A note about Beppo's motivation to dislike the current regime:
The bastards backed the side he was fighting against in Galt, so he hopes to join the forces conspiring against the current regime.
Further, the tales of a mysterious underworld and secret masters appeals to the proud noble in him. Beppo is a glory whore, and if he can't get it fighting as a mercenary, he sure would love the chance to expose the bad guys and take all the credit.
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Going through the posts now...answering questions as I run across them.
I forgot that humans get 1 extra skill point per level. Hal's Perception is now +5 instead of +4.
I already show you with a rank in perception in Perception for a total of +4. You'll need to pick something else as you cannot have more than 1 rank/lv in any given skill.
There is something ill in the state of Cheliax.
Yes, he’d heard the stories. Demon worshipers, diabolists and worse. But rival nations are always active in the business of rumour-mongering. How many times had he heard his own homeland of Varisia derided as a nation of vagabonds, gypsies and thieves?
Nevertheless, something was wrong.
The alchemist hugged his cloak tighter about him, it wasn’t cold but the nights were eerie, full of whispers, hooded figures and the occasional stifled cry of pain from the mist-shrouded distance.
He had travelled the inner sea region for most of his adult life, earning enough for lodgings and food through services as varied as repairing wagons, acting as a makeshift veterinarian, lab assistant, messenger, explorer and simple labourer. Once, he had even delivered the baby of a farmer’s wife. He never stayed in the same place for long, learning what he could from the libraries, universities, hospitals and whatever scholars would pay him heed. In recent times he had even begun consulting churches, despite his vehement atheism. It was due to a priest of Saranrae that he had first set foot in Westcrown.
Since Aroden’s death and the loss of the status of capital, the city had gradually fallen deeper and deeper into sin and disrepair. Now, whole districts were a warren of derelict buildings, a haven for night stalkers and depraved lunatics, opium fiends and whores.
The sooner I conclude my business here the better.
He had spent most of the day petitioning the council yet again, floundering in a sea of endless bureaucracy. He had completed dossiers and applications, submitted them to one department only to be told he needed to contact another, spoken to various low level civil servants and toadies, none of whom could give him a straight answer only another form to fill in.
"Your application is duly noted, Mr Harcroft and will be examined it in due course. Please allow six weeks before contacting us again."
Six weeks. Blood flowed quicker in this city. It had been the same since he first contacted the Council about entering Delvehaven half a year ago.
Brandon was dimly aware of a painted Halfling whore beckoning him into a doorway to his left. He assumed she was a Halfling, she could have been a human child. He had seen more shocking things in his time here. There seemed to be no law to speak of when it came to such things. The Guard had a strong visible presence, no doubt, and wherever you went, honest folk were quick to doff their cap and offer ‘homage’ to the Guard for protecting them. But those same Guard were more than likely to raid their businesses and have fairly traded goods seized as ‘contraband.’ Yet the shadows still hid murderers and rapists, pimps still paid off those watchmen with prying eyes. Who were the real criminals here? Magnimar was no beacon of humanity but there was Law, the Justices saw to that.
He had met the Priest in Riddleport, another haven of depravity. By that time he had read every book on anatomy and psychology and magic that he could find but the answers eluded him. He just couldn’t grasp the premises in the more complex works and knew he needed help. He sought out countless doctors, scholars, herbalists and sorcerers but to no avail. In a time of utter desperation he turned to the Pathfinder Society, hoping against hope that one of their chronicles told tale of a condition similar to his. He had gotten the Dwarf Priest, a member of the Society, quite drunk by the time he heard the four words that almost shattered his sanity.
"It’s simple, you’re possessed."
Brandon almost fell from his chair, it was like being hit in the chest with a hammer. Somewhere deep inside, there was a thick, choking laughter and a voice calling the man a He closed his ears to it.
The Priest went on; "You need an exorcism lad, plain and simple."
Perhaps this man was a fool after all. What the church could not understand they declared as matters of Faith but Brandon was a man of Reason. If they gave but a hint of an answer he would seek it out. The Priest gave him contacts in the Society and Brandon began immediately writing to them for information, for any lead he could find on demonology. He didn’t believe he wa a case of possession but what else could he do?
Eventually he received a letter back with a battered old Wayfinder. The letter spoke of a place named Delvehaven in Westcrown. It was a long-abandoned lodge - closed by Council decree - but also a place of old magic and ancient knowledge. At long last it was something tangible.
He never questioned the reason why they might want to send him there.
Trudging back along the street to his inn, Brandon saw the man too late to react, the sap slammed into the side of his head and for a moment the world exploded in a flash of white. The ground rushed up to meet him.
Quiet, Edmond. Stay out of this.
Never.
"It’s an awful dark night to be walking alone, chum." The man in front of him had a high, nasal voice like nails on a chalkboard.
"He looks weighed down as well, boss, maybe we can help him out?" A voice behind and a chuckle besides, there were another two. Fear crawled up Brandon’s throat.
"You’re right. That satchel looks terrible heavy, why not let us carry it for a while?"
Brandon staggered to his feet, a thin line of blood trickled down his cheek and dripped from his ear.
"Please don’t do this."
The third man’s chuckle burst into a gale of laughter. "You a beggar, boy? You begging?"
Brandon, turned in a slow circle, addressing them all. "You don’t know what you’re doing. I can give you some coin but I need what I carry. You have to walk away from me. Now." He reached into his pouch and threw a handful of silvers on the ground.
"Oh, that’s very generous of you, Sir. But I think our needs are greater than yours.”
The knife whispered out of it’s sheath. Brandon’s hand went immediately to the Morningstar on his belt. “Don’t.” He said, a hand of warning extended before him. “Don’t do this, I don’t want to hurt you, please.”
“Hurt us? We’ll bleed you dry and chuck you in the river. No one’s gonna look for you!” snarled the first man as he lunged forward, the knife slicing toward Brandon’s belly. At the last moment he managed to twist aside. The knife bit into his hip and grazed his upper thigh.
I don’t need you, Edmond!
He hauled the Morningstar from it’s loop, bringing it up in a two-handed, deadly arc. It connected with the first assailants face, causing his jaw to shatter in a spray of blood and bone. The thief crumpled to the ground but the others leapt over his unconscious body, knives glinting in the moonlight.
They bulled him backwards, knives slashing all the while, it was all he could do to keep his footing. He felt his side growing hot and wet and barely managed to dodge a wicked lunge that saw the knife take off the tip of his right ear.
He ignored the voice and kicked at a man’s knee, shoving him backwards and swinging his weapon once more. He was being slowed by loss of blood and the second man was more nimble than the first, dodging the clumsy blow easily. They were relentless in their assault, knives flashing time and again.
No!
I can’t! I won’t!
He summoned all his strength shoved them both back.
"You made me do this!” he screamed at them, snatching a vial of liquid from his belt. “You did this to yourselves!” He threw his head back and drank the liquid. There were tears in his eyes when he did so.
The thieves saw the man before them change. His arms seemed to grow longer, more sinewy and muscular and his hands ended in viscous claws. This man stood a full foot taller than the one they attacked but was thinner, leaner. Where there had been a mop of blonde hair there was now a neatly cropped style of black. And his eyes... this man’s eyes were dark, like two pools of nothingness.
He drew himself up to his full height and smiled a terrible smile, flashing wickedly pointed teeth.
Edmond felt the night breeze on his skin and it was divine. He revelled in the sound of his own beating heart, in the weight of the weapon in his hand, even the sticky wetness of the wound in his side. He felt everything. He felt alive.
He said, in a voice like smooth silk. “I believe I have not met your acquaintance.”
The rest was blood and pain...
Brandon rarely remembered much of his ‘time away.’ He usually just awoke with a terrible headache and the dull metallic taste of blood and adrenalin in his mouth.
He looked about him and found the room he was in illuminated with a sputtering candle but he did not recognise it. His side and hip ached like the devil but he saw his wounds were bound and an empty bottle of one of his cure extracts lay abandoned beside him. Grimly, he saw he was plastered in blood and realised most of it was not his own.
“Where am I...?” he said to no one in particular. The walls were decorated in lewd pictures and tattered wallpaper. The small bed he lay in was draped in stained silk sheets and the small chair to the side was upholstered in cheap, red fabric.
Came the voice, startling Brandon badly, as it always did.
“Where have you taken us, Edmond? Why aren’t we at the inn?”
It was his voice and yet not his voice.
“But I wasn’t the culprit was I, Edmond?” he stood up and shouted angrily, despite the pain he felt. “You killed those men.”
“But that’s my decision to make, not yours!”
He was right. Brandon took up his weapons and moved to the top of the stairs.
“Hello?” he called.
Ignoring Edmond’s advice he shouted once more.
“I am sorry, if this is your home. I mean no disrespect, I have been attacked and sought refuge to tend my injuries. Hello?”
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The travel today is really sucking up my time. Anything that can go wrong pretty much has, lol. However, we move forward! Today is the last chance to give me any changes, ot questions or concerns about your character builds. Any email I receive today is still valid for those purposes. If you have not read over the house rules and or the players guide for the campaign, please do so asap. Let me know if you have questions. Lookin forward to the adventure!
Man, being crazy is hard work!
reread your post BD and I understand what you mean now. In the last scene in the House of the Unlit Lantern, yes both Brandon and Edmond are talking out loud. It happens occasionally, usually when E is strong (just after a mutagen) or B is particularly upset. Exactly like Golum and Smaegol in LOTR movies.
The Tiefling had left the door open. The dog seemed to give that a second look, then looked up the stairs, but stayed with the man, at least, until he'd laid out kibble in water, and another dish of water, beside. The hound looked at him, expectantly, and he sighed. "What? I don't know what you want. I don't know what you need." The dog just stared, between the tiefling and the food, back and forth. "Take it.", the Tielfling tried. "Have it. Go. Eat." The man wasn't sure whether it was one of the words, or his increasingly emphatic gestures, or just that the hound could not wait any more. But it was eating, now. And that was good. So he said so. "Good dog.", he said tiredly, looking at his own empty hands. "Good dog."
"Hello?", a voice called from the top of the stairs. The Tiefling moved with some degree of quiet grace, away from the hound, carefully out of sight of the stairs. It wasn't a moment before the voice spoke again, but the next words found the devil's hands no longer empty, nor idle. He went to the base of the stairs with a forklike bill in one hand, and a chakram in the other. Smooth gold orbs filled his eye sockets, sweeping the stairs as far as the corner, but the words had come from above, beyond it.
“I am sorry, if this is your home. I mean no disrespect, I have been attacked and sought refuge to tend my injuries."
Home. Is it? Still?, the Tielfling wondered to himself.
"Hello?”, the voice came again from the top of the stairs.
"Don't use the stairs", the tiefling said. "They creak, and the dog won't let you down or up without one of-" He stopped, and sighed, then continued, "Without me. I'll bring you what you need. Water? Hot water?", he asked, raising his voice as he walked away from the stairs. "If you've come to rob us, I've buried everything of value..."
He moved back into the bedroom and sat heavily in the red chair. He checked his wound.
Stitched. Quite neatly too. At least Edmond did that much for me. The extract should prevent infection as well.
His head was splitting and he sighed deeply as he rubbed his temple.
"Thank you for your help sir. I shan't be in your way long."He called down the stairs without getting up. The man did not seem to be one of the thieves. He was glad; not being in any fit state for further confrontation. "Is this your place?"
Good question, Bran. Of course it's his place.
The alchemist had never been at ease in the company of others although he supposed he never was truly alone. Edmond had receeded. For now at least, that was good.
Guys, my head is ACHING to add into this, but I have been stupidly pressed for time lately - I will still try to add something else in today - its in my head, I just need to write IT! ;)
Amazing job so far all, and a great reading.
"If you've come to rob us, I've buried everything of value..."
Some minutes later, the Devil mounted the stairs. A bucket would have steamed in his hand, but a plate served as a sort of lid, holding a pile of cloths that might make bandages, if one weren't too picky about such things. They were at least clean.
Devil was wary, of course, as he crested the stairs, but the small human was wounded, although physiked as well as Devil had ever seen. "Your friend in the privy?", he asked when he saw the thin man alone. Perhaps the man was still shocked by his injury, or perhaps by Devil's appearance, all thick black fur on an elven form. Either could be forgiven, and already was. "Alright, he can show you that. Take this room, and send him if you need something. You should rest. Tell him, the dog won't let anyone up or down the stairs, not alone, and I don't know how to tell him different, so call out, and I'll come up." He looked around the room at the stranger's things, strange things, but the gold-orbed eyes never stalled. "This is Annie's room. She'd favor if you didn't use a pipe here."
The veloured elf started to leave, then stopped in the doorway. "I'm Devil. I'll bring you some food. And clean sheets. Oh, you asked, is it my place? Much as anyone's, more than most. Lawyers would say different. They're not here."
He has long, thin arms and narrow shoulders containing an impossible strength for his physique. He carries himself with a perfect posture, often lacing his hands in front of his chest as a priest might.
"Friend? Oh, I see. Sometimes when a person has experienced head trauma they may suffer hallucinations, I fear you woke me from a fevered dream."
It was only a half-lie.
"Brandon Harcroft, Mr.... Devil. the human said, extending his slightly shaking hand. "Forgive me if I don't stand."
Brandon had seen many Tieflings in Westcrown since he arrived but was always intrigued by the variety and unique physical characteristics of all of them. This one, with his black furand golden eyes, was almost animalistic. But he spoke softly and had a kind if sadness about him.
Brandon struggled out of his jerkin and placed it carefully beside him on the floor. Taking the warm water and cloth he began to dab lightly at the injuries Edmond didn't treat, countless bruises, the graze on his thigh, his ear.
What a mess.
"Thank you once again for the room and for the food, I confess I'm famished. I'm happy to pay for my stay of course. I, ah, think I lost my pouch in the struggle though. Will Annie mind that I'm here?"
The sun had long passed its zenith. The dog had been fed, and let in the small yard. "No, I am sorry, my friend.", the tielfling said softly, closing the lower half of a split door, "You cannot come along. I am sorry." He misses her. All of them. He doesn't want to be alone.
Inside, Devil called up the stairs to his guest, "Mister Harcroft? I have an errand, and will be away. I have put the dog into the yard, you should have no trouble. If you did, if your hunters found you here, go to the dog. I will make another meal when I return." And best if you're hungry, lest it spoil; More food than mouths, now.
Devil didn't know why he set out more food and water for the dog, just then. Probably something about too much food.
But that wouldn't explain, why he failed to latch the gate from the yard.
Welcome to Retconland! :)
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Hmmm...well, it's totally possible you guys knew each other before the events of being invited by whats-her-name. Just because she invites you guys seperately in no way implies that some of you didn't know each other beforehand to various degress. She may have invited you guys separately at different times, but the meeting place/time coming up is the same. So when you show up at the same place you'll have something to talk about ! LOL
Happy to have had Devil know anyone who thinks it likely and workable.
Sorry if I've been quiet, fighting a fever past two days, probably will be fine for Monday. (Work hopes so...)
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Brandon went downstairs once to see to it but a low growl deep in it's throat was all the warning he needed.
He returned to Annie's bed and tried to sleep without success. After several hours Devil had not returned and Brandon found that even more than sleep what he really wanted was a drink.
He hastily scribbled a note thanking his host for all he had done and wishing he had more to offer in the way of recompense. The gold piece he left wasn't much but it was all he lad left and hoped it would mean at least Devil wouldn't be out of pocket for his stay.
After gathering his things and leaving the note on the bedside table, Brandon headed out to find a tavern.
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As a friendly, yet somewhat stern reminder, there are several posting period where everyone needs to be able to post, unless they've mentioned to me that they are not going to be available.
11am-2pm EST
3pm-6pm EST
7pm-10am EST
(The one hour gaps are normally when I would post)
Looking on the gameplay forum, only one half of our players have posted. I'm going to give it another half hour and see if we don't get more...otherwise, I will either skip the post, or proceed based on only four adventurers showing up.
Update: Ninja'd! One more posted! WOOT! 5/8. I think one of the group is in school. So just two ppl missing.
JC. The first posting period is 4pm - 7pm for me which is the time I get home from work, walk the dog etc. I should always be able to make it but I suspect I'll usually be close to the 7pm deadline.
Getting caught up on reading the posts, will be posting imminently. Sorry.
Italic - Brandon thinking
Italic bigger - Edmond thinking
Bold - Brandon talking
Bold bigger - Edmond talking
bold+italic - Brandon internal monolgue but 'talking' to Edmond
Bold+italic+bigger - Edmond internally talking back to BrandonMan, being crazy is hard work!
Thinking about it, any time there is an internal conversation I'm just going to spoiler it all, I think it'll make much easier reading.
JC, if Aljani isn't able to play, can I suggest a replacement? A rl friend of mine who is in my tabletop group really wants to play this ap but missed the recruitment thread. No problem if you're happy to continue with the 7 of us though.
So far so good, looks like we've got a really engaged group and a great pace going. This is working out well.
I agree, very interesting so far. From a purely mechanical point of view I think we'll suffer for our lack of arcane support but we'll blow that bridge up when we come to it!
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Yup...Good to hear. I hope everyone is having a good time.
In most campaigns I run, eventually we lose a player who is in a key role (sometimes sooner rather than later). If a player wants to change what they are playing to fill that role, I am usually MUCH more forgiving and generous with starting gear value, power points, etc, than I am with someone who just rerolled because of death or being bored/unhappy with their build.
Alternatively, in each campaign I run, there are ways for parties to hire or gain NPC allies to fill in missing slots (Usually no more than one, however).
With all that being said, in a party this size, you're probably be OK. Sheer numbers covers some of those issues, especially if one of you is going to invest in UMD.
Having a grand time. We appear a bit confused; but we'll settle in about names and languages and such, I'll wager.
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Hey, there isn't anything wrong with that.
Most heroes in these books are neutral characters who are pretty much looking out for themselves, loot, knowledge, etc. They just usually end up doing some pretty 'heroic' things, such as killing those nasty vile dragons that were terrorizing the village, on their way to grab the loot.
The fact that you were willing to stand up (or attempt to sneak by) that dragon is heroic...not whether or not you were doing it to save the people (good) or grab the loot (neutral). So stand tall! Stand Proud!! You are a hero wannabe!!
+1 to those in favor of the group of strangers acting like a group of strangers trying to feel one another out rather than a close-knit adventuring machine. We'll get there, though.
+1 to those in favor of the group of strangers acting like a group of strangers trying to feel one another out rather than a close-knit adventuring machine. We'll get there, though.
[John Lovitz] ROLEPLAYING! [/John Lovitz]
:)
A BIG DOT on this one to compliment the group dynamics - things are falling into place as actually they should, and the feeling of each one's characters is actually playing out really nicely.
Congrats all for the fun so far.
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I've said to friends before...the strength of Pbp is the ability to RP, since you have more time to put together your character's thoughts between each turn or event. You guys are playing that strength up rather well. Combat is its weakness.
At the table, in playing with various players, we don't have nearly this level of RP. And when you do get a number of RP players at the table, it really slows down the speed of the game (to the point that, the other night, one of our PFS groups was 3 hours behind). It can cause those who want to get through the game (or those who are more combat focused) to get quite frustrated.
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Hopefully I'm not moving things forward too fast for everyone...in combat, I resolved it early since everyone had posted, and outside, I'm acting on what party members seem to do individually rather than waiting for a full consensus. I get the feeling you all are not only more active than my last group, but appreciate things movnig a bit faster. Furthermore, it serves this part of the adventure well, because, well, you seem to have some people who are chasing you :P
Let me know if its too much. It probably wont' always be this fast, especially during the earlier part of the week as I'm usually super busy.
I'm good, the momentum drips of theme - it feels like a chase. I am ok with not having a full consensus - unless there is a specific dialogue about gaining consensus on an action going on. Its more realistic that there would be some balance between collective and individual action driving the plot anyway.
If this were another pbp thread we could have had a day long debate about whether Brandon drank is mixture or not. In the heat of battle he chose to, game on. We won't tactically avoid every pitfall that way but it feels more real.