Rasputin: Tieflings are fine, as long as you take the Infernal Bastard trait. You have to roll d10 on heritage chart. If you wish, you can roll on d100 chart for variant ability, but if you do, you lose the at will spell-like ability granted by the IB trait. Link to Charts
Updated Summmary:
Salu - CG human fighter (obsidian scimitar)
Menas - CN human barbarian (heavy wooden shield)
Emilian - LN human fighter (heavy wooden shield)
Othrik - NE Half-orc ranger (cestus)
Kwin - NE halfling rogue (small dagger)
Bug - NE goblin fighter (small dogslicer)
Kazmuk - NE dwarf druid (battleaxe)
Morgthar - LE Half-elf Hungry Ghost Monk
Varos - LE Human cleric of Zon-Kuthon (double-chained kama)
Kor - LN Half-Orc monk of Four Winds (need background)
Expressed Interest:
Darklight
Skorn
Haraldir
Rasputin
Pallius
Hmm. Can I treat that another weapon as a favored weapon of deity?
if not, would like to have your opinion on choosing since some weapons do grant advantage over others in beginning
Kwin, I don't know if many will die in the challenges. Depends on the players and their actions. Your survival is entirely in your hands and the luck of the die roller sometimes. I have many of the challenges prepared and it is possible for many players to get through them unscathed. Actually, I root that as many people get through them as possible. Will make the final bloodbath between players even more epic, like the finale of Spartacus: Gods of the Arena.
Varos, how about the double-chained kama as a substitute for your favored weapon? It can trip and disarm, like the spiked chain and it's only 8 gp and it still has a chain, so it's similar.
hmm, true. Sounds good for me and if you also approve, might as well go for it. Thinking of my feat tree, if getting on game + able to survive long enough to even build something but mhm.
Double-chained Kama it is then
Since I almost have 10 complete applications, I will set the deadline to submit for this Thursday at 2:00 pm EST. If anyone who has expressed interest needs more time, let me know.
In the meantime, those who have applied can rp (to pass the time if you wish, not mandatory), as you look out of your cell and see the other prisoners.
Suddenly, in the middle of the room, visible to all the prisoners from each angle, there appears a momentary tear in the fabric of the universe, out from which steps a crimson-haired human male, handsome in appearance, attired in lavish and exquisite robes, wielding a runic staff, and just as quickly, the tear is gone. The man looks around at the lot of you prisoners and slams his staff on the floor, causing a powerful crack of thunder that awakens any prisoner who was dozing. He smiles wryly, "Well, now that I have your attention. Welcome one and all, I am Baron Caridan Darkstrom, responsible for your furlough from whatever prison you were each languishing in for the past few years. No need to thank me, you might live to regret it." He smiles again and laughs, showing his pearly whites. Pic of Baron
Glab'bab nosh Bug kreep kha! Nosh Bug kir'ra vama. Nosh Bug agak nib!
The Baron smiles, clears his throat, and in a pretty natural sounding dialect says, "Nosh Bug shakuur druun lo dar. O dech magaan duun ara dhaarthul!"
A tall, muscular human with a look about him that suggests his hands are far quicker than his mind, stirs at the crack of thunder. "What do you want of us? And where are we?"
The Baron continues, "Where we are is under the tunnels of the Arena in the City of Strangers, Kaer Maga! What I want is a group of recruits for what many call a suicidal mission. I've spent money on the bold, the rich, the battlefield tested, and what have I received for my time and efforts? Failure! No, those that I chose were the stock of most armies in Golarion, taught from birth to follow orders, unable to think for themselves, and to overwhelm the enemy with force and numbers. This antiquated type of thinking has led to failure after failure. So I learn from my mistakes, realize that I must look elsewhere and find a group of recruits, whose survival is in play every day, who are strong and resourceful. All of you have managed to survive in prison for years under the worst possible conditions, surviving the guard beatings, avoiding the prison rapes, and building a reputation for yourselves. So much so, that you were placed in solitary confinement for the safety of the other prisoners! Ha! That's what I need. So it is among you that I will choose my new recruits for my mission. But first I must weed out the weak, the stupid, the arrogant, the reckless, the incompetent among you, and my trials will accomplish that."
"So ye take me from me home and throw me into a cell where the peal of thunder is little more than the mewling of an elf, let me rot there for years on end, and now ye expect me to fight for yer amusement, and if I live, then ye expect me to go on some storm-forsaken mission sure to result in me death? Typical human." The bitter words are spit out by a dwarf sporting a scraggly beard that calls attention to the flower-like birthmark on his face. His eyes are sunken and hollow, but they burn with anger at the arrogance of this Baron.
Lucendar,
What would you think about an Aasimar character. Thinking about a fallen angel cleric. Working on multiple concepts so if an Aasimar is out of scope just tell me.Thanks!
Harry, sure. Just one thing, you would have to take a trait which would be the equivalent of the Infernal bastard trait (call it Heavenly bastard), which would turn your resistances to +2 on saves vs. acid, cold, and electricity, instead of resistance 5. If that works for you, go for it.
"So ye take me from me home and throw me into a cell where the peal of thunder is little more than the mewling of an elf, let me rot there for years on end, and now ye expect me to fight for yer amusement, and if I live, then ye expect me to go on some storm-forsaken mission sure to result in me death? Typical human." The bitter words are spit out by a dwarf sporting a scraggly beard that calls attention to the flower-like birthmark on his face. His eyes are sunken and hollow, but they burn with anger at the arrogance of this Baron.
The Baron's anger is apparent. "Hold on a minute there, dwarf! I did not throw any of you in prison. Your own sick, twisted actions are responsible for that. I am giving you a chance to fight for your survival and breathe free air, the air most people take for granted. Or should I have you escorted back to your hell hole to serve the rest of your life sentence?!"
Stirring from his nap once again, "Is this ANOTHER Kuthite, why do you people talk so much?". He rubs his eyes as he focuses blerily on Baron Darkstrom, "Bring on your challenges, I'd like to get this over quickly." he spits on the floor at the Baron's feet "I have revenge to take..."
The Baron smiles and looks around at all the prisoners. "In a few minutes, Menas, final preparations are being made. I like your eagerness. Now all of you, get this through your thick heads and face reality. More than five years had passed and you were still in prison! Forget your friends, your family, your tribes, because you know what? They forgot about you! Till I made arrangements and costly ones at that, nobody was coming to free you! Get that? Nobody! So if I were you, I'd jump at this second chance that I am offering you, 'cuz you ain't gonna get a better offer!"
With his best gap tooth smile and sarcastic courtsey "Well thank you very much Baron Darkstrom, I relish the opportunity to win free of prison. But if you would excuse me this is the first time I've been able to sleep in five years without getting a midnight beating so if you don't mind I'll snooze until your ready."
Menas goes about settling back into the rags on his cell floor and trying to cover any bits of him exposed to air.
Emilian looks about the neighbouring cells, grimacing at the sight of several of the occupants. "What sort of trials, Baron Darkstorm? I already had a trial. It didn't work out so well."
Wow that took awhile. Well, here she is. I think I wrote too much... again. Maybe that's my problem. Hmmmm...
Link to Catelyn's Character Sheet
The first and last thing she remembers is her father dying at her feet, an arrow embedded in his skull and his arms draped in a thousand blood ridden contracts. Scroll upon scroll of infernal contract wrapped about his person, he looked more like a deranged multi-limbed monstrosity than anything discernibly human. Catelyn supposes his appearance wasn’t too far from the truth.
Baptized in blood, the blood of her mother, Catelyn came into this world kicking and screaming, her mother’s gore shimmering in the candlelight, covering her from head to foot, well that was as far as she knew. It was always difficult to wring the truth out of the courtesans of the Calistrian whore house in Absalom in which she grew up. Her father was a nobleman of some supposed repute and her mother died in childbirth, discovered later as the thrall of some Devil or another. She lost her life and her father abandoned her, ordering his manservant to, quote, “get that vile atrocity out of my sight, and see that nobody knows about it.” Luckily for Catelyn, this servant had enough dignity left in him to offer her to an orphanarium instead of simply dumping her in the sea.
Growing up abandoned and alone, distant even from the other orphans who would always taunt her and grab her horned head. At the age of her flowering she had blossomed into an attractive young woman and was noticed by a cleric of Calistria, who reckoned the Enchanted Rose could do well with some exotic spice to add to their retinue. In turn they got far more than they bargained for in a girl of sixteen filled with righteous indignation and spiteful to a family and society that spurned her.
After scaring off her third client in a row the ladies of the Enchanted Rose realized they had had enough of Catelyn and let her out into the streets with nothing but the close on her back and a small, many thorned rose to mark her passing. Struggling to survive each and every day in the backstreats of Absalom, Catelyn fell in with many an unrighteous sort, earning her calling in a gang where she soon learned her unnatural prowess with the bow, and using said prowess to her advantage when the leader of the gang tried to have their way with her. Said man soon found his heart split in twain, both at her spurning and with the arrow shaft puncturing his chest.
Her experience in the cold unforgiving world of Absalom’s undercity taught her one important lesson that survival at all costs outweighed all sense of morality, that honor and battle were the notions of either the foolish or the dead, and that both groups were not mutually exclusive. Eking out each day, feathering the few people that threatened her, she lived a small yet secure life.
Yet there was a hole deep inside her, small as a pinhole, undetectable at first, but expanding with each passing day. There was a longing deep inside her for the family she knew she never had.
She began to notice the ever widening crater in her heart soon enough, and later began her investigation as to who her father truly is or was, whether he was still alive, and what happened to her mother. She tracked down the servant who first delivered her to the orphanage, and with a little coercion at the edge of a knife, she quickly learned what actually transpired on the night of her birth. Her father was an astute nobleman, for sure, but it was not his mother who had entered into communion with a devil, selling the soul of his child still in the womb in return for the security of his rapidly failing estate. He went back on his word however, and as his wife lay in her birthing bed after her final push his father ended her, and sent his ever loyal manservant to deposit his little girl in the bottoms of the sea.
Since his defiance of the devil, he still lived, but sat secluded in his estate, surrounded on all sides by his loyally devil influenced household guardsmen. “He sits there to this day,” the man said, “and I am sure he has not rested nor spoken nor moved since that day. I hope you can find mercy in your heart for him for he is as much a prisoner inside his own soul as he is in his household.”
Catelyn showed him just what kind of mercy she still had left in her heart, and after depositing that body in the sea she began her preparations for her final meeting with her father.
Atop the rooftop of a great cathedral Catelyn could see all of the estate, the gardens and the tower in which her father resided. At the stroke of midnight she began hitting them, one after the other, dropping like flies as the arrows struck one after another of the guardsmen. None knew where she hid, and none knew where to look for cover. They were, all of them, small, beedy ducks, ripe for the plucking. When she was secure that no guardsmen would be able to keep her from her prize she made her way down the cathedral and began her arduous clambering up the side of her father’s tower. She was covered with sweat and tears and each of her muscles ached to the point of seizing when she finally reached the window at the top, but one look at her father pushed all of the pain out of her mind.
What she saw surprised her. Her father, or what were rather the vestigial remains of him, pulsed and slowly undulated with his shallow breathing. The myriad documents and scrolls that covered him pulsating like animated tendrils at his every faint movement. He looked at her with dead, grey eyes and let out a whisper from his mouth.
She broke through the window with her boot and walked over to her father, placing her dagger at the nape of his neck.
“Speak if you may, but nothing you can or will say will save you.”
Her father let out an airy whisper that clouded the cold, damp air around him.
“I figured you might want to die, father,” Catelyn said, “but I’m going to make these final moments of your sad pathetic life a living nightmare you cannot even imagine. It will make these years since I was born feel like a vacation.” She lived up to her word.
That night changed her in ways she could never imagine. She was passionless now, soulless, dead. She felt no longer dread, fear, anger, joy or passion. She felt cold, utterly, and completely numbed. The only thing left, the only thing that seemed to be of any importance, was survival.
And for the next five years, that was all she did. She took on contract killings, and, unsurprisingly, she grew highly adept at her work. She was requisitioned often and grew favor with numerous clients for her ability to take any work, no matter how evil or despicable, no matter who the target. She would stand atop the high buildings of the Absalom skyline and kill the targets as they layed in bed, as they entered their favored whorehouse and every once in a while, in the middle of a crowded street where shock value was necessitated.
She felt naught for the men and women she killed, remorseless and unrepentant, she forwent her faith to Calistria, knowing that a passionless existence worked against the tenants of the Savored Sting.
She remained in this state, movingly listlessly from one job to another when a certain contract caught her eye. It was from an anonymous lordling with a bounty high enough to put food on her plate for the next few years. It was the requisitioned assassination of the pregnant wife of a publicly favored lord, petitioning for a seat on the High Council. She accepted it with nary a thought.
She executed it flawlessly.
But that was not the end for this situation. The lord, instead of falling into despair like her client suggested grew vengeful for the murder of his beloved wife and threw down his titles and holdings, gave up everything in order to begin the hunt for those responsible for her death.
Catelyn recognized the threat, foolish as the man was, watching him bumble around the streets of Absalom as she watched from the rooftops, gesturing to everyone who would listen to him, showing an ill-drawn facsimile of Catelyn’s face, begging for information so that he might find the woman responsible for his wife’s murder. She had her bow drawn, arrow pressed close to her ear in anticipation for the clean shot that would end his life. Yet, when the moment came, she could not release. Her breath caught in her throat and her arms seized still ‘til the moment passed and the opportunity was gone.
Every instinct in her body screamed at her, burning through the wall of ice that had governed her life up until now. She knew he would be after her. She knew that he would not rest and yet she could not kill him.
So she ran. She ran across the Inner Sea, hoping to lose him and see her one failure gone from her life. Yet, wherever she went he was soon to follow, and as the years passed he became wiser, more skilled and more determined. She knew there was only one choice – kill or be killed, survive or act the fool and surrender herself to death. The time came again where she had her bow drawn, arrow pointed square at his heart, and again her arms seized and she withdrew herself.
It was at this point she knew there was only one option. She would not allow herself to die, so she found asylum in the only place that would ever take her, prison. Killing one man, some baker or another, it really didn’t matter, and letting herself get caught, she was thrown in prison, a life sentence they said. Catelyn knew of no other kind.
It was in this prison that Catelyn spent the last five years of her life. She watched as her highly taught dexterous arms withered in their chains and felt the bruises and cuts pile up at her daily beatings. Things seemed as if they would remain this way forever, until her cell was opened and she soon found herself asleep, journeyed across untold lands until waking in an unknown cell in an unknown place, surrounded by numerous other cells.
She heard a crack as the universe split apart its seams and out came a crimson haired man, lavishly dressed in fashionable robes and a slight smile on his face. Catelyn could do naught but wonder what would happen next.
Wow that took awhile. Well, here she is. I think I wrote too much... again. Maybe that's my problem. Hmmmm...
Favored class bonus? +1 hp or skill pt?
Oh, derp forgot about that. I'll update it with another hp. Never can have enough of those, let me tell ya'.
Emilian looks about the neighbouring cells, grimacing at the sight of several of the occupants. "What sort of trials, Baron Darkstorm? I already had a trial. It didn't work out so well."
"These will be different, their outcome will rest solely in your hands. There will be five trials, the last one being physical combat against a common enemy. The other four will test your various attributes, such as speed, endurance, intelligence, and resourcefulness, as well as your skill-set."
The tiny halfling pipes up. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. I'll just go up against "Tusks" there with my bare hands. Might as well throw me back in solitaire.
The tiny halfling pipes up. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. I'll just go up against "Tusks" there with my bare hands. Might as well throw me back in solitaire.
The Baron smiles. "Kwin, you are not weaponless. I know you have been provided a dagger and that alone in your hands is an instrument of death, given your reputation. I know you all, your names, your crimes, your skills. I picked you all exactly for your toughness and tenacity. Now, you just have to prove me right."
Catelyn unsticks herself from the shadows of the back of the cage. Pressing herself close to the bars she searches around the area, attempting to get a good look at each of the cellmates before turning to the Baron. "You say you know of our skills? I understand a Baron of high caliber such as yourself recognizes the talents I have obtained, and would further understand that these talents would be better suited to work outside the field of this scenario. I assure you the services I can provide would be well worth my release."
"Me crimes? Bah, ye addle-brained, soft-skinned, cowering-from-a-little-thunderin', worthless excuse for a man. Ye know nothing 'bout me. Still, ye got a point 'bout no other option. I'll be taking yer tests, if only to be seeing the sky again."
Menas once again sits up from his pile of rags "Its like a prison reunion in here, since everyone is chatting and sleep is off the cards lets have a little question and answer session." Looking over towards Catelyn,"So what are your skills halfbreed?"
"Killing, mostly. I suspect you are similar in that regard. However, I further suspect we differ in that I do not require screaming at an enemy as I approach them in order to successfully execute a job. Then again, I highly doubt you are of the sort any respectful person might hire."
As soon as he awakens from his magically slumber, Kor shifts to a sitting position. A great brute of a half-orc, his muscled form is laced with the scars of a hundred bar brawls and years of abuse from his jailers. He says nothing, yet his eyes roam slowly around the circle of cages taking in everything he can see from his view.
A deep booming laugh rolls around the prison, "Any fool with a sharp stick can kill a man, my skills lie in not being killed. You might call me a glutton for punishment." Rolling his shoulders he shrugs off most of his rags revealing his tattoo's and scars, "The Taldan Legions prefer their soldiers quiet and orderly, they used to put me to work on what we called 'crowd control'" pointing to a legion brand and campaign markings, "but don't worry, I'll let you hide behind my shield when the fighting starts." he finishes with a wink.
The Baron smiles. "Kwin, you are not weaponless. I know you have been provided a dagger and that alone in your hands is an instrument of death, given your reputation. I know you all, your names, your crimes, your skills. I picked you all exactly for your toughness and tenacity. Now, you just have to prove me right."
With a flick of a wrist the dagger comes into view. Kwin spreads his arms wide and shrugs his shoulders with a mischievious smile that acknowledges that the baron caught him dead to rights.
Monks have extra special unarmed damage. They do 1d8 at first level and it goes up as they progress. But I did forget about the skill point. Going to put that into survival. Thanks.
The Baron looks over at Catelyn, "You wish to prove your talents to me? Survive among this group of males who have not seen let alone been with a female in over 5 years! That will impress me."
"Now for the rest of you, hate me, love me, I don't care. Just accept the lot in life you've been given. Now there are quite a number of you and the only way I could convince the wardens of your prisons to allow me access to you was through a cost-benefit analysis. What it would cost them to supervise/feed/clothe you for the next 40-50 years versus the benefit of seeing you die in person today. Which brings me to the bad news, only five of you will survive this day. Not my call, only way to get so many competitors. Now, it was quite expensive to bring you all here today. How am I going to recoup my investment? Easy..your participation in these trials will be seen by all the different wardens from the different prisons plus honored guests, nobility, and gamblers up in the Arena above you. Quite a crowd is gathering for this spectacle and they will see all via a scrying pool, so remember to put on a good performance."
Monks have extra special unarmed damage. They do 1d8 at first level and it goes up as they progress. But I did forget about the skill point. Going to put that into survival. Thanks.
Menas eyes light up with a look of boyish joy, "The warden is here? Baron, you have me for as long as you need me. Will just give me 30 seconds alone in the arena with him, i guarantee a show your patrons will never forget."
"Survive, Menas and I'll see what I can do. These wardens are assh*les and I wouldn't mind if they were taught a lesson!"
Monks have extra special unarmed damage. They do 1d8 at first level and it goes up as they progress. But I did forget about the skill point. Going to put that into survival. Thanks.
You're right, I was looking at the table for Large sized Monks somehow. My mistake.
Updated Summmary:
Salu - CG human fighter (obsidian scimitar)
Menas - CN human barbarian (heavy wooden shield)
Emilian - LN human fighter (heavy wooden shield)
Othrik - NE Half-orc ranger (cestus)
Kwin - NE halfling rogue (small dagger)
Bug - NE goblin fighter (small dogslicer)
Kazmuk - NE dwarf druid (battleaxe)
Morgthar - LE Half-elf Hungry Ghost Monk
Varos - LE Human cleric of Zon-Kuthon (double-chained kama)
Kor - LN Half-Orc monk of Four Winds
Catelyn - NE female Tiefling rogue (Javelin)
Expressed Interest:
Darklight
Skorn
Haraldir
Pallius
The tiny halfling pipes up. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. I'll just go up against "Tusks" there with my bare hands. Might as well throw me back in solitaire.
Having learnt earlier that one of his cell neighbours speaks goblin, Bug relies on Kwin to transate when the master speaks in common.
Orthrik sits in his cell quietly, looking over the stubs at the end of each finger. While he was sleeping, the humans had more or less torn off his nails, for good reason. Running his tongue over his incisors however, he notices that they had not filed down his teeth. Those fools...
It was difficult for the half-orc to contain his excitement at the prospect of the upcoming competition. He had been torn away from one hunt, and thrown right into another. Noticing a strange, spiked gauntlet lying in his cell, Orthrik puts it on, recognizing it as a suitable substitute for his claws. Looking the tool over, he then glances about, looking at all the people he would probably have to kill.
I wonder what they all taste like...
Please check out Filsgarit the barbarian dwarf, who is looking for her lost son. Not sure about weapons. Can she get a big club?
CG Dwarf - Barbarian 1
Seven years ago Filsgarit's son was impressed into the army of the clanhold and was marched away from his peacuful home in the high Alps of the 5 Kingdoms. He never returned, yet none could say what became of him. Filsgarit had already lost her husband in Orc wars. She was determined not to lose her son as well and so she set out to go and find the lad. Her search took her down a long hard road. She discovered that his troop had been ambushed by bandits in Darkmoon Vale, then he was taken captive and herded to through Isger to the slave markets of Westcrown. So she plodded on to that vile town.
Now Filsgarit is a beautiful woman, for a dwarf. She has stiking red hair and stern blue eyes. Sun-tanned face. But she is rather blunt and direct...and doesn't always get along well in civil society. She struck an agreeement with a local rake in Korvosa, who had assured her that he would find her son for a fee, but the man was a crook and swindeled her from her savings...then tried to capture her and force her into prostitution. Clearly this man underestimated the spirited dwarf and it ended poorly for him ....but the local racketeers didn't like the sight of his bloodied corpse on their street.....so they set out to find the dwarf and make an example of her to the other street girls.
They found her too dangerous to be useful as a whore, and they dumped her in prison to fend for herself.
A stunning example of dwarfish, female health and vitality. This is what you get when a dwarf grows up drinking the best of ale and fresh mountain air. Well-defined muscles, rosy cheeks, strong legs and arms, keen eyes. An athlete.
Level 1: Favoured class bonus to Rage points +1 round of rage.
Point Buy: 15 = +5 + 5 + 5* +0 + 0* + 0**
St 14 Dx 14 Cn 16 iT 10 wS 12 cH 8
Clearheaded (Dwarf Racial Trait)
"Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice...."
Felsgerit has been duped one time too many and has learned to see better through deception and lies.
Benefit: +1 trait bonus on opposed checks against the Bluff and Disguise skills and +1 trait bonus on saving throws vs. illusion effects.
High Marker (Dwarf)
As a young lass she climbed one of the hight peaks in pursuit of Khladringgar (the chiseling of name-runes in the highest places).
Benefit:+1 trait bonus on Survival checks, and a +1 trait bonus on saving throws against fear effects.
Morgthar quietly regarded this 'Baron' as he spoke back and forth with the other prisoners, noting the voice of the one who identified himself as a fellow follower of Zon-Kuthon as well as the one who spoke ill of Him. Death would follow that one, but for now there was a pact to be made.
"You know my skills, Baron, therefore I simply ask the price of permitting me the leeway to eliminate the man who set me up in the first place," Morgthar's voice was unnervingly quiet, "After that, I am yours. Perhaps you can give me some information; who else in these cells follows the Midnight Lord?"
The appearing of self-claimed Baron and the dialogue following these were not so interesting to Varos but he kept his ears open and listened what did Baron have to say.
The five trials of different attributes and especially the fifth one of fighting against... monster, another human, a divine being? Who knows but at least he would not be killed, but Varos had to admit to himself that he was average with these test... expect the last one, as he chuckled to himself.
So, my dear Baron, as I understood you imply that after these five trials of tests we are then taken to your custody and granted mission or missions by you which we have to fulfill.
Or will it be that we are granted freedom, which is unlikely to happen. What do we gain expect of course the release from these sneering to the word luxury cells of death.
Interested now at the Baron, Varos has locked his eye on this fascinating person and gleam in his eye is not surely telling, was this a good or a bad sign.
The voice of Morgthar was pleasure for Varos, since another follower of Zon-Kuthon surely would increase his chance of surviving adding with someone to protect his back... someone who was worth to protect and help with his skills... brothers of night were never left alone in need, Varos thought and short laugh escaped his lips. An ally... and with same patron as I heh. The Dark One is with me tonight.