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In what has become in a short time the rinse and repeat method, Arthrax charges forward, not wanting to deal with whatever the troglodyte is attempting to do. His lips curl at the smell of the creature as he attempts to slam his axe into its face. He apparently has a secret curiosity about what the creature is doing, because his aim is way off!
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Oh, hey, look at that. The alchemist tosses a bomb at the trog. (Arthrax, do you mind getting splashed?)
- Swift Action: 5-foot-step
- Move Action: Get a Bomb
- Standard Action: Toss!
Oh, well. That probably doesn't confirm. Of course, this is all contingent upon Arthrax agreeing to take damage from my splash. (DC 15 Reflex to avoid. For the gator, too.)
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"Oh, Gallant Sir Bellringer," Misforstått exclaims through a stream of tears, "please forgive the indescriminate nature of my weapons."
The tiefling tries to gather himself. "I can heal that," he promises.
The alchemist inhales deeply through his nose to partially clear the river of mucus now flowing freely down his face. "Oh, Sarenrae, take the wheel!"
- Swift Action: 5 foot step towards the melee.
- Move Action: Draw another bomb
- Standard Action: Toss!
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Sarephta and Arthrax lunge but miss with their attacks. Darcy rushes forward up is overcome by the stench of the creatures and begins to retch . Aurora and Groot continue to battle the crocodile and with a final swing, Groot smashes the croc's head in. Misforstatt lobs a bomb and hits the Trog king. Balenar rushes forward and while singing, casts a healing spell on Arthrax.
The Trog king is unable to keep his concentration and loses the spell. Seeing himself surrounded, he'll draw his scimitar and attack Arthrax...
.
...but misses in his attack.
As you all pile over into the Eastern corner of the tower, you begin to feel it lose some of structural stability as cracks begins to appear in the floor and sides and the tower begins to groan and grumble.
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Arthrax growls as his swing misses, bringing his shield up to block the troglodyte's attack. He takes his time and levels another swing at the creature.
Then, he finds himself dodging again as another bomb is thrown into the melee. His guess is correct this time, and he sidesteps away, shielding himself from the worst of the blast.
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With a final blow, Sarephta and Arthrax lay low the Troglodyte King, and not a moment too soon for you all begin to feel that Eastern corner of the tower is beginning to crumble.
With the defeat of Tasskar and his troglodytes, the Fallen Fortress stands abandoned once more. The Venture Captain thanks you for a job well done, as well as for the timely rescue of Balenar before giving you each you payment.
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A few days after your victory at the fallen fortress, you receive some lighter news for a change; a traveling circus has set up shop outside of Absolam. With so much death and violence of late, you think that it might be nice to get out and have some fun with some of your hard-earned money. Stepping outside of the Venture Lodge, you see that the circus folk are holding a parade that marches through the city in a spectacle of sights, music, and drumming. Banners and streamers herald a procession of clowns, stilt walkers, and tumbling acrobats, all of whom wave to the townspeople. Carnival barkers call out to people on the streets, promising thrills, chills, and delights for people of all ages (at the modest price of a few copper coins). The entire procession is a formal declaration of the carnival’s opening, and it doesn't take long for a crowd to gather behind the parade, drawing you along with it and leading you right into the entrance of the carnival.
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Arthrax walks along the streets, peering at the different attractions with indifference. Unfortunately, his parents had raised a serious young man, and he rarely knew how to have fun when it presented itself. Still, he made the attempt, sampling this pastry over here, having a go at that game over there.
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With his blue-black hair and clean-shaven, young face--not to mention his size--he could easily pass for a gnome at a glance. His stocky form and traditional attire easily mark him as a dwarf, however. He carries a fine backpack over one shoulder, the fresh smells of produce flowing from within. A symbol of a golden horned bow and arrow rests on some kind of badge on the chest of his farmer's clothing, the movements of his clothing as he walks hinting at metal plates hidden underneath. A solid iron ball attached to a chain that must be ten-feet-long rests coiled at his waist. At his heel follows a rather larger than normal goat, an uninterested expression on its face as it chews grass.
He pats the goat and speaks with an accent of exotic provenance, its cadence rocking up and down like a seesaw. "A festival, Victor, a celebration, I say! A place to share the traditions of our dwarven ancestors and teach the good people about the goodness of nature!"
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Arthrax notes the beardless dwarf and the goat with amusement as the stocky man carries on a conversation with the animal. The fighter wonders if the pair is one of the attractions as he notices his favorite alchemist drawing a crowd. Sighing, it seemed to be one of 'those' days. He wanders up to Misforstått and grins, "Aye, and a handsome face to look upon, especially when one wants an enemy to go 'boom!'."
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An athletic female, dressed in old scale armor with bits of fur and bone strung here and there, wanders the crowd.
She is comely, with penetrating dark eyes, yet she seems cold and distant. She does not seem to care one whit about the proprieties or etiquette of society.
She looks bemused by the circus, as if there were many more serious matters to attend to.
Recognizing a few fellow Pathfinders from the lodge, she moves toward the familiar faces in the crowd. She nods as she nears them. "I'm Evenstar," she says. "I've seen you around the lodge."
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Misforstått bows low to the human female, mooning Arthrax and several circus patrons in the process. "Oh, my! Imposing Lady Evenstar I am Misbegotten Misforstått. I'm sure we have not yet met, else I would have asked for your permission to examine your body." The tiefleng says this with truly innocent intent. "You see, I'm a medical researcher. I believe that examining your musculature and internal organs would help drive my discoveries." The alchemist flashes a toothy smile.
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As the tiefling has observed, Evenstar is indeed physically imposing, her lean body rippling with muscle.
She moves close to Misforstatt as if to gauge the tielfling's intent.
She places one hand firmly on top of his head and glares at him for a moment, physically turning his head to each side as if she is the one doing the examination.
It seems for a moment she is about to lift him off his feet by the collar, but she suddenly laughs heartily and pats Misforstatt on the shoulder. Apparently she has determined the tiefling is harmless.
"Ha! I'm too much for research!" she laughs.
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"That may be the case, Imposing Lady Evenstar. But, can you imagine yourself leading a group of Evenstars?" There's a twinkle in the alchemists eyes and a happy glow to his visage. "Think of it: If we could bottle your essence and share it with other Pathfinders, we could cement our status as the premier explorers of Golarion--unrivaled by the likes of the Aspis Consortium or the Technic League!" The tiefling is practically salivating at this point. He's genuinely excited about the science, not the possibility of examining Evenstar in particular--any exceptional body or body part(s) will do.
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Having seen this routine more than once, Arthrax deftly turns his head as the tiefling bows low to the newcomer. The burly warrior in turn nods in respect to the new addition. "Pleased to meet you, Evenstar. Arthrax, at your service."
He chuckles as the two exchange their strange pleasantries, shaking his head a bit. This was promising to be a strange time.
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At the sound of a big brutish voice talking of 'Charm School' a man wearing a hooded cloak turns and looks to see who ade that speech. In doing so, his legs become tangled as he falls into an path of a barbarian woman. "Whoops sorry, I thought I heard the sound of a devil!". Now prone on the floor the man, you can see, now the hood is dislodged, the man is either bald or has a closely shaven head. Around his neck, a chain with a wooden symbol of the sun dawning, red and gold colored sunrays radiate from the inner yellow sun. His dark grey eyes look up at you, as he spoke the words of apology.
As he looks up at the woman, a smile breaks on the man's face, "I know you? We've me before in Absalom, I'm sure. In the Grand ... " his voice trails off as he remembers not all look kindly on Pathfinders. "You know, the headquarters, where we learned our ... disciplines, directed by our captains. Do you remember?"
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Dolph strides up the party and waves enthusiastically. "A harvest of thousand beets upon you, folks of the city life! I am Dolph, Son of a Shepherd. Do you know where we will be finding the market for the sale of fresh production"
Dolph stops and wrinkles his nose. "Aha! You should cover yourself in water and extract of lye, Misbegotten-in-the-Head-Horn-Man. Your smelling is worse than the freshly stretched leather of a hairless otter in the morning sun." Despite his admonishing words, he speaks with a smile and a cheerful tone.
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As you all begin to look around, you see that a path runs east here from the midway toward the traveling zoo. To the south are booths with pavilion tent tops that provide shade for the games of skill and chance played beneath. Behind them are circus wagons, some clearly only for transportation and equipment, while others are attractions and portable shops for merchants. To the north is a gigantic tent erected on tall poles with a stage curtain pulled shut across its front. Before you can go anywhere, though, you're called out to by an Ulfen strong man who cheerily shouts "Step right up folks, step right up! Demonstrate your power and passion by taming the savage beast on yonder pole! And it only costs one copper piece, too"
Looking over, you see that he's gesturing towards A heavy, long-handled mallet leaning against a 3-foot-wide and 12-foot-high wooden tower crowned with a stuffed lion’s head. At the base is a lever attached to a puck that slides up and down a pole running the length of the tower up to the lion’s head.
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"Oh! Games! This is an excellent opportunity to put those charm school lessons to good use!"
With a flourish, Misforstått swings overhead and Wham! Twice!
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"Your smelling is worse than the freshly stretched leather of a hairless otter in the morning sun."
Not knowing what the freshly stretched leather of a hairless otter in the morning sun smells like, the tiefling smiles back, "Why, thank you, Kind Sir Shepherd! I am so very happy that you enjoy my natural musk." The alchemist bows again. Dogs whine and flee; nearby townsfolk faint.