An Old and Broken World

Game Master Simeon

"Gog wants to help small folk who killed the Brain Man. Gog will guard them on the way to...Eggs Change? That is what you call it?"

The night goes by uneventfully. A few beasts that look like the unfortunate spawn of a hyena and a buzzard lope over the hill but quickly turn around as Gog gives them the mother of all stink eyes.

Morning rolls around and the desert sun wipes away the chill of night.

The journey back to Exchange passes peacefully. The first day is an especially quiet one, though a dust storm on the second day leaves the party dirty and tired as they roll back into Exchange. Word on the street is that a scrapper staggered into town a few days back covered in strange wounds. She was ranting and raving about a ruin deep in a cave she found, full of "angles without lines" and a "hungry gnashing darkness." She's apparently recovering with the town doctor (who also doubles as the town coroner) but is still incoherent.

Aside from that, the town is fairly quiet.

Angles without lines? Hungry gnashing darkness? What specific imagery! Ronan tries to recall whether any of that rings a bell, whether a fragment of a previous life that went bad or an odd diary entry that he had read in some odd location.

Engineering, History, Local, Planes, or Religion
Knowledge, angles without lines: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (5) + 13 = 18 +1 if engineering
Knowledge, hungry gnashing darkness: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (1) + 13 = 14 +1 if engineering

Perhaps those will be things to research later, like in the Record.

---

Ronan is quite interested in visiting with the incoherent scrapper. He makes his way to the town doctor's office and offers his aid as a fellow medic.

Diplomacy plus Guidance: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 8 + 1 = 17

Assuming that he has an opportunity to observe the scrapper, he tries to get a sense for what's eating her, especially if there's a way to redeem her fractured mind.

Heal: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (15) + 20 = 35

I'm also going to ask one more time if we figured what the scrolls were earlier.

Finally, Ronan wants to help assemble the tech gun part and anything else with some downtime.

Ronan can't totally make sense of what the scrapper meant in her ranting, but gets the sense that she was speaking about something not totally of this world.

Observing the scrapper, he can sense that she's survived an unbelievably traumatic event. He's able to make some solid recommendations to the doctor to nudge her in the right direction, but to truly help her Ronan would need to stay with her for an indeterminate amount of time.

The two scrolls are for irradiate and molten orb.

It takes some time, but upon assembling the gun (and giving it a test fire outside of town) it turns out to be a sonic pistol, an ancient weapon capable of firing devastating blasts of lethal noise.

Thanks for IDing the scrolls! As Sprig is the keeper of the loot, we can update those items now!

With other things to focus on, Ronan doesn't want to play permanent doctor in a town that already has one. At the very least, he can diagnose that this is not something that can merely be removed with the magics he has in his spiritual arsenal: no mere fear, curse, or disease, nor a malady of fatigue or mental damage. If it's a particular enchantment or a yet deeper condition, then they would be beyond his ken for now. Someday, but not yet. Ronan wishes the doctor and the scrapper his best and offers a prayer and a blessing before he rejoins his companions (whom he assumes have been busy at market).

GM, I'm interested in using the spell Akashic Communion to reattempt the above checks on eldritch horrors. As an M/DF spell, my understanding is that as a divine caster I just have to provide my divine focus and not a material component. This would allow me to roll Knowledge even with skills I'm not trained in, and are secret checks. Let me know if you want to write up the ritual and results or if you want me to write up Ronan's attempts to commune with the Record.

As they part ways, Sprig makes sure to call out to Gog. "Thank you for th' help, Gog. Ah hope we can meet up again sometime."

Once they roll back into town, the kobold is all business, It's time to set up the stall and open up shop. With everyone's help, tables are set up, goods offloaded and the wagon is set up for display. It's time to sell!

Planning to sell most of the treasure we can't really use

As they're going through the party's stores, Hezekh pulls out his old but well-made pepperbox revolver and says "Y'know, this thing hasn't been too bad, but I reckon I wouldn't mind trading 'er in for one o' them fancy models."

Masterwork pepperbox. I'm not really a ranged fighter, I don't think I've fired it all campaign, so if anyone else needs a gun speak up, I'll pick last. I don't really have a preference between a laser pistol and a sonic pistol anyway.

If Ronan is in a place where he's shooting a gun I think we're in trouble, but it's always nice to have a back-up when I'm out of tracks. He currently also has an old gunpowder model and would love to snag one of the new-fangled fancy ones.

Sprig nodded, "Ain't no problem, take whichever suits yer fancy."

One Sonic Pistol
One Laser pistol
Four Inferno Pistols (retrofitted for bullets)

Unless someone wants the Flame Swords, I guess we'll sell them off too.
Sprig would probably like to pick up a revolver, but otherwise isn't too interested in fancy gadgets.

Having put the sonic pistol together, Ronan holsters it. He keeps his gunpowder pistol as well, more out of sentimentality.

"Any luck with sales, Mr. Snaggletooth?"

So as far as Akashic communion, Ronan doesn't have the applicable knowledge skill and I can't find that he has an ability to attempt knowledge checks untrained. I'll let you cast it, but the results of the spell will not be especially accurate.

Having put the sonic pistol together, Ronan holsters it. He keeps his gunpowder pistol as well, more out of sentimentality.

I'll take the laser then. Sprig, please add one Masterwork Pepperbox to party treasure.

Ah, it's Akashic Communion itself that permits the ability to attempt knowledge checks untrained.

You attempt to obtain a glimpse of some specific event from the Akashic Record, the extraplanar repository of all experiences that have ever occurred. This allows you to attempt one Knowledge skill check of your choice per 3 caster levels you have, each with a +10 insight bonus. You are treated as trained in any Knowledge skills used for these checks, and can use this spell to reroll a Knowledge skill check you have already failed. The GM rolls these Knowledge checks in secret, as the Akashic Record is incredibly remote, and impressions gleaned from the distant repository are sometimes skewed when received. On a natural 1, the resulting answer is wildly inaccurate.

This spell provides experiential guidance based on your ability to understand the flashes of insight gleaned from the Akashic Record, rather than the perfect knowledge available to those who travel to the extraplanar repository of knowledge. If you lag, discuss the answers, or go off to do anything else, the spell ends. Once you have used this spell to gain information on a specific topic or event, you cannot use it for Knowledge checks regarding that topic or event again until you have gained a caster level.

So Ronan's checks for Akashic Communion would be:

Still working on the level up, but posting to keep things moving and show I'm paying attention.

As he talked, the kobold drew some goods wrapped in nice silken sheets. A bottle of Oldlaw Whiskey and fine tobacco were passed around to any who wanted. "It's somethin' Ah hold onto jes' in case we wanted to make an' impression... but Ah think we have some cause t' celebrate. We've made some good changes t' the world the last few days and that's worth somethin' to me."

Saraon gratefully takes a shot of the whiskey, briefly lifting his mask to gulp it down. He turns down the tobacco, however.

"I think you're right, Sprig. We may have stumbled onto something much bigger than we expected, and this may only be the start of our journey, but that does not make this anything less than a victory!"

"Gog wants to help small folk who killed the Brain Man. Gog will guard them on the way to...Eggs Change? That is what you call it?"

The night goes by uneventfully. A few beasts that look like the unfortunate spawn of a hyena and a buzzard lope over the hill but quickly turn around as Gog gives them the mother of all stink eyes.

Morning rolls around and the desert sun wipes away the chill of night.

The journey back to Exchange passes peacefully. The first day is an especially quiet one, though a dust storm on the second day leaves the party dirty and tired as they roll back into Exchange. Word on the street is that a scrapper staggered into town a few days back covered in strange wounds. She was ranting and raving about a ruin deep in a cave she found, full of "angles without lines" and a "hungry gnashing darkness." She's apparently recovering with the town doctor (who also doubles as the town coroner) but is still incoherent.

Aside from that, the town is fairly quiet.

"Thank you, Gog," Saraon says. "You're a good man."

When they return to Exchange and learn the news of the unfortunate scrapper, Saraon regards Ronan concernedly.

"People only make those kinds of poetic descriptions when they've experienced something supernatural. We better investigate this together."

He watches and listens while Ronan interviews the patient, thinking on what he knew of the mystical or occult that may have traumatized this poor woman.

Will make actual rolls for this once I've leveled Saraon up.

Unless someone wants the Flame Swords, I guess we'll sell them off too.

I was interested in one of the flame swords, and am working on retrofitting Saraon to use it.

Having put the sonic pistol together, Ronan holsters it. He keeps his gunpowder pistol as well, more out of sentimentality.

"Any luck with sales, Mr. Snaggletooth?"

Sprig smiled his toothy grin. "Been Goin' pretty well Ronan! Plannin' t' close up shop soon and get some rooms ready. We should sleep in some comfortable beds while we got the chance!"

I'm not sure what the value of some of these treasure items are, how are the sales going GM Coyote? Did we meet any interesting customers?

As the kobold walks into the nearest saloon, he takes a deep breath and shouts much louder than his small frame might imply he was capable of.

"Attention Everyone! Today's Drinks are on me!"

Double checking the list we actually have Two Laser Pistols if somebody wants the other one. I think from when we cleaned up the fire shooting bandits in Kildain?

Planning to sell the Bolded Items

Had a busy weekend, I’ll update us once I’m home from work.

Ronan prepares his ritual, a dark room in the town inn serving as the site. A burner of incense in front of him allows him to turn his focus inwards, turning his mind to the spirits. First they whisper. Then they scream. Then, for the first time that Ronan can remember in a long, long time, they are silent. Yet still, he feels guidance, as if being pulled towards...something.

All of a sudden, he comes to. He is sitting in a comfortable chair at a desk, surrounded by a vast sea of swirling light. Before him sits a book, written in twisting script he can somehow read. The text itself seems to mean nothing, and yet he feels memories that are not his own in his mind. He sees grasping tendrils reaching towards him, feels the gnashing of teeth shaped for pain, and for a brief moment sees a woman he recognizes as the prospector through eyes that are not his own, perhaps eyes that go belong a mind that does not think in ways that Ronan can comprehend.

And then, he is shunted out of it.

At the same time, Sprig hits the center of town, setting out his wagon and selling the wares the party's found during their journeys in the wasteland. Though the sheer quantity of goods for sale exceeds the coin supply of town, the party receives a mixture of coin and promissory scrip for 6000 GP each.

MurTagran, the old half-orc owner of the town's best saloon, gleefully walks off with the cybernetic arms. He explains to anyone who asks that if he can find someone to implant them, his arthritis will be gone for good and he can run the bar without any pain for the first time in years.

The town guard eagerly picks up the weapons on sale, both looking to expand their armory and keep potentially destructive weapons out of circulation in town.

The icons are indeed portable! They're each a square, about a foot and a half on each side.

They say you can get used to anything. The way sensation works is that your sensory organs detect changes in the environment, whether external or internal, and respond with changes in blood flow, hormones, and other internal physical or electrochemical signaling factors. Those signals characterize the nature and magnitude of the environmental change and compare it to previous experience. That frame of a moment, that slice of bit-to-bit constellation change, is not only compared to the moments just before (and more distant, fractious memories), but also to predicted future outcomes. In this way conscious awareness arises from the continuum of lived experience.

But without sufficient stimulus--without environmental change--there is nothing for the sensory organs to capture. You get used to the feeling of clothes on your body until you don't notice them anymore. The hot bath that stung when you stepped into it grows comfortable even though the temperature hasn't changed. Even the din of noise in a tavern, in spite of constant stimulus and change, becomes in its own way a constant that can be tuned out.

And in the absence of such stimuli, the brain has choices to stay active and sharp. It can program micro-changes, like unconscious shifts of the eye, to remain constantly scanning instead of blanking out. Or it can hallucinate, searching for patterns and meaning where none exist in the environment. The senses cry out for change. For meaning. For proof that they are not alone in the universe.

So the quiet of the voices in his head, after years of overlapping chatter, was bliss: a sign that maybe he wasn't completely mad, at least not yet. He relishes in his newfound sense of mental freedom: luxuriating in the velvet upholstery, enchanted by the vivid visuals on and off the page, inhaling the scents of incense and ink and leather and parchment, rolling the oils of odor along his tongue. He doesn't mind the feeling of touching another mind so closely, even when the alien forces contained threaten to devour him whole. He wants to stay. To know more. To know. More. Please. Please.

please.

That's 6000 GP per party member right? I'll update the treasure log next post with the lump sum, unless anyone wants to hold on to their share.

Getting things where they're needed always feels good. Sprig thought to himself as he watched the old Saloon owner walk off with the cybernetic arms.

There's money to be made of course, but I like to think ourselves as the lifeblood of towns like these, keeping goods flowing and folk prospering.

Having made a pretty penny, the caravaner was in high spirits. It was time to re-invest that income into a little partying. After all, having a good reputation with the locals makes it that much easier to sell goods. We want the townsfolk to be excited to see the wagon roll into town after all.

He hops up to the counter, wrestling with a somewhat sizable sack of coin. "Ah'd like yew t' keep the ale flowin' tonight, barkeep. Anyone who wants a meal can have one on my gold."

Spending however much we need to make this happen.

Placing the sack on the counter, Sprig continues. "Ah'd also like rooms for th' crew and a hot bath fer myself. It's tough getting the sand out of the scales sometimes."

These are Saraon's rolls regarding the interview with the trapper, trying to figure out what she might have encountered.

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Knowledge (Dungeoneering): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Knowledge (Nature): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22
Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Knowledge (Religion): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

Saraon isn't able to learn much more than Ronan was, unfortuntately.

Sprig is able to buy food and drinks for whoever comes along, and predictably the tavern fills to bursting. MurTagran has to get help to haul out a couple barrels of beer onto the street to serve people outside. Folks who's days are usually filled with work and struggle against the elements party hard when given the chance, it seems, and soon enough the main drag of town is full of folk making merry and celebrating the impromptu occasion. A few of the town bands strike up too, lending a cheerful air of conflicting musical genres.

I'll say that it'll be 100 GP all told.

The time-stretching, mind-bending encounter in the Akashic Record leaves Ronan less prone to indulge in the food and drink on offer in the tavern. The space where arms end and tentacles begin frays in his vision, hindering his appetite for the festive atmosphere. He's almost certain that these specters will leave him once he gets some sleep and is able to reorient his mind. But then again, they'll mostly be replaced by the whispers and memories. Add it to the pile of strangeness encountered in the world: one more piece of the tapestry of existence.

Anyone who passes by Ronan sees him drinking some sarsaparilla and absentmindedly humming a tune at once both ubiquitously familiar and entirely unknown, his eyes focusing on something probably not there.

The "cheerful air of conflicting musical genres" reminds me a bit of Charles Ives' Putnam’s Camp, Redding, Connecticut from Three Places in New England where he deliberately recreated the sound of two different community marching bands playing at the same time. It leads to weird timing and sounds in a joyful discordant symphony. Ordered chaos.

Once they're done talking to the trapper, Saraon rejoins the rest of the group celebrating. He spends most of the time watching, basking in the pleasant vibe, occasionally lifting his mask briefly for a bite of food or a sip of ale.

It was times like these that reminded one that the world was not dead. The cataclysms of the distant past may have caused great death and destruction, and it may be millenia before the brown, dusty wastelands were green again, but life continued on. Plants grew in the hard and tainted soil, not pretty maybe, but strong. Animals hunted and scavenged as they always had, with new mutants joining in the struggle and finding their place in the food chain. And people worked, played, wept and laughed and most importantly LIVED.

The world was not dead, and the work Saraon and his friends did was helping it hold on to life and become healthy once more. While his mask hid it, his eyes showed the proud, gentle smile hidden behind.

Tomorrow my family and me are taking a trip to Chicago and we'll be gone until Sunday, July 2nd. Please bot Saraon as necessary!

Sprig, for his part, retired early from the festivities, taking that long-awaited bath. A little warm water and a good scrubbing was enough to make him feel like a new 'bold, though a touch of magic certainly helped.

Refreshed, he rejoined the others at their table, where he scrawled out letters to some of the folk they'd met along the way. Mayor Pete, Lefty and the other caravan, even the surviving folk at Glowing Springs. He asked if they were alright and told them a little of what they'd done, though he left out what they found under the Iron Tree.

Seeing that at least a decent number of his companions were sober, the lizard decides to plan their next move. "Alright, we're plannin' t' head to the Glade, but from what Saraon's saying, it looks like Kildain's right on the way. Ah say we swing over there, make sure that things 're still ok then head up."

He flashed a toothy grin. "Heck, we might even run into the other caravan along th' way."

Hezekh if you want to spend a little bit more that 6000, you can use some of my share.

"Well guess I pay next time" Katheryn said with a small chuckle as Sprig declared Drinks are on him.

Katheryn laughed loudly and beamed with her smile. When the music came up she grinned and reach out to grab Ronan's hand. " 'Mon, lets dance!" She declared as she tried to pull Ronan along.

Later when things have calmed down and Sprig brought things back down to a normal level. "Checkin' in, ya" She said with a nod of understanding.

Ronan gets swept up in the dancing, glad to have physical motion to counteract the overwhelming influx of other sensory data. And a friend, at that. He works up a decent sweat, but persists, wanting to show that being a big on the older side wouldn't hold him back from cutting a rug on the dance floor.

He gives a thoughtful hum to Katheryn's question before unconvincingly waving it off. His smile falters a bit. "The spirits are awful talkative tonight," he says. "A question for ye, Kat: do ye think there's such a thing as too much knowin' or not?"

"Let me ask ya one in retur'" Katheryn started "How ya know if ya did?" She questioned as she crossed her arms. "Really I mean, how da ya even say another has too much of somethin' that is so... induvial value?"

Ronan blinks several times, breathing in thought. "I s'pose I'd know if I regretted the knowin' in retrospect. Like, once you know somethin', you can't well unknow it. What does that do to a person?"

"Mayhaps ya do whatever need be doin'?" Katheryn asked with a shrug. "That be, keepin' it ta yaself, or sharin' with others. Yeah, it changes ya..." Katheryn said, going silent for a moment before she shrugs. "But, change ain't gotta be bad."

Sprig decided to pipe up as well. "Katheryn's right! If it weren't fer me learnin' the common tongue, Ah'd probably not be here at all!"

"Readin' all the diaries and stories we recovered may not 'ave always been happy, but Ah learned a lot about the folk outside The Mountain from it." He nodded with his own statement. "If yew need help someway, Ah'm sure we'd all be willin' t' lend a claw."

"Mighty kind a both o' ya," Ronan says, watching as Katheryn's hair floats up and forms into a half-dozen snakes while Sprig's jaw unhinges and three sets of gnashing teeth emerge. Ronan smiles, knowing they weren't real. Probably.

It was nice when it was just the voices. I got used to them.

"Maybe someday. Thank ye."

He was quiet in town, he almost always was. Guilt written all over his face. Normally after such a large score in his past he would have gotten drunk until he found a lady willing to have some private fun or until he got in a right. . . but this time he quietly stayed back, enjoying just one drink and some fine food in a corner while keeping an eye on his boss and his friends.

He kept his eye out on the townsfolk looking from someone whom appeared down on their luck, barring that a young woman whom looked like a mother. He had a lot of making up to do for his past. The last time he had tried to find a kid to help out they had all ran from the scarring and burns.

As the evening wore on he decided that a hot bath and laundering of his clothes would be wise, and he paid for that, going so far as asking one of the workers there were the best spot for clothing in the town was. Perhaps it was time for some new clothes...

perception for someone less fortunate: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
perception for a mom struggling: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22
perception for someone who might be willing to ignore the scarring least for the night: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14
eye out for someone pocket picking and up to nefarious things: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

Bas is able to find some folks to help out and even manages to fend off a would-be pickpocket or two. He sends the struggling folks towards the saloon, promises of free food and entertainment attracting even the most obstinate folk at the edge of town.

As the party winds down, the group is able to head back to MurTagran’s to get some sleep.

With the morning comes preparations. Getting the wagon ready, packing supplies, and fending off any hangovers with biscuits and gravy and MurTagran’s famously strong orcish coffee.

The other wagon rolls into town that morning, with Big Bill, Lefty, Bill, and Shot getting to meet the new members of the party. The guards seem to take a liking to Gog, and in an uncharacteristic moment of boldness, Shot asks if Gog wants to travel with them. The big mutant, for his part, is overjoyed to get to protect little folk that are friends with the folk that saved him.

Sprig’s able to get a few bold folks to deliver letters to High Gulch and Glowing Springs.

All that said and done, the party sets out around midmorning, the road ahead of them. The first day to Kildain is entirely uneventful, and the party is able to swing through town. Temmin, the mayor after his mother was killed by bandits, is shaping up to be a steady hand at the job. That may be in part due to a few former members of the party taking up residence there, the old gunslinger Ralrae and Brindle, a gnoll barbarian with a notable love of soup. The party is given a hero’s welcome, with the prosperity that the bandit's defeat has brought to the town making a decent feast possible.

The next day rolls around as the party travels along an old and worn road. Up ahead, a few tents can be seen pitched at the roadside just past a weathered arched rock formation, though nobody seems to be moving around them.

1d5 ⇒ 5 Saraon

The first day's travel was uneventful, and Sprig took the opportunity to talk with the druid. "We've known each other for a good while now, but Ah'm not sure Ah ever asked. What was it like workin' fer the Circle? Must be pretty excitin' to be headin' back!"

----------

The kobold called down from the drivers seat. "Bunch of tents up ahead, Don't see nobody around tho. What'd y'all think?"

"I'll lope on ahead and check it out boss."

He began heading that way ar a ground eating pace using his Bardiche like a walking stick. He didnt just waltz into the middle of the tent... about 60 feet away he paused studying the tents looking for obvious danger or something moving.

perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

Over the days of travel, Ronan's visions start to diminish to the point that there are only a few stray hallucinations. (At least he assumes they're hallucinations. Or hopes.)

Heal, Lore Needle implantation, DC 25: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (10) + 20 = 30

During the first night, Ronan wanders off for about 20 minutes. When he returns, his head has been wrapped with fresh bandages and he is grinning from ear to ear.

While on the road, Ronan spends some time tinkering with the various gadgets, bits, and bobs that the party has held onto, trying different combinations of items to see what holds together and what might be too dangerous to try. All the while, he offers stories and insights into the nearby land, things that sound far-fetched but could be true.

At seeing the tents, Ronan decides to accompany Bas. Two sets of eyes were better than one, after all, even if one was having a tendency to see things that weren't really there.

Perception: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (20) + 15 = 35

As the time marches on with their travel Katheryn worked away on her musket and chitchatting with Ronan about fire arms and the suggests he would have about improving hers.

When they found the tents and Bas and Ronan moved to scout ahead, Katheryn laid down in the wagon, her musket lined up to follow them. She had been a sniper after all. "Got you covered"

As the tent fabric flaps in the wind, Bas and Ronan both notice what looks like a figure hunched inside one of the tents. It’s sitting somewhat upright, moreso than it could be if it were a corpse.

Only Ronan spots a circular shape crudely scratched into the roadway. The inside seems to be filled with odd geometric lines and twisting script, reminiscent slightly of demonic text but less maddening to behold.

The party’s studying is cut short by the figure scrambling out of the tent. The man that comes out to the roadway is rail thin, filthy and dressed in rags. His eyes are gaunt and his voice timid as he practically shambles towards the road’s center while saying, ”Who walks this way? Who seeks oblivion upon this blasted road?”

His arms are covered in faint and faded tattoos, or perhaps scars, that bear a striking similarity to the text in the circle.

Bump.

Saraon regards the stranger warily, thinking to see if he recognizes them.

When you say "the text in the circle" are you referring to, like, the Druidic language, or was there some sort of literal circle with text in it back in the bunker that I forgot about?

I meant that the tattoos on the stranger’s arms are text that is similar to the text that is inside of the circle scratched into the road.

Gotcha.

"I am Saraon, Duskdragon of the Halcyon Circle. Who are you?"

Hezekh keeps his distance, letting others do the scouting and the talking while he stays with Katheryn and Sprig, in case someone tries to sneak up on them. He keeps one hand near his new laser pistol, though.

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26To watch for anyone trying to sneak up from the sides or behind.

Ronan sees the runic impressions in the road and urges Bas to not pass over it. Without closer, clearer study, there was no telling what sort of magics it could hold. And the way it's constructed seems oddly familiar.

The figure that emerges is a sight to behold. He was perhaps a man on his way towards the state of the prospector they had met back in town. Perhaps where Ronan was trending. Maybe he was already there, or through, or even past the point.

After Saraon's introduction, Ronan gives a small wave. "Ronan Del'Arte, atcher service."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21 Or aid, if someone else can do better

He'll wait for the man to answer Saraon's question before asking another. "Wouldja be keen to have any tea? Oblivion's easier to face on a warm belly."

The man stumbles forward, ending up in the middle of the circle.

He stares at Saraon with hollow eyes as a crooked smile twists across his face, "I am but a prelude to something greater. A final piece of a puzzle I have been meant to solve through it's destruction."

Rummaging through his ragged clothes he produces a knife and a pistol. He grips them in his bony hands but does not move towards the party.

sense motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

"easy there pops.... take it easy. Anywhere here on this quest with you?"

He slowly eased the bardiche to the ground.. not that he didnt htink he couldnt wrestle the fellow to the ground if he made a wrong move. He barely looked able to keep a grip on those weapons let alone use them. He was going to do his best to not hurt the... probably madman.

"Why don't you uh.. let me hold those for you hmm? tell us more about this puzzle you have to destroy eh?"

He moved slowly towards the man hands out for the weapons. . . ready to react and move if the man turned hostile.

The man fires off a shot in the air, maybe aiming for Bas but shooting way off the mark of just about anything.

His eyes are wild as he begins to yell, ”No, no, it’s alll going too slow!”

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Ronan startles at the ringing shot but holds his ground. "I hear ya, friend. It's no comfort that the world goes its own pace, but just so it does. Are you sure 'n ye don' want any tea?"

Ronan's eye glimmers as he draws on the spirits to interfere with the man's aim.

If I can, Evil Eye to impose a -2 on attacks, with a DC 19 Will save to reduce the penalty from 9 rounds to 1 round.

Saraon flinches at the sound of the shot, but doesn't otherwise move.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

"There is something seriously wrong with this man..."

He looks at Ronan.

"Like the trapper, but worse."

"whoa whoa whoa.. easy there old man. no need for violence."

He began holding up his hands placatingly.... then he charged and tried to pin the man to the ground before he could hurt someone or himself.

initiative: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
grapple attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (17) + 9 = 26

Initiative: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Bas beats Hezekh off the mark, so Hezekh casts Shield on himself and prepares for more.