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0-01 Silent Tide
Your boots squash with fetid water as you plod through the Puddles. A thick fog hangs in the air, seeming almost to caress the flesh with an unnatural chill. As you stand outside the Soggy Piper in a foot and a half of brackish brine, you try to recall what was so damned important to demand your presence in the halfflooded slum during Absalom’s rainy season. You remember your meeting at the Lodge just a few hours earlier with your Venture-Captain, Adril Hestram.
A bear of a man with only a few teeth remaining in his head, he motioned you into the meeting hall with a casual wave of his grizzled hand. The human captain outweighs most of Absalom’s half-orcs, and though a layer of beefy blubber coats his frame, those of you who have tangled with him in the Lodge sparring ring know that beneath this thin veneer of fat lies nothing but solid, steely sinew. Adril’s wild beard wags to the ponderous shake of his massive head as he examines a scrap of ancient parchment on the table before raising his eyes to greet your gaze and speaking:
"Come in then, friends, and thank you for answering my summons so swiftly. The society is in need. An old and quite penniless historian, a bespectacled wag-beard by the name of Yargos Gill has recently made a discovery in an old archive that we have a great interest in obtaining: an ancient codebook, left behind in the wake of one of Taldor’s many failed attempts at invasion. This several-hundred-year-old text would prove an excellent addition to our collection, and must be preserved."
"Yargos makes his home in ‘The Puddles,’ Absalom’s poorest district, suffering from a well-known reputation as a haven for lowlifes. Following an earthquake ten years ago, parts of the Puddles now rest below sea level, resulting in frequent and untimely flooding. Those who can afford not to live there—don’t."
"The district is the stomping ground of pimps, harlots, addicts, knifers, and hoards of unseemly derelicts. It’s never been a kind place, but recent reports reveal some new nameless terror on her waterlogged streets. Several persons claim to have seen cloaked, skeletal-like figures marching through an unnatural fog. Ill tidings indeed. Tracking down Yargos is now a priority—--lest some yellow-toothed thug cut him down, or one of these strange wraiths carry him beyond the pale. Find him, fellow Pathfinders, and find the codebook. Your exploits will be recorded in the Chronicles if you succeed."
The memory fades as a fresh deluge of cold seawater rounds a bend in the lane and assaults your knees. After searching for Yargos at his favorite eatery, the Soggy Piper, you learned you just missed him. According to the Piper’s staff, a gang of dangerous young tattooed toughs arrived ahead of you. They grabbed Yargos and several of his friends from their dinner table and dragged them to a nearby cliff at the edge of the Puddle District. The watch was called, but they will arrive too late, as they often do in the Puddles, when they bother to venture there at all.
It is early evening, the first Wealday of the month of Desnus, an old man is about to face some awful fate at the sea cliff known as Torsen’s Maw, and you are no closer to finding the codebook Adril sent you for.
Time to introduce your characters, as they search for Yargos!
The briefing ended Urbar finds himself walking through the filthy streets again. Even his boots are not able to stand against the large bodies of water flowing through the streets. The large cloak he is wearing, which covers his face and most of his body, does however keep off the rain for now. He has a dark look to his face and keeps to himself whilst heading for the next destination.
Why did I leave the forests behind for this?!
Trying to recall the some information on the sea cliff.
Knowledge local: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
Trudging through brine, horse sh**, and a variety of other mud bound fluids, Eryzule held a disgusted look upon his face. His lips pulled to one side, his eyes darted every which way as he stepped lightly to avoid anything...exceptionally chunk filled.
He walked in boots design solely for street walking or ‘beaten’ path walking. This brine soaked right through his ashen boots, lined with silver inlay.
He wore an outfit better used in libraries and larger, scholarly locations. The cloak that wrapped his body and the hood that held over his head, shielding his eyes form the cold breeze, where ashen gray with black outlines along its edges. The cloths beneath were gray as well, gold colored embroidery along its hems. A belt held his robe shut while its tails parts as he walks, clinging off to the side. His pants were a simple black fabric that possessed no real detail.
As soon as the tall, lithe framed elf arrived on solid, clean wood of the Soggy Piper, He removed his hood, allowing his silver, blue stranded, hair to breathe. Placing a box to his feet he had been carrying by a string over his shoulders, He placed his hands to his chest and muttered something to the affect of hating the poor part of town. Prestidigitation was cast. Taking his time while the others motioned by to acquisition the bad news, Eryzule cleaned the muck from his feet and dried his cloths all in about a minute or two.
”Finally, we can all relax from the muck and enjoy... the...huh.”
He trailed off hearing the the person of interest has already been taken away by a group of thick headed ‘toughs’. With a heavy sigh he acknowledged the information, hoisted the decrotive box he had carried back to his shoulders and waited for the others.
“Torsen’s Maw at least sounds scenic, right?” He offered mostly to get himself ready to bellow through the muck.
The filthy, swashing water. The fecund stink of garbage and sewage. Even the dark, mistrustful looks by passersby. For Vicard Inck, down on his luck detective, sleuth and all around 'finder' it was home. Not by choice, of course, but he knew better then most that the Puddles were a good place to hide (and for cheap). He had been living here for months now.
Ironic that his first job with the exulted Pathfinder Society would bring him right back here?
“What a world...” He muttered to himself, pulling his high collared cloak tight around his neck, to ward off the damp chill. At least he had mastered the odd, high-stepping walk that one needed in the Puddles. He used it now as he tromped down the street, racking his brain to remember anything about Torsen's Maw.
KnowledgeLocal: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
As Urbar is trudging along with the others he grunts at Eryzule's comment.
"Better than this s$*~hole I can imagine. Can't believe some people call this their home with space aplenty if you walk a couple a miles."
He walks in silence for a bit again, trying to dodge the potholes in the road.
"My name's Urbar."
He offers in a gruff voice without glancing at the others.
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
"Eryzule, or simply, Ery."
The elf said in a calm, jovial tone. He followed Urbar's steps carefully, though the man was a bit more physically capable. Often Ery's foot got stuck where Urbar's did not. It must be the strength difference. He hoisted a ornate box over his shoulder, nearly sinking into some brine along a would-be road. He shuddered lightly. This place is most foul.
"I will surely be sure to clean everyone's things this evening. And then tea." He thought, bringing a smile to his face.
"Whats your area of expertise, if I may be so bold, Urbar?"
Ery hurried to a bit to catch up to Urbar's side However, he was slowed often due to his feet often getting caught in the collapsing footprints. The effort alone caused him to breathe heavy. He wasn't much for trudging. Taking a deep breath to calm himself.
|Fiona Nic Cathár|
Fiona walks with the others, lost in her own thoughts for a while. Even if I live here for another decade, I'll never truly belong to this city. Too many people, too dirty and mostly unfriendly. Being able to disappear amidst the masses has its advantages though, she grins to herself, oblivious to her surroundings. Walking ankle-deep in sludge, Fiona did her best to ignore the newest lowest point of her fortunes, becoming all the more common in her miserable existence. Only a couple of years ago, was it not, everything seemed so simple, so good. And it didn't stop getting worse ever since, she sighs. Adjusting to city life did not go well for Fiona, maybe because she felt she had to keep hiding from her pursuers in the worst neighborhoods. She escaped murder and rape a few times, but she had been beaten up, robbed and almost kidnapped and sold to slavery once before she learned to deal with most thugs and lowlifes around her, who left the strange, half-sane woman looking for easier targets. Joining the Pathfinders was an easy bet - risking her life in return for a place she could belong, no interrogations about her previous life.
Fiona stood in front of the Venture-Captain. Words were said and heard, she recalled, quite a lot, in fact. More than she had directed at her for weeks now. She barely listened however. The others, they'll take care of this issue better than I ever could. I'll just tag along and try not to interfere with things too much... its not as if I can really make a difference. They discussed detailed, while she kept silent, trying to look respectable but feeling miserable inside.
Time seemed to disappear from her memory - a too common occurance nowadays - as the next thing she remembered was walking through the sludge again, following the others as tiny drops of mud and grime spashed on them all. Judging from their gait Fiona was lucid enough to understand that they were purusing a matter with some urgency. She caught up what seemed like an introduction between some of the men, pulling her consciousness away again. Strange thing, these introductions. These townspeople do them all day. Why not live where you're known and respected and loved and..., she shook her head slightly, attempting to focus on what seemed like the current reality. They're probably waiting for my name now, that's how things work here."I'm Fiona and this is my first mission," she says quietly, clearly without much confidence in herself.
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
Turning on his heel in the muck to hear a voice he hadn't heard the entire endeavor thus far, the elf looked to the woman who had decided to speak her name. His eyes giving her a once over for the first time since their gathering. He smiled softly, sensing a distance that suggested she didn't want the company.
"What a sultry, wispy tone you possess."
The elf's smile turned into a curious smirk as he continued to walk backwards. He took in her tones trying to gauge her subtly as shyness or otherwise.
Sense Motive to sense out demeanor: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
His smile shifted to stoic expression his eyes soften with a bit of sympathy. He tapped the ornate case over his shoulder, motion to it with his head.
"We all start somewhere, Stygian Fiona."
The term he gave her meant dark or gloomy, but inflected that it was meant to be endearing. He gave a small bow of his head before twisting back int he muck to walk properly. He stumbled a bit, luckely catching himself. He chuckled at his agility.
"When we are done getting this Yargos fellow, We shall all enjoy tea!" he shouts, thrusting a hand toward the sky in a fist.
Gwen stoically slugged through the muck that sloshed around her knees, listening to the others mutter the very same complaints she had in her mind. The one difference, she was not about to put those thoughts to words, lest the others question her mettle. Inwardly, however, that was another story. '"Join us Pathfinders! You will see sights you cannot even imagine!" They said. Well, they were right. I couldn't have imagined walking through this.'
Suddenly folks were introducing themselves to one another. 'What an odd time for introductions.' she thought. "Gwen." She says with a glance over her shoulder. "Don't know about the rest of you, but after this I'm looking for a good fight..." She suddenly grins.
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
Looking over his shoulder toward Gwen, he gave a simple nod.
"During this you'll have your chance."
He chuckled. "Who the hells is that? Gwen she claims. I don't remember seeing her earlier." His thoughts stirred up a storm of doubt. Outwardly, he turned back to facing the direction they were traveling, a hand placed to his chin in thought.
Of course it would be seawater, this will play havoc with my new scale armor. Glancing down at her scale hauberk, brown sleeveless tabard and club hanging at her side, she notices that only her hard leather leggings and high boots are getting wet. At least I chose to wear this, as it will be far easier to clean then my skirts would have been.
Tereza looks around her and counts the rest of the group. Three, Four, Five. At least none of the rest of them have gotten lost in that sorry excuse for a tavern. To think that my redemption rests on ones such as these, either my curse is playing out in new and unpleasant ways, or they are made of sterner stuff then they look like.
She glances around at the city and thinks to herself So much greed and desperation. I wonder if the others even noticed.
No that's wrong, that cloaked human at least seems to know his way around here. That girl though with the pet Ferret, she going to need some watching or she may be lost here...
After Fiona and Ery speak, Tereza splashes over her, "Fiona, your name dances in my ears. Stay close to me, as I need someone like you to help me watch ze Men. She leans close and says in a stage whisper "After all, zere is somezing wrong with an elf who can smile in this middle of zis." She motions around her with a look of pity that turns to a grimace as more water sloshes over the top of her high brown leather boots. Sense Motive to see if I notice how she reacts: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Regaining her composure quickly she looks at the rest of the group with a serious face and formally says. Urbar, Ery, Gwen, May your names never be forgotten, and ze road clear before you." She pauses and looks intently at the three of you for a moment then says "I am Tereza.” Turning and fixing on the cloaked human she speaks in a softer voice. You seemed to know ze area, or at least you walk like a local. What do you know of zis Torsen’s Maw?”
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
Ery heard a refrenace to a smiling elf...counted the people and considered that she may, obviously, be referring to him. He twisted, yet again in the muck, his elven graces allowing him some balance. He continued to listen, while walking backwards. Once Tereza addressed her self he looked her over, shaking his head.
"The only crime I see, if you taking the secretive woman for yourself."
He raised a brow, looking to both Tereza and Fiona. Ery needed a wall to hide behind too. Granted he was going to hide behind Urbar anyway, but he enjoyed the challenge.
He was about to speak further but then realized his former drinking companion was absent from their ranks. The elves head began to swivel while his eyes widened in search of the party member.
"Vicard! Where the hell is the Puddle walking expert?
|Fiona Nic Cathár|
Fiona looks at the elf and nods weakly. Too much attention... you're drawing too much attention girl, snap out of it! She gathers herself and smiles almost mechanically, muttering a few words of thanks to Eryzule for his description of her voice. Once he comments upon starting points, she falls silent, drifting away on her train of thought again. Am I that easy to read now? Things weren't always like this I used to play those villagers as I willed, tricking them into believing whatever I wanted. Like that time with Cethern who came asking for a simple love charm and who I managed to enthrall with the smallest magic cantrips. After a few minutes he left beliving I was almost a deity myself. They could never really figure me out, those peasants and I could do whatever I wanted and find peace in our small hut, and I remember that small garden with the cucumbers which I liked to pick after the rain... Hearing her name again, Fiona snaps out of her endless reminiscenses, and looks at Tereze with a smile of relief. "Thanks," she says with relief despite not being offered or given anything obvious. "I'll stay close and we can cover each other's backs," she adds despite the fact that it is quite clear well maybe not for Tereze's sense motive roll :) that she will not be doing any effective back-covering for a while, at least not the type which makes her friends feel safer.
Vicard is startled out of his reverie by Tereze's voice. He was so used to working alone that the sound of another voice near him nearly mad him jump. Recover his composure, he turned towards the Oracle.
“Yes, I'm a local. But not by choice. As you can see,” Vicard says waving his hand over the soggy slums, “It isn't a place you choose to be from. As for Torsen's Maw, I am beating my brains trying to recall. I might have had a bit too much to drink last night...” The investigator shakes his head wearily.
“While I wait for my brain to get into gear,” he sticks out a scarred, slightly burned hand, “My name is Vicard Inck.”
Vicard, May your name never be forgotten, and ze road clear befor you.. After a moment she continues in a softer voice Ze fruit of the vine is sweet, but ze morn' can be sour. I may be be able to help in a small way if you will permit me.
If he is ok with it she holds out her hand to touch him and mumbles Desna guide zis man
cast guidance on Vicard
"I'm a ranger. I roam and live on the land around us."
He replies to the elf ignoring the humans walking next to him. As he gets addressed by Tereze he looks up with a annoyed look.
"Know your friends and know your enemies even better. Humans are the bane of nature. I tend to keep them close to stop them from ravaging nature."
He looks confused for a bit as Vicard also replies.
"You from here? Thought she was referring to me."
He says as he points to his cloak. He shrugs and keeps on walking.
"We should be getting near the place now I guess."
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
Ze fruit of the vine is sweet, but ze morn' can be sour. I may be be able to help in a small way if you will permit me.
Ery's ears perked as he looked to the woman who seemed to suggest things he hadn't expect so soon. He raised a brow, speaking to her in a rather suggestive albeit joyous tone.
"Tereza, The art of sampling fruit is one best done when those involved are most comfortable. The brine filled streets would hardly be a place to seduce and indulge ones self...or anyone else for that matter."
The elf pondered the location as he looked to the others with a mild wave of curiosity. He shook his head with a laugh as he continued to trudge on.
Looking toward Vicard, Eryzule waved.
"Could always have a seat and get some tea in you if your mind is foggy."
Realizing that was hardly approroriate, to have tea in such a palce, Ery sighed heavily only to hear the worlds come form Urbar's mouth about huamns being scourge.
"Urbar, I assure you, there are worse creatures to be in bed with than humans. As a matter of fact, I'd say most are rather resourceful."
Fond memories of his time as a Holy Prostitute in the temple he came from in Kyonin flashed before his eyes. Shame they simply couldn't afford his Spending costs. He looked to the women of the group, nodding to each with a smirk before returning to Urbar.
"I bet each of them are far more impressive...if you only had the chance to find out."
Gwen nods to Tereze in greeting and to the others as well in order. She casts a dark look at the ranger though, at his words. "If you think humans are the bane of nature, then you are a fool. Take a stroll through Belkzen and you will see the true bane of nature."
She then spots the elf's eyes lingering on her. "Keep those eyes on the road and away from my body. Your teeth would not be the first I've knocked out for an unwanted wandering gaze." She gives him an exaggeratedly sweet smile. "I would take you up on the tea though."
Vicard waves Tereze's offer of magic off, in a kindly enough fashion. “I prefer to heal myself as nature intended. It is too easy to over-do things, if you use magic to solve you problems. Thank you, however.”
He nods to Urbar, taking the anti-human racism in stride, and then concentrates on Torsen’s Maw. The chill water sloshing around his feet, the chattering of the group and the general miasma of the Puddles combined to slow his usually razor-sharp mind. It felt like his brain was slogging through ankle-deep water as well.
The tired Investigator points towards the tea dealing elf. “I think it was your tea that did this to me, Eryzule. I felt fine last night.” The remark is, mostly, a joke. He also chuckles at Gwendallyn's remark. In a way he hoped the elf would push things, but then again a fistfight would slow them down.
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
Laughing lightly as he averted his eyes from Gwen he gave a nod.
"Of course warrior, Of course. I'd hate to think that a gaze could be a compliment."
A smirk overtook his face as she mentioned tea. He tapped the box over his shoulder and gave a thumbs up as they walked.
"Tea is just as grand as allure and sensuality could ever be."
He looked to Vicard with wide eyes as if shocked. He slowed his walk to move with the Sleuth as he gathered his wits.
"I don't understand the question, Vicard. I know each word...but when put together, they don't make sense. Perhaps try again, using another format?"
Oddly, the elf's stoic features seemed constant.
Urbar raises an eyebrow at Ery's comment on bedding with humans. He decides to ignore the comment and focuses on Gwen's talking.
"Never been there. Will visit it one day I think, to see if it is true."
As the evening grows longer Urbar grabs his hooded lantern and lights the oil, shining light on the area around him.
Urbar and Vicard know the way, and are able to guide you to the sea cliff known as Torsen’s Maw. Once at the cliff, you realize you shouldn't have arrived a second later.
Six brash young toughs covered with tattoos of vicious, snarling dogs are prodding four terrified older men off the edge of a cliff into the sea. The prisoners are shackled together in a line with heavy chains, which shall surely drag them to the sea floor in short order should they tumble from the cliff’s edge into the churning waters below.
"Who are you?!" a thug who's dressed in green yells at you. "Get lost, or face the consequences!"
Fiona: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15
Gwendallyn: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
Tereze: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21
Urbar: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Vicard: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Blue war hounder: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (8) + 0 = 8
Green war hounder: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (8) + 0 = 8
Orange war hounder: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (10) + 0 = 10
Purple war hounder: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (3) + 0 = 3
Red war hounder: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (15) + 0 = 15
Yellow war hounder: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (10) + 0 = 10
I always work with initiative blocks. Everyone is bold is up, in no particular order.
When you move, also move your token on the map. You can find the map when you click on 'Season 0' below my name.
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
"Lets see what I can do..."
Ery said as he lifted a hand outward to the group of four toughs off to their left. His fingers danced as a spell came to light, burst evenly at the groups head. Once the spell took off, he reached between his back and cloak, taking a rather large, heavy crossbow into his hands.
Sleep (DC 15) Targeting lower corner of Red and Orange Tough Should affect red, orange and yellow.
School enchantment (compulsion) [mind-affecting]; Level bard 1, sorcerer/wizard 1
Casting Time 1 round
Components V, S, M (fine sand, rose petals, or a live cricket)
Range medium (100 ft. + 10 ft./level)
Area one or more living creatures within a 10-ft.-radius burst
Duration 1 min./level
Saving Throw Will negates; Spell Resistance yes
A sleep spell causes a magical slumber to come upon 4 HD of creatures. Creatures with the fewest HD are affected first. Among creatures with equal HD, those who are closest to the spell's point of origin are affected first. HD that are not sufficient to affect a creature are wasted. Sleeping creatures are helpless. Slapping or wounding awakens an affected creature, but normal noise does not. Awakening a creature is a standard action (an application of the aid another action). Sleep does not target unconscious creatures, constructs, or undead creatures.
|Fiona Nic Cathár|
More words flew and flowed around her, like the broken bone fragments Elvira used to read the future with. Those bones, they never felt right for me to use, and she - she would repeat the same thing in different words to one peasant after the other. The villagers would keep coming, of course, bringing their gifts - food, drink, some necessary items, sometimes even a piece of jewelry - always hoping for the old woman to solve their problems, tell their future, take care of them... Time melted away again. It seemed as if one moment she was trudging through the sludge and the next thing she remembered was staring ahead towards a cliff - one group of men was trying to throw another group of men over the cliff. One of the would-be throwers turned towards Fiona and opened his mouth as if to speak, but the only thing she could concentrate on was the sounds of the waves below. That reminds me of a shell one of the villagers once brought us when I was a little girl. He told me he trapped a small piece of the ocean in it. Another lie. In the corner of her eye, Fiona noticed Eryzule casting some magic at the men and pulled out his crossbow. Lethargically she turned her head, switching her gaze between the men and her group. What should I do? Does it even matter?
Fiona seems paralyzed by indecisiveness, does nothing and skips her turn.
Looks like you got your wish Gwen, just be careful, if we do not take them down fast zey may push ze prisners over ze edge.
Then she throws up her hands and with a huge smile says:
May Cayden's Courage be upon you
May he guide you and keep you
And may all your the drinks be free
As great courage fills you all she reaches down and starts her sling spinning.
She casts Bless on the group
Gwen cracks her knuckles and grins. "Come on, boys. Picking on a bunch of old men. Tsk tsk. Why don't you try on someone your owns size!" She starts moving forward, readying an action to grapple the first opponent who approaches her.
Grapple: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 6 + 1 = 20
Going to to ahead throw out her grapple check in the event one of the lads comes up to her. If that does not happen this round, then we can ignore it lol. I just figured it would save some waiting.
Move Action - Moving forward into position on map. Standard - Readying Grapple action.
@Ery: Casting sleep takes 1 full round. It took all your actions, and it'll be completed at the start of your next turn. The spell has a 10-foot radius burst, so you could get more thugs in its area of effect when you complete it.
@Gwen: I appreciate you post your readied action in advance! It's always helpful when players do that.
While Eryzule starts casting sleep, Fiona seems paralyzed by indecisiveness.
Tereze casts bless on the party and starts her sling spinning.
Gwendallyn moves forward and readies herself with the intention to grapple the first enemy to approach her.
The red thug turns toward the old man who's closest to the cliff's edge and kicks him off. The man falls down screaming, dragging his friends with him 'cause the old men are all chained up together. The last of the four men manages to grab hold of the cliff's edge when he falls down.
"Heeelp! I can't hold on for much longer!" the old man yells in terror, unable to hold his own weight and that of his friends much longer than a few seconds.
As indicated by the bold names, Vicard and Urbar are now up! :)
Sons of b*****es! I was not expecting that.... Also, np Steph. I try to do that when possible to keep things moving smoothly.
The instant danger threatened the weary leathery vanished from Vicard. His blurry eyes, slow moving feet and pale face soon gave way to a sharp look, quick practiced steps and a rush of color to his face. Experience had taught him that quick actions and quicker thought could save you.
For a moment, it looked OK. Ery was casting some spell, he felt a rush of vigor as Tereze's magic worked on him, and he wondered what Fiona was cooking up. Gwen's quick rush forward earned her a strong mark of approval. Maybe working in a group isn't so bad after all, the investigator thought.
Then things turned dark. Instead of panicking the thugs pushed the old men over the edge! Barely hanging on, Vicard's mind raced with what to do. It wouldn't be long for the old men to fall off the edge of the cliff. There was little to do but hurry forward and do what could be done, hoping against hope he would survive the blows of so many thugs.
Vicard rushes forward yelling, at the top of his lungs in Common. “Surrender and run now and we won't kill you all!” He pours as much fear and terror into his voice, hoping to at least cause them to be startled and maybe even cause a few to run. Vicard Inck always got his man, even when he was hanging over a cliffside.Then a new thought occurs to him. He recalled that Urbar had rope with him, as they stomped through the soggy Puddles.
Urbar, get your rope and follow me! hoping the ranger would move quickly.
Intimidate: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22 + Inspiration: 1d6 ⇒ 2
Vicard runs forward 30 feet and tries to Intimidate the two thugs purple and blue.
Urbar drops his lantern and runs towards the cliff at Vicard's suggestion. Instead of grabbing a rope he draws two long saw bladed swords.
"They are too late for that, there is no running anymore! I am going to cut every one of them into ribbons!"
Urbar says with a deep and menacing voice.
"Grab them if you can, I will distract them."
I'll treat Vicard's Intimidate roll as Demoralize on the closest of his targets: blue.
The top half of the blue thug's pants change to a deep, dark brown when Vicard yells at him and his mate. His legs starts shaking and he looks over to his mates, a worried expression on his face. "He isn't actually going to kill us, is he?!"
Urbar doesn't expect the plan with the rope to be effective. As Urbar double moves forward, he draws his swords.
"Get the caster," the orange thug shouts at his allies, "before his spell completes!"
Light crossbow: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9 Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 1
Light crossbow: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11 Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 2
Light crossbow: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15 Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 7
The purple and green thug both 5-foot step to end up on the same line as most of their mates. Every thug except the red one draws a loaded crossbow. Three of them, the orange thug included, shoot a bolt at Eryzule. Only one of the bolts hits Eryzule, but it's enough to immediately drop him.
Light crossbow, Shaken: 1d20 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (3) + 1 - 2 = 2 Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 7
Light crossbow: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5 Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 7
The purple thug supports the blue one, and both of them shoot a bolt at Vicard.
"Don't scare my buddy!" the purple thug yells at Vicard, but the warning goes lost when both bolts hit the ground 10 feet in front of the thugs.
Blue (Shaken, 2 rounds)
Those in bold are up. Don't forget Bless!
Eryzule's spell is lost, because he went down :( He'll have to make a DC 10 Con roll, treating his negative HP as a penalty, to stabilize. If he doesn't stabilize, he'll take 1 bleed damage.
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
Taking the bolt after weaving gracefully around two fo them, Eryzule looked down to her center. Falling to a knee then to his back, the elf collapses, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
"D-Damn..." He whispered before consciousness faded from him. The bolt had struck him right below his sternum, but it struck hard.
Stabilize Check Dc 11: 1d20 ⇒ 16
Blood doesn't seem to be pouring form his wound, but the damage done was extensive for the frail framed elf.
Gwen gasps in horror as one of the thugs suddenly kicks one of chained men off the cliff, but she sighs in relief when the last man grabs hold of the edge. She immediately charges towards the group of thugs nearest to the chained men. "We are indeed going to kill you all!" Gwen uses the momentum of her charge to add force to the knee she slams into the thug!
Charge: 1d20 + 4 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 4 + 2 + 1 = 24
Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
Full Round Action - Charge Green. +2 Attack, -2 AC. Hopefully Urbar will join me as soon as he can.
Fiona, Focus, you have a chance to help one who needs it. Focus on ze elf and you will find what to do. I must go, zere are others zat need me.
|Fiona Nic Cathár|
No less than five crossbow strings buzz and Fiona instinctively cringes. Her eyes clear for a moment as she looks over the battlefield and realizes her friends have moved forward to take care of their enemies. The sounds of battle soon disappear into the undulating rhythm of the waves as she tries to maintain her concentration on a line of thought, dimly realizing the importance of her doing so in the middle of combat. What should I do now? Those thugs look like they could win, and if they do I'd better not be here. Should I run away then? I did that already... wasn't good but it kept me alive. But what kind of life would that be? All those cold nights, waking up in the wilderness in horror, terrified by the fact that someone was following me, hunting me. If the Pathfinders win and I run away they won't let me go that quickly. Despite her conclusion, Fiona remains undecided and walks almost aimlessly, this time focusing on the shape of the cliff, that reminds her of one of the rocks near her hut. She liked sitting next to that rock, even though one time she saw a huge slimey worm there. She showed it to Elvira, who took the creature and used it in one of her potions, which she then gave to one of the local village leaders, an obnoxious man whom they both hated Now that was justice!, she thinks to herself and smiles. Tereze's words pull Fiona's consciousness back to the present. Fiona missed most of the message, but she did hear the words "help" and "elf". She turned her head to the general direction in which Tereze gestured and opened her mouth in astonishment as she saw Eryzule lying on the floor, bleeding profusely and unconscious. Her previous dilemma resurfaces, but the elf's condition brought a fine solution. I can treat him here and still run away if the thugs end up winning, a thought comes to her mind, surprisingly quickly. Fiona moves to the lying Eryzule and taking a small jar from her pocket, she rubs some strange-smelling ointment on his wound. He looks - and feels - so frail! It's just like the boy I had to treat when Elvira was already sick... I cared for him so much and tried so hard but I just couldn't do anything. Elvira woke up and saved him, and I was so ashamed and embarassed for my weaknesses... Fiona drifts into her thoughts again, this time with a few tears flowing from her eyes, her back to the battle.
Healing Hex on Eryzule for 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9 - she might be half mad but Fiona's not bad as a healer I guess!
Gwendallyn charges forward and knocks one of the thugs out.
Tereze moves forward while telling Fiona to focus.
At first, Fiona's not sure what to do. She then sees Eryzule collapse and realizes there's at least something she can do, which is patching the frail elf up.
Blue (Shaken, 2 rounds)
I turned green's token upside-down to show he's beaten. I usually leave tokens of unconscious character on the map, in case their allies decide to help them up.
@Eryzule: You and Fiona were up in the same initiative block. As she decided to heal you, I'm fine with it if you still take your actions. (Keep in mind you're currently in a prone position.)
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
With his eyes returning to their normal light, Eryzule looks up to Fiona A little surprised. He gets to his feet, looking over the battle field. Thankfully, it didn't seem he was out for too long.
"Fiona, Thank you." He gave a smirk as he checks the wound area, now gone.
"Let's see what we can do." He pulled a crossbow from his back, behind his cloak.
Eryzule gets up and takes his crossbow from his back.
The red thug 5-foot steps up to Gwendallyn, taking the same square as his fallen ally. You notice he, and the others thugs, all wear a spiked gauntlet that looks like a dog's claw. The red thug raises his hand with the dog claw, and attacks Gwendallyn with it.
Spiked gauntlet: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20 Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
Gwendallyn's hit, but receives no more than a scratch from the attack.
Blue (Shaken, 2 rounds)
Vicard and Urbar are up! :)
Among the hum of crossbows and shouts of fighting, one thing remained clear to Vicard. Saving the men, that was key. They were not only innocent souls (probably, anyway) they were the leads on getting that notebook. And leads must be protected at all costs, for they were the stuff of life.
The investigator rushes forward, clapping Urbar on the shoulder as he sprints past the dual wielding ranger. “Keep them distracted!” he shouts as he passes. Vicard is swift, and doges amongst the enemies, risking getting hit for the greater prize of reaching the cliffside. There is no time to be careful, the lead is at risk!
Acrobatics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Vicard runs forward, risking AoO from Red as he rushes past. The Acrobatics roll to to attempt to avoid getting hit. Keeping Track of Inspiration and Luck: I have used one Inspiration. I have four Inspiration left, and Three Luck left.
Urbar grins and charges forward. He runs in a straight line towards the cliff and at the last moment he lashes out with his sword at the purple thug.
"Come on! Dance with my swords!"
He yells as he tries to rend open the thug with his jagged blade.
Atk roll: 1d20 + 5 + 2 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 5 + 2 + 2 + 1 = 17
Dmg roll: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 4 + 2 = 11
+1 bless +2 favored enemy (Dmg/Atk) +2 charge
Vicard: Acrobatics vs. purple: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13
Vicard runs up to the old men, avoiding attacks from both the red and purple thugs as he passes through the space between them.
Urbar charges the purple thug and takes him out with a single swing from one of his sawtooth sabers.
Spiked gauntlet, Shaken, Flanking: 1d20 + 2 - 2 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 - 2 + 2 = 21 Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
The blue thug drops his crossbow and moves to flank Urbar with the red thug. He then takes a swing at Urbar, hitting the ranger in his guts. "Take that! You killed my friend, you bastard!"
Spiked gauntlet: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14 Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
Spiked gauntlet: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18 Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
The yellow thug takes a 5-foot step up to Gwendallyn. He and the orange thug drop their crossbows. Both take a swing at Gwendallyn, but only the orange thug manages to connect.
The old man who's holding onto the cliff's edge can't carry the weight any longer, and his hand slips away. He and his friends fall down the cliff while one of them yells "Geronimooooo!!"
Blue (Shaken, 1 round)
As before, those in bold are up! Don't forget Bless! :)
The old men are currently on their way down. They'll hit the water by the end of this round.
|Eryzule, Lord of Tea|
"Fiona, With me!"
The elf spins on one of his heels as he darts 30 feet forward. He skids to a knee as he aims his crossbow, a surprise he could lift it as efficiently as he did. Using a knee to prop his elbow up, He takes aim to <Yellow Tough>. An elvish whisper escapes through his lips as his eye levels with the crossbow's bolt.
"Pro tenuis obviam mihi , vos quod vestri mos persolvo."
"For the slight against me, you and yours will pay."
Heavy Crossbow: 1d20 + 3 + 1 - 4 ⇒ (17) + 3 + 1 - 4 = 17
Bolt: 1d10 ⇒ 3
Gwen takes the minor cuts with a grin on her face. "Is that all, little boys? Can't fight real men, so you must gang up on old geezers and women?" Seeing the odds stacked against her, Gwen subtly shifts her stance into a style she once observed from a fighter from the Riverlands... She lashes out with her fist, but the new style seems to have put her off balance and her swing goes wide! 'Should have kept my mouth shut.'
Attack Red: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Move Action - Martial Flexibility (Snapping Turtle Style: +1 Shield bonus to AC). Standard - Attack/Miss. MF - 10/10 Rounds.
Tereze drops her sling and doesn't even pay any attention as it seems to skitter away,
She then draws her club and steps up next to Urbar.
Go back to the boneyard you little cur!
Attack Blue: 1d20 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 + 1 = 11
club: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
(Attack +1 blessing)
Can someone move my token one square diagnal, please.
|Fiona Nic Cathár|
The elf was literally up and running in no time. A spark of pride enters Fiona's mind, as she stands up, but it only seems to make her tears flow more frequently. You know, you can heal a hundred other people and save a thousand more lives, but you'll never really atone for your sins, she hears a voice comment in her head. What was done cannot be undone. Fiona shakes her head as her awareness of the nearby battle seems to fade away. Eryzule's shout clarifies things for a moment, but that sliver of pride she felt quickly changes into dread as Fiona looks and sees a thug slashing across Urbar's guts at the same time as another throws a punch at Gwen's face, drawing blood. She stands still for a moment, observing the situation with uncertainty while trying to decide what to do. Rushing into combat is not her answer.
Fiona passes another round in rumination and indecision.
Eryzule darts forward and releases a bolt from his heavy crossbow, shooting the yellow tough in his shoulder.
Gwendallyn attacks the red tough, but her new stance puts her off balance and makes her miss.
Tereze steps up to the blue tough and draws her club. She swings the weapon at the tough's head, but he ducks just in time to make it miss.
A multitude of thoughts passes in Fiona's mind, and in the end she passes another round in rumination and indecision.
Spiked gauntlet, Flanking: 1d20 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 + 2 = 14 Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
The red tough attacks Urbar, but the spiked gauntlet bounces off of Urbar's armor.
Blue (Shaken, 1 round)
Vicard and Urbar are up.
Urbar swings both his blades in wide arcs at the blue thug.
"Dance! Dance! Dance!"
Atk roll : 1d20 + 5 - 2 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 5 - 2 + 2 + 1 = 13
Dmg roll: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 4 + 2 = 13
Atk roll Offhand: 1d20 + 5 - 2 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 5 - 2 + 2 + 1 = 12
Dmg roll offhand: 1d8 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 + 2 = 9
+1 bless -2 Two weapon fighting +2 favored enemy (Dmg/Atk), AC is 17 again.
Damnation, Vicard thought to himself as the old men slipped off the edge., He hadn't been fast enough and now the whole job hung in the balance. His mind raced with options as he ran forward, dodging clumsy blows from thugs (and hearing some of them die and fall, Urbar and Gwen knew their work well). But his razor mind fixed on the old men, falling through space.
First, the obvious: Letting them fall and questioning the thugs. No, too risky. They might not have the right information.
Magic: No, nothing useful at hand
Urbar's Rope, stage a rescue?: No, not enough time!
Grab said rope and jump off?: No, too risky and not enough time.
There was really only one choice. With barely a break, Vicard shrugs off his backpack and hurls himself off the cliffside, after the falling men.
As he falls, his sharp eyes looks amongst the screaming, manacled men, looking for Yargos, and aiming to fall with him. He would only have a chance of saving one man, and he would have to be their lead. Vicard always got his man.
Acrobatics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16
Knowledge Local: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12 Inspiration for Knowledge: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Vicard jumps off the cliff, and hopes to grab Yargos so to hit the water with him. Acrobatics to avoid falling damage and Knowledge to ID Yargos. Will use Luck/Inspiration if need be, will edit post. Inspiration for Local is free.
Edit: Did not need Luck or Inspiration.
Urbar tells the toughs to dance, but he doesn't give them enough time to actually do so. He cuts the blue tough down with a single attack. He redirects his second attack to the red tough, and also cuts him down.
The old men hit the water the moment Vicard jumps off the cliff. The weighted chain drags the men down fast, and they hit the bottom of the sea floor the moment Vicard hits the water's surface.
Before the men went under, Vicard was able to deduce which old man is Yargos. One of the men in the middle of the chain matches Yargos's exact description.
The yellow and orange tough freak out when they see Urbar cut down two of their allies, and start withdrawing. "Flee! that man's a maniac!"
Yargos's token was given a red outline, and I placed lines to show how the men are connected. The men are currently underwater and holding their breath.