Kingmaker: Conquest of the Stolen Lands (Inactive)

Game Master Aqua-Thor


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Half-Orc Gunslinger/Alchemist (Grenadier) | HP: 9/11 | Grit: 2/3 | Bombs: 4/6 | Powder&Ammo: 22/30 | Init: +6 | AC:19 | T:14 | FF:15 | CMB:+1 | CMD:16 | Fort:+4 | Ref:+7 | Will:+5 | Darkvision 60ft
Extracts Prepared:
CLW; Longshot; Shield

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27

Clutching the gash in her side, D'ahia swivels her head from the bandits surrounding the incapacitated Sorry to the direction of the bargaining voice. She takes in the state of her companions, and their apparent assent.

Her injured arm, stiffly holding the battered pistol aloft, shifts to the line of archers, her eyes trained on the woman in the distance.

"Aye,"She says just loud enough for those near her to hear. mostly companions, couple thugs. "Let the battered vultures crawl off, tummies still empty."

She chuckles through gritted teeth and calls out to the woman, "Let her go, and you can go, no fewer in number, no richer than you came."

Yay nobody died!!(?)


Looking around, Jonathan slowly decides to sheath his weapon. "Fine, then. We will let them leave." His eyes narrow on the woman, staring her down as she holds the hostage. While his weapon is sheathed, his hand still grips the rapier's handle. "If I could slip away, even for a moment... no, they would notice I'm gone. Can't sacrifice the hostage..."

Clearly unhappy with the situation, Jonathan calls out to the woman after D'ahia. "Keep yourselves away from this place. They are now under our protection, by the decree of Restov. If you return here, I will make sure that none of you leave."


Half-Orc Gunslinger/Alchemist (Grenadier) | HP: 9/11 | Grit: 2/3 | Bombs: 4/6 | Powder&Ammo: 22/30 | Init: +6 | AC:19 | T:14 | FF:15 | CMB:+1 | CMD:16 | Fort:+4 | Ref:+7 | Will:+5 | Darkvision 60ft
Extracts Prepared:
CLW; Longshot; Shield

I believe that is a consensus to allow the bandits to leave. As it comes around to her initiative, D'ahia would move into the compound, watching the would-be thieves carefully, & ready an action to shoot the closest one if they appear intent to continue the fight.


The various bandits lower their weapons and look, surprised, at the woman holding the spear. She gives a simple nod. As Atamar moves forward, "That is close enough." and she appears unmovered by his glower.

[spoiler=Sense Motive DC17]

She is not unmoved, she is unnerved by Atamar's approach. Shaken by his intimidate.

The Bandits surrounding Sorry back away slowly, save one. He runs without a backward glance into the woods from Iacamo, whose eyes clear. He takes a great sigh and looks tired.

If allowed, the bandits pick-up their incoherent fellows, and one slings the one you assumed was the leader over a shoulder. They walk past you, out of the fort's entrance. The woman waits for them to enter the forest out of sight, then walks past everyone with the hostage held tight. She stops at the edge of the forest, lowers the spear and disappears into the undergrowth. The hostage collapses crying in the dirt.

Let me know if anyone interferes with any of this and when, if at all.


Ranger 4/Stalker 1 | HP 23/38 | AC 17, Touch 13, FF 14 | CMB +6 | CMD 19 | Fort +5, Ref +7, Will +5 | Init +3 | Senses: Low-Light Vision, Scent | Perception +12 (+13 at night) | Ki Pool 2/2
Beast Form:
HP 24/24 | AC 19, Touch 14, FF 15 | CMB +5 | CMD 18 | Fort +4, Ref +7, Will +2 | Init +4 | Senses: Low-Light Vision, darkvision, Scent | Perception +10 (+11 at night)

As long as the spear remains on the woman's throat, Cassandra takes no action. She keeps the bow pointed at the ground but still at a quarter draw. She watches the hostage taker Studied Target the whole way, waiting for any sign of foul play.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 2 + 1 = 14

But her face was a blank mask. She waits at the entrance of the outpost as they disappear into the forest. As soon as the spear is away she sprints for the tree line and stands between the hostage and the disappearing bandits, bow up and ready. "Quickly, head back to the outpost. I will make sure they stay away," she says quietly to the woman. Once she is safely back in the outpost, Cassandra attempts to follow the bandits to make sure they haven't stuck around.

If I can catch the scent of one of them I should get a +4 to survival to track them. Just making sure they show no signs of hiding nearby.

Survival: 1d20 + 8 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 8 + 4 = 19
Stealth: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23


I’ll take some liberties on my descriptions.
There’s this trick she’d learn to use, so many years ago. Detaching part of her mind and pushing there all unwanted things. Feeling, pain, anger, rage, love. This new vessel made things overly complicated; there was always that cacophony of voice inside her head always demanding attention. Screams of countless voices, always in the corner of the eye.

She’d pushed the pain away, concentrating on her surroundings, trying to keep all the bandits accounted for, while they walked away, the hostage life as insurance. When the last of them disappears in the forest, sighing deep Sorry takes a step forward, towards the tradepost, to a certain measure of protection.

They could finally catch a breath, and in this moment of relieve, the voices returned tenfold. Forgetting the pain, the wounds. Her hands shoots holding her own head, as she screams mentally against the unknown, only adding to her suffering.
Stop it! Stop it! I SAID STOP IT!

In a last effort, she walks inside, but even that is too much for the girl's injured body and darkness takes over, the voices finally going away.

Stabilize DC 11: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21


Male Half-Orc Inquisitor 1 | Unchained Rogue 1 | HP: 11/11
Common Stats:
AC: 17, T: 15, FF: 12; F:8, R:9, W:8; CMD 16; CMB +1; Init: +7; Perc:+8, SM:+9
Spells:
1st Level:0/2

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

Atamar moves to the side as the bandits leave, eyeing them carefully with his knives tight in his hands as they make their leave with the hostage in tow. He moves to the edge of the building as the progress across the courtyard of the fort. Once gone, Atamar relaxes and puts his blades away. Seeing Cassandra run to the woman, Atamar turns, walking in behind Sorry.

"Well, that could have gone worse."

Seeing Sorry collapse, Atamar walks up and kneels beside her, laying his hands on her arm, as he lets out a prayer to Desna.
CLW on Sorry: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
0/2 1st Level Spells left for the day.

Atamar does his best to help Sorry to her feet, looping one of her arms around his neck as he stands up.

"Some, someone mind bringing a chair or something over?"

Atamar's voice breaks slightly as he grunts with effort.


Male Human
Defense:
AC: 22, T: 18, FF: 14; HP: 9/11; F:4, R:6, W:5; CMD 17; Init: +6; Low-light Vision ; Perc:+6
Unchained Monk 1 / White-haired Witch 1
Skills:
Acrobatics+8; Diplomacy+4; Escape.A+4; Fly+8; Knowledge(Arcana)+9; Knowledge(Nature)+9; Perception+6; Sense.Motive+6; Stealth+8; Survival+7; Spellcraft+9

Watching as the ruffians leave, Norvallen can't help but grumbles softly as someone picks-up the rude louse at his feet. Still, he makes no move to stop them.
"Are you sure you don't want to leave the loud-mouthed idiot here with us instead?"

As he approaches the former hostage, Norvallen can't help but over hear Atamar's request. Looking back he winces a bit at Sorry's condition. Pointing towards Atamar and Sorry, Jasper looks up towards his familiar circling above and says, "Chair."

Sama flutters down nearby the two, before releasing a small chirp as a crude three-legged stool fades into existence on the ground. While it looks incredibly fragile, and wobbles ever so slightly somehow on its three legs, it should do.

Finally approaching the former hostage, he starts trying to comfort the distraught woman as he leads her back to the buildings, making sure that he is between the woman and the woods the entire way. Only pausing a moment to give a nod to Cassandra's words as he glances around to insure that no one else is watching them or waiting in the woods.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16 Low-light Vision so the woods don't lower the light too much for Norvallen


”There’s no need for it.” Sorry says getting back to her feet. The spell cast by Atamar had been more effective than he knew. Not only helping with her body, it also helped to dull the voices, a little.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.

”I think we should recover and follow them. Ambushes aren’t honorable things, but we could use the cover of the night and surprise to level the field and their numeric advantage.”


Half-Orc Gunslinger/Alchemist (Grenadier) | HP: 9/11 | Grit: 2/3 | Bombs: 4/6 | Powder&Ammo: 22/30 | Init: +6 | AC:19 | T:14 | FF:15 | CMB:+1 | CMD:16 | Fort:+4 | Ref:+7 | Will:+5 | Darkvision 60ft
Extracts Prepared:
CLW; Longshot; Shield

D'ahia watches the bandits leave, pistol held ready until the last slips into the trees. She heaves a sigh heavy with both relief and exhaustion and nods as Cassandra moves to tail the would-be-thieves and Norvallen assists the sobbing hostage. "Not too far from calling distance," she cautions Cassandra before trailing Atamar and Sorry into the encampment, wincing with each step.

Dropping unceremoniously onto the stool, she holsters her pistol and quickly looks over the contents of the wagon with a shrewd eye.

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
Appraise: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

assuming she's close enough...looks like we saved a bunch of blurry junk(?)

A sudden snort of laughter, followed immediately by a grunt of pain, escapes from her lips as she hears Sorry's suggested ambush. "On'rubble or not, unless these folks 'ere," She nods towards the man she assumes to be Oleg, "Got some pow'fool healing, and is feeling gen'rous as we just was, I won't be in no condition to go after no bandits what just nearly did me in."

She shakes her head with a soft burbling chuckle.

"I seen you got more tricks than what you told us before too, girly, but don't forget those cutthroats just did a number on you too. And I don't like that woman; we underestimated her once already, knowing it or not, and I don't care to rush after them just to underestimate her again. Likely they know this land plenty better than us; could be settin' traps, and probably they're thinking of some way to get reinforcements and come back to get us. Ain't no criminals that organized what just leave a rival group to muck up their operations. I say we take the time to restock ourselves, learn more about our enemies, and bring it to the bastards with a real plan."

It's fairly obvious she is speaking from personal experience regarding how criminal organizations operate. Sense Motive DC 6 or something

Knowledge (Local: Stag-Lord): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23 D'ahia is from Port Ice, again.

She turns towards Oleg and calls out, "'Ey! You know how far them bandits came from?"


D'ahia wrote:
"I seen you got more tricks than what you told us before too, girly (...)"

”No, I haven’t.” Sorry answers D’ahia. ”I know barely some tricks, one of the most useful being that super evil bean beam of colored light that incapacitates weaker foes, but even if I had some training at army how to use armor, it interferes with my magic.” she walks closer ”Hold still, let me see?” she says examining the wounds on the half-orc.

Heal: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (20) - 1 = 19

"Well, they certainly did a number on you too." she says finally after a brief inspection.

Closing her eyes, tapping into the dark void inside her, muttering chain words Sorry condenses the raw dark magic into life. Outside, it’s as if nothing had happened, but there was a reason she avoided relaying in that source of power. Every time it brought her back to something dangerous.
CLW D’ahia: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
CLW Sorry: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

”There, there. Good as new.” she says finally.


"Hunting them now will get us all killed. It is likely this is not their full outfit, and we have no idea as to the location of their camps or their true numbers." Jonathan takes a moment to sheath his rapier, then moves to the woman who was held hostage. "Riding after them now would be suicide. I doubt you all want to visit the Boneyard so soon, do you?"

Stooping down, he offers the woman his hand to get her to her feet. "Are you... alright, miss?" he says, his hood falling back from a slight breeze. "Who were these brigands? What do you know of them?"


Male Half-Orc Inquisitor 1 | Unchained Rogue 1 | HP: 11/11
Common Stats:
AC: 17, T: 15, FF: 12; F:8, R:9, W:8; CMD 16; CMB +1; Init: +7; Perc:+8, SM:+9
Spells:
1st Level:0/2

Stepping away from Sorry, Atamar turns to Jonathan and D'ahia
"I would agree, I think it would be best to take stock of things here and learn what we can before we do anything."

Atamar moves to inspect the man in the back to make sure he is alright, using his shirt to rub a bit of blood off of the hilt of his starknife from the badly dressed bandit.

Extending his hand:
"Hello there Friend, my name is Atamar, seems you and the lady were in a bit of a rough spot. Perhaps luck was on our side today to arrive when we did."


Half-Orc Gunslinger/Alchemist (Grenadier) | HP: 9/11 | Grit: 2/3 | Bombs: 4/6 | Powder&Ammo: 22/30 | Init: +6 | AC:19 | T:14 | FF:15 | CMB:+1 | CMD:16 | Fort:+4 | Ref:+7 | Will:+5 | Darkvision 60ft
Extracts Prepared:
CLW; Longshot; Shield

Nodding at Jonathan and Atamar's agreement, D'ahia rises from the stool and stretches, groaning lightly.

"Close, yeah, thank you." She says to Sorry, lightly patting the girl on the shoulder. "Wherever you learned those tricks, they're pretty handy."

The Half-Orc turns back to Oleg, waiting to hear the man's response.

Aqua-Thor - everyone's here, nobody stopped the bandits. We're just waiting on interactions with NPCs & the results of various dice checks now.

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