fix a sofa, and I'll show you a damn smart horse or dog!
Dropping to a 3 INT or 30IQ spot on the curve, apparently like .03% of the population shows this low of an IQ. Although, that would make it like what 300 out of a million? And if we have 350 million people in the US, then we have 105,000 total who qualify as a 3 INT. If you met one you would likely think they were absolute idiots, but maybe they can still do certain tasks, that if you saw a parrot doing them, you'd be stunned.
Keep in mind, that many animals (monkeys, dogs, horses, etc.) have been taught some pretty darn complex functions with their 2 INT. So if you put them at a 3 or higher, and a 6 in some cases, I'd have to say they are smart smart smart.
Keep in mind, a PC can "dump" INT to a 7, and then take a -2, and still be at a 5, fully capable of swinging their full compliment of sword swings. And if they got there do to draining, they are capable of casting their non-INT based spells. Maybe their INT based spells too, I always forget how draining works.
I'm not proposing (necessarily) that a 6 INT bird knows Morse code.
A Familiar is clearly given the ability of "Speak with Master" at 5th level. That seems unambiguous, but it alsoo tells me it didn't have the ability from levels 1-4.
Can a war trained mount or other companion know to stand over it's master's body and defend it? Seems pretty reasonable to me, such stories show up in the news once a month or so. Dogs that haul kids out of buildings, etc. If Lassie or Rin-tin-tin could do it, an animal companion could, provided they are physically capable. The smartest and nicest parrot in the world isn't hauling a guy out of a fire.
Is this canon in fantasy and sci fi? I'd say it is. Gandalf has bugs do his bidding. Bill the pony was pretty sharp.
Anyways, those are my thoughts.
In my case the only reason I can already speak with my familiar is because she gains a spoken language as a supernatural ability. Thus she can speak and understand that language as can anyone who understand said language.
Right, if she can speak, then she can speak it.
Same as animals with feats, if they have the feat, they can, and will, use the feat!
I've heard people try and argue wolves don't know about flanking bonuses. Really? Actual pack animals use that tactic in the real world, so they sure as heck know about it in the game world, and they take their +2s accordingly.
Hmm - can one conceal armour? Is that Disguise?
Caleb's familiar/s can't talk with him. They have the empathic link. Can I assume they have limited understanding of one or more languages?
They mostly communicate by writhing, pointing or pulsing. The Awareness and Bonus stealth they convey is - I assume - mostly an unconscious bleed through.
I *really* want to be able to talk to them, but I figure that's just going to have to wait until they 'upgrade'.
I say Familiar/s because I'd like it vague whether it is the same critter or one of many. Mechanically it is always going to be the same one, and if it dies he'll have to pay to get a new one as normal.
Also, it is a reskinned House Centipede - I was looking for a wasp larvae, and that was the most similar. Eventually it'll transition into a full wasp.
There is a recently released feat from the Dirty Tactics Toolbox for CN Calistrians that give them a wasp familiar. They re-skinned a greensting scorpion, reduced it's land speed and gave it a fly speed as well as tweaked the skills slightly. Taking the feat a second time at or after level five changes it from the scorpion to a slightly modified imp for the base stats, rather cool really, just sucks that it requires you be chaotic neutral.
Concealing armor would be disguise.
Caleb: I'm holding out until tomorrow to wait for your action 2 post. Don't feel rushed because it's barely been over 24 hours since the turn came out.
I'll post the turn recap once I hear from Caleb tomorrow.
Questions?
ACTION 2
The day dawned with a light drizzle as all sorts of Kintargans slowly made their way to Aria Park. Even with the cobblestones of Argent Avenue and the foliage of the park still wet from the morning's light rain, dozens of Kintargans had gathered along the facade of the opera house to protest the city's new lord-mayor, Paracount Barzillai Thrune. The city's new leader had been appointed by Her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II, in the wake of the previous lord-mayor's sudden flight from the city - an event that still has local rumormongers whispering furiously.
In a scant seven days, Paracount Thrune had instituted martial law, a curfew, and seven outlandish and polarizing proclamations. These actions and more had called many of Kintargo's
dissatisfied citizens here on this overcast morn. There was no sign yet of Barzillai Thrune himself, and the opera house's doors remain tightly closed - as they had since the man chose the landmark as his new home - but judging by the growing sound of the protesters, he surely couldn’t ignore the scene on the streets below much longer.
Caleb walked his City, his coat the colour of rain-dark cobblestone and his eyes the grey of the clouds. The streets were his veins. The people rushing through them his blood. They passed by him and no eye saw him. Under his coat and his armour the Blessings crawled through his skin, and deep inside his soul the Curse waited dark, heavy, and patient.
He had stirred when the bakers woke to tend their ovens. Woke when the sun rose and roused sleeping townsfolk, even though no sun could shine in the hole he lived in. He had woken, slowly started to strap on the devil-scales he wore under his coat. As more townsfolk woke, so did he, till he strode out the door alert and awake, armour under coat and a dagger sheathed at his belt.
He had looked on in disbelief at the protesters. Brave, or ignorant? he wondered. Thrune was not something to make a target of yourself in front of. He had searched through stories of rebellions for years, looking for a way to overthrow Thrune, and knew how the Thrice Damned House dealt with those considerate enough to openly brand themselves as opponents. Still... he had to find this contact. Find him, and get out before the wrath of Thrune descended.
Blinking he ‘stepped out’ into the park. Nothing seemed to change, but suddenly eyes swung his way, then swung away. Scruffy, good looking man. Brown-red hair, dark grey eyes. Average height, but gaunt. Wearing a rainproof coat - which was all but the Kintargo uniform on days like today - not particularly well armed, but not entirely unarmed either. He was... nondescript ... except when he looked at the Opera House and something about him seemed to change. Were his eyes grey before? A trick of the light - they were black now.
Fabian, I'm missing from the players and characters pages T_T Unless I'm supposed to add myself there somehow. Which it could well be, me still being mostly forum-illiterate.
@Erik: I know this one - follow these steps.
1. Post anything ("dot" is traditional) in the gameplay thread.
2. VERY IMPORTANT: Delete the Post so the gameplay isn't cluttered with dot posts.
Hmm... thank you, I shall test this thing ;^)
*Edit*
And it works! Thank ye for yer assistance.
not a problem
I am very impressed, and this will get better once we start roleplaying with each other.
Please keep up the excellent posting.
Turn 001 is up.
Read the OOC.
Questions, comments, and/or suggestions?
Game on!
Action 1 Selina:
The little thrush flew up to the eaves of a nearby building and began watching the crowd. While she didn't understand what they were saying she could tell that things were getting tense down there, like right before a terrible storm. While her instinct was to leave she had been given a task by her mistress, Tillia, and she would do it to the best of her abilities. Still, here unease was definite and she sent that feeling back through the link to Tillia, the feeling that something was very wrong here.
Action 2:
Tillia and Alinza began walking among the crowd in an attempt to pick up any rumors that may be circulating in the hopes that these would lead to places where they could help keep the calm or help them understand what it was that wasn't quite right about this protest, what that niggling feeling from Selina was all about out. In her efforts Tillia saw one protester that seemed to be as nervous as she was and looked at Alinza, "I think I see someone who might know something, come on, let's go talk to him real quick." Nodding her assent, Alinza walks with Tillia to where the the man was standing. Tillia approached him and asked, "Something is bothering you about all of this too isn't it? It all seems to be so, I don't know, easy? It's like the Lord Governor isn't worried about what's happening here right outside his front door." She stood beside him and asked, "Have you heard anything about why that might be, or know anyone who might know?"
Selina, seeing little of interest from her current perch, flew over to another building on the other side of the square and continues to keep watch. Her little bird brain may not understand much of what is going on, or why, but it does understand picking out things around her, normally things to eat. While she was doing her best the little thrush spotted a dragonfly, decided it looked tasty, and swooped for it, snatching the bug up before landing back on her perch to watch her mistresses back for signs of danger.
I will endeavor to meet the 48 hours, but weekends are tough, I imagine others have the same problem. No promises, but I'll give it the good old college try.
Better to have a great post a day or so late then a sucky post on time, in my opinion.
Better to have a great post a day or so late then a sucky post on time, in my opinion.
Agreed.
Weekends are good for me so this will be 'schedule' we'll try to adhere to:
- turn recap out on Wednesday and postings to be done on Thursday and Friday; and
- turn recap out on Saturday or Sunday and postings to be done on Monday and Tuesday.
Of course, I will be flexible. If for example, there's lots of roleplaying going on, I won't necessarily cut it because of the schedule.
Also there's real life (job, wife, two kids, etc.) here so if you miss a turn, it's not the end of the world although please try and let us know about it.
Questions?
Game on!
Having now read the whole thing, I see that there is not a LOT of RP to be done in this one, so likely I can hammer something out tonight, or tomorrow.
Turn 001
Action 1
Vandomir's vantage point left him with little to do but wonder just how long it would take for the Thrune's jackbooted thugs to come out and put down this little demonstration. "It's all fine and well for the little people to think about rebellion, maybe even commit some graffiti to the walls of the city, but the Thrunes surely can't permit something like this to happen, right?"
"Nice chant, even if it does cause some of them to have a week in jail I suppose," he said out loud before noticing a figure moving behind the curtains on the third floor of the opera house. "A dark armored figure? Is that the Thrune," he wondered.
Action 2
Should Vandomir's action 1 reveal something interesting:
"Did I just see what I thought I saw?"
Vandomir stood up and started slowly skirting his way around the crowd, trying to get closer to the opera house, and hopefully not bringing too much attention to himself, "I'm no revolutionary," he thought, "I may sympathize, but taking this sort of direct action against the Thrunes is more foolhardy than brave."
Should Vandomir's first action not have revealed anything really interesting, then he will:
"Hmmm, nothing special going on there it seems. But where are the Hellknights, coming to put down this protest. I'm pretty disappointed at the lack of damage, so far. We may not make much out of this."
Turn 001
Action 2:
Rowan pushed her way through the crowd. If anyone bumped into her they tended to bounce off again rather than change her course for she was solidly built. After minutes ticked by, minutes that seemed like hours, she began to feel panicky because she couldn’t find anyone she was looking for.
It was then that an unnatural calmness washed over her and she heard a distinct voice in her ear say, “This isn’t about you, my child.” Rowan spun around in the crowd looking for the source of the voice but couldn’t see anyone trying to get her attention. The melodious voice continued, “You will see Tiberius again someday, but today is not that day. Today you need to focus on the protest and aide where you can. They will need strength to rise up against this oppression and hope that they will succeed. In the name of Milani, you will do this.”
Elation and dismay warred within Rowan. Elation because her goddess had deemed her worthy to speak to but dismay because she wanted to resist Milani’s words and continue with her youthful fancy. However, her devotion to the Everbloom gave her clarity and she knew nothing good would come from choosing Tiberius over Milani. With a sad heart the warpriest resolved to carry out Milani’s wishes instead of her own, knowing she had to let go of her beloved. At least she had been given hope that she would see Tiberius again someday…even if it was in the afterlife.
Turning her attention back to the crowd, Rowan looked at those around her with new eyes. For those yelling in support of Thrune, she had nothing but contempt. For the rest she wanted to help fight against the unjust rule but for that she would need help – or someone she could help. The problem was that she had no idea of how to start because up until a few months ago she had been an uninvolved, uninformed, teenage girl who had no desire to become wrapped up in politics. Elsbeth had trained her physically but had always been there to make the decisions. Without direction, Rowan didn’t know what to do next. Perhaps learning more about what was happening in the crowd would help. Finding a better vantage point, Rowan redoubled her efforts in watching the crowd for anything unusual and kept her ears open for interesting chatter. Milani had guided her once already today, Rowan trusted that she would do it again.
Turn 002, Action 2
Caleb -pushed- an image of a one gloved man at the Blessing hiding in his coat, as he tried to ride its senses, hoping for aid finding the man.
Too many people. As simple as that. Too many damn people milled, shouted, and jumped up and down. Perhaps they sensed the doom hovering over them, for they left no energy unspent.
He called upon his link with the city. There was a moment of disorientation and he noticed a gloved hand... but when he traced it back to its owner he found its begloved companion.
Shouting a single profanity, he closed in on the crowd.
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Turn 01
Action 2
”Down with the oppresshor! Howw much more we need to sacrifice? How much?!”
Eirik cast an incredulous look at the man who had said that. A rotund fellow with a girth that easily matched Eirik's, clad in well-tailored clothes. A well-to-do merchant at the very least, or perhaps a noble down his luck. And well into his cups already, judging by his unsteady stance and red cheeks. Not, Eirik felt, the very picture of an oppressed serf.
”If that man has sacrificed something this day, it's been on the altar of indulgence”, the monk thought, shaking his head. The man lurched in his general direction and Eirik dodged nimbly aside, wincing as the man tripped on nothing much and went sprawling into a couple of youngsters too intently waving their hastily painted signs to notice. Eirik considered moving back to help, but decided against it as the young men were already hauling their older compatriot up, with apparent good cheer despite his blunder.
And, Eirik noticed by chance, helping to relieve the man from the contents of his pockets while they were at it.
”Well, it's not like the man had any hope of actually getting out of here with his purse.” Eirik thought. Not after the localized spectacle he had made of himself. As long as there were easy marks there would always be thieves, and who was Eirik to judge which of the two needed the money the most.
Turning his attention back to the crowd, the tall monk went right back to frowning and observing, hoping to catch a pattern or a focal point in the apparent chaos.
”Master Clausen. Good day to you.”
Eirik blinked at the unexpected call and turned his head to see the elderly couple a few feet away. A slight smile replaced the frown and he made his way closer, sliding through the crowd much more easily than anyone with his bulk should be able to.
”Madam Solistar. Sir,” Eirik murmured, once he was close enough to be overheard without having to shout. He nodded his head in a miniature bow, considering the couple for a moment in silence. As usual, both were dressed in clothes that, like their owners, seen better days but still held on to life. Perhaps with sheer stubbornness. At least, in the woman's case that could quite possibly be true; she had to be over sixty, but still stood up straight and proud as if the weight of years was something she had no time fussing about. And, apparently, her will was carrying her husband right along. However...
”I must confess, I did not expect to see you out here today,” Eirik said aloud. ”Who's minding the store for you?"
”Oh, our Jil stayed behind, with that no-good lout of hers,” the woman answered promptly. ”*He* wanted to come here, of course, but I would have none of that! I swear, that young man... useless! The moment one loses sight of him, off he goes to drink with the members of his so-called “action group”. Ha! The only action one ever sees out of him is during dinnertime! Is that not so, Einar?”
The husband, with the endless patience and survival instincts of the happily married, dutifully nodded his agreement, even went so far as to open his mouth to add something, but his wife went right back to her tirade.
”Useless! That's the trouble with young people of the day. Expecting everything handed to them, on a silver platter no doubt! Ha! Why my girl picked that one I shall never understand. I swear, she must have got her sense of judgment from her father, she did!”
”I'm sure-” Eirik began, the smile on his lips becoming more strained by the second as he came to regret his most recent life choice.
The woman gave Eirik a fierce look and the monk shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth on teeth, swallowed what he had intended to say and raised his hands in a placating gesture. As she went on with her tirade Eirik shared a look with the henpecked husband over the wife's head. Truly, the man had the patience of a saint. Or this was pure love at work. Eirik thought of himself as being a reasonable man, but if he had been made with live with *this* for weeks – let alone decades! - he would have driven to murder. Or, quite possibly, suicide.
To the monk's surprise the husband gave Eirik a conspiratorial wink and cleared his throat.
”Darling-” was about as far as he got before his wife shooed him silent. But the distraction was enough, and with a nod of sheer gratitude Eirik made his escape.
”Truly, the man has a core of dwarven-wrought steel,” Eirik marveled. Sighing in relief, he wandered further away and returned to studying the crowd. Not that he -
”Now, isn't that curious...” Eirik mused, as he spotted a group of three people engaged in conversation. Nothing special in that itself, of course, but something still felt out of place. Trusting his instincts, Eirik observed the three for a moment. Within seconds, the group split up and Eirik had to choose one to track. He picked the man who's path took him closest to Eirik's vantage point. With some interest, the monk noted another small cell of people forming around the one man as if with practiced ease. Another short conversation, and off in different directions the men went. And, now that he knew what to look for, he spied in the distance other quickly forming and reforming groups of people.
Were these men members of some underground resistance organization managing the protest, or were they perhaps in the employ of the Paracount, here to spot the loudest and most dangerous dissidents so they could be dealt with at leisure? Whether it was one or the other, this was still worth examining.
Drawing up his hood to cover his face and hide his observation, Eirik began moving in the direction he thought the messengers had originated from, hoping he might catch sight of the people giving out the orders that were relayed around the plaza.
Turn 2
Kaldar melded into the crowd. As usual, his good spirits, quick smile and broad gestures endeared people to him. Still paranoid about the inevitable Thrune counter-strike he reveled in the open civil disobedience. It stirred something in him. All those years running from the law, hiding his past, trying to forget what he had been...It had all be private, cowardly. But this, this was open and public and brave. Striking back inside of slinking to hide in the darkness. He overcame his usual sense of personal fear at being caught and joined the loudest people yelling for the removal of Thrune or some form of civic responsibility.
Thrune must go! He shouted loudly, but he did make sure he was never the only one shouting it.
Turn 002 is up.
Read the OOC.
Questions, comments, and/or suggestions?
Game on!
Um, Something seems to have happened with my post being moved into the document. Not really a problem - it was hardly deathless prose - but is there something I can do to make it easier in the future?
Um, Something seems to have happened with my post being moved into the document. Not really a problem - it was hardly deathless prose - but is there something I can do to make it easier in the future?
I'm not sure what you mean.
Your post was incorporated into the turn recap (3rd paragraph of page 2).
Did I miss another post?
Can email to me please?
Um, Something seems to have happened with my post being moved into the document. Not really a problem - it was hardly deathless prose - but is there something I can do to make it easier in the future?I'm not sure what you mean.
Your post was incorporated into the turn recap (3rd paragraph of page 2).
Did I miss another post?
Sorry, it totally moved into the document, but something happened on the way through.
There was a formatting change and at least one of the words was changed.I'm guessing something went wrong between the Paizo site and the Word doc.
No big deal, just trying to think if there's something I can do to help make it easier.
Sorry, it totally moved into the document, but something happened on the way through.
There was a formatting change and at least one of the words was changed.
I'm guessing something went wrong between the Paizo site and the Word doc.
No big deal, just trying to think if there's something I can do to help make it easier.
Uh, I just read them side by side but still don't see what changed other than some minor formatting. So unless I misread your post, I think the meaning came through.
If you want to 'make it easier' then perhaps you could be more specific in identifying what changed so I can be aware of it for next time.
Game on!
"Begloved" changed to "beloved".
Too many people. As simple as that. Too many damn people milled, shouted, and jumped up and down.
was in italics.
As I said - not major issues. Sorry if I was cryptic.
I should say that the word begloved was one I agonised over using in that paragraph in the first place, so it leaped out at me. I can see why that would not be the case to others.
I've been sticking a number of things in italics, intending them as interior monologue, just don't get me in trouble for my thoughts, if they lose italics in the translation!
I've been sticking a number of things in italics, intending them as interior monologue, just don't get me in trouble for my thoughts, if they lose italics in the translation!
I go back and forth on how to portray internal thoughts in my game. Sometimes I used italics, other times, I used 'single quotes' ('). Other times I use double quotes and italics. I think I'll use just simple italics in this game but don't be too harsh on my grammar either. :)