GM Euan's Rise of the Runelords (Inactive)

Game Master Euan

A human man comes walking up. Some of his features suggest Tian heritage. He wears lamellar leather armor, but it is somewhat covered by a long, hooded vest that hangs to his knees. He pulls the hood back revealing shaggy brown hair with the tips dyed a shade of purple which nicely compliments the sky blue of the vest.

"What's all this?" he says, looking around at the clusters of social interaction. "Did someone decide to throw a party and no one invited me?" at which point he gives an easy smile and moves in the direction where a group has gathered around a Half-Orc with some apples. It's not the apples that have caught his attention, however.

He approaches Meg and gives a bit of a flourishing bow as he says, "Vindur Minhu, at your service, m'lady, but you may feel free to call me Vin. Perhaps a poem in praise of the lady's beauty?" he asks in what you might guess is not really a question since he immediately begins:

"Oh blessed vision shining bright
A warmth cannot be dimmed by night
Beloved sun that rules my sky
The truest apple of my eye"
Perform Poetry: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

And as he says this last line, he grabs an apple and takes a bite immediately after the last line, chews for a moment, makes a face, and then turns trying to spit it out without making too much of a scene. "Sorry. Turns out I don't like apples," and he flashes a charming, yet slightly awkward smile her way...and then starts trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the apple.

Tiasar nods with a pleasant smile as Gheri runs off to retrieve her research. As she opens her book he stoops over her shoulder to read along as she explains. "Hmm...although there is notable overlap I can make arguments about the distinctions between arcane magic and alchemical extracts, but for our purposes I think that's more splitting hairs than a useful piece of information."

He looks at the symbols for a decent stretch of time. "Ah." He taps the disconnected circle. "An oversight. Minsdale, while admittedly a good foundation for alchemical research when it comes to special materials, has had more than one blind spot missed in his research. If you read the third chapter of Valonious Piccard's Cross Examination of Magical Foundations, he points out that while arcane studies focus more on the categorical schools and subschools of magic, divine magic is just as subject to their functionality, despite those with divine gifts often ignoring such connections." His voice is not condescending or dismissive. In fact he seems quietly pleased with the spread of information. "Of course, it serves no actual use to aforementioned divine casters, since they eschew such alchemical research. Their loss I suppose."

"Ah-ah yes..." He stumbles on his words for a moment, watching her play with her hair. "Yes! While in Magnimar I picked up some books on local history, and the ancient Thassilon civilizations seemed not only of great interest but also worthy of academic pursuit. The knowledge within the books was vague and high-level, but I am hopeful the ruins themselves will impart more information. Luckily the language was not overly difficult to learn so I picked it up prior to my departure."

The outrider, Nick, rides up from the rear to see what the knot of people is about. Seeing it’s about apples, he nods to the group, smiling, ”Keep moving.” He rides on to the front whereupon Nichole rides back on the other side of the wagon train passing the group and takes up the rear position.

A rumpled man with a carefully waxed (and rather substantial) mustache approaches the group with relish, "Lords and Ladies, gentle men and women all, if I may have your attention for just a trifle." He bows and wipes his slightly sweating brow with a colorful handkerchief.

”I am Apostol Hurgoi, and I have a most excellent conveyance, just over there.” he points to the rather fine wagon, replete with cushioned seats and a cover for the sun. ”I’m sure you’ll all be much more comfortable there, if you would be interested. I could, I suppose, reduce my rates for so large a group - though it’ll mean slitting my own throat of course. Say 5sp per person if you each come along?”

He hesitates to see how that goes over, and quickly jumps in (too quickly really - he hardly gave you a chance to answer!), ”I have a lovely sweet varietal wine I could uncork as well. We can make it a party!” he offers hopefully, sweetening the deal.
- - -

Hasslo Holt
Seamus Passeri (post), (might have some touch-ups)
Kronk the Cook
Tiasar Soseshtian
Qetsiyah Kizzy (post), (let me know when she’s complete)
Rastaf of Sarenrae, (still working)
Gherix Vainglory (post) (race change)
Margareta ‘Meg’ Alekto
Verona of the Wilds (race change)
Toblacane Alemardo (still working)
Vindur Minhu (Needs background & description)

If you are not on this list and feel you should be, or there is some other error, please let me know and I’ll correct it. Thanks!
- - -

the morning before
’OK, I packed everything, the new shirt mom gave me is in my rucksack, and I put the new lockpicks in my bandolier.' Still dark, Seamus after doing a mental checklist, closes the front door of the villa carefully so he doesn't wake up his parents. Pausing at the corner, he nods to the 'beggar' watching the front of the house. 'The Sczarni are a funny lot. They bring Zandu here to be, of all things, an accountant. Sure made mom happy. But they watch over him like a hawk. I wonder if it's to protect him or to keep him from robbing them blind."

As he turns the corner to head towards the Seerspring Gardens, he smiles to himself, 'Why would he rob them, they pay him plenty.' Chuckling. 'Wish he was willing to part with some of it. The gifts were nice, and worth a whole lot more than they would have paid me to do the job, but I barely have two coppers to rub together.' Looking up, he realized that he had chuckled aloud and caught the attention of the two Erastil' archers that were walking down the street towards him. Nodding to the man and woman, 'The truth is always the easiest lie.' putting on his best smile and tipping his hat. "Good morning rangers, I've been visiting family and am on my way to the Deadeye Lodge to meet a caravan, could you point me the right direction?"

Nodding, he thanks the guard and continues the direction they pointed. Seamus soon comes to the Seerspring Garden, pausing for a moment to take his waterskin out of his rucksack, he crouches at the spring filling his waterskin with the pure crystal clear water. Looking out across the park, 'Wonder what it's like to meet a water spirit.' placing the cork back in the 'skin' and dropping it in his rucksack, he turns towards the temple. 'Getting out of Sandpoint was nice. I enjoyed the journey almost as much as seeing Magnimar. Maybe I'm not meant to just stay in one place.' Walking across the green, he smiles. 'I wonder if this is what the Varisians call the 'wanderlust.'

As dusk turns into dawn, Seamus sees the half dozen or so wagons and the outriders coordinating them, 'There's Nichole and Nick.' Smiling at himself, 'Nich and Nick, I wonder how long it would take her to stab someone for calling her Nick,' Approaching the rider he waives and calls out, "Nich er, Nichole, just checking in." Realizing his mental error he quickly moves near the 'Lodge.'

Waiting for the caravan to leave, he drops his rucksack sitting beside it pulling his lute to his chest, 'Let's see, what did the four halflings call it? Ode to Iomedae? May have to change the name.’ he attempts to play the song he heard the night before in the 'blue dragon' tavern.

fast forward to the second day
'Gods, I have to get a better bedroll.' Rolling out from under the wagon, Seamus stretches and rubs his eyes, looking at the different groups breaking camp. 'It's not much but No need to tempt anyone.' Crawling back under the wagon, he quickly rolls his blanket up,stuffing it in his rucksack. He gathers the rest of his gear and hurries to the nearest outhouse.

Having finished his morning ablutions, he puts on the new orange shirt his mother gave him, tucking it into his dark blue trousers. He frowns as he puts on the burgundy vest. 'Happiness or not, the orange goes well enough with the trousers but makes my armor look the color of rust.' Pulling his hair back into a ponytail, 'At least the shirt is clean and dry.' Stuffing yesterday's shirt in the rucksack,. 'Looks like a warm one. and I won't need to use it to keep the lute dry.' He pauses and puts the cloak in as well. Putting on his belt, bandolier and rucksack, he hangs the Lute from his shoulder and finally dons his grey wool floppy hat.

Chewing on his last bit of jerky as the fiddle player begins to play. 'Hey I know that tune. 'The Lasses Lilac's' but I think the Dwarves call it 'Rocks in her head.' Finishing his breakfast, he shifts his lute and begins to strum softly along walking near others.

and into the crowd
Rastaf, cleric of Sarenrae.' Seamus' stomach growls, as the tall greenskinned half orc offers the apple to a short orange haired dwarf. 'A dwarf? He offered the apple to a Dwarf, is he brave or...huh...'

Seamus moves a little closer as the dwarf accepts the apple and introduces himself. 'Hasslo Holt.' as Rastaf's story unfolds, Seamus smiles. 'Ruins in the area, I could offer to show them to him, for an apple. '

As Seamus steps to make his move, a ginger-haired girl in glasses jumps in and introduces herself. Seamus frowns and continues strumming his lute, listening over the music to the conversation. 'Gheri, from Daer Maga? Hmm, Faunra was from there, and she wants to see the ruins.I wonder how much she would pay... did she just,,,, Nah... we're all friends here, well sort of....' Realizing she was talking to Hasslo, Seamus strums softer to hear the dwarves story.

Just as an armed blond strides up and asks the popular Half orc for an apple. 'I wonder how many of those things he has?' While the friendly and popular half orc answers Gherix and hands the blond an apple simultaneously a black haired Ustalavs woman steps up and asks if he's a healer. Seamus smiles to himself as the half orc answers and offers the woman an apple as well. 'ok, all i have to do..'

Hearing the sound of steel leaving leather, Seamus stops playing and begins to reach for his blade, just as the blond shishkibobs the apple in the half orc’s other hand. Quickly returning to his playing, 'Calm down, I need to calm down, I've been hanging around with thugs too long. It's not like any of these people are dangerous.'

His belly still growling, Seamus drops back a little watching the situation. 'A half orc and dwarf walking together, passing out apples to beautiful women... there must be a song or a comedic play in there somewhere... and we add a silver haired elven maiden to the ...' Looking carefully at the approaching elf, 'oops…’ realizing the approaching elf was a man. ’At least he got himself an apple. Maybe I should keep count of the apples, work that into the song as well...

Momentarily distracted from his imagined song as a man who has the appearance of a swashbuckler approaches a heavy set older man who had just come from around a wagon. 'I like the feather, too flashy though, makes him easy to remember, and why does the older man look familiar?' Seamus eases over to see if he can hear the conversation between the swashbuckler and the older man. 'Smells of cheese?'

Kronk how recognizable would you be to someone from sandpoint?

Now to enter the conversation:
Turning back to the gaggle of apple eaters as a man with purple tipped hair approaches, 'Well that's different, and he's not shy...Vindur... and a poet, Maybe he could help me write this musical comedy.' Seamus salivates as the Tian grabs an apple and takes a bite. 'And he doesn't like it!' Finally, afraid it may be the last apple, Seamus stops strumming his lute, walking up to the poet and reaching out. "Master Minhu I would be glad to take that apple off of your hands."

Hasslo Holt
Seamus Passeri (post),
Kronk the Cook
Tiasar Soseshtian
Qetsiyah Kizzy (post), (let me know when she’s complete)
Rastaf of Sarenrae, (still working)
Gherix Vainglory (post) (race change)
Margareta ‘Meg’ Alekto
Verona of the Wilds (race change)
Toblacane Alemardo (still working)
Vindur Minhu (Needs background & description)

If you are not on this list and feel you should be, or there is some other error, please let me know and I’ll correct it. Thanks!
- - -

He approaches Meg and gives a bit of a flourishing bow as he says, "Vindur Minhu, at your service, m'lady, but you may feel free to call me Vin. Perhaps a poem in praise of the lady's beauty?" he asks in what you might guess is not really a question since he immediately begins:

"Oh blessed vision shining bright
A warmth cannot be dimmed by night
Beloved sun that rules my sky
The truest apple of my eye"
Perform Poetry: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

And as he says this last line, he grabs an apple and takes a bite immediately after the last line, chews for a moment, makes a face, and then turns trying to spit it out without making too much of a scene. "Sorry. Turns out I don't like apples," and he flashes a charming, yet slightly awkward smile her way...and then starts trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the apple.

Meg laughs deeply, holding her hand up to shield her mouth. "So you call me the apple of your eye and then say you do not like apples? Mixed signals, darling." She spears his apple with her rapier, completely disregarding Seamus's much more polite request. "Well, this apple quite enjoys apples."

The outrider, Nick, rides up from the rear to see what the knot of people is about. Seeing it’s about apples, he nods to the group, smiling, ”Keep moving.” He rides on to the front whereupon Nichole rides back on the other side of the wagon train passing the group and takes up the rear position.

A rumpled man with a carefully waxed (and rather substantial) mustache approaches the group with relish, "Lords and Ladies, gentle men and women all, if I may have your attention for just a trifle." He bows and wipes his slightly sweating brow with a colorful handkerchief.

”I am Apostol Hurgoi, and I have a most excellent conveyance, just over there.” he points to the rather fine wagon, replete with cushioned seats and a cover for the sun. ”I’m sure you’ll all be much more comfortable there, if you would be interested. I could, I suppose, reduce my rates for so large a group - though it’ll mean slitting my own throat of course. Say 5sp per person if you each come along?”

He hesitates to see how that goes over, and quickly jumps in (too quickly really - he hardly gave you a chance to answer!), ”I have a lovely sweet varietal wine I could uncork as well. We can make it a party!” he offers hopefully, sweetening the deal.

Meg is quite fine with walking. Her family had always insisted that it was Proper for her to not be seen walking anywhere, and the opportunity to simply be at her ease is welcome. Her demeanor completely shifts as she hears the magic words. "Wine, you say? Why, how could I deny such a generous offering? One quick question, though: is there a maximum amount per person?"

with Meg
Turning as the blond laughs 'mixed signals, she has a point.' Catching the glint off of her blade as she thrusts it at the second apple, Seamus jumps back ever so slightly, 'I wish she would put that thing away.' Then looking crestfallen as the woman flourishes the apple about, he studies her features momentarily. 'Quick blade and a quick wit, I bet she would be more entertaining if I wasn't so hungry.' He gives her a flourishing bow, "The apple is yours, madam."

Cool backstory 'Meg' what kind of perception roll will we need to see your wearing a wig?
perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16Booooo

once the conversation with Meg is over.'
'Well I can still offer to show Rastaf the sites.' Nodding politely to Meg, Seamus turns to the happy green half-orc. Clearing his throat, just as Nick rides up to tell the group to keep moving. As everyone shuffles ahead slightly faster, Seamus turns to speak to Rastaf again when the rumpled merchant walks up and introduces himself. 'Oh bloody hells, I just want an apple.' As the sweaty man invites them to ride in his wagon and take part in the victuals, Seamus ponders. 'I wonder how many coins the little fat man has in his little fat purse.' Scowling 'Of course rule number one is don't rob from your own.' Seamus watches as the little mans fat handlebar mustache bounces up and down while he talks, 'Of course is he really one of my own?' Just then Meg blurts out about the quantity of wine available. He turns and Looks at the 'blond' holding her rapier pierced apple. 'Of course how many of these folks are 'my own'?' Sagging, he looks at the happy half orc passing out his harvested apples and the crowd around him. 'Bloody hells, I can't rob from any of them.'

intro to Rastaf
Looking away from the fat man and his wagon, Seamus moves near to Rastaf, clearing his throat he lets his lute slide to his side as he extends his hand in greeting. "My name is Seamus, Seamus Passeri I've been eyeing your apples since you offered them to folks." He smiles and shrugs, "I don't have anything to offer you for one except for maybe a song, but instead I'll offer my hand in friendship." He winks, "And I live in Sandpoint, born and raised." He looks around at the group. "I can show you all all of the sights." Giving a broad smile. "After the Swallowtail Festival of course."

So much Roleplay!

Hasslo starts to feel a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people moving in for apples. He's slowly eating his own apple when Gherix asks him a question. For a moment, he's confused - 'Someone is actually speaking to me?'. Obviously, the dwarf isn't used to it. Stumbling for words, he blurts out: "Adventure.". He chokes down on his apple. "My mother just passed away. She was my last connection to Magnimar. I just couldn't spend another day in that crummy city."

A man approaches the group. Hasslo notices that he looks out of place in this band of misfits. The man announces that he has a wagon for them. Hasslo watches some others bounce in glee, but his own expression turns grim. He hears the words: "We can make it a party!" and Hasslo immediately shakes his head. Speaking to who ever is around him, the dwarf speaks softly, "no, no, no. I don't think so. This is the reason I'm escaping Magnimar. I don't want any of this 'prim and proper'. It's so... unnecessary.". He points to his legs. "I'd rather use these things."

GM - Hasslo also has the trait Hagfish Hopeful. In his backstory, Hasslo had travelled to Sandpoint as a child - the one and only time he's travelled there. He eaten at the Hagfish and thoroughly enjoyed the food, wolfing down anything that was set down in front of him.

Turning away from Kronk, Toblacane faces Seamus. "Never been to Sandpoint before, never had the chance to go. Love to see the sights though, maybe meet some locals. And seeing as I've recently come into some good fortune and coin for myself, I'd like to share it with likeminded others!" He flashes Seamus a smile. My name is Toblacane Alemardo, a pleasure to make your aquantince." He bows. "What can I get for you, my good man?"

Seamus I had a good chuckle when I read that he packed "the shirt my mom gave me" and "my lockpicks" in the same sentence, and it turned into a full-bellied laugh when I read the party about thinking Tiasar was a woman!

The stoic bird on the thin elf's shoulder seemed to lose interest in Meg, but has now fixated its gaze on the newcomer, Seamus. It's head rotated as if affixed by magic to stare directly at him, compensating for whatever moves the shoulder he is perched on makes.

Tiasar's interesting discussion with the...surprisingly mesmerizing alchemist woman was interrupted by Apostol Hurgoi. He smiles sympathetically at the bouncing mustache comes into view. "I can attest to the comfort of Mr. Hurgoi's wagon, for I myself got to experience it during the first leg of our journey. Although I have decided to join the rest of these common folk, for it is important to experience the 'roughing it' part of adventuring." His clothes still shine clear with unnatural cleanliness, and his brow is dry like it was a cool autumn day. "However I will sample the wine you offer. The vintages of Kyonin are varied but sourced from the same lands, so I would be interested to see..." He trails off as Hasslo mentions his dead mother, falling into an awkward silence. "Erm, condolences on your loss." He says quietly after a moment.

with Meg

Turning as the blond laughs 'mixed signals, she has a point.' Catching the glint off of her blade as she thrusts it at the second apple, Seamus jumps back ever so slightly, 'I wish she would put that thing away.' Then looking crestfallen as the woman flourishes the apple about, he studies her features momentarily. 'Quick blade and a quick wit, I bet she would be more entertaining if I wasn't so hungry.' He gives her a flourishing bow, "The apple is yours, madam."

Meg matches his bow with one of her own. "It most certainly is. I shall have to eat it quickly before we are set upon by bandits and I need my sword again." She then remembers that the would-be poet took a bite from it already and has second thoughts about eating it. "Allow me a proposal, Seamus darling: you play something good on that lute there and you can have this apple. Sing for your snack, as it were." She dangles the apple that is currently blunting the end of her rapier.

Cool backstory 'Meg' what kind of perception roll will we need to see your wearing a wig?
perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16 Booooo

Thanks! I was inspired by Medea from Greek mythology :D As for disguises, you only get perception checks vs disguises if you have some reason to be suspicious or are someone like a guard who is assumed to be suspicious. In the latter case, it would be effectively taking ten. She'd be taking 10 with a +5 for minor details only, so 23

Rastaf unloads the rest of his apples, making sure that the kids get some, if there are any kids with them. If not, he'll give them to whoever wants one.

They were getting a bit cumbersome, anyway. Best to eat them while they're fresh.

He keeps moving, as told. When the fellow with the wagon offers a ride, he hesitates a bit.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7 The guy seems harmless, but he's on a budget. 5 sp is a lot to Rastaf.

That sounds enticing, but I'll just keep walking. We should get there soon enough.

Since Hasslo's response would have happened earlier, this was from beforeHearing of Hasslo's struggles with losing his mother, Gheri...has no idea what to do. She loves her books and telling people what to do, but genuine interaction with others is a bit out of her comfort zone. She simply reaches out to pat the Dwarf on the arm and says, "There there," since she's seen people do that before. And back to the present...

Gheri is enjoying the conversation with the Elf and the woman with the interesting eyes when she notices Tiasar stumble on his words as he's watching her play with her hair. Hmm, I wonder if that means that he's...into me? I think they say?

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (9) + 0 = 9

But not long after, Apostol Hurgoi makes his offer to rent space in his more luxurious wagon. Gheri is, of course, quite good at getting her way when she asks, so she calls out to the man, "I don't suppose there's any way you'd make an exception and let me ride for free, would you?" DC 14 Will save

You accidentally rolled 1d2, Rastaf!

Sense Motive to Get a Hunch on Rastaf's Feelings: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20

Now this just will not do. This kind person offers a load of free food to everyone and has no money left for when he actually wants something for himself. That kind of self-sacrifice simply will not do. "Now, now, darling. I simply cannot have you being so generous without reward." She pulls out a gold piece and flips it between the backs of her fingers.

Sleight of Hand: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

"I simply loathe having to deal with change. And five silver pieces plus five silver pieces equals one gold piece quite evenly, if I have my sums correct. I simply must reward your generosity and insist on paying for you." She hands the coin over to the wagon driver before Rastaf can protest. She turns back to Rastaf and winks. "You can simply share your ration of wine if you feel that my gesture is too much."

Thanks for catching that, Meg. Rerolled, still low.

You are generous, too. I wouldn't want to leave anyone behind, after meeting such a friendly bunch. However, I can see that you're someone who appreciates the finer things, so I won't mind giving my seat to someone else who's tired of this slog, so you won't be lonely.

He won't ride unless everybody can.

Seemingly puzzled by the lack of acceptance of his offers Toblacane hops up on a barrel, loudly declares to the whole group, "Hello! My name is Toblacane, and I wish to share my newfound good fortune with others! Food, drink, and the fancy carriage is on me, as long as you have a tale to tell, or an ear to listen, cost be dammned!"

Seamus I had a good chuckle when I read that he packed "the shirt my mom gave me" and "my lockpicks" in the same sentence, and it turned into a full-bellied laugh when I read the party about thinking Tiasar was a woman!

Thanks, I wanted to reflect that MW lockpicks would be more than a Rogue this level would have. "GM Euan - Rise" said that the extra could be part of a job. In Seamus' backstory I already had that his parents moved to Magnimar and that his stepfather was Sczarni, So I arranged this part of his story so he delivered a 'package' to his step father, and the payment would be the 'gift' of nice lockpicks. So if dad's giving a present then mom has to as well. That let me refer to the color of the shirt later and the Varisian belief that color has meaning.

As for the Tiasar appearing female, I been trying to read the description of each character so when I read silver hair behind his ears and "His appearance is immaculate and he has a certain softness about him" combined with the fact that the last three or four were woman, it seemed a short assumption was in order. I'm glad it made you laugh instead of growl...

Thanks! I was inspired by Medea from Greek mythology :D As for disguises, you only get perception checks vs disguises if you have some reason to be suspicious or are someone like a guard who is assumed to be suspicious. In the latter case, it would be effectively taking ten. She'd be taking 10 with a +5 for minor details only, so 23

Cool. clearly he isn't a guard, but he is a criminal constantly looking for a mark. And since he grew up in a brothel I thought he should know a thing or two about wigs. (That's an assumption on my part, having no personal experiences with growing up in a brothel.)

I will reply to people in the sequential order (in my head) not necessarily posting order

with Meg and Tiasar, or at least Tiasars raven
'Play for my supper?'Raising an eyebrow, Seamus shrugs, "Wouldn't be the first time I've played for my supper." He scowls slightly, pointing at the rapier, "But put that away, I'm uncomfortable with pointy objects." Looking away from Meg to collect his thoughts, he notices the raven on Tiasar's shoulder, Seamus turns his head left and right, noticing the bird following his every move. Shrugging 'I can play them the halfling song I was practicing yesterday.' Turning back to Meg, he lifts his lute. "This is a song I heard In Magnimar. I think it was dedicated to Iomedae." He then begins to play the song on his lute, Winking at the raven.

perform: Lute: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22

with Rastaf
Watching as the happy half orc started passing out the apples to the kids, Seamus shrugs, 'Guess orcs don't shake hands.' he then reaches into the bucket and takes an apple.

With Toblacane
Mentally shrugging, Seamus turns from Rastaf toward the scarlet swashbuckler Toblacane Alemardo.' returning his smile and a slight bow, "I'd be happy to introduce around town." He lifts the apple, "This is enough for now, Let's see if we can meet some like minded folks who may be interested in Sandpoint as well."

With Hasslo
Watching as some walk toward the wagon, Seamus notices the dwarf, 'Rather use these,' He smiles and comments as much to himself as to the Dwarf. "I'd rather pay what using these cost me."

Apostol looks to Ms. Alekto’s request, ”Well, er, I only have the one bottle.” But to show his good will, he uncorks it and pours delicate shots into any vessel offered, doffing his hat for any donations that might come his way by those not joining him in his wagon.

The wine, as promised, is sweet. Sickly sweet really, and very fresh. Fresh is a good thing in a beer perhaps (though some ‘seasoned’ dwarven ales have been aged to perfection) but it’s maybe not so good in a wine. There are still hints of the feet that crushed the grapes, likely this morning, in the after-taste.

Sweating profusely now, and clearly not a man meant to do a lot of walking, when the bottle is empty Apostol heads back to his wagon, hoping to trail at least a few with him for the cash. So he’s happy when he collects Meg’s gold at least for his sweaty trouble. ”Thank you ma’am!” he shares a smile.

He stops though when Toblacane makes his generous offer, "You are too kind good sir, for which there are special rates!" He swiftly negotiates with the man for 4gp to make his wagon available for any in need of rest during the completion of the journey.

It made his day clearly as he moves up and down the caravan, helping those who are most in need get a break.
- - -

Hasslo Holt
Seamus Passeri (post),
Kronk the Cook
Tiasar Soseshtian
Qetsiyah Kizzy (post), (let me know when she’s complete)
Rastaf of Sarenrae
Gherix Vainglory (post) (race change)
Margareta ‘Meg’ Alekto
Verona of the Wilds (race change)
Toblacane Alemardo (still working)
Vindur Minhu (Needs background & description)
Nalar Chatian (Needs background & description)

If you are not on this list and feel you should be, or there is some other error, please let me know and I’ll correct it. Thanks!
- - -

Marku is a wonder, a vision of human refinement and elegance, or at least, so he desperately desires to be. Dissatisfied with the ample good looks and easy manner with which he was born, he strives at every opportunity to be more, to pose in shafts of light to best effect, to tell tales that will elicit wonder from his audience, to dress in the finest of garments, to coiffure his hair in the latest styles from Magnimar. Alas, his features are more saturnine than he would wish, and no matter how often he shaves, his cheeks and chin are perpetually dark with imminent stubble. While he'll allow that his dark and brooding eyes are appropriate to a Byronic figure such as himself, he wishes he were simply more of a refined nobleman and less of a roguish Scarzini like figure. Lithe, athletic, with a fine figure and natural grace, he is almost as handsome and dashing as he believes himself to be.

(I'm not sure if we're all meant to be arriving together at the start of the campaign, so I wrote this thinking I'd be in town a week before the festival. Easily changed if not the case.) Marku Serbanescu just arrived in Sandpoint a week ago, and has taken up fine rooms at the Rusty Dragon. While he's not yet managed to convince Ameiko to allow him to play, he's regaled any who will listen that he's destined for the stage, and will soon be performing at the Sandpoint Theater. He claims to be a virtuoso performer who conquered Magnimar's cultural scene, and dismisses anyone who questions his story with a sniff as a provincial boor.

Marku was raised an orphan, abandoned while just a babe at the doorstep of a Pharasma-sponsored orphanage whose Warden thought the highest accomplishment for any of her charges was to join her church. Marku quickly decided otherwise, and was expelled at the tender age of six for an endless litany of small rebellions and acts of outright theft. Realizing the streets were brutal and unforgiving, he returned three days later and begged his way back into the Warden's good graces.

His was an indolent upbringing, for he soon managed to convince the cooks to serve him extra, the task master to spare him his set of chores, and conned the visiting Pharasman priest into thinking him a model student of all matters theological. In truth, he learned nothing, spent as much time as he could playing music with which to charm the girls, and was expelled again at the age of fifteen when his attempts to seduce an old widow were discovered.

Alas! His good looks and easy manner made him a target on the streets, and it took every ounce of skill and desperation to keep one step ahead of the gangs and thugs of Magnimar. To his everlasting gratitude, he was taken under the wing of a local musician who played the rounds of the taphouses, and under his tutelage began to flourish. With no thought for the future, and desiring to only charm his way into the good graces of the next beautiful young lady, he'd have no doubt led a short and dissipated life if the old widow he'd sought to seduce didn't up and die and leave him 1000 gp.

His master confiscated the gold, slapped Marku out of his drunken celebrations, and told him to wisen up. To use this sole chance to make something of his life, and not spend it as a wastrel. He'd introduce the young Marku to Cyrdak Drokkus, an old friend, and give the young bard a chance on a real stage. But first he had to improve his skills.

For four more years Marku toiled, seeking to earn his master's approval, but while immanent it never seemed to come. When his master died unexpectedly from a mugging, Marku found to his chagrin that only 200gp remained of his inherited fortune. Furious, he forged a letter in his master's hand, and hitched a ride on the next caravan to Sandpoint. The future, he was sure, would soon be his for the taking! What exactly it would involve he wasn't sure, but it would no doubt feature copious amounts of gold, easy living, perhaps a tour of the greatest Varisian cities, and endless adulation from countless buxom fans. Sitting on the rear bumper of the wagon, watching Magnimar fade from view, Marku took a large bite from a borrowed apple and couldn't help but grin.

Tiasar's eyes flick over to Seamus as he turns his head oddly. Tiasar looks confused for a moment, then his brows suddenly lower in irritation. He draws a small symbol in the air, a faint glow following his fingertip. "Leor nasir." With a sharp gesture a feather is magically plucked from the tail of the raven, causing it to jump and break its gaze with Seamus. It instead turns and pecks Tiasar's ear, causing him to jump in response with an involuntary yelp. "Morde! Be nice!" He chastises. He and the bird stare at each other for a moment, then Tiasar sighs and with another gesture a small piece of jerky floats from his pocket up to the raven, who neatly plucks it out of the air. He turns back to Seamus. "Apologies. Morde is a suspicious type and is not used to so many strangers about, he has been on edge the last few days." The bird once again stares at Seamus, but conveniently averts its gaze when Tiasar checks on it again.

Tiasar accepts the delicate shot from Apostol, not having wanted much more than that to begin with. He takes a cautious sniff, then a deeper inhale. He swills the drink around, sharpening the aroma before taking another inhale. By the time he finally decides to sip the wine Apostol is long gone back to his wagon. And a good thing too, for a moment after it touches his lips his nose crinkles in distaste. He brings a hand to his mouth to scratch his nose, then subtly spits out the wine onto his sleeve. He brings his hand back down and the wine slips from his sleeve onto the road, absorbed quickly by the dirt.

Hasslo takes a shot from Apostol as well after watching Tiasar drink some. "Do you know about grapes - Vitis vinifera. There are over 10,000 varieties of them. Not all of them can be made in to wine.". Hasslo doesn't seem to notice if Tiasar is listening to him or not, but will continue detailing everything he knows about grapes and wine to anyone who listens. "The ancient Thassalonians had this variety of wine that they said was divinely made. Apparently those grapes died out when the Thassalonians did..."

Meg takes the poetic apple off her rapier and tosses it to Seamus. "I have never been much for the Inheritor myself. Too many rules. I swear, the world might end if an Iomedaean were to curse out loud. But you played well and that's all that matters." The joke is that my Iomedaean cleric in Tyrant's Grasp is my most foul-mouthed and surly character

She jumps up onto the wagon and produces her hip flask, demurely holding it out for filling. "Only one bottle? Why, that shall barely suffice for me alone! I do hope you will reinvest that gold piece in Caydenite-proofing your store."

Hearing talk of wine from the one named Hasslo, Meg immediately decides that this person is worth her attention. Her skills as a party host, deftly moving from one conversation to another, are proving surprisingly useful.

Lore (wine): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
I finally remembered that lore skills are a thing in 1st ed with background skills in play, and it would be positively criminal to not give Meg Lore (wine)

"Divine grapes? I have never heard of such a thing. What did it taste like?" She takes a swig of Apostol's wine. "Hmm, how very Molthuni. Sweet and not aged. It will do, though it does leave me wishing for a crisp Gewürztraminer instead."

How she does miss the days of simply putting down a list of groceries. That said, if it will help her dull her senses, most anything will do at this point.

Titania Olivia Thrune - Rise of the Runelords
Female human (Chelaxian) fighter 1
N Medium humanoid (human)
Hero Points 1
Init +3; Senses Perception +1
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 18, touch 13, flat-footed 15 (+3 armor, +3 Dex, +2 shield)
hp 11 (1d10+1)
Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +0
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20) or
. . gladius +4 (1d6+3/19-20) or
. . greatsword +4 (2d6+4/19-20) or
. . heavy shield bash +4 (1d4+3) or
. . longsword +4 (1d8+3/19-20) or
. . quarterstaff +4 (1d6+4) or
. . unarmed strike +4 (1d3+3)
Ranged longbow +4 (1d8/×3)
--------------------
Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 16, Con 13, Int 14, Wis 11, Cha 7
Base Atk +1; CMB +4 (+6 grapple); CMD 17 (19 vs. grapple)
Feats Improved Grapple, Improved Unarmed Strike, Power Attack
Traits highlander (hills or mountains), monster hunter, reckless
Skills Acrobatics +5, Climb +4, Craft (painting) +6, Perception +1, Profession (barmaid) +4, Stealth +5 (+7 in hilly or rocky areas), Survival +4, Swim +4; Racial Modifiers highlander (hills or mountains)
Languages Abyssal, Common, Infernal
SQ hero points
Other Gear studded leather, heavy wooden shield, arrows (20), dagger, gladius[UC], greatsword, longbow, longsword, quarterstaff, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, hemp rope (50 ft.), mess kit[UE], pot, soap, torch (10), trail rations (5), waterskin, 1 gp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Hero Points Hero Points can be spent at any time to grant a variety of bonuses.
Improved Grapple You don't provoke attacks of opportunity when grappling a foe.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.

Tot is a fairly recent arrival to Magnimar, having shown up just over six months ago. She's a skilled fighter who's also good at subduing her opponents, but there's something unsettling about the way she fights at times. Other than being Chelish, there's not much else known about her.

Many are aware of House Thrune and the rise of the Diabolic Empire of Cheliax. The nobles of the empire now bind devils and enslave those that do not adhere to Hell's perfect order while inquisitors lead hellknights in rooting out heresy and dissidence among the populace. What many do not know is that there are two branches to the imperial family. Most are aware of the branch headed by Abrogail II, but there is a another branch, tainted by the infernal pact the family made long ago, that is hidden away. It's from this line that Titania Olivia Thrune was born.

Bound in service from birth, it was always known that Titania would become a hellknight in service to the crown, one a secret battalion of assassins and torturers that handled the more delicate and critical missions that needed to be done. From birth Titania was groomed to be another of the order. Her pretty face a lovely silk scarf to cover the wicked dagger and iron gauntlet she would become. She trained in the highland regions in the arts of stealth and tracking, becoming adept in moving through the forests and rocky hills. She was taught techniques to quickly and brutally disable and kill her foes.

What the Thrune's failed to take into account was the influence of a tutor hired to teach her the arts of painting and drawing, one of the few "frivolous" activities she was allowed, and the resentment that grew as they tore her down again and again. On the eve of her induction into the hellknight order, Titania packed up her gear and took enough coin from the coffers to pay for passage out of Egorian. She ran as far as she could, her coin finally running out in Magnimar six months ago.

Since her arrival, Titania has gone by Tot, a play on her initials, and has taken up a modest career as a mercenary. While the pay has been enough for her to survive, she feels unfulfilled, and hearing of the monsters around Sandpoint from a few old salts in one of the watering holes nestled in the shadow of the Irespan (Not Underbridge, for even in her naivety she knows better than to venture to that forsaken quarter of the city, but somewhere close enough for the ancient monument to look over the place.) With nothing better to do and going nervously suspecting that agents of house Thrune would be looking for her soon enough, she decided to move to Sandpoint. Hopefully the crowds gathering for the festival would be enough to hide her arrival in.

Tot seems a calm and level-headed person when people first meet her. This, however, is but a mask to someone who's life has left her with little self esteem and even fewer ways to cope with her emotions. In fights, Tot is brutally pragmatic, but sometimes hints of a violent rage slip out. Her insecurities leave her constantly second guessing herself and her lack of purpose has only made matters worse as she finds herself adrift without any real goals or wants besides immediate survival.

Tot is on the short side, a little more than five feet tall. Her compact frame is filled with muscle. Her hair, which has grown out since leaving Cheliax, is a soft, strawberry-blonde and her eyes are a deep blue like the depths of a clear pool of cool water. Her skin is fair and freckles sprinkled heavily across her cheeks and nose cause many to underestimate her already young age.

Tot has never been one to get into fashion and wears what is practical and comfortable, favoring dark, muted hues to something more expressive. Notably, she always keeps herself covered from the neck down, with only her hands ever seen by others.

I feel in love with Tot almost from the moment I started playing her in the Emerald spire game she was made for. She's always been a character I've wanted to revisit but she's one that I felt I wouldn't get the chance to since she is related, however distantly, to a major NPC in the world. I want to thank Euan for giving me the greenlight to submit her.

So, my plans for Tot, mechanically speaking, are for her to stay as a fighter, though I may dip into a different class if it feels right to the story or I think of something that fits Tot and sounds like fun. Her low Charisma is going to be played as borderline-crippling shyness and an inability to communicate what she is thinking and feeling effectively, which is probably only going to add to her frustrations.

In a way, Tot is a ticking time bomb. She's under a lot of stress since she's a deserter and not just from any old unit, but an elite unit of hellknights that take orders straight from the Crown, Queen Abrogail II herself. That and trying to deal with repressed emotions are going to fuel a breakdown at some point in this campaign. I'm not just trying to be an edgelord here, though. Without spoiling anything, I hope, I want to provide a foil for some of the villains we'll run into.

What do I mean by that? Well, Tot is a work in progress. She knows, even if she won't admit it, that her family is wrong, all of Cheliax is wrong, and she wants to be more than an unfeeling weapon. By the end of the campaign, I'd love for Tot to be a hero and a good person. Basically, Tot's character arc in this campaign is one of redemption and overcoming the lies we are told and tell ourselves.

Hopefully this isn't too sappy or self-centered. It's just an arc that I feel fits and one that I would love to pull off.

With the GM's permission, there's something that I'd like to do to play up Tot's bloodline being tainted by devils. Whenever a spell's cast on Tot it has a strange effect on her. Nothing mechanical, just something for the flavor. For example, whenever enlarge person's cast on her, her teeth turn into devilish fangs, or if someone heals her there's a faint smell of brimstone as her wounds are bound. It's just minor cosmetic things that really don't do anything but add some flavor and might cause some alarm for anyone paying attention.

There are so many people now, I miss some of what's going on.

What's that? This fellow Toblacane is offering to pay for rides? That's a fine thing. Tell us, Master Apostole, how many can ride without overloading your fine carriage?

Rastaf doesn't know much about wine or spirits. He'll drink an ale, though. He likes that. Judging from the elf's reaction, he probably wouldn't have wanted it anyway.

Thassilonian divine wine, he says to Hasslo. I suspect that may be true. They say there were many wonders in the ancient world. I'm sure their gods may have done just that.

He then notices he's about out of water. Dumping out what's left, he prepares to cast Create Water.

If anyone wants some fresh water in their skins, come close to me, and I'll refill it for you. Clear and clean, straight off the plane itself. I can't conjure wine, but water is no problem!

He's a little pleased that he can offer something divine, himself. Being a cleric is awesome!

with Meg and Tiasar rolled a 22 to 'play for his supper' to get the apple
Tiasar, I'm going to treat your post as if it's after the song.

'I think that sounded really good.' Finishing the halfling ditty, Seamus doffs his hat and holds it out catching the apple, he smiles and shrugs. "I just heard the song played by four halflings, If I add it to my routine, I'll change the name, I'm a follower of Calistria myself."

Turning to the elf he responds "Ei tarvitse pyytää anteeksi, ettemme ole syyllisiä ystäviemme toimintaan." then he winks to the raven, taking the apple out of his hat taking a bite of it. Between chews he gestures toward Tiasar "I understand your interested in some of Sandpoint's older locations, archeology stuff, I might be able to help you with that."

with Toblacane
'What's he doing?' Seeing Toblacane jump up onto the barrel and yell 'cost be dammned' Seamus breaths a sigh, telling his new found friend "Don't spend all your money, there will be plenty of things to do in Sandpoint." Seeing Apostol stop offering drinks as soon as Toblacane announced his intent. Seamus smiles to himself, 'At least I don't have to decide if I want to drink the little mans wine. It's easier to pay your debts if you don't have any.' turning to Toblacane "You go on to the wagon, I may join you there. but don't forget, I can show you around Sandpoint." He takes another bite of the second apple, moving toward Hasslo more because he seems to be the only other one not headed to the wagon than to hear about magic grapes.

Hooo boy, there's been a lot of posts today.

Tot walks along beside the caravan not far from the throng of people eating apples, sampling wine, and talking about wine. She had thought about approaching Rastaf when he'd first offered, but then so many came and she wasn't all that good around crowds. Too many people, too many voices, too many chances to miss something important.

Despite that, she still found herself edging ever closer to the group. She waited, marching along as she'd been trained since she was seven. As some left for the wagon, she wondered if this was a good idea.

"Um, H-hello,"[/samller] she says to the dwarf, Hasslo he'd called himself, that had been speaking about finding adventure. Her voice isn't much louder than a whisper. [smaller]"Wh-what kind of adventure were you hoping to find," she asks before she can think better of it and beat a hasty retreat.

She's a small woman, and young, though she carries the weight of her arms easily. Her well-made, possibly even fine, clothing and armor are ragged from constant use and covered in the dust of the road. Her accent is clearly that of a Chelish Aristocrat, but she hardly looks like she'd be a well-to-do noblewoman.

I am a self-employed attorney with a wife and four children. I'm 47 years old. I have been playing D&D and its offspring since the Red Box days. I have been on the boards here for about 7 years and have 23,000 posts. I'm able to post multiple times during weekdays, but probably only once/day on weekends. I have been part of multi-year APs, including a Curse of the Crimson Throne campaign in Book 5 that's been going 3 1/2 years through 3 GMs. I feel like good role-play really feeds off other good role-players, and would very much like to be part of this. If you're looking for someone that will see this through to the end, I'm in. Thanks for your consideration!

'I think that sounded really good.' Finishing the halfling ditty, Seamus doffs his hat and holds it out catching the apple, he smiles and shrugs. "I just heard the song played by four halflings, If I add it to my routine, I'll change the name, I'm a follower of Calistria myself."

His playing really was good, but there is just no accounting for taste, and hers tend towards the more raucous.

"Calistria is a fine choice. Who does not love a nice bit of revenge or a good trick?" Her face noticeably hardens as she says "revenge" and by "trick" her voice has taken on a bitter irony. That is the question, isn't it. Just thinking of the word "revenge" starts something boiling in her stomach. She takes another swig of wine and tries to not think about anything. It works well enough that she is able to pull herself back into a smile. "But what can I say, I prefer a Caydenite party to a Calistrian one." She holds up her flask in a toast to Seamus. "Speaking of which, you must be the mildest Calistrian I have ever met. I have usually had to swat them away at least five times by this point in the conversation, much as I did with the young poet."

While the Elf was intellectual, interesting, and perhaps interested and the young lady was lovely and had most interesting eyes, Gheri notices someone else. That swashbuckling type seemed wealthy. Every good scholar could benefit from a wealthy patron, after all.

She gathers her books and asks a fellow passenger or two to help her with them as she and her fox head to the more luxurious wagon. She takes a spot next to Toblacane and says, "So generous of you, Toby! And all you want in response is a tale? Well, I've studied heavily into Thasillonian lore and I heard a fascinating tale...and she goes on for a while with probably too much enthusiasm for obscure cultural details and not enough for entertaining story elements, but it's effectively scholarly

Knowledge History: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20

And as her story comes to a close, she again plays with her hair and casually mentions, "[b]So much interesting material yet to study, yet there's so rarely adequate funding for scholarly endeavours."

Hasslo Holt
Seamus Passeri (post)
Kronk the Cook
Tiasar Soseshtian
Qetsiyah Kizzy (post) (let me know when she’s complete)
Rastaf of Sarenrae
Gherix Vainglory (post) (race change)
Margareta ‘Meg’ Alekto
Verona of the Wilds (race change)
Toblacane Alemardo (still working)
Vindur Minhu (Needs background & description)
Nalar Chatian (Needs background & description)
Marku Serbanescu
Titania Olivia Thrune
Magnus the Magnificent

If you are not on this list and feel you should be, or there is some other error, please let me know and I’ll correct it. Thanks!
- - -

Duck farming. Yep. Ducks. Young Vin was raised by his grandfather who may not have had all hid faculties functioning. Vin was raised to be a duckherd.

Each day, he would take their herd of ducks down to a local pond and protect them from any of the numerous non-existent threats his grandfather imagined were there...which gave the young lad plenty of time to read any of the numerous poetry books his grandfather, a bard of some renown in his day, had collected. The reading was at least less boring than watching ducks swim. Eventually, it even became enjoyable. Before long, he was trying his hand at imitating the stylings of the poets he read. And before long, poetry had helped land him a girlfriend, and since he was off enjoying scantily-clad time with her instead of watching the flock, he didn't see the numerous non-existent threats his grandfather had imagined proving themselves to be real threats to a strangely domesticated herd of ducks.

Being afraid to return home and face his grandfather's wrath, Vin simply left and started making his way through the world with his wit, his kind nature, his good looks, and his poetry. That combination led him to the moment when he realized he had strange powers.

Vin had a slight misunderstanding when a large, burly fellow found him in a lip lock with a gal who apparently was this man's girlfriend. "Oh, is she your girlfriend?" Vin said innocently. "I must have mistaken her for mine," and as the fist flew towards his face, Vin thought I wish you could feel how bad this is gonna hurt, and then watched through his own pain as the larger man recoiled in pain as if he'd also been hit in the jaw. Confused but curious, Vin tried another approach by pointing to one of the fellows friends and suggesting, "I'm obviously too tough for you, so why not fight that guy?" as the burly fellow flung himself at his friend, Vin decided not to push his luck and ran for the hills.

Resting alone, but safe, out in the woods that night, Vin felt at peace. Some strange connection had opened up between the young former duckherd and nature itself...and he was rather curious how he could use it.

Hearing of the glorious stage and performance opportunities Sandpoint provided, the young poet is hoping to make a name for himself.

Vin is a man of medium height and slight build. His handsome face has a mixture of Tian and Varissian features. His clothing includes a commonly present suit of lamellar leather armor over which he wears a sky-blue, hooded vest that hangs to about his knees. He also wears bracers on his forearms which match the armor, and to his mind, just kind of look cool. He is a poet and typically has quills and parchment on his person at all times. He is not uncommonly found in the company of ladies he has won over and/or romanced with his good looks, kind nature, and poetic words.

Being called out on his "mixed signals" by Meg, Vin chuckles at himself and says, "Yes, I was going for performance value, but I didn't really think that whole apple thing through.
I apologize sincerely, m'lady, if my words offended," and he gives her a deep bow.

Shortly thereafter, as his apple has been speared and Seamus is now playing for his supper, Vin takes note, This man is quite the talent. We must speak more of performances later. Poetry and music brought together. We could own Sandpoint's stage!

Later, as the offer of a more glorious wagon is offered and bargaining is done for the whole group to have the option of riding, Vin is simply taking in the scenery...which is to say, the beauties in their group. A blonde has been sticking somewhat more to the outskirts of the group. He tracks her with his eyes, and since she has made her way up towards the Dwarf for her first efforts at conversation, Vin decides to help set this lovely gal's mind at ease by being a friendly, handsome face.

"Seeking adventure, you say?" he asks, coming up beside her and giving her a warm smile. "[b]I'm not certain if 'adventure' lies in our path, but a glorious time at a festival for certain. If, however, you'd like to hear of adventures, I've written some verse about many grand adventures I'd be all too happy to share with you miss...?[b]" and he waits to hear her name.

Hasslo turns to the young woman. "Wh-what kind of adventure were you hoping to find?" she asks. Hasslo ponders for a moment, overwhelmed by all the people about. [b]"I'm tired of city life. I would bring some of the poorest kids in Magnimar to the forest for an afternoon. Seeing their delight brought me to tears.". A single tear drops from his cheek. "I want to learn more about this world we call Golarion."

The dwarf points to some nearby trees. "Those are Pseudostuga menziessii as the Thassalonians called them. They're also known as Douglas Firs. There's so much life out there that I want to see and learn about."

He pulls out his shield and bashes it. "My dwarven blood runs deep too. I'm sure you have heard of Torag. Do you know much about the rest of the Dwarven pantheon - Angradd, Folgrit, Bolka, Grundinnar, Kols, Trudd, Dranngvit, Magrim... I want to venerate them. Make them proud. I can't accomplish that by staying in Magnimar."

Hasslo isn't sure if Tot continues listening to him ramble about nature and the dwarven gods. But a smile creeps across his face. He's proud of his heritage.

Meg finishes her apple and tosses the core, finally sheathing her rapier as Seamus requested. She waves off the poet’s apology. ”Darling, you are hardly the first man nor the last I shall chop down to size. The matter is nothing personal. I am simply spoken for.” The last sentence came out before she had a chance to even consider what she meant. While she is still technically married, as far she knows, she has not conceived of Corioles as someone who could “speak for her” in some time, even before the incident. Nevertheless, as soon as she said the words, she was overcome with the surety of them. She thinks back to her favorite memory, the one she tucks herself away in during those moments she is both sober and at ease enough to think of something good. Certainly, the idea is ridiculous. Even were she reading that moment the way she seemed inclined to, the idea that she could be “spoken for” by....The whole thing is absurd. Academic, even. In all likelihood, she will never find her way back to Magnimar. If she survives the next few weeks without being caught and dragged back in chains or murdered in her sleep by a man in a strange jester’s outfit then she will count it as a win. She would at least see Sapphira again at a trial. She would stand there in shackles and know that at least one person believed her. That somehow felt enough, if it was her. But Corioles would see, too, would he not? She downs the rest of her flask of wine and sits back in the cart.

Having been cut down a peg, and happy to pay the 4 gold, Toblacane hops down from the barrel, looking altogether all too pleased with himself. "Seamus! I shall remember that name, and find you at Sandport! Have no fear, Toblacane never forgets a favor done, and will always repay his debts!."
Turning over to Magnus the Magnificent, "I find your challenge intriguing old timer! But before I risk ensorcelment, I must inquire as to the nature of the prize!"

When the elf Tiasar came on the scene and started mentioning the utility of celestial blood in healing spells, Verona's mind was overtaken by the new idea. Indeed, she was so distracted by the new theories that were running wild in her head that she outright started to ignore what everyone else was saying for a while, instead quietly mumbling to herself various possibilities when it came to effectiveness of celestial blood in both arcane magic and alchemical creations and whether angel blood would be more powerful than azata or archon plasma.

That morbid little internal discussion would only come to an end when a new one came about to replace it. "Thassilonian?" she asked, turning her head to see who had mentioned the ancient civilization. "I have heard of them before in Sandpoint and other places in Varisia. A great civilization of arcane scholars, da? I am not a historian but if anyone knows of zeir magics I would be happy to learn and grow."

'Apparently more are interested in gathering access to the food and drink from the wagon than actually riding on the wagon.' Smiling to himself, 'Well the more the merrier.' noting a small woman move beside Hasslo and begins speaking to him about adventure, Seamus' ears perk up, 'Is she Chelaxian?' He is soon distracted by an old man calling out a game of wits, 'Fail and owe a favor, no thank you.'

with Toblacane
'Remember the name? I'll see that he does, If he's willing to spend money that freely, I can earn a decent wage without trying to con him.' Seamus gives a humorous bow to the swashbuckler, "I'll shall see that you do. We shall have a good time introducing this lot to Sandport." He then watches in bewilderment as his potential employer wanders off to except the old mans challenge.

With Meg:
'A fine choice? Loves a nice bit of revenge or a good trick?' he smiles then notices how hard her face gets as her voice drips with irony. 'Maybe I should resist the urge to comment about Calistrians and turning tricks.' he notes her smile returning and talk of parties. 'Prefers a Caydenite party to a Calistrian one?' as she lifts her flask in toast, "I've apparently not been to enough of either to be able to tell a difference." He then lifts the apple he's still eating, tipping in a similar fashion, to return the toast. 'Mild? ahhh I haven't come on to her.' Chuckling he lifts a hand in a shrug, "Well, in my defense you were swinging about a sharp weapon spearing things out of peoples hands."

The benefit of retconning posts :)

He gestures towards the departed poet. "Besides you told, I believe his name was Vindur, that you are spoken for." his face becoming a mask, "And if a fine looking man with the tips of his hair colored to match his clothes, doesn't have a shot, what chance do I have?" He keeps his face uncommitted to the comment, but his eyes sparkle with unspoken laughter.

He quickly blinks looking down and begins to strum the lute again, eventually asking Meg, "So what is a spoken for Caydenite with her own flask," nodding toward it, "Nice touch by the way." His eyes return to the fretboard. "So what is Meg the Caydenite doing on the road to Sandpoint?" He smiles slightly as he hits a discordant note, "And don't tell me it's for the Swallowtail Festival, its even more boring than the parties we Calistrians throw."

Born in Magnimar, third child of Boergil and Ammarien, Grimmald was always a strange child. Even as a child, he was clearly touched by some power – flighty and filled with odd thoughts yet strangely observant (fey thoughts racial trait). His parents arranged for him to receive a sacred tattoo as a warding preventative, but he only got more distracted. He failed miserably at picking up a trade to make a living, to his parents despair (shattered psyche curse); the best he did was demonstrate some skill working with animals.
He was 13 when his oracle powers began manifesting (spellcasting, talking to spirits that other’s couldn’t sense). His parents took him to various churches, but none could make sense of the enigma, nor would take him in. He saw many of the common faiths of Varisia up close this way (student of faith trait).
He ran away from home at 14 for nearly a month, prompted by the voices in his head. He left the city and travelled west to the intersection of the Sanos Forest and the Mushfens – where he met his constant companion, the tigress Ciara. When he returned, Ciara by his side, his parents knew he was not for a normal life. They let him chase his own path…
This turned out to be quite successful. He talked himself into a job as a drover with some travelling merchants (Paulikar and sons). He’s seen a fair bit of Varisia, and he learned a few combat tricks from the mercenary guards.
On the last trip, they were attacked by bandits. Ciara and Grimmald brought down 3 bandits between them; the loot from the fallen and the bonus he got has been spent on filling out his equipment.
Now, the voices in head are telling him to go to Sandpoint…He has resigned from his drover job, and heading to Sandpoint on shank’s mare.

A youthful (17 years old) ½ orc male. Heavyset – 6’1, 210 lbs. He has a strong presence. Black hair and glossy green skin. Prominent tusks and heavy eyebrows. Ciara, his primal companion (a tiger) goes pretty much wherever he does, and catches more eyes than he does.

Mildly confused, speaks in word salad, but nonetheless charming. Good manners. He occasionally speaks as if to himself.

A Magnimar boy, who’s known to be touched by something. One of Boergil’s (a mason) sons . Worked as a drover for Paulikar the merchant. Keeps a pet tiger!

Grimmald recognizes he’s been given power for a purpose – his connection to the moon may have shattered his psyche, but there is intent behind it… He hear voices and remembers snippets of lives that are not his own. He knows that something is rising and needs to be stopped, and the first step starts in Sandpoint.

Grimmald loves his parents (Boergil and Ammarien), and knows they have done their best for him (as well as his brothers Boerien & Kiergard and Nardel his younger sister). He is grateful to Paulikar for his job as a drover (although he knows it’s time to move on).

Grimmald remembers watching Ciara walk to him in a moonlight glade on the edge of the forest, the light painting her in silver and black dappling. He knew she wouldn’t hurt him. When they touched, cheek to cheek, him scratching behind her ears as she sniffed him; that was when he knew he wasn’t just crazy, what was in his head was real and he had a purpose.

Grimmald Moonwatcher
CG Male ½ Orc
Oracle (Spirit Guide) 1
Init +0
Speed 30 ft
Darkvision (60 ft)
Defense
AC : 14 = 10 +4 (armor)
HP : 11 = 8 +2 Con +1 FCB
Fort +4 =+0 Oracle +2 Con +2 (luck)
Ref +3 = +0 Oracle + 0 Dex +2 Luck+1 trait
Will +4 = +2 Oracle + 0 wis +2 Luck
CMD : 13= 10 +3 (str)
Offense
Melee: Longspear +3/1d8+4 or Spiked Gauntlet +3/1d4+3
Ranged:
BAB : +0
CMB : +3 = +3 str
Stats
Str 16 = 16 (10 pts)
Dex 10 = 10 (0 pts)
Con 14 =14 (5 pts)
Int 10 = 10 (0 pts)
Wis 10 = 10 (0 pts)
Cha 16 = 14 (5 pts) +2 Racial

Feats: Flagbearer (1st), Extra Revelation : Prophetic Armor(3ed)
Traits: Fates Favored (Faith), Student of Faith (Campaign), Deft Dodger (Combat)
Spells
L0 (*/day) : Guidance, Detect Magic, Read Magic, Stabilize
L1 (3+1/day) : Cure Light Wounds, Divine Favour, Murderous Command
Skills (4+0(int) /lvl) (Ranks, skill roll. NOT INCLUDING ACP)
Perception (1,+2 = 1 rank +3 trained -2 curse )
Diplomacy,(1,+9 = 1 rank +3 trained +3 Cha+2 racial)
Use Magic Device, (1,+7 = 1 rank +3 trained +3 Cha)
Spellcraft (1, ,+2 = 1 rank +3 trained -2 curse )
Background Skills (2/lvl) (Ranks, skill roll)
Handle Animal (1,+4=1 ranks + 3 Cha),
Linguistics (1, -1=1 ranks -2 curse)

Languages : Common, Orc, Goblin

Darkvision: Half-orcs can see in the dark up to 60 feet.
Intimidating: Half-orcs receive a +2 racial bonus on Intimidate checks because of their fearsome nature.
Orc Blood: Half-orcs count as both humans and orcs for any effect related to race.
Fey Thoughts: The character sees the world more like a native of the First World. Select two of the following skills: Acrobatics, Bluff, Climb, Diplomacy, Disguise, Escape Artist, Fly, Knowledge (nature), Perception, Perform, Sense Motive, Sleight of Hand, Stealth, Swim, or Use Magic Device. The selected skills are always class skills for the character. An elf, gnome, or half-orc can take this trait in place of racial weapon familiarity.
Sacred Tattoo: Many half-orcs decorate themselves with tattoos, piercings, and ritual scarification, which they consider sacred markings. Half-orcs with this racial trait gain a +1 luck bonus on all saving throws. This racial trait replaces orc ferocity.
Burning Assurance: Sandkin lack the chip on their shoulder that many half-orcs acquire as a result of prejudice, and their self-confidence puts others at ease. Desert half-orcs with this racial trait gain a +2 racial bonus on Diplomacy checks. This replaces intimidating.

Mystery : Lunar
Curse : Shattered Psyche
Revelation: Primal Companion (big cat)

Weapons: Spiked Gauntlet (5gp), Longspear (5 gp), Sling, 20 Bullets
Armor: Leather Lamellar Armor (60 gp), Leather Tiger Barding (20 gp),
Equipment
Explorer’s outfit, heavy cloak (1 sp), wide brim hat (2 sp), backpack (2 gp), bedroll (1sp), blanket(5sp), hammock (1sp), 50 ft hemp rope (1gp), String 50 ft (1 sp), trail rations 10 days (5gp), belt pouch(1 gp), chalk (1 cp), flint and steel (1 gp), 2X waterskin (2 gp), spell component pouch (X2, 10 gp), mess kit (2 sp), Rice Notepaper in a scrollcase (2 gp) , pen(1 sp), ink (8 gp), Saddlebags (8gp), Tiger food 10 days (50 cp)

Ciara the Tigress
HD : 2, HP : 13 = 2d8+2 con+2 toughness
Fortitude +4 Reflex + 6 Will +2
Skills (2): Perception (1, +6), Stealth (1, +7)
Feats Toughness
BAB +1
Size : Medium
Speed 40 ft
AC 16 = 10 +1 NA + 2 Armor + 3 Dex
Attack Bite +2 1d6+1, 2 Claws +2 1d4+1
Special Attacks: Rake +2 1d4+1
Special Qualities : Low light vision, scent
Str 13, Dex 17, Con 13, Int 2, Wis 15, Cha 10
Tricks: 6 + 1 bonus trick (attackx2, come, defend, down, guard and heel)

On the edge of the caravan, a heavyset half orc stumps along, using a longspear as a walking staff. He's wearing Leather Lamellar armor, and has a full pack. At his side pads something you don't see every day - a tiger in leather barding; presumably well trained as there is no leash in evidence. As he walks, if you watched for a while, you would notice he occasionally speaks, as if to himself :"Yes, yes, I'm going to Sandpoint" or some such.

Grimmald had joined the caravan at the church of Erastil yesterday, on time for the expected departure of course - Paulikar wouldn't have tolerated this chaos on one of his trips. He stayed on the edges of the crowd - neither he nor Ciara were particularly comfortable with crowds of strangers. He watches the assorted socialization without comment - it reminds him of a caravan setting out to Almaril Town - but he also knows he's never been to an Almaril Town, and that it's likely no cartographer could find it on a map - a memory not his own, yet in his head.

Turning over to Magnus the Magnificent, "I find your challenge intriguing old timer! But before I risk ensorcelment, I must inquire as to the nature of the prize!"

Magnus squints at the dashing swashbuckler, trying to size him up but having trouble focusing his eyes. The colored ball races up and down his hand one last time and disappears with a poof!

"Well-- you think I'm an old timer, eh? I'm only a hundred and six, and in the fey realm, that may as well be a suckling babe! Even so, I suppose I am an ancient compared to the tiny slice of life you've lived. Hmmmph."

The old man adjusts his spectacles and gestures for the young man to come closer.

That's a lovely hat--a few more feathers and perhaps I would consider wearing it.

"Well--stand still and--oh wait. You wanted to know the prize. Well--ahem--it's a decrepit warehouse in Magnimar, if you must know. But that's hardly the point. The point of this exercise is to see if you can withstand the combined might of art and magic! Which of course, you cannot!"

With the meticulous eye of a master painter, Magnus completes a spell to magically enchant the swashbuckler with the magnificent hat, almost as if he's putting the finishing touch on his opus.

"And with that, you'll carry my baggage to Sandpoint, won't you, my new best friend?!" he asks.

bluff (there's no warehouse): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

@Toblacane: Rather than actually rolling any save vs. an enchantment spell, I'm acting as if I've cast Charm Person on you, but the spell has failed (I don't want to take away any free will in this little RP exercise. So feel free to act as if you haven't been ensorcelled, but I tried and failed!

Meg flips her hair back out of her face. She misses the feel of her real hair in her hand. She laughs at the party comment and at his reasoning for not making a pass. She leans on her palm. ”Oh I do not find them boring. Calistrian parties tend to have more whips and bumblebee-colored leather.” Corioles convinced her to go to one once. She left early. It was fine, but just not for her. ”I prefer more drinking, songs, and games, that is all.”

She frowns as Seamus begins asking her the real question. What is her goal? What is she going to Sandpoint for? What does she want? A few days ago, she was going to parties with the height of Varisian society. She was a mother. She never imagined this life, and honestly, she does not want to. ”I could say that I am going to see a debt repaid, which is part of it, but in all honesty I really have no idea, Seamus the Calistrian. I am hoping to find out. I know there will be wine. Festivals always have a lot of wine, do they not? I would very much like to blackout for a while. Maybe I will wake up a Goddess?” She snorts at the idea. She would happily take “not wanted for murder” but that is about as likely. She pulls out her own bottle of wine and takes a swig straight from the bottle. For the first time in her life, she can do that without someone reprimanding her for behavior below her station. ”I recognize that is a poor answer, but that is all I am comfortable to share without being met with your own reasons for Sandpoint.”

With her books and gear traveling safely within a wagon, but no one stepping forth to fund her research (which was already funded), Gheri decides to just go back to chatting with the curious Half-Orc who just seems to be freely giving things away. After all, he has agreed to be her protector in the ruins.

"Why yes, some water would be lovely," she says as he offers to use create water for anyone who's thirsty. "And we'll surely be able to find great secrets about ancient Thassilon in the ruins together, won't we?" she says, reminding him of his earlier promise.

She then looks across the way and waves to her friend from earlier and calls, "Ronnie? We're chatting about Thassilon. Wouldn't you like to join us? And maybe you too, Tiasar?" she calls, still curious about the Elf's response to her from earlier.

Verona looked to her fellow witch with mild confusion before she she realized that she had been calling her by a different name. "Ronnie? Oh, you mean me, da?" The wood witch never could understand point of nicknames. Why bother call something by the wrong name when you already know their true one? It didn't make any sense to her, but her mother always taught to be understanding of the ways of strangers, so Verona went with anyway.

"Da, I would like to learn of the Thassilonian and their ruins if you know of them. I know very little of their brand of magics for I was taught by my mama the old ways of the wood witches of Ustalav. Our magics are deprived from understanding the bounty of the wilds and discovering and combining the hidden powers of herbs and plants. The Thassilonians were different though, da? Their was bond through runes and glyphs as I understand it." Even as the witch said the words they felt strange to her tongue. Such magic seemed so... artificial and lifeless. Even still, it didn't much impact her desire to learn more about the subject despite its alienness. Indeed, a part of her wondered if that feeling of strangeness would dissipate once she learned more. She certainly hoped so.

"It's so wondrously different!" Gheri said excitedly, taking the other watches arm in hers to walk together (and quite possibly about to head off on a literary nerd tirade again). "Their magic pulls from such a pure essence of human desire and longings and lusts and such things and it's just such a base essence yet was believed to hold such power. If we could give in to our baser desires like that," she said, once again toying with her hair, "I mean purely in a magical connection sort of way, of course, just imagine what powerful arcane heights we could reach!" she said, realizing she'd started to squeeze the other gal's arm. "Sorry," she said, rubbing Verona's arm soothingly, "I get excited. Now where's Aros gone off to?" she asked noticing the fox wasn't right by her.

Meantime, the fox was having his own little adventure...or actually was trying to avoid all adventure by curling up in a corner of the wagon for a nap.

Rastaf lights up at Gherix's suggestion at a talk about Thassilon.

Yes, I'd love to know all about it, though I must admit, I really know nothing about it. Just rumors, and what little I've read. It's just so hard to fathom.

I'd love to learn what anyone knows about it. It's just so alien to the world we inhabit, in a time long lost. Fascinating. Perhaps that complaining man over there might know something.

Rastaf points to the arcanist.

Anyway, I want to understand it, if I can. It was here before us, and it'll be here when we're all gone. There's something to be learned, here.